Therapy?

It starts with an odd, individualistic chord progression. At once risky but recognisable, it sounded like no other intro I knew. As a lone guitar boldly strummed away, in F# minor, A, E, and B7 repeated ad infinitum, with a subtle cello humming in the background, careful not to interfere with the dominance of the acoustics while gently letting the listener know of its presence, the background is set. The song is more than 10 years old. Yet it remains still in my mind, tucked away in a convenient corner which I rarely ignore. A song that I listen to now and again, to get my mind off things, or to focus… depending.

Noel Gallagher wrote the song in 1995 at the height of his songwriting prowess for his then-fiancee, Meg Matthews, but in doing so inadvertantly gifted the world with a classic. A cry for love everlasting, a neverending pillar of support, that was not to be when they divorced in 2001. While as a love song it did little to help himself personally, many other people interpreted it differently… they saw the words in new light. It could be for a lover no doubt, and also to a dependable friend, or in my case… a rival. A worthy adversary capable of bringing a change for the better to yourself. Someone who pushes and motivates you unknowingly, and sometimes begrudgingly.

When I was much younger I had bonafide rivals. We competed in academia, and fields outside the curriculum. Our school encouraged it by constantly organising contests that we could showcase our God-given talents in. Calligraphy, speeches, news-reading, sports, general knowledge, singing, who finished on top in class. Prize money was given and I would always compete with my classmates as to who received the most. I remember one person in particular who pushed me to my limits back then, and me him… even before we hit 12.

"Today is gonna be the day that they’re gonna throw it back to you
By now you should’ve somehow realized what you gotta do
I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now…"

"Backbeat the word was on the street that the fire in your heart is out
I’m sure you’ve heard it all before but you never really had a doubt
I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now…"

The gauntlet has been laid, fair rival. What be your plans? I know you don’t give up easily, but neither will I. The finish line is all that matters, and I will stand in your way to it. Do you feel the same about me as I you? Do you know what you’re up against? Or am I prepared enough for your onslaught?

My primary school rival and I went through many contests together, with no clear emerging winner. We both had our days in the sun, but as we grew our similarities outnumbered our differences, and we became best friends in the end. Throughout high school we were inseparable, but as we knew each other more, we once again had many contrasting opinions on how we lead our lives, how we set our goals and the means to achieve it. But this time rather than attacking and beseeching our differences we realised that there were no concrete right answers, and we encouraged each other on to our different goals. Today he is an independent workhorse leading the life he chose, and reaping its rewards. Although we will never be as close as in high school, we do meet up now and again, and his anecdotes are both down-to earth and hilarious, a careful balance.

A toast to my childehood rival, may you always be the best you can be.

"And all the roads we have to walk along are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding…"

And today, there is another. We are comrades raging through an identical storm, but once again, with vastly contrasting philosophies as to how we lead our lives. He is the direct, bullish, take-no prisoner Machiavellian who grabs life by the throat and holds it for ransom. The end negates the means. A man who does not mince his words, sees himself as an ideal, and wonders why everyone does not do things his way. In his Utopia. Tact, diplomacy, compromise and harmony, words which I live by, are mere jargonistic psychobabble to him. The unresolved conflict between the bold aggressor and the rational mediator.

Yes, he has his enemies, but also a baffling array (barrage? stampede? army?) of loyal friends who stand by his side and are enthralled by his leadership, charisma and single-mindedness. Once again I am left to the conclusion that there really is no definitive blueprint for living, that we get by anyway we see fit. He is indeed happy as he is, and his (over)confidence is awe-inspiring at times. A stubborn, vengeful part of me wishes to see his methods fail, that making enemies will be his downfall one day. But until that day comes, I will live the way I know how, and you yours. Hopefully we can both emerge winners.

"There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don’t know how…"

You are wrong. What makes you think you’re always right? Your points are irrelevant. Respect my opinions. Listen to reason. You are not the centre of the universe. You are wrong. You are wrong. To the man who thinks all the world’s a stage, you’re the star and we are your supporting cast, take a step outside yourself and take a look around. We are all equally important. A silkworm hard at work, the farmer who harvests it, the adept weaver who conjures some magic, the supplier who imports only the finest goods, and the retailer who opens until late at night so you could purchase the necktie to keep yourself warm in the freezing air-conditioning. We are all equally important so please step off your pedestal. To the elitist who thinks no one is above you while you wear your expensive suit and saunter around in your souped-up ride while eating foie gras and getting drunk on 19th century wine, please realise who the real outcast is here. To the erotomaniac who thinks all the world’s in love with him, no we’re not. Save it.

