So, it is finally the last day of 2008, and to be honest I'm still trying to let that fact sink in. It seems like I can still remember 2007 like it was not too long ago. Personally, I felt that 2008 passed by way too quickly. But nonetheless, it has been a good year. A good year for almost everything, and a sad year in some ways. But overall, it's not too bad. But I hope that 2009 will be much better.
I really wanted to do a proper end of the year post, but somehow I never got around to doing it. So i guess, it's goodbye 2008. And thanks for everything.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Nightmare!!
It looks like it has come to this.
I had a nightmare the other day. In that dream I was a photo journalist, and my job was to photograph some impoverished orphans in an African country. For the job, I brought along my Pentax K200, my kit lens and my Tamron lens. I don't exactly remember the details, but this was how it went.
Before I was to board the van for the trip, I had to go and do something. And since one of the village people was my friend, I left him to take care of my camera. Afterall, he would be careful with it, right? Right. Anyways, after I did my business, I came back to look for him, and I found him. But only, my camera was nowhere to be seen. Before I could ask him, in the corner of my eye, I saw my camera bag on the muddy ground and a few kids playing with it. My camera body was lying face down in the mud, beside a small stream, and a kid was banging my kit lens into the mud. Horror! But fortunately my zoom lens was still in the bag. Enraged, I quickly ran to the kid and grabbed my stuff. All the while I was panicking because the mud could damage the sensor and if sand got into the lens, it was goodbye. I grabbed the camera body and inspected it, and fortunately there wasn't any mud in it. However, when I inspected the lens, I nearly fainted. When I shook it, sand just kept pouring out of the hole. The more I shook, the more sand poured out. It was like sand pouring down an hour glass. And when dreaming, everything seems real, even though they aren't. I didn't know what to do. There I was with a job to do and my equipment damaged.
So I boarded the van, trying to figure something out and hoping that the sand would eventually drain out. But it didn't. It just kept pouring down. Horror! And then, while shaking the lens, I woke up. Phew...
Yes, I'm bored!
I had a nightmare the other day. In that dream I was a photo journalist, and my job was to photograph some impoverished orphans in an African country. For the job, I brought along my Pentax K200, my kit lens and my Tamron lens. I don't exactly remember the details, but this was how it went.
Before I was to board the van for the trip, I had to go and do something. And since one of the village people was my friend, I left him to take care of my camera. Afterall, he would be careful with it, right? Right. Anyways, after I did my business, I came back to look for him, and I found him. But only, my camera was nowhere to be seen. Before I could ask him, in the corner of my eye, I saw my camera bag on the muddy ground and a few kids playing with it. My camera body was lying face down in the mud, beside a small stream, and a kid was banging my kit lens into the mud. Horror! But fortunately my zoom lens was still in the bag. Enraged, I quickly ran to the kid and grabbed my stuff. All the while I was panicking because the mud could damage the sensor and if sand got into the lens, it was goodbye. I grabbed the camera body and inspected it, and fortunately there wasn't any mud in it. However, when I inspected the lens, I nearly fainted. When I shook it, sand just kept pouring out of the hole. The more I shook, the more sand poured out. It was like sand pouring down an hour glass. And when dreaming, everything seems real, even though they aren't. I didn't know what to do. There I was with a job to do and my equipment damaged.
So I boarded the van, trying to figure something out and hoping that the sand would eventually drain out. But it didn't. It just kept pouring down. Horror! And then, while shaking the lens, I woke up. Phew...
Yes, I'm bored!
Monday, December 29, 2008
My Locks
You know what? Among all that I've done in the past four or five months, my best work probably has to be the growing of my hair. No, seriously, bear with me on this. Before I landed here, I was a bit of a neat freak when it came to hair. I was rather conservative, not allowing to grow beyond a certain length just so that it would stay neat and that I wouldn't have to spend more than 10 seconds making it neat.
Well, That isn't the case anymore. You see, since I got here, my roommate and I made a pact that we would allow our hair to grow till next may and never to cut it till then. At the beginning, I was very comfortable with the idea. In fact, I wanted to do it. In the first month or two, it was going along well. Then, as it progressed, my hair started getting messier and messier. It curled in every direction and it was difficult to keep it neat. So instead of wasting time in front of the mirror, trying to make it neat, I would just let it be and spend the whole day looking like I'd just been hit by a truck. Well, not really. That's an exaggeration. But you get the idea no? Anyways, it went that way for the entire duration of school. On some days it would look good and on some days, it had its bad moods. But overall, I thought that I looked massive with it. Especially with my unshaven beard and moustache.
