a typical blog entry

hmm, i mentioned a few days ago that i would write about the whole a level experience and so i finally found time to do it.

the A levels is just like a shadow. you see it looming over you and its immaterial. youre scared of it and at the same time you cant run away. and then after it starts and then passes through, you feel as though it was nothing at all. not easy or monumentally difficult---the feeling is just that you've mugged so hard for something thats over before you know it and your life is once again empty.

for the guys, i guess this strange but joyous feeling will last for about 2 years, after which its back to the books again.

its funny but everybody thinks that the moment your last paper ends and you walk out of the hall, you'll scream in joy in all that shit. the actual truth is that you open the last paper and think "aiyah fuck la, sian ah, last paper liao, dont feel like doing"

and then you throw such detrimental thoughts aside and put your pen down and start grinding away. time flows and the pen ink runs onto the paper almost automatically, pro war stances, anti war stances, war dehumanizes, war illuminates blah blah.

you finish the first question and theres still the second one to go and 1 and a half hours left to kill. you imagine yourself finishing the paper and grinning like a maniac. the reality is far from that and you think to yourself "ill soon be seeing myself celebrating" and right at that exact moment, you wonder if you could just put your pen down and hand up half an exam paper.

your rational self strikes you again and you pick up the damn pen and start writing again. its almost like giving birth. push push, breathe, push push.

the final elation occurs when you are writing your last paragraph. yes guys (and gals), the elation begins when you are almost finished. i suppose that this is only logical cos after you finish it, you experience bathos, or an anticlimax of emotion. you feel.....fuck, you feel flat, when everything in the world says that you should be the happiest person on Earth.

it is pretty strange huh. just something i noticed and that people around me confirmed. theres nothing like anticipation to rev up your engine.

looking back, i cant really remember what the a levels were like. it was like part of ben's house, jianwei';s house , joseph's reading room, the school, movies, soccer and gym all rolled into one.

its like colin mcrae, winning eleven and GTA and a blur of field soccer. somehow there seems to be less memories of studying , which i think i will pay for once the results come back. damn, its gonna suck real bad and i say this not becos eventually my results will magically become AAA and people will think i am some smartass but from someone who has never passed a single econs test in his time at acjc and didnt know what the fuck he was writing on his exam paper.

but still, that aint gonna destroy my holidays, which i find pretty fulfilling right now. am doing all the things i wanted to do and its been pretty good. simple but good and i dont think i would have it any other way.

NS is coming soon. i found out that Mok is on the same day as me haha sow e might be in same platoon or company!!! (for your info, mok is in same reporting time as alex the white horse so good for you mok!)

i am currently trying out the new endurance formula that i purchased. Its from GNC and its called Endurox. supposed to boost muscle recovery and energy retention. we shall see if it stands up to my schedule and the fact that i am injured all over the body due to my playing style for soccer.

haha, looks like this is a typical blog entry. i fucking hate blog entries like this cos it implies the person writing it wants you to know about his life and also the fact that he has nothing better to talk about shows through. its like, who the hell wants to know that i bought Endurox??!!

well, thats what 4 hours in the sun does to your brain. you cant think. and you certainly damn well cant write properly. i actually has this idea for a metaphorical description of an MRT tunnel and its reflections on life but i cant remember what i was going to write. so too bad. everyone has off days and this is one of mine.

shutter

well, the a levels are finally over and whew...but thats gonna be another post cos today's post is about the movie Shutter.

its been a while since ive watched a horror movie cos im damn humchee and im always scared of ghosts and whatnot but today we (the guys) decided to be men an watch shutter, some thai horror movie.

well, it might come as a surprise but i enjoyed the show. i think its truly deserving of its title of horror movie of the year because shutter is not just a ghost story but a love story as well.

the gist of the movie is that one night, a photographer an his girlfriend hit a girl on the road. its a hit and run and soon after wierd things start happening and making visitations.

yea, pretty standard ghost stuff huh and i could even spot when the ghost was coming out and how it was gonna come out so the first few minutes were pretty boring cept that alex kept making me jump cos he was sitting besides me and he kept screaming and grabbing me whenever something creepy came up. as you all know, im very sensitive to the human touch cos my body interpretes it as an assault on my well being so i guess alex was the scariest in there.

what seperates shutter from the rest is how the story unravels after (spoiler alert!! but fuck it, you wanna know, dont you?)

soon, we learn that the photographers friends have been committing suicide by jumping off buildings and that the photographer actually knows the girl that they hit on the road.

