The Grendel

Source: http://www.kiechle.com/trips/index.htm?toe/toe.htm

Ancient folklore told of a mythical ogre that lived somewhere south of Bern. Although it was never seen by any eyes, locals never doubted it's existence. This ogre would lie dormant amidst the northern face of a mountain at the very edge of the Alpine range, protecting it from any trespassers. 

Over the years technology and civilization moved into the neighborhood. They built ski lodges fit for kings, and they dug train tunnels through the foot of the ogre's abode. Like mushrooms, villages began sprouting around the northern vicinity. These collection of villages were named after the Grendel, a troll that was said to have roamed free in the dark ages, raging all life at it's wake. The same troll some believed retreated to protecting the northern face of this very mountain at the very edge of the Alpine range. 

Source: http://www.isiahfactor.com/

While other mountains and slopes in it's range basks in the full glory of the sun and snow, this northern face remains hidden. It is always black and gloomy. It receives the worst of the season's weather and holds it like a precious ring it cannot ever live without. Like a towering vertical wall it stands proud and sinister, keeping all life miles away. 

We humans. 

We humans and our arrogance. Our greed. Our desires and our culture. Humans could not resist the unexplored, the untouched, the unseen. And so it began, the race to conquer, to win, to be a part of written history. Ski lodges were transformed into theatrons riddled with gigantic binoculars, and the black northern face of this very mountain the stage.

"If you are an actor, this will be your opportunity at Hamlet."

For a very brief moment in the coldest winters the veil of thick clouds would draw away, revealing the naked black rocks that make up what at one moment was the final unattained history of the Alps. Warriors would flock to the place, attempting to slay this mythical ogre that lays hidden among the crags. They would come armed to their teeth not with ammunition of swords and guns and lead shells, but with ropes and axes and pitons and crampons and rucksacks. For a brief moment in the coldest winters the world will stop to watch with full attention this drama that would unfold. 

Winters would come and winters would go. Many worked their way up the first bivouac and turned back. Some days the mountain seemed almost too forgiving by allowing hints of sun draping it's chest, only to fall ill by mid day and drowning itself with heavy clouds and snow storms. Lifeless bodies would lie frozen at it's foot the very next day, proving to the world that Grendel is not a creature of pagans.

But some would make it past the first bivouac. Two would make it pass the Rote Fluh on the south-eastern side of this face and continued to push their way up the section of rocks that required one piton every meter of the way. Success came with a cost. Clouds loomed and weather brewed the very day they setup bivouac, like curtains closing on the casts from their audience. Both of them were never seen alive again. Then many years later a much younger pair would take on the stage not knowing they would be the cast of the most epic drama ever written by the Grendel. A 22-year old German kid performed a move so overwhelming to the mountaineering world Hollywood blockbusters are still using it as the climax of their movies. Just hours away from the summit, the beginning of the final act opened with an orchestra of howling winds and the whistle of falling rocks and snow. Priority was if a climber was injured, rescue takes precedence. So they abandoned their mission for immortality and started downwards. One by one the mountain ate them, through exhaustion and storm and avalanche. The final one died stuck on a knot of a rope, just inches away from his rescuers.  

It was through the historical traverse that many climbers were able to complete the mountain successfully. Today the thought of attempting this mountain is no longer reserved for the world's elites. But just when humans are about to dismiss the mythical Grendel as a creature of one's own fear of the unknown, it occasionally sharpens it's claws and claims a life or two.  

LOVE: Prequel to The Pain Series

You hate. You love. You hate to love because loving makes you weak, it makes you need, it makes you hate. Love exposes the most vulnerable of yourself to that one person, breaks down all the walls you worked so hard and long to build. You lose all focus, you lose sight of your goals and aspirations. You forget who you are to become who you want that person to like. You sell yourself short of your own identity to fit into everything that person is. Then you realize you are weak because you do not have a backbone. You need to get the attention of that person. You need that person to approve, to see, to nod, to smile, to laugh, to want to see you. 

If you'd see yourself from a third person's eyes, you'd hate yourself for everything you have become. But not yet. You're still okay with it because this feeling drives you. This feeling that for the first time in so long you are ALIVE. There is confusion. The world turns faster than you can process, everything seems out of control. But you like it. You fucking love it. You could feel your heart beating, you could hear your breathing, long and constant. You can actually see your pupils dilate, that smirk that runs across your face whenever that person's name is mentioned, and how those wrinkles around your eyes form showing everyone able to see that there is a lot of hidden truth behind that smirk. 

