Purgation

The atmosphere was dry with tension and quiet anticipation. I had myself upright on the chair, instead of my laid-back lean with my European leg cross on, one lap neatly crossed over the other, a sign of confidence or utter nonchalance. Today was a big day, and my body language knew it. I even had my shoes on.

The class made an effort to cheer on everyone who went up front to get their results, but we gave up and shut ourselves up a few names later. I kept myself quiet too. I just wanted to calm these rattlesnakes in my stomach. The room temperature dialed up a notch. I calmly flexed my neck. Air bubbles quietly cracked away. I had a fair amount of confidence, but something had my head held in my hands.

As atrocious as my Malay had been, I was pretty much expecting a golden A1. An A2 would mean a good deal, maybe a few cockups here and there. B3 would mean going through this roller coaster from hell again. I didn't have any thoughts about getting any lower grade, partly cause I wasn't that pessimistic, but mostly cause I would be too busy hanging myself on a noose if I did. Anyway.

My teacher had himself announcing names along with said students' grade, so that didn't spoil the surprise for me at all. Nor all my buddies.

When my name was called, I briefly got up and quietly grabbed the sheet of paper, all the time forgetting he'd mention my grade. Of course, I was duly reminded, at just the most opportune time possible.

B3.

I hadn't even returned to my seat yet. Hell, I hadn't managed to ready myself psychologically for a B3. My spine went numb with cold. I flipped up the paper. There it was. My eyes screened through the badly photocopied piece of paper and stop at my grade.

B-friggin-3.

I felt my face going white and my legs going weak.The room suddenly went cold. I plopped onto my chair, dumbstruck. My buddy beside me would later remark that I'd immediately shut up after I got my results.

B3.

I didn't know what to feel. Anger? Pity? Contempt?  Holy cow, I felt the lump forming in my throat and salty tears hurting my eyes with the fake lenses. Shit don't cry, I thought. There are kids dying in Africa.

Somehow knowing kids are dying in Africa is supposed to cheer people up and make things better. It doesn't. Stop doing that, anyone trying to cheer anybody up. Anyway.

I manage to hold back the tears though. I was just not myself for majority of this shitshow.

B3. I chuckled in disbelief to myself. Unbelievable.

I had to face my friends afterwards and keep a stiff upper lip smiling and congratulating them on their guaranteed A1s. Yes yes, good for you! Congratulations, it all paid off! Damn, don't get too cocky! I knew you could do it! I saw them cheer and rejoice between themselves and laugh and generally be happy with their results. I looked on a distance away, alone and pitiful as I was. I felt alone and I felt left behind.

The lump was acting up again. My smile flinches, oblivious to everyone, of course. My day was done. Get all these thoughts out. Time to partition the depression and bounce back. Life still goes on, and so do five other subjects.

B3 though straight up unbelievable.

Do Me a Favour - Arctic Monkeys

What makes me happy?

• Milk. Nothing to rouse the spirits than some calcium in the body. The refreshing feel of the milk running down my throat cheers me anyday of the week. If only it was neither expensive nor harmful if taken too much.
• Music. A haven from the real world, escaping to a utopia where anything that can happen, will happen. Sounds you thought never existed, feelings unfathomable pieced beautifully in an amazing cocktail of words and rhythm. It's like daydreaming but with audio. And no picture. I don't think I need to elaborate more bahahaha.
• Reading and writing. Another refuge from reality. Think watching a movie, but more rewarding. Besides the vast imagination that isn't limited to certain imagery (ahem movies), you improve your language and exposure and tend to look more intelligent too. And you are. Hahaha.
• Discovery. Meeting a new friend, seeing new places, finding a stack of old photos, listening to a new album. There's not much to top off being able to add some new zest to my daily routine of boredom.
• Guitaring. It's a hobby, what do you expect?

Of Monsters and Men - Mountain Sound

Insanity.

Disclaimer: I am(visually) fine!!!!