we also learn that she's been dead for quite a while (after jumping off a hospital building) after he visits her house for answers. and also that she had a love thing going on with the photographer, whose name was so forgettable i cant recall it now.

well, apparently one night (when she was still alive), the photographers drunk friends came onto her and raped her and he was ordered to take her picture so she wouldnt blab. the pussy did it and so now we have a revenge thing going on.

well, this was actually the point that shutter both lost its horror and element of fear but also the point which elevated it above the rest of the generic the-ghost-is-bad-its-fucking-us-lets-fuck-it-back storyline. when you start to feel for the ghost, especially since the ghost is a pretty young lady(albeit with bad makeup), you start feeling a curious mix of fear and pity and a touch of anger at the loser as well.

so there i was, shaking with fear (literally) and having cold feet and a warm stomach but yet in my mind is wasnt scared, cos i felt the pain of the girl, especially in the scene where she cuts herself repeatedly and screams. shrill and high and neverending. it pierces your ears and you want to flinch and cover your ears but on the other hand you dont cos you have to hear her sorrow and watch her despair.

its almost untearable, each scene draws you in and you cant look away because really, to fully appreciate a horror movie you must look fear in the eye and watch it touch your soul.

two scenes which really struck me were the one at the opening where the photographers girlfriend jane goes into the darkroom to figure out what had rattled the doorknob so vigorously (cos she was looking for her bf at his flat)

the ghost appears from the sink and shes scared shitless and tries to open the doorknob, which suddenly becomes locked and shes rattling the doorknob like crazy.

this is similar to the rape scene, in which the ghost (name is Natre or something like that) tries to escape from the drunk bozo friends of the photographers but shes caught by them at the door when shes frantically trying to open the locked doorknob. it rattles too, with chilling horror as she is pulled back and pushed down onto the floor.

its this kind of clever analogical directing that again seperates shutter from the rest of the one dimensional films.

which brings to mind the question. is the fear of being in the same room as a vengeful ghost the same as the fear of being raped?

think about it for a moment, let your imagination run wild. youre in a darkroom. its redlight all around you and the dripping sound of water echoes in your ears. the sink is full and photographs are floating on the water surface. to your left is a heavy black curtain which hides....well, a few pieces of equipment i suppose and to your left is a table, messy with photographs. Negatives hang messily above your head and the light is blurry, as if seen from a camera lens tinted yellow.

youve just seen a shadow walking behind the door and the doorknob just rattled vigorously, like someone was desperately trying to get out. and for some reason you decided to investigate the noise, cos , well, youre curious arent you?

well, curiousity killed the cat cos when you draw back the curtains.....

nothing happens. you sense something is seriously wrong. this kind of thing only happens in the movies.the sink tap is running. the basin is overflowing and water trickles on the floor. drip drip drip.

you step forwards to turn off the tap. the room is small, claustrophobic. stifling, like you could choke on the air here. and just when you reach forwards to cut off the tap, something bubbles and you see strands of hair floating up. they coalese into the top of someones head and suddenly hands shoot out and grab the corners of the sink.

fuckfuckfuckfuck. youre rushing, spinning, you ram into the door. its just behind you; the door i mean. you grab the doorknob and you turn it. its locked and you cant fucking get out. you tug at it, you know...you dont know whats gonna happen to you cept that it involves blood and one pissed off ghost. you rattle it hard and it wunt budge.

you tug and twist and its not moving. youre not moving. you feel a hand slither up your shoulder....

ok, now for the rape. ok, look, im not gonna write the rape scene out cos it disgusts me. but imagine you were a girl and you were getting gang raped by 4 guys and one guy was your boyfriend and hes not gonna do anything about it except take your picture.

imagine the anger and hurt you would feel. imagine the fear as they grab you from behind and throw you to the floor and strangle you so you cant resist. imagine how after the act your bf breaks up with you and he doesnt give a shit when you cut your wrists with a butchers knife. and how all the pain inside cant seem to go away, even when you catch the edge of the butcher's knife and pull it. pull away your fears, pull away your sorrows baby. do it for me.

i guess its a different kind of fear, on different levels and you really do feel both in the cinema. the rape is a physical fear, it starts low in your gut and clenches your throat. you cant breathe and you squint and flinch and tighten up cos youre so damn scared.

the other one is a spiritual fear. this one, well, only a few ppl feel this kind of fear. its different. its icy cold and it shoots up your spine and spreads throughout your body. youre throat doesnt clench cos its not there anymore, is it? neither do you squint or flinch. you open your eyes wide and you take it all in. oh god oh godohgodohgod. sometimes you might even hear a low voice speaking if you dont try hard enough.

