With zero idea on where I was going, I managed to find my way back from Bangsar Village.
Some of you may scoff, “So? Bangsar Village is an oxymoron! It’s in the middle of the city – a filthy rich one too! Who can get lost?”
And that, will determine if you actually know me well, or just accidentally stumbled into this blog despite the warning sign.
Oh wait, I never got around to putting that warning sign. I’ll just drop a quick one here.
Warning: Website may contain crap, which may develop into verbal diarrhea.
There, all obvious and legal.
Okay, back on topic, I found my way home! And yes, it’s such an achievement it totally deserve an exclamation mark! As all my lovely buddies have probably found out (to their misfortune), my sense of direction is, at its best, faulty. At its worst, all directions look like nonsense.
But behold the Malaysian road sign! It has not failed me for the umpteenth time now. I always manage to find my way back by following the road signs (if it’s not blocked by a tree).
True, they always take you through the most congested way, and perhaps even a huge detour. Like just now, I was taken through a huge circle to arrive at the National Museum way, and subsequently the Kuen Cheng school way, and basically it means I am stuck right in the middle of the KL rush hour traffic, with nothing but cheesy, overplayed hits blaring on the radio.
Except it doesn’t sound so cheesy anymore. I, err, may have even laughed in awe and sang to them – tunelessly, of course, and with all the rock-star impersonation I can muster while driving a manual car, to my credit.
But yeah, I actually relished the cleverly rhyming and sickly sweet lyrics of “Cupid Chokehold” by Gym Class Heroes, wholeheartedly belted out “Here in my Home” with all the brilliant Malaysian artistes, screamed to Aerosmith’s “Jaded” with all the facial effort, and bopped my head extra hard to a community message/song on the importance of saving water (hey, the lyrics were pretty smart ok! There was some honest ingenuity going on there, without the whole engineered pretentiousness of modernized community messages).
I also kept my hands on the steering wheel, checked my rear view mirror every five minutes and wore my seat belt, in case anyone is wondering. And carefully avoiding the worried gazes from neighboring drivers.
Heck, the traffic jam was fun. Which is worrying. Is my life is so hectic these days that the only solo time I have for myself is during a road congestion? Am I so deprived of entertainment these days that the best things in life are the same things that I used to hate (except Here in my Home, of course)?
If yes, who cares? I found my way home, had a good laugh and perhaps, let a lot of things go today – which is more than what can be said for most days.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Just a little unwell
“I promise after I finish diploma I will not take bus again I will have my own car and business”
This community message was brought to me in the form of blue marker ink scrawled on the back of a Bas Mini seat - the struggling handwriting betraying the writer’s lack of arm, perhaps even wrist space; the determined tone betraying the writer’s desperation for fresh, or at least odorless, or okay fine, enough air to breathe.
It’s the most inspiring thing I’ve read in weeks.
For too long now, I’ve been struggling. And for too long now, over the same old thing. Me and my writing, we have an unhealthy relationship. It forces me to work, and in turn, I force it to work. And gosh, how I wish my writing would work. I would painstakingly stare at my computer screen, trying to come up with something even remotely funny, sometimes entertaining the idea of just hurling a blueberry pie on its face.
See, I know how to be funny; I’m just in the wrong industry. Hand me a red nose and a pair of cheery overalls and I’d be a hit, I’m sure.
See, I even bring my own insanity.
Anyway, I’m not even sure what the point of this post is. But a sage* I know, who wears a loincloth that never gets dirty and stashes chilled Pepsi under his rock, told me in his forever wise tone that sometimes I need to force myself to write.
And then he sipped his Pepsi, with all the solemnity of a sage onna rock.
So, here I am, forcing myself to write, if you haven’t already established that.
Oh right, about the scrawling at the back of the Bas Mini seat. Well, it’s inspiring because dreams can be so simple. You’re so stuck, therefore you grab something solid and heave yourself up.
Because when you get right down to it, all we want to do is drive our own destiny and run our own lives. Cars and businesses would be nice too, of course.
We want out from the stinky, suffocating and crawling environment, which is what my writing passion is turning out to be these days. Oh, and buses too, but everyone knows that already.
I’m being illogical here, I know. But someone once said that irrationality is what separates humans from, say, a sunflower. Plain bullshit, if you ask me. Smelling nice naturally is what separates a human from a sunflower.
On a lighter note: I’ve finally dragged my blog over to the new year!!! And it’s not kicking and screaming!!! But you can’t kick and scream if you ain’t breathing too!!! Wheee!!! Yay!!! Hahahaha!!!
Now, tell me if that’s not the lightest note you’ve seen, huh? Huh?
* Name have been concealed to protect his identity (and also to screw with you. Happy wondering who he is~ V^.^V)
This community message was brought to me in the form of blue marker ink scrawled on the back of a Bas Mini seat - the struggling handwriting betraying the writer’s lack of arm, perhaps even wrist space; the determined tone betraying the writer’s desperation for fresh, or at least odorless, or okay fine, enough air to breathe.
It’s the most inspiring thing I’ve read in weeks.
For too long now, I’ve been struggling. And for too long now, over the same old thing. Me and my writing, we have an unhealthy relationship. It forces me to work, and in turn, I force it to work. And gosh, how I wish my writing would work. I would painstakingly stare at my computer screen, trying to come up with something even remotely funny, sometimes entertaining the idea of just hurling a blueberry pie on its face.
See, I know how to be funny; I’m just in the wrong industry. Hand me a red nose and a pair of cheery overalls and I’d be a hit, I’m sure.
See, I even bring my own insanity.
Anyway, I’m not even sure what the point of this post is. But a sage* I know, who wears a loincloth that never gets dirty and stashes chilled Pepsi under his rock, told me in his forever wise tone that sometimes I need to force myself to write.
And then he sipped his Pepsi, with all the solemnity of a sage onna rock.
So, here I am, forcing myself to write, if you haven’t already established that.
Oh right, about the scrawling at the back of the Bas Mini seat. Well, it’s inspiring because dreams can be so simple. You’re so stuck, therefore you grab something solid and heave yourself up.
Because when you get right down to it, all we want to do is drive our own destiny and run our own lives. Cars and businesses would be nice too, of course.
We want out from the stinky, suffocating and crawling environment, which is what my writing passion is turning out to be these days. Oh, and buses too, but everyone knows that already.
I’m being illogical here, I know. But someone once said that irrationality is what separates humans from, say, a sunflower. Plain bullshit, if you ask me. Smelling nice naturally is what separates a human from a sunflower.
On a lighter note: I’ve finally dragged my blog over to the new year!!! And it’s not kicking and screaming!!! But you can’t kick and scream if you ain’t breathing too!!! Wheee!!! Yay!!! Hahahaha!!!
Now, tell me if that’s not the lightest note you’ve seen, huh? Huh?
* Name have been concealed to protect his identity (and also to screw with you. Happy wondering who he is~ V^.^V)
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