Breathing Clean: One Year, And Still Breathing

To think it's been a year now. 365 days. And still counting.

I think I deserve pats on the back.

;-)

Have You Hugged A Tree Today?

It's amazing how things add up. Day in and day out, you're reading newspapers, scribbling notes, watching your bills pile up, and one day you realise - hey, the bloody stack of papers have grown almost as tall as you are! To be not-too-precise, about 1.6 m high and 90 kg heavy. The pile of old newspapers, not me.

I think there's enough paper in there to make a tree, don't you?

I kinda feel sorry for trees now. But unfortunately, I love my written pages more than reading words on a phosphor screen, even if I had to fork out $60 for a comic I could download for free. Perhaps it's time I got rid of that little prejudice of mine. Think about it - save the trees while saving money. And since our money is made of paper, I guess saving money can help save more trees too!

Anyway, I bundled up the old papers, and with many a heave and a grunt, brought it all to my car (although not before attempting to take some arty shots of old newspapers - yes, I'm a shutterwhore, but one who's uses digital photographs rather than printed ones so I'm not consuming more trees there). I then drove out to a junkyard to scrap it all. Just like that, that humongous pile of papers was suddenly reduced to two measly pieces of paper...

And they call this recycling? Shouldn't I be getting an equivalent amount of dollar bills in weight or even volume? Grrr. Save the trees, I tell myself, save the trees....

Of Spit Bubbles And Baby Babble

Having a baby in the house definitely changes the dynamics of the family. For one thing, while I still call my mom and dad, "Mom" and "Dad" (well to be honest I use Chinese versions rather than those), my mom has taken to calling me "Uncle". And she calls my brother "Daddy".

Oh fuck. It sounds really wrong now that I've actually put it down in words... -shudder-

And does the baby call us that? Of course not. She's still learning her blabber. Right now her vocab consists of "babababa" and "umumumum" and the spluttering "brrbrrrbrrbrrrbrr" when she finds a teaspoon of water in front of her lips. What she's actually trying to say (if she's saying anything at all) is anybody's guess.

Sometimes, in the absence of water in teaspoons, she accumulates enough saliva to blow spit bubbles instead. We watch her do it and laugh. She's a baby. She's allowed to be infantile.

The world certainly does revolve around a new baby. As one of my cousins had remarked, "If you wondered where everyone in the house went, just look for the baby."

Sure enough. Everyone would inevitably surround the baby. Watching her sleep. Watching her play. Watching her laugh. Watching her eat her baby goo. Watching her look around at everybody.

But what to do? She is simply adorable! I know I'm sounding like a biased uncle but well, have a look for yourself ;)

Morning, Mmm Mmm Mmm

There are days when I manage to pull myself out of bed early enough to take a little time to sit down at the coffeeshop and have a morning meal before I head into the office. I like doing that. The morning's still early enough not to be hot, and the air is about as fresh as it can get - though I wouldn't ask for too much, considering I live in a city built in a valley, and especially not in these times of horrifyingly humid haze. But I digress...

There is something nice and nostalgic about sitting down in a freshly pressed shirt to enjoy freshly prepared breakfast. Reading news fresh from the day's papers. Sipping on a hot cup of fresh kopi o. Served with a cute, fresh-faced brown-skinned foreign boy.

...

Oh.

I meant "by". Served by.

Ahem.

Yes, it's always nice to have a fresh start on a new day. Pity how often it just goes downhill from there.

Happy*

Sometimes, it is enough to tell oneself so.

Faking it with conviction, hard enough for long enough, and perhaps one may just convince oneself that it is indeed true.

Sometimes it is enough. But only just sometimes.

happy

Life is filled and thus fulfilled
with belts and scarves and silver rings;
with all the finer frills of life
and the company of pretty things.

Seventy shirts in myriad colours
speak of skin-deep joy;
ticks or stripes on shorts and shoes
bring out the inner boy.

A bright latte can make the day
as could a choc-banana cake.
Ice-cream just about anywhere, anytime,
splendidly sooths the soul's ache.

Life is filled and thus fulfilled,
bought with every last dime of pay.
"Happy, I'm happy," I hear myself say,
hoping I'd believe it one fine day.

Lovely Days

Oh how lovely day! The prefect ambient of romantic air with the shrouderly smog. Little friends! Let's outgoing for gay play.

Just spent the last four days driving around Johor. I can definitely report that the haze does not discriminate. It stretches from the central valley all the way to the southern straights. Admittedly, it's less thick down in the south. But I didn't quite appreciate driving around in such conditions, my little attempt at writing a pencil case saying as above notwithstanding.

Here's how it looked on the way down, Monday:

Putrjaya, API ~170


Seremban, API ~170


Malacca, API ~100


Johor Bahru, API ~70

Well, to take a break from the monotony of the haze, I decided to change the hazardous driving conditions around a bit the next day. OK, so I didn't decide it, it just happened.

And what happened was a sudden downpour. Actually it was more of a sidepour, the way the wind was gusting. Yes, the whole braches-falling-and-roof-tiles-flying works.

Oh, please! It's just a.. a drizzle!

Well good thing the drizzle didn't last too long because I had to go venture off the well-tarred road and onto hard dirt.