how....clever. that a director can aptly convey this to the audience. maybe not everyone saw it in the same light as i did but then again a movie is a very personal experience.

another moment that really struck me was the period of time when he was trying to find the ghost in his house by snapping pictures of his house so it would show up on the polaroids(poloroids?)

he snapped everywhere but it wouldnt show up. guess its not inside the house eh?

the scene switches back to one where he visits a clinic for a checkup after the accident (cos he hits the "girl" remember?) and has been having neck pain. we see that he weighs 120 kilos, astoundingly heavy for a slim man.

almost as if it was the weight of....

and then we see another scene where a young buddhist monk. a child; stares at him wide eyed and shocked.

hmm, it has been said that children and monks or spiritually advanced people can ......

and then the scene shifts back. hes standing in his room and hes holding his camera in his hand...

and the ghost is sitting on top of his shoulders.

wow. thats neat. i would never have thought of that.

what a burden on your soul eh?

the ghost scratches him and he flings himself out of thw window so he can die like the rest but he survives and becomes mentally withdrawn.

the ending scene is that of his ex-gf, jane (who left him when she found out the truth about the rape) visiting him in hospital.

she sees him through a windowed doorway and goes in. the door flips shut and swings with inertia and in the reflection...we see the man, bent double, and his vengeful lover sitting still on his shoulders.

it is a heavy burden to bear indeed. i think she didnt let him die cos that would be too easy, wouldnt it? hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. if ive taken any moral away from the movie this would be it.

but let us not detract from the masterpiece of horror storytelling that has been presented to us. to love and lose and hate and fear and so many other emotions.

you dont exactly feel pure fear in the movie but then again this is because it is laced with a myraid of other sensibilities and in the end, you feel...sad. because thats what it is. its a sad love story.

and once you understand this you understand why she had to come back. its about unrequited love, its about false promises, its about being left high and dry and stabbed in the back.

its like a spine of ice and a touch of cold air mixed with black dread and soft embers of fire.

i wont watch it again. cos its fucking scary and im humchee. but yes, catch it if you can, because some stories have to be told.

and yes, its a love story.

joseph and tim go to White

every once in a lifetime, a man develops a desire in him so strong and so compelling that he cannot help but answer its call. its siren song is entrancing, irresistable.

the place is known as White. White is the source of dreams, White is where angels go to die, White is purity and White is what is good. White is knowing that you've lived a good life and White is like having yourself bathed in the most soothing and cooling healing balm ever.

White is a hairdressing salon in upper tanjong pagar.

and today, joseph ting and i were determined to get our hair cut.

we met at 11 in rabid anticipation, but like harold and kumar, we were inevitably made to wait till 130 cos they only opened at that time. apparently joseph forgot they opened late today. we were made to undergo a myraid of difficulties on the way, like learning our A & C notes and discussing Shakespeare in Love.

but no matter. all that inconvenience pales in comparison to the eventual prize. a trip to White.

the first thing that hits you when you step in is the heavenly scent of lavender mixed with a tinge of vanilla and topped off with a tangerine scent. the base might be anything from sandalwood to musk, i couldnt really tell cos i was assaulted on all fronts at once.

the decor was minimalist in nature, the jet black ceilings juxtaposed nicely with the silver, egg like designer chairs. black sofas crouch in the corner, beckoning you to let them caress your ass. the glass white counter presides imperiously above all and christmas decorations are spread out along the room, with silver glass balls and snow kissed, frost dusted leaves of mistletoe making love to the mirrors.

if there ever was a heaven on earth, then White must certainly be it. The lady who owns the place has an angelic name called Kel and she must have one of the softest hands ever known to mankind.

they softly caress my crop of hair as she whispers into my ear and asks for my request. following which she seizes a pair of ice cold, silver handled scissors and motions them through my locks of hair. softly, gracefully, they part the rough, dark sea of hair and it soon begins to fall---dark snow flitting across thefront of my eyes. some catches in my brows and Kel gently flicks them away with her perfectly manicured fingers, sparkling silver with a rosy tinge.

there is no pain here, only joy. where other scissors are coarse and literally pull your hair out in clumps, there is no such ignominy with Kel's. her skilful hands part and brush, search and caress, ever fragile in their deportment yet possessing such assertiveness and surety that i felt like a baby all over again, unable to move for fear of ending the moment. her scissors obey her every command, like her magic wand, which she waves and says "it shall be done" and it is done.

but the experience doesnt just end here. oh no. to end like this would be nothing short of a sin. during this period of ecstacy, i was presented with a glass of sparkling clear mineral water (upon request) by one of the most magical girls i have ever seen.

as soon as the haircut was finished, she then proceeded to render her services to a back massage.