Really though. I'm tired of explaining what little they can understand from whatever I went through regarding my vision. What's important, is that my vision is fine, all praises to Allah, and that I'm just long-sighted and therefore need spectacles. But of course, I should explain what exactly happened and what's gonna happen nao.

Here goes.

Let's go right back to the surgery itself. Two surgeries, two weeks, two eyes, and a lot of money. The lenses in my eyes are surgically removed and replaced with a pair of synthetic lenses, also called intraocular lens. 

These pair of lenses are monofocal, meaning they can only focus through one area. Similar to camera lenses, it basically means I can only focus on one area, near or far, or whatever, really. One will be made blur and the other as clear as daylight on a sunny beach. These lenses are made to a certain degree such that I am long-sighted. I had two other choices where I could be short-sighted and need spectacles for distance sports like, er, well, sports. (you can see why I ditched it) or be long on one and short on the other, which while sounding like the best of both worlds, it takes a /lot/ of getting used to. 

Anyway, back to the surgery. Post surgery recovery time constitutes getting used to the fake lenses, which took nearest makes no difference, a month. After (painfully, I should add) waiting out the month, I get a pair of spectacles ready. This pair of spectacles are no different than your normal spectacles, the only difference being that they're for long-sighted eyes, so they enable me to be near-sighted, hence affectionately being called "reading glasses."

After everything, I'm basically the same person, but better. My long vision is almost spot on, halos aside, and my near vision crap, hence the glasses. I have to admit I rely on my spectacles with simple activities like reading and writing (none of these two for a month I was dead) (I couldn't have sports too and that basically rammed the damn hammer into the coffin beside the final nail) (yep) and that makes for a bit of trouble. I also suck at distance related activities, like gauging when to smack the shit out of a shuttlecock or anticipating a volley to shoot the ball into the roof of the net.

I don't regret anything though. If this is what's planned by powers beyond myself, then I will follow through. I apologise in advance if my new found vision makes me a worse sportsman and a troublesome person in essence. 

Nostalgia

Unsub #792347

The first word thing that comes to mind when I think of this person is his manners. It seems as if it was something ingrained deep in his upbringing till now. You don't have to be a psychologist or some behavioral expert to know the person in front of you is being genuinely nice. You just feel it and take a moment to appreciate it.


He's your hybrid of phlegmatic and sanguine, a person with influence where his peers rate him highly, if not better than themselves, oozing with charisma while also being pretty laid-back with a very affable nature. He won't cut you down and reject you the first time you meet him, instead if not a close acquaintance of this fellow, you'd just be on good terms with no bad blood in between.


With that in mind, while being on the best of terms with this guy is a great plus, you do not wish to be enemies with him. No keed. The influential character he possesses will bring the common society between you two against you in particular, much like opposing a social worker, so unless you can measure up to the EQ on display or you just love to be a loner with no friends, you're better off just getting along.


If I had a message to this person, besides revising it over and over again to rid of anything incriminating, I'd say I really like you, I believe you have a bright future, you're intelligent while at the same time possess the social intellect many smart people assume they've already mastered. But you have to start mixing with the right friends, you can't progress any better than the people you mix around with, and it's already an issue if you're miles, if not eons better off than your pals. I wish you all the best, control your emotions, and stay cool. Peace.


Do you know who he is?

Purgation

"I'm already here. Where are you?"

Matt hesitated sending the text message. It sounded too clingy, too annoying, the kind you get from a silly child incessantly tugging at your sleeve for attention. Then again, he was going to leave for a couple of years and probably wouldn't be seeing her again.

He sent the message on its way.

"I'm here." To his surprise, it didn't came in text but instead as a voice from behind him.

Matthew looked up, as if she was in front of him. He fiddled with his phone and pulled the earpieces off his ears, trying to occupy himself as he got up and turned round.

"Um, hey," was all Matt could say, still struggling to force the phone down his back pocket. He was hunched over and had his hands groping his rear rather awkwardly, and it made good entertainment for some onlookers.