Just red earth and stones and oil palms. Lots and lots of oil palms.


The dirt road went on for miles and miles and miles...


26 kilometers, to be exact. ONE WAY.

Incidentally, I was already halfway to a national park by the time I hit my destination.

Anyway, fun as it was driving and breathing in all that haze, I'm glad to be back. It's still hazy but at least I don't have to spend entire days driving through it. They say it will clear up soon. They'd better be right. For once.

the blame of moonlight and music

caught in the wake of a glance
a smile chanced on a smile
sight lacked light, but hands
soon had found their way

introduction: this is
lip and ear and chest; meet
touch and scent and taste

two boys claiming a crescendo
entwined in a motion
where thigh grazes thigh then
grazes thigh again. lash
touching lash
questing, questioning
what happens next?

caught in the swell of a song
word tangled upon word
heart lacked voice, but hands
soon had found their way

translation: this is
finger, thumb and palm; mean
want and hope and warmth

two chords claiming a crescendo
entwined in emotion
where eye grazes eye then
grazes eye again. knee
touching knee
questing, questioning
what happens next?

The Phantasmanaut

We were parked at the job site, half of the work team outside, doing whatever it was they were doing. Another colleague sat in the pilot's seat.

"Wanna try driving this thing?" he asked.

Well, hell yeah.

So, in our mirrored helmets and silvery suits, we got the space pod aloft and flew around the surface of the moon.

You'd think the moon would be a cold and desolate place. Actually, it was busy. Real busy. Rows of shops clustered in the business centres, many of them coffeeshops or mamak restaurants with their bright unimaginative signboards, all packed with the supper crowd that spilled into the streets and the alleyways. Of course it was a supper crowd. It was always midnight on this side of the moon.

Which was when I realised something was really odd. I mean, here I was in my nifty space pod, dressed in my fabulous spacesuit, yet out there were a hundred or more people talking and laughing and eating their maggi mee goreng or roti pisang, and wearing nothing but their pasar-malam-purchased t-shirts (or singlets) and shorts. What about oxygen? Is it not way below freezing? No need protection from radiation meh?

Oops. Been dreaming way past my wake-up call again. Damn.

Strange how it was that I dreamed of being out there. Like, way out there. Was it all the travelling I've been doing? Could it be that some subconscious part of me misses site supervisory work? Maybe it's a premonition about our nation's first astronaut (hopefully the poster boy, of course) having to endure space without roti canai? Or Wingedman's frequent chatter about flight stimulation simulation?

Maybe it's a sign it's time to take a break and get away. Far, far away.

Oh Look. Still Him

Once in a while I get desperate enough for some reading material, any reading material, while I have my lunch that I'd actually resort to buying a mag not printed for the sole purpose of showing off hot men. So I picked up a local rag today that I do read every once in a while because they do unearth some pretty cool things every now and then. Of course, mags like these would more likely feature some hot women than a hot male.

Or so I thought.

From the Oct 2006 issue of KLue

And by hot male, I didn't mean Kenny (no offense, but...).

Well, I guess it really is cool to be gay. But we already knew that, didn't we? ;-)

Are You Ready?

If you said "Jump!", I'd say "How high?"
If you said "Run!", I'd run and fly
Just for the chance, just for the moment
Should the moment pass us by
Debbie Gibson : We Could Be Together

Oops. Wrong jumping song. Blame it on Jono for singing it in my car the other night. Between us, we have this unenviable ability to drag the 80's kicking and screaming back to life.

Then again, it was also Jono who told me about this latest video.

Nah. Here's the right one. Click the pic to see the preview ;-)


Talk about "fairification". The mama's looking like a piece malleable porcelain!

Kicking Off The Final Quarter

How bazaar. With the numerous seasonal stalls set up beneath the blaze of the evening sun, sizzling and simmering with such delicacies like ayam percik, murtabak, and char kuey tiao, I could, for a tiny moment, imagine the limited visibility on my drive home was due to the sheer volume of aromatic smoke rising from the grilling of innumerable fats. Alas, no. It was the damned haze.

BodyBalance #34. They said this release wasn't so difficult. They neglected to mention the 8 agonising minutes of standing strength.

BodyJam #38. Honestly, I'm not that much of a diehard BodyJammer. Having said that, I'm loving this release more than I'm liking the latest BodyBalance. Fun fun fun!

BodyAttack #54. Haven't done this yet. Hope to find the time for it soon. Meantime, I hear one of the tracks will feature Hung Up - a timely reminder that the past twelve months were indeed The Year of Madonna.

Zoom. Don't ask me why but I've been watching one brainless movie after another. Saves me from having to think, I guess. This latest one is probably the dumbest one yet. Still, it's bimbo-ically funny (or painfully annoying, depending on how you see it) to see little Ryan Newman in her role (yes, Ryan's a girl) as the superstrong six-year old who alternates between frilly pink costumes and fluffy pink costumes. Her "I'm a Princess!" declaration was uncannily similar to dear Princess Willa's. Perhaps the tiny terror sought coaching from our HRH?

Kittybrick. The newest craze courtesy of the evil breeders at McD's. Bearbrick does Hello Kitty in an unholy cross-species coupling, or simply Pussy in Disguise?