"let me give you a back massage"

it was not a request. nay, it could not be denied. no force on earth could possibly deny this girl her wishes. there is no such thing as customer power in White, only gentle obescience to them and they will reward you greatly.

let me attempt to describe this girl to you. She is of the same breed as Kel, a race of angels long lost to mankind. she is Kel's sister (as i found out from joseph ting later)

her face is like a faerie's. sharp, angular eyes that pierce into your soul and root out your darkest desires. her perfectly rouged cheeks add warmth to her otherwise cold demeanor, much like the way warm blood would give life to an ice queen. her beauty was in her aloofness. she is obviously superior but yet surprisingly human and fragile as well.

her high angular cheekbones accentuate her thin, softly pink and luscious mouth. her hair is tousled and messy, with long spikes that curve softly and caress her shoulder blades softly. the shoulders themselves are ramrod straight and of an aristocratic manner. her figure is wispish and she is waiflike like a faerie is. she wears the whitest flat sloe shoes that i have ever seen. the pattern on them understated yet classy. smooth dark pants hug her firm thighs and gives way to a simple yet commanding white tanktop with a messy scribble design.

the first thing that strikes you about her is how much you want her. strange, considering she isnt outright pretty or sexy, but we all know that faeries can shroud themselves in glamour and they play with men's hearts like a hungry wolf rips out a deer's.

the second thing that struck me was how strong she was, considering her appearance. her back massage was firm, her fingers unyielding, running the length of my shoulder blades and meeting at my neck and running down the spine. i experienced an electric tingle in the base of my spine which ran up and down. she looked all around her, as if bored and then looked straight at me. i found myself quite unable to hold her gaze.

and from then on, there was no going back. it was on to the washing of hair and the massage of the head.

her firm but soft hands supported my head and cradled my neck as she scrubbed the tangerine shampoo into my locks.
her sharp nails scratched all over my head and i stifled a gasp at the intensity of the assault. it was midly painful and disconcerting but yet at the same time exhilerating and immensely pleasurable.

from there, she went on to slide her fingers firmly, sensuously down the back of my ears and onto the back of my neck. pure bliss. im the kind of guy that likes the back of my neck massaged i suppose. hits the spot.

opening her hands in the pattern of a sensous butterfly, she then proceeded to kneed my head. first, the front of the top part of the head then progressing backwards. with each press i experienced the tingling sensation down my spine again. my hands were clenched and tight against my body in a sharp contrast to the pleasure above and i found myself hating myself for not being able to enjoy the sheer purity of the moment.

circular and anti-circular movements followed as she rubbed my head (yes, that head) hard, squeezing it for it was worth and working up a nice froth as well. she patted my head like one would to a dog and if she had leaned over and licked my lips i would have died.

but she didnt. instead, she asked if the water was too hot as she washed me off, like a mother would wash a newborn baby. i nodded....i mean i mumbled a reply that was faintly in the negative and then it was over. the last thing i recollect was her gentle fingers towelling my hair dry and her sticking her fingers into my ears and rolling them about, which felt strangely erotic.

and then it was all over.

sometimes when you want to stay in a dream it chooses the most appropriate time to kick you out, screaming and yelling.

and so it was that my visit to White came to an end. there was no fuss, neither did i cry, cos i knew that it would only be a matter of time before i managed to go through the same door into White again.

someday, someday (just before prom to be exact), i will be back to the paradise that is White.

you should visit that place too, if you want to know what pleasure is like. it will be a journey that is long and ardous and frought with peril, but it will be well worth it. what is a little discomfort and pain for just a split second glimpse of heaven on earth?

never fear, my friends. take heart that you will be able to find the steely determination inside you and the passion within will hold you through as you journey towards salvation.