Her included.

Matt could make out a stifled laugh from all the commotion, and he had no doubt from whom it came from. Isabella was still standing, waiting for Matt to get himself settled, her left hand concealing a giggle. Matthew wanted to quickly continue and shake off the empathy he was getting.

"Why don't we walk for a bit?" Matt suggested, still red-faced. He had been contemplating what to say, but he decides, against his better judgement, to ditch whatever makeshift script he had printed in his mind and play it by ear. Matthew wasn't one to fake things, and definitely not now.

Isabella was content to follow whatever Matthew had in mind. After receiving an invitation to the park by text, she figured he probably had something in mind that needed expressing. After all, he is leaving for London in a couple of days. She wasn't due for home for some time anyway.

The path Matt chose was, in a nutshell, a narrow trail of flat stones that led through the park, a path preferred by cyclists. Matthew knew this, and trudged along the grass as Isabella took more effortless steps on the rocks, while the occasional cycling enthusiast whizzed by, too fast to overhear their conversation, at the same time deterring other curious walkers from hanging around.

For a moment, the two walked in silence, Matthew busying himself kicking a small pebble as he walked along, while Isabella silently watched, waiting for him to tell her why she was here. Soon, Matt gave up on the pebble and cleared his throat.

"So anyway, thanks for agreeing to come. I didn't think you would, you know," Matt started.

"Let's not go there, Matt. We've been through it countless times already."

"I know. I don't wanna discuss that," Matt uttered in reply. He wasn't planning on leaving the damned place with more contrition.

"Anyway," Matthew continues, "You already know I'm gonna be leaving this place for a pretty long time, right?"

Isabella nodded slowly. Here we go, she thought to herself.

"Yeah. Anyway, I just thought I'd see you for a bit, you know?" Matt was trying as hard as possible to be honest but still cautious with his words. Any foolhardy sarcasm or irony wasn't about to help.

She didn't say anything for a while. Maybe she didn't catch the half question, maybe she just wanted to leave his sorry ass and go home, maybe she was thinking of something nice to say, maybe she nodded instead of saying something, Matt's mind was running amok.

"Isabella?" Matt urged, finally turning round and waving a hand in front of her glazed eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that," she said laughingly. She broke gaze and brushed away his hand, thoroughly amused at Matt's edginess.

"So um, when do you leave for London?"

"Too soon?" Matt chuckled in reply. "I leave in a couple of weeks. Right now, I'm just trying to clean up my mess here before leaving."

"What mess are you trying to clean here?" Isabella queried.

"That's a long story, though."

Isabella strolled on and blocked off Matt's path, staring into him with her pleading brown eyes.

"Okay, okay, okay." Matt relented.

Unsub #587626

This is the description of a man I encounter everyday. Your average teen guy, an unhealthy obsession with fitness, extreme sports and general negligence of what matters at such a tender age as his.

You will see him everyday, but shrug him off as just another showy man with nothing underneath. And how. He takes part in the cool things and neglects the mainstream, and thinks himself a loner with no friends. Negativity is cool, he'd say to his friends people around him. That's what he thinks anyway. It's a bit of a tough statement to the people who entertain him on a daily basis because they're called his friends. He's a pushover. Pushovers are generally like that.

But he's different, this guy is. He believes he mixes around well, and gets along with everyone. And he does. His friends value him for who he is, an outgoing and affable man. He isn't well exposed, and doesn't take kindly to criticism. It seems professionalism and diplomacy is lost on him. Advice isn't well received either but then that's always typical of him. He occasionally reeks of insecurity too. So how does he tackle it?

Cover it up with a huge ego, of course. Plastering it all over the superficial stuff. Pity. All that's needed is a but more effort at improving himself. But then again, criticism isn't his cup of tea. Denial is such a horrible disease. Do I like him? I'd say so. I don't think he considers me somebody better than him though. Not that it matters, anyway. I've got bigger fish to fry.