But what you hate most is the fall that usually comes after the high. The fear of failure, of rejection, of crashing and burning. The depression that falls onto you almost immediately, crushing all your bones, leaving you bleeding by the sidewalk alone and cold. You shiver. Your breath becomes short and rapid. Your chest hurts like it has been stabbed repeatedly by a serrated knife. All these pain inside you. It implodes, you feel the pain you have never felt before, you cry but no tears would come out. And when you think you've recovered, it happens again. You think every following implosion feels less painful, they do not. They always feel like something worse than the one before. And it happens. Again. And again. And again. 

Months pass, maybe a year. Everything you've ever achieved is gone. You find yourself washed up by the bank of a disgusting river, wounded, broken, tired. But suddenly you feel normal again. Your eyes can see light. Your chest doesn't feel heavy and it doesn't feel like it's bleeding from the inside. No implosion. No knives. You feel, for the first time ever, warmth in your hands. They do not tremble. Your face is not pale white. There are no longer tear marks on your cheeks. You stand up against the sunrise, it feels good. You take a breath, deep and long. You've been reborn. Much healing needs to be done, but you are glad you are out of the shithole. 

You vowed never again to fall into this pit or anything like it. NEVER. So you reserve yourself, you stay away from everything that can lead to anything. Whenever someone comes near, you back off. Whenever you sense something, you immediately strategize an exit plan. You grow numb, you lose the senses. You think you're happy, able to do whatever it is you've always wanted to do, whenever you want to do them. You meet people, but they don't mean anything to you. Whenever feelings do arise, you disappear. Always running away. 

People around you ask. Not the loyal ones, only the ones who love to gossip and back stab. Only the ones who'd be too quick to judge. Only those who think they know everything about the world and they can easily label you. Only those who have been having it easy and don't understand why you shouldn't do the same. Not the loyal ones. The loyal ones never ask everyone else, they only ask you. And when you do not want to tell, you will not pursuit further. 

But people still talk. Why is it that you have such disgusting levels of self-esteem? Why can't you stand up and try again? Do you have some queer disease, or just without the disease? People love to talk, to compare you to what normal people would do. And when you do not fit into this category, you are worth the headlines of the evening edition. 

Then out of nowhere, it happens. You have no idea how and when it happened, but it just fucking did. Stealthily it creeps into your head and embeds this cancer into you, and when you realized it's existence it is already in stage 3. Chronic. You've fallen in love again. All the strongest walls and defense systems crumble. The world around you falls apart. Volcanoes erupt, ice-caps melt, storm rages. Chaos, chaos, chaos. You have no idea what is happening. You do not know what to do. You don't want it, but you are redoing every single thing all over again. 

Love. Need. Hate. The smirk. The smile. The lost identity. The heart beat, the pupils, the inability to contain anything. In your every waking hour. In your every dream. No backbone. You are hating yourself right now, but not yet. For once in the longest time, you feel fucking ALIVE. You want to keep that feeling for a little while more. Once in a while sanity knocks on your door. It tells you to come to your senses. It tells you to snap out of this. You do, for a while. Then that person shows another trait you respect so much, you immediately toss yourself into the whirlpool of self-destructive clouds again. 

It comes a full circle now. You're in so deep now. You remember why you've always been trying so hard to avoid this. But it's too late. You look back to the gruesome years it took for you to recover, the pain you had to go through that no self-inflicting cuts can trump, and all the senses are suddenly knocked back into your head. I told you so, it says. I told you so, over and over again. How are you suppose to get yourself out of this shit now? Fucking idiot. Stupid fucking idiot! 

For Once

For once I want to celebrate my stupidity. I want to be able to look back at all the shit I've done wrong, however bad, smile at them, and let myself know it's not that bad. I want to be able to tell people how stupid I was, how stupid I am, and how stupid I can always become in the future. Because I am me.  Let me be as stupid as I want to be. 

For once I want to celebrate my arrogance. However little I have I want to be able to tell people I'm actually good at something. I may not be the best, but being good is enough to earn bragging rights. Let me talk about these things. Let me be happy for me. Let me look down on people. Let me spit at people. Let me laugh at people. Let me be arrogant and proud. 

For once I want to be a douche. I want to fire and forget. I want to do things and not think of the consequences and just move on. I want to forget I have a family and not live my life for the family. I want to get whatever I want, be whatever I want, become whatever I want, and not think about the effects of them. I don't want to think about everyone else's feelings anymore. I want to start thinking of myself for just this once. Let me be an ass to everyone around me and not be bothered. 