PS. Joseph Ting got a guy for the massage and bath (haha!!) but i bet he likes the guy's touch as well, dont you tingky winky?

neverwhere

you know, sometimes its funny. you go to sleep and then some dream comes along and its so vivid that you remember almost every detail. those you cant remember you are able to make up so perfectly it seems as if it really happened as well.

and then once you wake up you wonder why you remembered the dream at all. and then you realise it was important that you remembered, cos its after all a part of you and if we didnt remember ourselves, then we wouldnt be ourselves, would we?

so yesterday i found myself back in kallang again. the dreamscape wasnt kallang, not by far. too narrow, too few boats, the banks of the river were wrong. but it felt like kallang. down to the wind and blade of grass, it felt just like kallang. im sure you understand what i mean when you visit a place in your dreams. on the outside its seemingly different but yet the essence is undeniably the same, undeniably so alike its midway between haunting and exhilerating.

and so it was really kallang that i visited, and i remember myself talking to people on the pier. pek hong, terence, zhenghao was there and so was sulynn, yina, even kenneth and nik who was coaching again. haha how quaint, that people who are supposed to be dead and gone can still come alive in dreams again. nik doesnt coach anymore but yet in my dream there he was, imperial as ever, the big brother, ever watching, ever sure.

i rowed a K1. it looked strangely like Cepheus, although it could have been Bloodhound because it was thin and sleek and bloodhound was always my favourite K1, even though its rather old and rickety. i rowed bloodhound/cepheus and pek hong was besides me cept that he was playing around and was rowing a T2 with one person only (himself). i remember he was in front. and we were rowing side by side.

and usually i suck in a K1 cos my balance has not evolved to a high standard (im a K2 rower) but here there was nothing the waves or currents could do to tip me over. it cut through the water like a knofe through hot butter. i swear i even felt my muscles aching and burning from the exertion. abs burning, lats heaving, shoulders under the strain, all while the paddle went swish through the air leaving the trademark trail of water droplets behind it.

i remember thinking to myself that was pretty darn unfit and it would take some time to retrain myself again.

and then it hit me. i woke up in my dream. it sounds strange but it really can happen. you realise you're in a dream and that its so called only a dream. and that i can never really go back to kallang to train again. that that path has been closed to me forever. yes, i can go back to row ya, but somehow the feeling is different. youve become old and youve past your prime, you will never compete again. i know i will never compete again. i made that promise to myself after my last race. maybe its to preserve the memories because they really are beautiful and they are bourne out of so much sacrifice on everyone's part.

i woke up feeling...like my insides had been squished. if you never had something you really loved and pursued with all your energy and heart and soul and something you really believed in taken away from you (gently i might add) at the end of a period of time, then you can never really understand what we all felt and still feel. its the feeling of loss that came with the dream that was haunting, but in the end you learn to move on.

and so i thought again about yesterday and the religious debates with ben, jianwei and joseph at dinner until 940pm (basket, we got a levels you know). im going to hell, and so is jianwei for certain. sometimes you do get really scared about going to hell and other times you brush it aside and hope the material world can make up for it, and that tim can save timmy's life with more stories and dreams again. but perhaps, deep down, you do really believe and you do really want to do what is right but it is difficult.

i really hope that one day an angel or something will come into my dreams and then somehow i will miraculously believe. ive always been a dreamer. how apt that it should be in my dreams that i finally touch an angel (assuming he can be touched).

well, i dont suppose that its going to happen just like that but as long as we all have hopes, we can still dream, and who knows, sometimes dreams do come true, for those who search enough.

the battle of gan eng seng

in keeping with my dream of failing my A levels, i decided to join my sunday church team for a field soccer game today at 330 pm. the stage was set....and so i met my cousin once again for the inevitable battle to come.

well, actually it was supposed to be a "friendly", but hell, if i know these things, they are NEVER friendly in nature.

now, lets take a look at the opponents, from Grace Methodist Church, all 20 plus years old and in the army. most of em in OCS, which means theyre all fit, nasty bastards. and they wear a team jersey, which means they play together regularly.

now lets take a look at my team.

strikers: my cousin thomas, a pint sized sec 2 guy. and when i say pint sized i mean pint. with a small p. hes like about 14 something cm and hes skinny as a broom stick.

the other striker is this guy called Sim, hes 23 and hes pretty good. good shot, lean and mean. he works for Energizer batteries corporation. he's my cousin Jonathan's friend.

Midfield:kumar(rrrr). some indian guy, hes tall but he cant play for nuts. keeps giving the ball away. has nice blue eyes, ladies would like him. but there aint any ladies on the pitch, are there? (we'll see)

daryl. another small sized guy. thinks hes ronaldo cos he keeps dribbling and delays passing and as a result gets zhammed. real bad.

Keith. my 47 year old pastor. built like a horse, hes an old warrior and he can turn pretty well. physically strong but his stamina has left him long ago. he attacks most of the time.

Me. yes, i was playing defensive mid, aka Roy Keane. my favourite player. too bad im not like him. but yea , i try. im skinny and im short, but i can cause a few ..... difficulties shall we say.