Do I have a message for him? Sure man. If you're reading this, it's time to wake up and focus on the important shit you don't wanna regret neglecting. I can help you, but only if you help yourself. You may think I'm better than you and therefore don't give a damn, but I'm just trying to help. Pull yourself together, and let's get out of this hard place between the two rocks.

Do you know who he is?

Imagine Dragons - Radioactive

Flying

Silence blanketed the stadium like a blanket daintily dropped into the area. The runners were hunched down in their starting positions, awaiting the sound of the revolver pistol clapper to set them off. The tension choked in my lungs as the clapper was leveled before the two pieces of plywood were snapped into each other.

I hugged my legs tighter and watched on as the junior kids made their way through the 200 metres through the finishing line. The senior runners took refuge in the shade of the trees and eagerly anticipated the finish. I was too busy burying my head in my hands to notice who had won. Then it was the turn of the seniors.

I was initially dumbfounded as to which lane, but I found an empty lane where the others had taken theirs. The sixth lane put me visually in front, and I found myself thankful. A placebo never hurt nobody right?

The command was given to get ready. My hands were felt sticky on the ground, my arms locked (yeah bad move) at the elbows and a million things ran through my mind. The second command was given. Butts up. My head hung on the perch of my spine, and the butterflies are starting to find their way up my stomach. I grazed my feet on the red track, the spikes catching the grip and emanating a raspy scratch. Then the clapper went off.

The first few steps had already put me past the only guy I had in my sights. If the placebo was working, then holy shit it's working. I picked up the pace through the curve, left arms and limbs waving further, the steps hectic and the breathing more hectic. I've been through a lot of hectic stuff though, and this time the crowd at the grandstands took the cake, going manic with enthusiasm and noise. The home straight was looming ahead, and the empty track of red almost glistened against the sunlight.

It's all for the taking now.

Then a silhouette came into view from the corner of my left. Syakir emerged from one of the inner lanes, arms and legs pumping through into the lead. Following suit in another lane was Hadi, the green from his shirt almost protuberant against the swelteringly bright sun. He too, was running on pretty hard, barely keeping up behind my teammate, if not at all. The gap between us was about to open up, and the lactic acid was starting to engulf my body.

But all this was expected of course. The two were naturally dogged athletes, Syakir with the built physique and Hadi with the persistent stamina one would marvel at. I would, anyway. But I had good reason to believe I could take them on. Syakir had come into the race at the back of a 400m dash with three other guys in the relay event, and could only continue going on for so long, and Hadi, as good as he was, was only a junior stepping up to the senior events. I only had on them a pair of long legs and and an illusion of the lead fast evaporating, but I had to make it count.

I pumped on even harder, spurred on by that micron of a chance to get a gold. The crowd was going amok, their predictions on the eventual winners being made vocally clear through my right ear. I willed myself on past Hadi and with only Syakir to beat. The adrenaline was now starting to take over and my mind was turning into a frenzy, and ten final metres stretched ahead.

At this point, a 1-2 Wind finish was nothing but the best result, regardless of who came first. But per my overly competitive spirit, I would run myself to the ground to try and snatch pole position, only to fail to do so by a mere couple of seconds in second place. What's 400 metres to this guy, anyway, I thought. He's quite the remarkable athlete.

I avoided the trailing ribbon of red finishing line, before coming to a stop and bending over in prostration, quietly thanking Allah. I turned ahead to Syakir, who, on his knees and hunched over, looked half-dead from six hundred metres of sprinting. I made my way over and helped him on his feet.    We made our way back to the stands, exhausted.

Two more events to go, I thought. Two more shots at taking gold.

I'm Coming Home

Q&A

I guess the time will probably come where someone will well and truly ask me about the ubiquitous craze that is Kpop.


I don't like it. I really don't like it. I really really don't like it. I don't hold any hard feelings against it though cause music is a subjective kinda thing; no matter how far fetched or radical it may be, but if you like it then it's music. Below is a few paragraphs why I'm sticking to my guns and not embracing the K-wave for now, and probably for ever. It's time I reasoned myself out of something so superficial yet such a huge deal.