For once I want to be alone. Let me be free of labels and stigma and fear and discrimination and hate. Let me be the only Man in the world. Let me be free of judgement. Of cock-stares. Let me be in peace. Leave me the fuck alone. No noise. No talking. No back-stabbing. No rumors. No gossips. 

For once I want to be like my father. Let me be irresponsible. Let me be abusive. Let me be a dick. Let me rage whenever I want to at whatever I want to. Let me kill. Let me beat up anybody I want. Let me spend all my money without any guilt, buy anything just because I want to. Let me be the one taking money from everyone instead of giving, despite me making the most in my family.

For once I want to drink. Let me smoke up. Let me chase. Let me trip. Let me see colorful paintings on the walls melting. Let me wake up to another day like the one before, always seeing paintings on the walls melting. 

For once I want to dig my nose in public. Let me fart the silent killer in the lift. Let me sit with my legs raised in the restaurant. Let me drive on the wrong side of the road. Let me sit in the corner of the house I don't own and dream of being a zombie-slayer. Let me not need medication to stay alive. Let me take food off of stalls without paying. Let me screw that neighbor's hot wife and not need to pay.

For once I want to have the parking lot I want, whenever I want it. Let me have green light on all the roads I pass through, when I pass through them. Let me have red light whenever I want to send a text message. Let me have whoever I want whenever I want. Let there be traffic jam when I want to be late and no traffic jam when I'm rushing. 

For once I want to feel alive. Let me do the things I think is right at that time, no matter how silly and idiotic they actually are. Let me have no remorse, no fear, no regrets. No books to tell me what I should and shouldn't do. No need to earn respect of anyone. No need to be good at anything. 

For once I want to die in that little corner of the back alley of a druggie-infested street. Let me go without having to think what would my family think of me, what would my friends think of me. Let me not have a proper burial. Let me have none of it. Let me rot into nothingness and let nobody miss me. 

Internal Affairs

Let it go. It's over. What you're doing will never amount to anything. I'm not talking about anything substantial, I'm talking about anything AT ALL. 

But what if this time it's different? What if the Law of Attraction actually works? 

Not for this it won't. You can attract all other kinds of shit, but not this. Some things are not meant to be because they are not meant to be. 

The Law of Averages apply. One day there will be one that will work. Until then I will just have to keep my hopes up and optimism up and keep searching. 

You're just coming up with all kinds of weird-ass 'Laws' to justify your thoughts. And each time you fall, you get hurt. Each time you fall you take a longer time to get up. Everything around you will get hurt. Family. Friends. For what? 

For a dream, a dream that one day I will find it. I will find it. I know I will. 

And then what? What will happen then? To what end will you keep destroying what you have around you now to obtain this mythical chalice? Your obsession it's worse than Ahab's. At least he's chasing after something real! 

What is real and what is not? What is humanity and our achievements if not for the dream of the unattainable? 

Everything physically plausible must first be theoretically proven. What do you have that is proven? Where is your mathematical formula? I'm all fucking ears. 

.....

Nothing. 

Some things are not explainable by calculations. Some things are based on gut feeling. 

What gut feeling? Where is your objectivity? Your common fucking sense? Where is it? What makes you think it will happen at all. I commend your optimism but this is consuming you. It's eating you from inside. You're decaying and it fucking stinks from here.

What if there is a giant pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? 

What if you spend all your life searching for the end of this rainbow and you find a giant pot of cornflakes? 

But what if there is gold? 

There is none you fucking retard! It is as impossible as you waving a wand and conjuring up a freaking dragon! 

.....

Let it go, dude. Nothing will happen. Not now, not ever. Don't go chasing after white whales. Let it go. Settle for normal and human things instead. 

'Human things'

Yes human things. That's what we are. We're not any better than other living creatures in this world. We have limits too. Do not be so arrogant and put yourself with the likes of Gods.

'Limits'

What are you ready to risk for it? Are you ready to lose everything, including this thing you want so bad? Your judgement is clouded, dude. When you come to your senses you will understand and agree with me. Trust me. Don't go ahead with it. 

I hate it when people say 'Trust Me'. 

It doesn't fucking matter what you hate to hear. This entire conversation is about what you hate to hear. Only a true friend would say things you hate to hear, because sometimes they matter. 

You know how you water a seed, and you keep watering but you can't see the plant bud? What if it was about to bud when I decide to listen to you and walk away? What if I lose out on the single biggest opportunity of my life? 

What if the seed is dead all along? And no matter how long you water, a plant will never emerge? How many years would you have wasted trying to grow a dead plant? 

..... 