And up until yesterday, it stayed that way. Well... That was until I visited the barber. I don't know why I did it. I don't know what possessed me into it, but I did it. When I got there, I told the barber that I had wanted to keep my hair long and that I wanted to trim the sides of my hair so it wouldn't look so messy. I even showed her a picture of what it should look like. But no. She did it in such a way that my head now looks like a bloody pirate's hat. It's going to take another month till my hair gets back to being rock & roll.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa =/
Well, That isn't the case anymore. You see, since I got here, my roommate and I made a pact that we would allow our hair to grow till next may and never to cut it till then. At the beginning, I was very comfortable with the idea. In fact, I wanted to do it. In the first month or two, it was going along well. Then, as it progressed, my hair started getting messier and messier. It curled in every direction and it was difficult to keep it neat. So instead of wasting time in front of the mirror, trying to make it neat, I would just let it be and spend the whole day looking like I'd just been hit by a truck. Well, not really. That's an exaggeration. But you get the idea no? Anyways, it went that way for the entire duration of school. On some days it would look good and on some days, it had its bad moods. But overall, I thought that I looked massive with it. Especially with my unshaven beard and moustache.
And up until yesterday, it stayed that way. Well... That was until I visited the barber. I don't know why I did it. I don't know what possessed me into it, but I did it. When I got there, I told the barber that I had wanted to keep my hair long and that I wanted to trim the sides of my hair so it wouldn't look so messy. I even showed her a picture of what it should look like. But no. She did it in such a way that my head now looks like a bloody pirate's hat. It's going to take another month till my hair gets back to being rock & roll.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa =/
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Thief
I was at the mall today with my uncle, aunt, and two cousins. So while my aunt took John to buy a pair of shoes, and while my uncle went to look at some perfumes, I was left to the task of looking after Joseph. So as usual, we were our lively selves, playing and messing around with each other in the middle of a busy mall. Then while messing around, he wanted to play police and thief. He asked me to grab his toy from him, which I duly did and after which he started making siren sounds and called me a thief. Then as he was doing that, a group of people passed by and he held his hand out and pointed to them, saying "Thief! Thief!" Alarmed, I quickly pushed his hand down and smiled at the bunch of people. Then, a group of big sized African Americans in hip-hop clothing, passed by and he held his hand out, pointed to them and started shouting "Thief! Thief!" This time I got scared because the whole group stopped walking and started staring at Joseph and myself. I quickly pushed his hands down and said "Hey! Hey! Don't say that!" But those African guys kept looking at us while walking off. Their "popped out" eyes were really intimidating. But thankfully they just walked off after that.
Then when his dad come, I told him what happened, while laughing. But instead of seeing the funny side of it, my uncle scolded Joseph. He then told my aunt, and my aunt scolded him for it. And all the while I was still laughing. I felt bad but I really couldn't help it. My uncle was like "Good thing they didn't bash you up." And knowing America where a man got shot in front of his kid because he and his family were making noise in a cinema, there was some substance to it.
Then when his dad come, I told him what happened, while laughing. But instead of seeing the funny side of it, my uncle scolded Joseph. He then told my aunt, and my aunt scolded him for it. And all the while I was still laughing. I felt bad but I really couldn't help it. My uncle was like "Good thing they didn't bash you up." And knowing America where a man got shot in front of his kid because he and his family were making noise in a cinema, there was some substance to it.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Personified
When a dog sleeps in your lap. When a young child rests his head on your shoulder so he can sleep. When you look into their eyes never wanting to look away. When you hold their hands and say nothing at all. When all you want to listen to is their voice.
The greatest achievement...
The greatest achievement...
This Is Where
The desert, the water, and a fifty dollar bill... Sometimes, one will never know the value of water until one is stuck in the desert, hopelessly lost and with nothing but the sands to guide them home. Sometimes one will never know the value of a fifty dollar bill until one is hopelessly lost and hungry in a city where there is no charity or sympathy.
All he ever wanted was to explore the world, with his eyes wide open, and with sincerity from all around him. But instead, what he got was a fist full of blows and punches for all that he was. He tried to reason, he tried to understand, he seeked help, but no one could answer him. Not even his parents. Instead, they would crush his dreams by belittling this young child's ambitions. They never allowed him to express himself. They never allowed him to grow. Constantly keeping him under a microscope and ridiculing his every move. Day by day as the torments increased, he started to become a recluse. He stared withdrawing himself from society, becoming a social recluse. His friends would laugh and poke fun at him. He never really did make any friends. He saw everyone else as being characters of an artist who only wished to please everyone else but himself. They were just too superficial, too fake. And even those who were friends with him, were never really his friends. How could they be? His parents never really cared. Instead they would brush it off as teenage angst. They couldn't see that deep beneath his dark blue eyes, lay a teenager laden with anger and confusion over his treatment. Lay a teenager seeking the answers, seeking for a soul who could tell him why. To find solace, he would bury himself in his loud, guitar driven music. He would immerse himself in every note, every beat, and every word. He always seemed to find the meaning to every verse he ever listened to. He began to believe that the music he listened to was written for him. He found his comfort. The only place he belonged to. For him, the rock stars that he idolized were gods. He started to mimic their every behaviour. From the way they dressed, the way they talked, sung and the way they behaved. He would go to school with his hair long, with piercings all over his face, and tattoos all over his arms. He had make up on, with tight leather pants and denim jackets and with a guitar on his back. This was him. He felt powerful. But instead, this made him the subject of further ridicule. Other teenagers would stare at point at him, whisper behind his back and when the prank was pulled, laughed at him. To them, he was a freak. A social outcast to be ridiculed like the displays in a freak show. His teachers ostracized him and often punished him for things he never did just because of the way he looked. His parents, like before, never really cared. They never bothered to listen to him. All they did was punish him, day after day. Nagging at him, lecturing him and belittling his just like they always have. He never liked coming home. To him, home was like hell. The only heaven he ever has was when he had his headphones on, with Skid Row playing in the background. He would rebel. He would argue with his parents, teachers, and sometimes beat up the kids who would make fun of him. He nearly killed someone.