1. My heart is dead set somewhere else.
  The first and probably the biggest reason I'm not into it is because I'm ingrained in the world of rock. I've grown up along the likes of almost everything that has six strings and isn't Korean, and I'm not feeling the transition anytime soon, and probably not ever. Perhaps when that one interesting track comes around, it might be the catalyst. But that's a bold statement. A really bold statement.

2. Doesn't cut the mustard.
  It just doesn't. I don't feel the goosebumps, I don't feel the passion, I don't feel any emotion. It's bland, synthetic, recycled pop. It's under the influence of the west anyway, so why make the switch from the pioneers to the posers?

3. Old school vs New school.
  The old geezers you irk seeing them still performing today are the ones that did it the had way, guys. We had no internet, we had no viral tactic to get a fast ticket to the top. They huffed and puffed and clawed their musical arses up the ladder in the music industry, and they deserve the legendary status they have earned today. Nowadays, you just need a pretty face, some voice-transforming technology, a catchy tune, crappy references in your lyrics, and you're dead set with a hugely overrated image of the artist you claim to be. It was much harder back then. Kpop just doesn't float the boat, much less mine.

4. Is it really for the music?
  So is it? It's a question I think should strike home for some of us. For now there seems to be more hype about the looks than the sounds that these looks make. That's not the point of it all, is it? I don't follow a band cause of their looks. I follow bands because of their music. It's listening to them through the radio and enjoying yourself, not about raping the replay button on their music videos and mainly focusing on their looks and telling everyone about their unrealistically attractive faces.

5. The ignorance is strong. Too strong.
  Let's be reasonable here. Don't tell me what I'm listening to is utter garbage when said utter garbage is the same track listened to by many other millions in this world, reaching silver, gold, even platinum in terms of sales. Don't tell me I'm listening to rubbish when these artists are one of the biggest names in music itself, the biggest names in their countries, the biggest names in the world. Why switch? Your kpop artists most probably are fans themselves of these names I listen to, if not copying them. I'm not saying kpop artists are rubbish. I'm saying you should look at the stats.


This isn't a hatefest. This isn't a jab at you kpoppers. I'm just answering your question. Peace!

Blast from the past

Cut the skin to the bone
Fall asleep all alone
Hear your voice in the dark
Lose myself in your eyes
Choke my voice Say goodnight
As the world falls apart
Fuck I can't let this kill me, let go
I need some more time to fix this

Here's a letter for you
But the words get confused
And the conversation dies
Apologize for the past
Talk some shit take it back
Are we cursed to this life?

Fuck I can't let this kill me, let go
I need some more time to fix this problem
I need some more time to fix this problem
I need some more time to fix this

I'm talking to the ceiling
My life just lost all meaning
Do one thing for me tonight
I'm dying in this silence

The last star left in heaven
Is falling down to earth and
Do you still feel the same way?
Do you still feel the same way?

Fuck I can't let this kill me, let go
I need some more time to fix this problem
I need some more time to fix this problem
I need some more time to fix this

Purgation

Henry couldn't sleep at night. His first mission out on the field was a success on paper, but he wasn't feeling too smug. Sat up against the wall, he hugged his feet and rested his chin on his knees, staring out the window of the bunker, the glow of the moonlight only showing his defeated silhouette and a faint glint from his eyes.

"You okay, kid?" a familiar voice echoed from the darkness. Henry didn't flinch. A tall figure emerged and joined Henry, sitting alongside with long legs stretched on the floor.

Ridley was a veteran around these parts, having been in service for over ten years in the army. But behind the broad shoulders and war-hardened face was a man with a big heart, and tonight he's here to help the rookie catch hold of the harsh reality of war.

"I can't get that face outta my head, Ridley. It's crazy. This doesn't feel like war, man." Henry mumbled silently. He mumbles a bit again before letting out a long breath of air.