Defence: Jonnie. my other cousin. ex commando sergeant. works at sports council nowadays. avid sportsman. hes kinda stocky, from his commando days and he played centre back. kept us in the game quite a few times with well timed tackles.

Xiong. some guy one year older than me. xiong is in the army now and hes good, but today he was nervous on the ball. maybe hes rusty. i dunno.

soem guy whose name i forgot: yea he played defence too and hes good. good attitude but stamina failed him. he cramped both legs and was out late in the second half.

Mark: some guy who went off later cos his toe was bruised in a tackle. was replaced by a phillipino-indian bystander who happened to be wearing boots as well. we called him "Mat". has silky skills and is a right good defender, as befitting his Indian nationality. all indians can play a good game of soccer. as can all Mats.

'Keeper: Clement. a right good keeper. he made lotsa good saves and kicks and tackles. all credit to him.

the other team was wholly chinese. i dunt suppose many indians or mats go to church.

so well, you can see that we have a jolly good (fucked up) team. we were a motley crue. and yea, i suppose thats what makes the game fun. sorta like david vs goliath kinda thing. gets your juices flowing.

so anyway, we kicked off (we even had a referee and hes quite pro. controlled game well. even blows for offside. hes the other team's worship leader. nice guy.)

immediately, we got a defence splitting pass. fuucckk. luckily the guy couldnt finish and so we breathed a sigh of relief.

i was sucking wind in midfield. everytime we forayed forwards, the ball would be taken off us by force and thus i had to backtrack to help cover ass. coupled with the hot afternoon sun, this kind of thing can seem almost sadistic.

but hey, we had a pastor on our side and so God answered our prayers. i lofted a hopeful ball towards cousin thomas, who transferred it to mark who was overlapping on the wing. mark somehow lost his marker, more by mutual bewilderment ratehr than real skill and he chopped a cross in. two bodies flew for it, the pastor and the opposing defender. i suppose you can guess whose side God is on. 1-0 to us. against the run of play. now i know how Greece feels.

the battle was focused mainly on the wings. midfield was aptly commanded by cousin jonnie and i helped out in whatever way i could by booting the ball away whenever it fell in he penalty area. we were holding them, somehow. they got a bit frustrated after two of them collided together following a ghost-move by Sim. i tried a few chips and lofted balls towards cousin thomas but hes just too darn small. got muscled off the ball always. bummer.

and then the hand of God came again. winning a free kick just outside the box, pastor keith promptly floated one in. i peeled off my marker and headed for the ball. dammit, too much curl. it was floating away from me towards the far post. that is, until Sim completed his run from outside the box and with the marker's attention on me, promptly slammed a grasscutter past the 'keeper. 2-0.

the other team was shocked. as were we. and we were all gasping for breath. i needed water badly to quench my parched throat but the bloody whistle just wouldnt blow.

so i guess you could say that half time is one of the best feelings i ever had in my life.

the thing about the other team is that they have a much larger squad than us. we had exactly the number needed for a full team. so they could afford substitutions that kept them fresh and us pussyfied.

it soon began to tell cos once the second half started, they came at us hard. they subbed off some guy and replaced him with a tricky one. and they could now get on the end of defence spl;itting passes. one thing though, for some reason their finishing sucks big time. with only the keeper to beat, they missed three times. but hey, they plumped 4 goals past us to win 4-2 in the end.

two were laughable. one from a free kick at a sharp angle and the other from a direct corner. Kumarrr left his boots at home and let the ball go in when he was guarding near post. argh.

the other one was a defence splitting pass. noting much u can do if your defence is ball watching and your keeper is outnumbered 2 to 1. i guess we were all tired.

they even got awarded a penalty cos Mat got overenthusiastic with a two footed lunge. placed it bottom right corner, just like henry would.

well, to our credit, we battled hard. it was stud on stud, shin on shin. had my feet go for a stud imprint when some guy slid in and another one aided me in my muay thai training by imprinting his shin into mine when i cleared a ball.

i hauled a few guys down and after the match my shoulders and lower back were aching along wit the shins and legs. yes, soccer is a total body workout friends.

tried to loft the team by screaming at them. and i tried to run all over the damn pitch cos holes were opening up everywhere. by others as well as by me cos i tried to cover. inexperience, inexperience. most of em havent even stepped onto a pitch, let along play field soccer so it was pretty bad positioning all over.

once the final whistle went. i went over to the goalpost and i puked out the Milo i drank (fortified with Actigen E!)

yea, even though i feel like crap now, it was worth it. even though we got thrashed 4-2. it was worth it. cos when you play with your heart and soul and youre right in the middle of things hitting and whacking and getting hit and whacked. somehow it feels good. but hey, my head feels like shit now so i wouldnt recommend it to everyone.