Forget about it. Move on. Move along. Find something else. Find something real. 

My Bucket List

Life. It is appreciated only when one has nearly lost it. It is valued when one is deeply humbled by it's fragility. People jump off buildings and planes, scale mountains, risk frost bites and death, run through war-torn and mine-filled lands, swim across jellyfish-infested channels. 

They're not insane. They do not have the addiction for adrenaline. They do not hate life. They are not suicidal. These people want to feel alive. They want to appreciate life. The want to value what they have, and they want to share this value with the rest of the world. And they sure as hell don't want to do it in a Volvo 240.

This is my bucket list. It's non-exhaustive. I will probably change it every now and then. I may not even get any of them done before I die. It may not be cool to some. But right now this is it. 

Actually Publishing My Book

I like writing, but I'm sure you would've figured that out by now. And I was not always this Mitchy (Male + Bitch = Mitch). Out of the many stories I've written, one I would really like to publish. Maybe soon. Maybe later. Before I die, I hope. I will get it published. 

Free Solo

So over the years of climbing I've moved further and further away from doing the free solo. I'm now an indoor boulderer, without ropes but also without real rocks. Soon maybe when I feel really up to it and suddenly have swollen balls I will work my way to striking this out of the list as DONE. 

Pripyat

I want to go there. I want to feel the radiation seep into my blood. I want to stand right below the Ferris wheel, walk into the abandoned swimming pool, the courtyards, the playgrounds. 

An Enterprise

I'm never much of a work-for-people kind of person. I hate the boredom of stability and tranquility. It sucks the life out of me. I never want to climb ladders and own expensive watches. But I want to build a business. I want to start something worthwhile. I want it to grow and then I want to sell it off to some rich dick who only knows how spend his daddy's trust fund. I will respect him because he will buy it for a very high price, because he will be too lazy to do proper research. 

Coffee Place

They say there exists a mythical coffee shop. Their coffee sourced from the best parts of the world. Your coffee never hotter than 60 degrees. The shop filled with comfy couches. With shelves stacked with the best books in the history of humanity. With the most awesome indie music the world can find. They serve Flat White, which is actually a flatter version of a cappuccino NOT latte. They let you have iced-cappuccino because it's got nothing to do with the amount of foam on top. They use awesome bone-glass cups without fancy flowers and chickens. And they pair your scones with Nutella. And they have Red Velvet cakes too. I want to own one of these awesome coffee places. 

List of Mountains

Kilimanjaro. Annapurna. Aconcagua. Andes. Everest. Matterhorn. Denali. Fitz Roy. It goes on. I'd most probably not be able to even do one. But it's nice to dream, no? 

100 Pull Ups sub-3 Minutes

It's embarrassing to even mention this because my current time is 15 minutes. 

1-Handed Muscle Ups

This serves almost no value apart from the fact that it is way cooler than being able to do a 1-handed pull up! 

Nurburgring Northern Loop in a Pagani Zonda R

The -ring because it's an awesome track. The Zonda because it's the best car ever made. Nuff said. 

Experience Lukla Airport

This will probably be with Everest as I can opt to fly to and from the most dangerous airport in the world. What is life without near-death experiences? 

Kill a Zombie

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Transalpine Run

Because it sounds like fun to run up and down mountains across 3 countries for 10 days straight .

To Die attempting K2

I don't kid. I know I will never be able to summit this mountain even if I'm given 10 lifetimes to prepare. Some places you have to earn the right to see. Some places you have to earn a spot to die in. I want to earn a spot here. I want to be frozen and immortalized forever. Hikers passing through will see me and be reminded of how precious their lives are, how easy it is to lose it. This is where I want to end. 

And I scroll up the list. This list needs a huge-ass bucket. But fuck it. Life is too short. Gotta start now. Off to lunch! 

  

The Dark Before The Dawn

Around you people die. Around you people fall sick. People catch colds and get hit by trucks and fall off buildings. They leave behind them families, children, parents, friends. They leave behind them troubles and unfinished businesses. You stand still. You do what everyone does, and yet you feel that somehow you will not be harmed. You want to believe you're the chosen one, the Wolverine with incredible healing powers or the Batman who can never seem to die. But you're not. None of us are. 

One day you go to the hospital and the doctor says you might have caught a killer virus, a ferocious cancer growth, the damaged kidney. One day when you're driving happily you're hit by a truck and the next thing you know you've lost all your limbs. And you lie there in bed, in disbelieve. You don't know how to react. 

