Tuesday, 22 July 2014

Bunga books with poignant undertones

I am but a miniature marshmellow
Dipped in instant hot chocolate
Fleeting around without documentation
Moving in and out of my locus.

How is it possible to have so many things going on for you but still feel like a fleeting spectre, only in a slightly different manner? The feeling is not so different but it's ironic because I no longer feel detached from my environment - this time I am only pivoting but half the time I also feel like I am a young sapling - someone pulls me out from the damn ground to plant me here and there and everywhere until I am no longer aware of which current I am flowing with; one moment I am enwrapped in one other, and another moment in another other. Everything feels momentous, and stifflingly so. It's time to get a journal again, to isolate all the ongoings in my currently messy head.

Wednesday, 16 July 2014

Excerpt of the times

 Found this very relevant.

“I imagine the feelings of two people meeting again after many years. In the past they spent some time together, and therefore they think they are linked by the same experience, the same recollections. The same recollections? That's where the misunderstanding starts: they don't have the same recollections; each of them retains two or three small scenes from the past, but each has his own; their recollections are not similar; they don't intersect; and even in terms of quantity they are not comparable: one person remembers the other more than he is remembered; first because memory capacity varies among individuals (an explanation that each of them would at least find acceptable), but also (and this is more painful to admit) because they don't hold the same importance for each other. When Irena saw Josef at the airport, she remembered every detail of their long-ago adventure; Josef remembered nothing. From the very first moment their encounter was based on an unjust and revolting inequality.” - Ignorance, Milan Kundera

Saturday, 12 July 2014

Don't fleet

Just ended the third week of my internship here. I don't want this stint to end. Finding myself singing The Fray's "Never Say Never" in a completely different context these days.

Don't let me go.

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

I feel weird.


The past few weeks have been a surefire testing ground for what were previously theories in my head: I have often theorised that I would be a workaholic based on my general routine and upon starting my internship - I am indeed a workaholic. The fast-pace is extremely invigorating albeit tiring and while I am often reduced to a state of collective mental and physical exhaustion, it is also as rejuvenating as I thought it would be. Per usual, I thrive on stress which would probably be an extremely bad thing once I start to hit 30 as so many of my colleagues often tell me, aside from the usual "you have workaholic syndromes".

Work aside, my thoughts have been fleeting without proper documentation and strangely enough, for the first time ever, I do not find myself spiralling off my centre as I so often did back home. There is a reassurance that comes with this new air, the fast-pace serves as a marker to hold me in place and it is just right - because then I do not have the luxury of time to dwell on matters that were once beyond my jurisdiction. For once, I am much more worry-free and the cloud of frustration which embodied all the circumstances that were controllable but unaffected no longer presides over my head. This is worrying to a certain extent however, as I no longer find myself introspecting as much as I used to. Or perhaps this could be an indicator that the things I once worried about aren't worth worrying about after all? I feel weird. There was never a day prior to this when I did not introspect - should I be worried?

Anyway, I dread going back home. I actually find myself maximising every single day - when have I ever done that in my life? Heck, not even when I'm travelling. This pace and its people are the bomb.

Wednesday, 18 June 2014

Double (quadruple) eyebags


Work hard, play harder seems to be the saying of the day - lately I find myself leaning towards to more introverted spectrum of playing harder; I spent at least 9 hours or so of game time on Okami. What started with watching a Cryaotic Okami HD playthrough has now culminated in my lack of willpower to put down the controller, switch off the machine, hit the sack or read a book. Perhaps it is compensation because I've barely touched a game console this year, in fact, not even once, that or I'm merely overcompensating the lack of my PS3's presence in the next few months to come. Don't get me wrong, I can survive perfectly fine without gaming but once I start, oh boy. I think about Okami first thing when I wake up, when I do my laundry, when I drive, when I'm socialising, when I'm eating, when I'm in the bathroom, I just want to get to North Ryoshima Coast - you get the idea.  By last night, I was slightly terrified to find myself attempting to defeat the Crimson Helm despite having double eyebags and I knew that something had to be done because my unhealthy gaming tendencies were getting out of hand. My first measure to curb my addiction was to surrender my PS3 memory cards to a really good friend. I was whimpering in my head as I gave her the memory cards.

I have also reached a phase where I feel guilty for excessive game time; it used to be mere immersion in the gaming experience and indulging in it. Upon finishing a game, I would feel a wave of satiation and wholeness wash over me, especially when it's really mindblowing games like Bioshock Infinite. Then there's this one thing I like to do, which is to find similarities between the game I'm currently playing and compare it to a game I've previously played, be it the artistic direction, the storyboard, the boss fights or the gameplay mechanism (I have a friend who gets really annoyed when I do this). However, I no longer do this, or feel the satiation even - it has been replaced with an entirely different sentiment - guilt. This guilt has a dimension of its own, its spirit embodies all the productivity I would have achieved in the real world that would actually add value to society someday regardless whether it is in a tangible or intangible sense.

From a tender age, my (hardcore) dad would drill the term "real world" into my huge head every now and then, and as I grow up over the years it has seen variations of "One day, you will enter the real world," to "When you enter the real world, you will know," then "Oh, getting closer to the real world now, are we?" and finally "Welcome to the real world." My degree of closeness to the real world and the amount of guilt I am rendered with from excessive game time just so happen to be directly correlated and with the former looming over my present more so then ever, gaming grinch just may prevail.

Time to squeeze the last few days of my holidays to read a book or two I've put off (to date I have put off 12 books).

Monday, 2 June 2014

Time-turner

Two posts ago I said that I would write about why I chose to remain in my home country (well that came out more patriotic than I had expected). Maybe that will have to wait but in the meantime, this picture describes me perfectly:


I also chose to have perfect seaweed hair like Aurora from Child of Light because I can. I am basically paralyzed with indecision at the moment because there are so many things I want to pursue but they are all happening at the same time. In the words of Mr. Nobody, if you don't choose, everything is possible. Seems pretty much like a contradiction in itself because the act of not choosing is already a choice in itself which is the choice not to choose. 

Besides that, since this year and next year happen to be a period of exploration, I find myself relieved to be slowly scraping out things from my list of potential professions as I take on each area of interest one by one. For one, I now know that working in the United Nations isn't for me.

Next up, I shall be testing *inserts area of interest* waters.

Monday, 26 May 2014

All vs. most

So I grew up in an era when most adults would often tell me to finish up my food because children are dying from starvation in Africa. Then I went to college that realised that it wasn't entirely the case because the ones who had the opportunity to go to college were more well-off, indicating that it obviously wasn't the entire gross population suffering from starvation. It led me to conclude that:

1. Said adults need to keep up with the times.
2. Said adults aren't finicky about syntax like I am.


Don't people realise how important syntax is?! I wonder if prioritising syntax is a sign of different times because these days, we all run the risk of overgeneralising. Most adults (of course, some youths are just as much as fault) throw the word "Malaysians" around lightly, as though every single one of us are clumped into that one archetype responsible for whatever pervasive social problem that is ongoing.

So you know, hey, Malaysians are such extremists. Totally.