its a bit of adrenaline mixed with a bit of macho honour and topped off with a desire to kill the friggin opponent at all costs. i suppose i can sort of understand the romantic beauty of it all.

maybe there's a reason why its called the "Beautiful Game" and its not just cos of the silky skills. its about playing with your heart and never giving up even when the opposition is breathing down yer neck and youre half dead and holding the ball up.

its about bone meeting bone and taking the pain and giving it back. cos thats the only way you can stop those bastards.

and its about holding the back line and looking out for your mates, sorta like a mobile siege kinda thing.

yea its all this and more and i cant really do it justice through this description. lets just say im looking forwards to more games after the a levels.

just hope my shins and foot heals fast enough.

some short stories

hmm, my friend jianwei likes short stories and so he suggested that i write some (specially) for him. now, im not particularly a good writer so read these stories at your own hazard. if u are the sort of person that has no imagination, cant take things with a pinch of salt and have no sense of humour, then please, go back to your room and continue mugging for a levels.

if you are boliao and like laughing at pathetic excuses for short stories, then continue to read on please.


a boy sat on the bus. he likes riding buses home cos they make you think. one long journey, almost identical roads, almost identical signs and nowhere to go but where ever your mind takes you. the buzz of the bus as it rumbles along the road. the buzz almost translates into a gentle massage of the senses. no wonder people find it so easy to sleep on the bus.

it starts from deep down in your spine, then onto your insides and they vibrate and thrum with machinery-given life. and then it hits your brain, like a rush of blood to the head. its not like the feeling you get when you stand on your head for too long; neither is it like the feeling you get when youve been hit by a softball on your head. somewhere in between and not so rough, my dear.

and then it flies. god, it flies away. and suddenly you see endless mountains. its just like in the movies. your movie. right down to the smallest detail: the snowy peaks, the white expanses of snow. no grass grows here cos its much too cold, much too desolate. men have tried for years to traverse this mountain pass but none have succeeded. no animals come here either, theres no food, no way the snow can melt into water.

if there could ever be a blanket of the whitest white, and if instead of warming you it could cut through your bones with the coldest cold; if it could envelope you and your senses and cover you with a tinge of despair, a touch of loneliness and a whisper of sorrow, then maybe you could come close to experiencing what this mountain felt like.

even though its white all around you, there is no sunlight. whatever sunlight there is is reflected, from god knows where. its white all around you and you can just barely make out the jagged, cruel shapes of rocks and boulders, stiff and unholy. they look so innocent, clad in whitest snow but they could tear you limb from limb and rip your heart out with a single rocky breath. they might even take your soul for good measure.

you look all around you. no living soul has ever passed this way before. in a sense, its pristine. its pure, like a firstborn child born under the northern star, and it has never known love or hate or any emotion from any living being been passed on to it.

except you. you are the only one who has ever been here.

the exultation begins in your heart.

i cannot quite describe the feeling that you would feel at this moment. you have just been to a special place where no one has ever been before. its deep inside you and no one can take it away from you, ever. not while you live and walk the earth still. and those around you will walk for days and weeks and years and centuries and millenia and they will still never be able to find that place in your heart.

its as innocent as you were the first time and as white as your soul when it first uncurled like a blossoming flower.

but yet, it is desolate. no one dares to tread so deep here. no one can. its closed up to the rest of the world and yet it borders on the brink of reality. its like trying to cut your own shadow from your skin so you can share it with the rest of the world. sometimes, others can see glimpses of it (if you let them) and sometimes its fuzzy, sometimes sharp and piercing. but none can go there, except you and that is exactly why you are all alone.

and you look all around you, once, twice, three times. you can never get enough of this place, like it can never get enough of you. it replenishes you, but yet it takes you away from reality. dangerous, you think. if you ever let yourself stay here for too long...

it blurs again. reality shapeshifts. it always does, just that people dont pay attention. this time, it catches you in the eye with a sharp blow. you reel and gasp and the surroundings blur and focus.

the boy realises its time to get off. you cant stay here for too long. and its been much too long already...

the boy gets off. he walks down the steps, half shaken, half panting from the exhileration. his feet touch solid ground again. such a vast contrast to the soft snow that caressed his ankles just a short while ago.

the boy gets off.

he stops at the bus stop and he turns around. he's trying to find the place again but somehow he also knows that he has already found it and its inside him; but that doesnt stop him from turning around nonetheless.