"Because maybe you’re gonna be the one who saves me
And after all you’re my wonderwall…"

I would not be where I am today if not for the comtempt shown by all the adversaries and antagonists I’ve met all my life. You have made me stronger and I have you to thank for it. The Dalai Lama mentioned that in life we all need enemies, because only then could we cultivate true patience, toleance and forgiveness. My friends are amazing, more than I could ask for, but I do not need an entourage of yes-men telling me everything I do is correct. That’s what my adversaries are for… to keep me in check and on guard at all times. You are the wonderwall that I strive to climb over and get past.

"Because maybe you’re gonna be the one who saves me
You’re gonna be the one who saves me
You’re gonna be the one who saves me
You’re gonna be the one who saves me…"

Sampras/Agassi. Ali/Frazier. Professor X/Magneto. Optimus/Megatron. The Rock/Triple H. Federer/Nadal. Mourinho/Wenger. Yin/Yang. In a perfect world, everyone lives in peace, harmony, and understanding, but we might just turn out to be complacent and settle for mediocrity. A great adversary sees that and unlocks the potential in us. Forces us to strive for the betterment of ourselves in hopes that we would do the same for them, intentionally or otherwise. Achievements are made. Records are broken. Worlds are changed. In that aspect… what really makes a perfect world?

At the end of the song, a poignant, haunting piano solo takes centre stage as a coda, as if telling you to ponder… what’s next? What goals lie ahead? And who will be there to guide me?

And so it is… a love song for a rival.

I just got this for you… YOU ASS. You just admitted you’re pretentious. Whahahahahaa.

But still… chill la dudes. You’re one of many, but not the greatest fake ever. Seriously, no one’s MORE pretentious that that dude in the Hennessy commercial in the cinemas. "THIS IS ME." Yeah that guy.

The guy who wore a harness, did a vertical backflip onto the canvas, and landed perfectly on both feet… JUST SO HE CAN PUT HIS FRIGGIN FOOTPRINT ONTO HIS PAINTING. What, cannot put the canvas down and stamp on it ke? Ass.

The guy who felt the side of the moving train so he could translate that FEELING into art. WAH. SO COOL. In this country sure got jaga <breep!> you with the whistle and go "WOI BLAKANG OI!" before you lay your dirty fingers on his sweet ride. Either that or I hope your shirtsleeves get caught in the train doors and you get dragged all the way to the next station. Translate THAT feeling. Ass.

The guy who did not bother to wash his face in his own exhibition, chillin’ with his Hennessy at the balcony and hopin’ all the chicks dig his paintings. Wah, never heard of soap isit. Want to make sure everyone knew who the painter is isit. You low self-esteem fastard. Hope the unwashed paint from your fingers goes inside your Hennessy and you choke. Ass.

(There’s even one chick in said function who makes a face like she’s saying "OH MY GOD I CAN FEEL THE TRAIN MOVE" while looking at the stoopid train painting. Yeah you definitely deserve him.)

And at the end of the ad he goes "THIS IS ME." He forgot to add "I know I suck thats why I’m drowning all my sorrows with this here Hennessy. Glug glug glug." Or maybe that part got edited out. Either way… that pretentious ass.

So the standards of pretentiousness have already been set very high… and you have nothing to worry about, dear reader. Hell, everyone deserves to be
pretentious once in a while. So go on, complete your surveys and continue to amuse me. I am a caring person. I love reading all your surveys.

Pretentious people like to complete long long surveys and pretend that all their friends read it so they go, "yeah, now they know just a bit more about me."

Asses.

As if you’re the centre of the friggin’ universe. As if we care about what you ate for breakfast. As if your fart smells better than my fart.

After poring thru another survey, with some heavy editing, whatever is worth reading… is right here baby. Going straight to the meat. The id to the superego. So. The shortest but most important survey ever.