____________________

It was supposed to be a simple task. Breach, secure the sensitive documents, leave, and don't die. You always had to add that last bit, they always said. Henry always nervously laughed it off. Sure, death comes thick and fast around these neck of woods, but then again these men loved exaggerating and making a job as a soldier defying death everyday seem like any ordinary 9 to 5 day job.

The door was slightly ajar. Henry took point and discreetly nudged it open, creaks of friction between rust and metal emanating from the hinges. As a dwelling place for sensitive documents, the interior was more cleaner than expected, somewhat refined, almost. He pointed to a kettle on the stove just to the right.  One of his squad mates felt its side. Immediately he withdrew his hand, wringing it in reply.

Someone was still around. 

Henry beckoned his team back into formation, and proceeded on sweeping the house. No sooner than we had reached the first door did Henry get his first piece of action. Nonchalantly walking through doorway, a sudden crack of shattering glass resonated throughout the household. Looking down against the dim lighting, Henry notices the fishing wire still taut against his ankles. 

"Tripwire!"

What happened next was a blur. The swing of a door further up the corridor. The crack of gunfire against the still of the night. The shouts of locals and Henry's own men amidst the crackles of their weapons. The bullets whizzing through the air. The shriek of pain as the insurgent was shot to his grave. 

Henry wasn't involved. He was too engrossed on an outline of a person behind the insurgent. Before he died in a spectacular fireworks of 5.56 NATO rounds, of course.

He had contemplated shooting at the figure, but then it didn't really involve itself in the crossfire, opting rather to watch on. It was only after the gunshots had stopped, after Henry's men started to march on, did the figure rush forward, instigating Henry to line up his sights. But then it stopped at the lifeless body, blood now pooling, crimson red against the faint lighting.

It was a kid, Henry thought. He could hear sniffles and quiet moans of the child, probably mourning the loss of a brother, maybe even a father. 

Abi...abi....abi...father...father..father...

The boy then looked up, eyes locked with intent on Henry's. The vague illumination did nothing to cushion the cocktail of anger, sadness and helplessness all radiating from two brown eyes. 

"Henry, let's go, come on!"

Henry didn't hesitate, quickly getting back on his feet and carrying on with the team, but not before taking a last glance at the kid, now slowly diminishing from sight as he walked away. 

__________

"How do you do it, man? How do you not break down seeing all that?" 

Henry looked up. Ridley's answer was simple.

"I don't, man."

 "When you come across these people, these civilians of the country, you can do anything, but you never look into those eyes of theirs. Look at their foreheads, look at their feet, anywhere. The pain showing from them eyes will crack you up."

NOT GIVING IN

An actual post for the new year

I haven't posted anything that's actually relevant to my real life so far since last year(old joke ha ha ha) so why not start now? The other posts are just what dribbles out of my salivating mind when it stresses out so again, welcome to the pipework of my human brain and the thoughts that are surrounding it. This blog is a catharsis of feelings, opinions and  facts. It is neither a journal limited to the rules of mainstream media, nor is it a personal notebook you keep at the bottom of your bag and do the occasional scribble on it on Geography lessons (whoops).

Shall we get to it then?

2013!!!!!

Yes it has, almost 17 days ago, that the year 2012 has left and along came a new 2013, one I'm anticipating to be one of the biggest years as a secondary student, what with O Levels and graduations and the like. Did I get a cliched list of new year resolutions? Not really, but as a general hopes and dreams kinda thing, I

- Wanna get bloody good grades and make a statement for myself

- Be a better man physically, mentally and spiritually

- Help my friends towards success, as stupidly ambitious as it sounds

- Be closer to my parents. Like really. Time runs and doesn't stop for shiz.

- Move on from the past. I'm a pretty flawed human being.

Change brings about a cocktail of emotions.