Inspiration lost... so this is where it ends
All he ever wanted was to explore the world, with his eyes wide open, and with sincerity from all around him. But instead, what he got was a fist full of blows and punches for all that he was. He tried to reason, he tried to understand, he seeked help, but no one could answer him. Not even his parents. Instead, they would crush his dreams by belittling this young child's ambitions. They never allowed him to express himself. They never allowed him to grow. Constantly keeping him under a microscope and ridiculing his every move. Day by day as the torments increased, he started to become a recluse. He stared withdrawing himself from society, becoming a social recluse. His friends would laugh and poke fun at him. He never really did make any friends. He saw everyone else as being characters of an artist who only wished to please everyone else but himself. They were just too superficial, too fake. And even those who were friends with him, were never really his friends. How could they be? His parents never really cared. Instead they would brush it off as teenage angst. They couldn't see that deep beneath his dark blue eyes, lay a teenager laden with anger and confusion over his treatment. Lay a teenager seeking the answers, seeking for a soul who could tell him why. To find solace, he would bury himself in his loud, guitar driven music. He would immerse himself in every note, every beat, and every word. He always seemed to find the meaning to every verse he ever listened to. He began to believe that the music he listened to was written for him. He found his comfort. The only place he belonged to. For him, the rock stars that he idolized were gods. He started to mimic their every behaviour. From the way they dressed, the way they talked, sung and the way they behaved. He would go to school with his hair long, with piercings all over his face, and tattoos all over his arms. He had make up on, with tight leather pants and denim jackets and with a guitar on his back. This was him. He felt powerful. But instead, this made him the subject of further ridicule. Other teenagers would stare at point at him, whisper behind his back and when the prank was pulled, laughed at him. To them, he was a freak. A social outcast to be ridiculed like the displays in a freak show. His teachers ostracized him and often punished him for things he never did just because of the way he looked. His parents, like before, never really cared. They never bothered to listen to him. All they did was punish him, day after day. Nagging at him, lecturing him and belittling his just like they always have. He never liked coming home. To him, home was like hell. The only heaven he ever has was when he had his headphones on, with Skid Row playing in the background. He would rebel. He would argue with his parents, teachers, and sometimes beat up the kids who would make fun of him. He nearly killed someone.
Inspiration lost... so this is where it ends
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Default
24th of December 2008, sitting on top of my bed, staring into the laptop, with a mind active as a nomad, present in as many places possible, and with Staind in the background, I find it hard not to stop thinking.
I just returned from Scottsdale a couple of hours ago. Finally, signs of proper life, a proper civilization. The cars alone were insane. In a space of a couple of hours, I saw few Ferrari's, a couple of Brabuses, SL 55, SL 65, CLS 55, Corvettes, Vipers, a convertible Rolls-Royce, a Lamborghini Gallardo and a fleet of other mental cars. Finally, a good mall. Something worthy of mention. Something to rival, the heavenly malls of Malaysia. It was packed with shoppers of all shapes and sizes, sex, creed, nationality and everything else that describes distinctions between humans. Everyone was taking their wallets out, exchanging their paper, and swiping their rectangular plastic contraptions for a smile. A smile that they know they will get when dawn breaks and the wrapping papers are torn open, excitedly. Well, maybe not from all, but from the grateful ones at least. The food was good. I've been getting that a whole lot these days. I'm grateful for that. I know it won't last long. Two weeks more, and it's back to Florida. Back to face another arduous semester. But this time, it will be different. Better. This I know for sure.
Days later, I'm still wondering. Where did the math go wrong?
I still take it as it is. No deviations.
I just returned from Scottsdale a couple of hours ago. Finally, signs of proper life, a proper civilization. The cars alone were insane. In a space of a couple of hours, I saw few Ferrari's, a couple of Brabuses, SL 55, SL 65, CLS 55, Corvettes, Vipers, a convertible Rolls-Royce, a Lamborghini Gallardo and a fleet of other mental cars. Finally, a good mall. Something worthy of mention. Something to rival, the heavenly malls of Malaysia. It was packed with shoppers of all shapes and sizes, sex, creed, nationality and everything else that describes distinctions between humans. Everyone was taking their wallets out, exchanging their paper, and swiping their rectangular plastic contraptions for a smile. A smile that they know they will get when dawn breaks and the wrapping papers are torn open, excitedly. Well, maybe not from all, but from the grateful ones at least. The food was good. I've been getting that a whole lot these days. I'm grateful for that. I know it won't last long. Two weeks more, and it's back to Florida. Back to face another arduous semester. But this time, it will be different. Better. This I know for sure.
Days later, I'm still wondering. Where did the math go wrong?
I still take it as it is. No deviations.
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