3. what do you say when people say they think you are good looking?
OBVIOUSLY.

33. What would u say if someone tells u he/she likes u?
ABOUT TIME.

I didn’t even bother to edit the question numbers.

Ahahahahahaahhaa…. I know this has been pointless… chill la guys.

This is a disclaimer. One of my original intentions of this blog is that this will always and forever be… an emo blog. But sometimes the output can be pitiful. You wait for the right words, right triggers, and the right frame of mind to start writing. And sometimes they never come or come too late. So for this next post, I am a writer first and foremost, and putting away the emo image just this once.

I write best at two things. And they do not make good bedfellows. Emo posts and rants. Now with rants, they come easy. I rant about anything and everyone. Yes this includes you dear reader, but you are in fine company indeed. Total quality. No one is excluded. Anything that peeves me, in a tirade of maybe 30 minutes of frantic typing, one full article is made, and I feel better.

And my point? Seeing as this makes me feel better as well, it is also a form of therapy. Yes, now we’re getting somewhere.

The next post will be famliar to those who read the bulletin boards. I got ticked off by a certain someone who likes to boast in his surveys. Hell, I think he even made up some questions himself… the dead giveaway for it is the bad grammar for BOTH the questions and answers. Or people with bad English just like to question others in bad English.

Then as living proof that like laughter, anger begets anger, I shifted my focus towards the actor who portrayed the struggling artist in the Hennessy commercials. I mean, he’s just an actor doing his job, a neat voiceover and collecting a cool paycheque, but at the time, and even now still… that ad seemed so OFFENSIVE. So much I unleashed another tirade.

Bottom lines. Rants come easy. But they have no place for this blog. But thanks to Azman and especially Jega, I shall immortalise my two rants in this space. I should not be doing this ever again, but irrelevant output is better than no output.

Enjoy. Be careful of the headache later.

While no one would like to admit to their family being run like clockwork and driven to routine, the days when I grew up, while goofing off was alright, efficiency and punctuality were two "industry buzzwords" that would accomplish a few things. That we get to school on time, that we get back from school on time, that we can grab a quickie lunch and make it home in time for my dad’s afternoon clinic. Maybe we get ice cream in the end too. Of course everything has to be terribly efficient.

The typical weekday afternoon in the mid-90s: parents close morning clinic at 12:30, buzz off to fetch sister from school, skew over to the opposite end of the main road and wait for me to come out of school (my sister’s school and mine were just on opposite sides of the main road, yet another terribly efficient coincidence), lunch and then afternoon clinic at 2:00pm. Considering in that one-and-a-half-hour period that we had to survive two peak-hour jams in the middle of town, and somehow manage to sneak in a finely balanced meal in between (OK hawker food), this was stress-inducing, life-shortening work that should be undertaken only by superbeings. But we managed somehow.

Much earlier when I was in primary school and had not grasped the concept or even the spelling of efficiency, my dad and I came up with a simple plan. In the large gulf between specifics and hiding behind your own words, we wanted to narrow the gap a little bit. To quantify in exact units of time previously vague, conpromising and frustrating terms. This way we could no longer have the excuse of "how was I supposed to know we had to be early" because of the exact quantification of time.

Just a minute meant just that, a minute. 60 seconds. No negotiations.
At this instant meant within 30 seconds.
Soon meant 10 minutes, and this was the term I used the most. I mean, 10 minutes could accomplish you pretty much anything save for a term paper and a world-saving thesis.
Coming up means 15 minutes, usually the time needed to travel from home to school. So this was a very useful term as well.

Of course I remembered this system being formulated way back when, but through the ravages of time, meant I only remember only a few terms today. Blame it all on memory. I don’t use it anymore, but can’t help but chuckle everytime someone mentioned these few words and I mutter "yeah that means 10 minutes bub" under my breath.

I do miss using these terms though, yeah. Of course we were allowed to take our own sweet time when not in a hurry, but whenever these keywords are mentioned, it meant a commitment to be punctual. And it had better be respected.

Otherwise, life’s good. As always, with a few road bumps in between.

So, when exactly am I coming up with a proper blog post next time?

Soon, probably.