As well it has, for this year I undergo a huge change in environment, from a new school, to new classmates, to new challenges. And like the bold and underlined heading above, it brings a whole cocktail of emotions. Honestly, change is nice. Get out of your comfort zone and all that new age zen bull manure. But really, at such a sensitive time? No thanks. I'd take how it was last year, and I'd take it back with arms open wide. I can't say I'm not trying though, but as always, there's always a hint of doubt for the others. I am all in, my priority here is already listed above, and while I'm ready to accept it, I get the feeling others are treating it as utter bull. I can't help them with that, as nice as I want to be. All I can do is just be myself and push on. 

Where survival of the fittest matters, the heart will interrupt and break your head. Soon you're sacrificing yourself for something you never saw worthy.

The future, the present, and the past.

To round it off, I thought I'd round up these three things pretty concisely and pretty nicely for you lot. The past has taught me lots of stuff, which will be shared hopefully in future posts, the present is currently ramming huge turnips up my youknowhat, and the future? I'm torn up between aerospace and mass communication. They're literally the divide between the two parts of the brain, the technical, calculative side preferring learning bout a boyhood dream of being a pilot, and a more expressive, outgoing and creative mind wanting to travel the world and give opinions, write articles and express feelings to the worldwide world. How goes?

"Some'll laugh and some just sit and cry, you just sit down there and you wonder why."

TSGTHSAITOHM

Welcome to the first edition of a number of short posts I'd like to call The Short Guide To Handling Society And It's Truckload Of Horse Manure, or TSGTHSAITOHM for short, which doesn't seem short at all. In these brief posts I will share some information and opinion on my experiences interacting with the masses. And hopefully you guys would maybe understand, even benefit from these few paragraphs of advice and fast typing. Shall we get to it then?


Never take things at face value.
It is what it is. The superficial appearance of a person can always be what it is, but who's to say it won't go belly up and turn out to be a idiotic stuck up wanker? Exactly. Unless you know said person inside out then it's always nice to be wary of company. If it's a new face, try to see what said person is like when the limits are off. A chameleon adapts to its environment, so let's give him a neutral one and see how he blends in. And see for yourself, really.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
Lending from Mario Puzo, this quote is probably the reason the Don was Don, and why he had the whole of NY in his hands in The Godfather. So what does it mean? Well, in a very complicated and deceptive world of politics, keeping one's enemy closer than his or her friend would be keeping tabs on how your enemies are getting along, knowing his or her strengths and weaknesses and generally being on good terms with them. What you do with that knowledge, though, isn't mentioned in this quote, so be responsible lads.

If you're a leader, be a leader.
We go through this every time. You're elected by your peeps to be a leader of sorts. Or maybe by authority higher than them. Or maybe you just happened to volunteer. Now I've had my fair share of leadership time, and probably the biggest advice I can give to budding leaders is to be one. So when am I not a leader? One of the ways I'd use often is to compare yourself with a dictator. Dictators are leaders. Just really bad ones. Dictators make their decisions for other people based on themselves, while leaders make decisions for other people that are actually based on other people. Always discuss decisions with your group, delegate jobs, do your own, do it well, and generally spread that power you get from leadership. The decisions you make should be the one that takes everyone forward, not just your own sorry ass. It's lonely on top.

Keep distance.
This is probably a controversial and weird, if not unacceptable advice, but trust me on this. I'm not implying you should deprive yourself of society like a fool, what I'm implying is that you should mix around, and mix around well when you do, but back off when you see it necessary. You see, to the general public that doesn't know you, you're only defined by the company you have. If you see yourself having better days in seclusion, then by all means. Being alone has its benefits too, prime of which is having no perceptions to fulfil. It's an experience beyond words. Try it.

Be yourself.
This is probably the last thing one does when in a group. You see, in a group there's always the infuential one that everyone will look to fit in with so that they'd be good buds and hopefully wrest out some of that influence. But what that does generally is turn the group into a cult following, and that influential wanker is playing kingpin. And he knows it. So be yourself, you're obligated to follow no one, and vice versa. This way, the friends you /do/ get are genuine acquaintances that want you. You'd want that too, don't you?