he stops. and thinks. sometimes you cant have too much of a good thing ya know. give and take. someday i'll be back. and then will you stay?

oh no. ill come, but ill go. its nice, yea, but ive got other mountains to climb and besides, its much, much too cold out there.

the boy smiles to himself, and notices two pretty girls walking along in front of him.

reality check.


yea, thats for you, jianwei. cos you special request whattt. now stop bugging me.

sex and shitting

you know, ive realised, not for the first time today, that sexual desires and shitting are actually pretty much the same feeling.

ok, ok, waitaminute. i know what you guys/girls are thinking...tim's off his rocker now/what the faaakk??!!/damn youre one disgusting prick....blah blah insert vulgarity here.

but think about it man. they really are two sides of the same coin.

take sexual desire for one.

say youre in the Hub (this studying area in my school) and you see this damn kickass girl with the legs and the short skirt and the tits and shes spreading em for you....just for you baby.

so what happens? you look at her and your eyes take in the lust like some sexual chocolate melting and oozing into your pupils. your breath quickens and you imagine her beckoning to you. in some dark corner of your fantasy mind she's looked up and seen your lustful gaze. and hell, she thinks youre hot too and you two just wanna fuck like rabbits now.

so you walk right over and take her hand and make for the nearest abandoned classroom (on the 7th story). as the lift goes up, you cant wait and you grab her ass, like a kid grabbing candy and it feels as soft as the softest candy floss on the outside but inside you know its hardcore firm, just like that Snickers Bar you ate for recess.

your mouth locks with her and forms a vaccuum, crazysexycool sucking like you both wanna suck the breath out of one another. whoever breathes first is a rotten egg....your tongue on hers like two liquid slugs making slimy love, pushing and shoving like Japanese men wanting to get off at a train stop.

she tugs at your shirt button and rips off the flimsy material. you stifle a groan and give that bitch a slap. she smiles and slaps you one back. now we're talkin'

lift stops and we both out together as one. barge into classroom and its onto the tabletops baby. what pos first? fuck the muff diving and the blowjob cos thats only for foreplay losers (please note that tim advocates foreplay as a loving form of emotional connection with your partner) and its onto the mish. then maybe a reverse cowgirl backed up by some solid doggy style. she moans, her eyes half closed, her mouth half open as you thrust into her. each thrust punctuated with a hard 'thomp!' of approval as your groin slaps against hers. you gyrate your hips and she grabs your arms and you cant help but bury your face into her hair and grunt as you cum. (im cumming!!!)

ok, thats like premature ejaculation or something. but you get the idea. on to shitting.

youve just eaten fried beef rice and its the oilest muthafucking fried rice uve tasted. and you down it with sliced red chili and a cup of iced milo. potent stuff.

head back to the hub with yer mates and just when ure sitting down to study, it begins. a flutter in your stomach. your heart beat quickens and so does your breathing. you feel your insides churning like its alive. the desire builds and builds until you cant take it anymore and you just have to be released.

march out of the door (play it cool baby, we aint going nowhere) and up, up the never-fucking-ending flight of stairs (cant wait to play baby) and you see the holy grail. the fucking toilet door. push it open and you just cant take it anymore. you just wanna grab a roll of toilet paper and get down and dirty.

insides quivering, tingling. half crazed by excitement, half numb from the sheer though of release, you push open the cubicle door. faaakk! some muthaasshole cant shoot straight (as always). theres pee on the lid and you dunt wanna dirty your virgin ass. so you plunk the toilet paper, hard earned from the roll (you begged for it baby!) onto the seat and you wipe the friggin obscenity off. damn, you need more paper. back to the roll and its desperate now, your insides, they want you to make love to them. they want to make you feel good. they want you to release right now!

you groan and hold your stomach. give it a good slap (just a while longer baby) and it slaps you back. bitch. im gonna show you who's boss you cunt!

rolls in hand. rush to cubicle. bang! the door. fuckfuckfuckfuck. slip open the button, down goes the zip. the underwear, almost torn, roughly done. nicely done.

you thrust your ass onto that seat and fuck it like youve never fucked a toilet bowl seat in your life. ohmigodddd im cccumminnng. you hold your stomach and your breath comes in short gasps. your sweat stained shirt throbbing to your heartbeat. you clench your teeth and feel it sliding out of you. it loves you baby.

so, as you can see, sex is somewhat like shitting. keep this in mind the next time you shit/have sex.

*this piece was written based on a true story of tim sitting in the Hub today with joseph, jianwei, alex and shaun when he needed to go to the bathroom to crap.