Till next time.

Three Days Grace- Last To Know

She just walked away.
Why didn't she tell me
And where do I go tonight
This isn't happening to me
This can't be happening to me
She didn't say a word
Just walked away
You were the first to say
That we were not ok
You were the firt to lie
When we were not alright
This was my first love
She was teh first to go
And when she left me for you
I was the last to know
Why didn't she tell me
Where to go tonight
She didn't say a word
She just walked away
You were the first to say
That we were not ok
You were the first to lie
When we were not alright
This was my first love
She was the firs to go
And when she left me for you
I was the last to know

I'll be the first to say
That now I'm ok
And for the first time
I've opened up my eyes
This was my worst love
You'll be the first to go
And when she leaves you for dead
You'll be the last to know

I'll be the first to say
That now I'm ok
And for the first time
I've opened up my eyes
This was my worst love
You'll be the first to go
And when she leaves you for dead
You'll be the last to know

Purgation

Second Lieutenant Patrick Sterling chugs down water from his water container. Pat Sterling is currently due next week to return to his native Singapore after his military service here in Kabul. The SAF has attached the promising soldier to a team sent out to help alleviate the situation in the Afghan capital, working alongside the Delta Force from the US, and the SAS of the UK.

On this particular morning, Pat slumps over the tank hatch to the turret of the M1 Abrams, 6 (or 8 after economy inflation) million dollars worth of metal and destruction. He is supposed to keep watch for any suspicious targets, and he is doing so with a scale model of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, a toy he'd brought along which reminded him of his son's birthday a mere two days from his return.

"Come on now, Pat. If you miss something out because of a toy and we all get blown to heaven, I'm not gonna blame the dinosaur, I'm gonna blame the kid playing with it!" A fellow trooper boomed from inside the tank. Pat wasn't paying any attention though, he seems transfixed on the toy and all the memories that came with it. Warnings were put around the tank to ward people away from a 100- metre radius of the tank so he wasn't really worried.

 Unless of course, they wanted 50 calibers worth of shrapnel lodged into them. A poke at his feet from the barrel of a rifle jolts him from his trance.

"Pat! Target 12 o'clock, civilian on your six!"

Pat craned his head back. So it was. He puts the toy down and waves his hand away, signalling for the civilian to move away, but to no avail. Pat sighs and reluctantly gets out and drops neatly beside the tank. Wielding his assault rifle, he too walks toward the civilian, a little girl, still motioning for her to go.

"You have two minutes, or we will open fire," the voice crackled from his radio. He could already hear the mechanical whirr as the tank took aim.


Soon the little kid was looking up at the heavily armed Pat. The stolid man crouched and again, motioned for the girl to go, mouthing the words, "go". The girl had tears in her eyes and didn't acknowledge the hand motions.

Soon though, Pat realises why. The nondescript vest she was wearing had wires running throughout it and a red light seemed to emanate from it.

And it was blinking.

Yellowcard - Rivertown Blues

Here I go again
Another leap of faith
I close my eyes and wait to fall
I see a future in which I will soon become
The only truth you know at all
You wanna know what I'm thinking
I think about back then

Back when we built something new
The world was ours to conquer
And we were not afraid to lose ourselves
Somewhere inside this, you changed
And I could never follow you that way

I miss you madly and it's raining on the coast
I'm supposed to say "this was your loss", and "I'm fine"
I stare for hours at these numbers in my hand
But ringing you would mend your heart, and break mine
You wanna know what I'm thinking
I think about back then

Back when we built something new
The world was ours to conquer
And we were not afraid to lose ourselves
Somewhere inside this, you changed
And I could never follow you that way

(Sometimes I dream)
We laugh 'til we cry
(With smoke in our eyes)
Just like old times
Never again
That was back then

Back when we built something new
The world was ours to conquer
And we were not afraid to lose ourselves
Somewhere inside this, you changed
And I could never follow you that way

Somewhere inside this, you changed
And I could never follow you that way