In the movies, people cry. In the movies, people lose their temper and start screaming out. In the movies families know exactly what to say and friends are always there to make you feel better. No. Not this time. This time you have no idea what to do. You can't cry, you can't scream. Your families are nowhere to be seen, and your friends keep saying the wrong things over and over again. 

The doctor lays out the possible treatments you can take. He looks at you and asks you how you feel. You say "I feel.... nothing". Numbness. Everything around you is a blur. Things happen and you can never catch up with it. You got nobody to talk to about this. You're lost. Blur. Too fast. Words don't register. You stare into blank space, and nothing happens in your head. Your hands. They tremble. Your breath. They tremble. You curl up into a fetal position, hoping to gain a little comfort. It doesn't come to you. You punch walls to remove the numbness. It doesn't go away. 

Then you look at people around you, living normal lives, and you want to get back to that life. You miss it. You can't believe that one small mistake can lead to such a catastrophic disaster. You refuse to accept what has happened to you. You'd sleep every night, dream of waking up all normal again, and then waking up to a damaged body. Denial. You'd always wake up to a crippled you, a wrecked you. They say crying helps, but no tears would come out. They say screaming out loud helps. You stuff a pillow onto your face and you scream into the pillow. It helps, but only very slightly. They say drinking drowns your sorrows, but it will always come back once you sober up again. No. NO. NO! This is NOT happening to me! NO FUCKING WAY!!! 

Rage takes over. You keep losing your temper, even at the smallest things. People around you will start keeping a distance because they don't understand you and they have no idea what is happening to you. You explode. You find it hard to keep a straight and objective thought. You can't control it. The fire inside. The need to deal damage. The need to scream and throw things around and see everything around you burn to the ground. Sanity hangs by a thin thread. One minute you know what you're doing, and the other you lose everything. Why? Why the fuck is this happening to ME?! WHY? It repeats in your head. It rewinds and it replays. The last moments replay and replay and replay. It haunts the fuck out of you. WHY not HIM?! Why NOT HER?!! WHY ME?! 

Sanity seeps back into your head. Slowly. Steadily. You finally regain a little bit of consciousness. You see again. You hear again. The true gravity of the situation finally weighs in on you. It's heavy. You can't breathe. Then you can breathe again. Then you can't again. You begin to think now. God may be able to help. You start striking deals with HIM. You ask for a short rewind, and in return you devote your life to helping His devotees. You promise to be vegan if. You promise to change if. Just one chance. ONE. Chance. 

Nothing works. You're still the same. Times are hard. You feel useless and you've lost all dignity. You'd rather die a hero than to live a helpless shit. Google SUICIDE. Google DROWNING. Google POISONING. Some may lead you to God's doors. Some may enlighten you on some really good ways to die. There's no point in living anymore. You distance yourself from family and friends. You make them hate you. It would be easier for them to let go of someone they hate. Sometimes you would sit in the car for hours long, engine running, thinking if you should stuff a pipe from the exhaust into your cabin. Eternal sleep. Every night, you would pray for God to let you sleep and never wake up. Eternal sleep. You stand by the railroad for a while. You think. You contemplate. You consider. You take one step. Suddenly voices echo in your head. It was your mom. She called you. We're here, son. Don't do it. You turn around and walk away. 

After a few attempts, a thought strikes. If you're gonna die anyway, why not make the best of what little life you have left before you go? Exit with a bang. Don't waste it by just leaving so soon. Since you're gonna die anyway. Better to enjoy until the time comes. Then you start to see. The sun. It peeks behind the most majestic mountain range in the world. It floods the ice caps gold. The sea. The waves crashing onto white sand stretching miles long. Pastel blue lakes. The jungles green from afar. The trees taller than any building known. Rich dark soil. Birds. Crickets. Monkeys. Lovers laughing, babies crying. The deafening cascade of the waterfall. The calm river afterwards. Rebirth. 

What Goes On In My Head

Sometimes I sit in a corner, quiet. People come up to me and ask 'Hey what you doing? Why so stoned? Why so anti-social?'

So I will tell you what I am, most of the time, thinking about. 

Sometimes I think about how I would turn out if I was in a war-torn country. Will I be as bitchy as I am now (as of recent days a few of us have come out with a term to label male bitches: Mitches)? Will I be such a drama king? Would I pick up a gun and kill someone? Will I kill my parents just so I get to live? Is life that important? Is human's survival instinct so strong that one will kill even the ones he/she loves in order to stay alive? 

I don't know. Because I'm not living in a war-torn country. I can't judge, I can't label, because I don't know the first thing about what these people have to go through. 

Sometimes I think about pain. I think about how much pain a person can bear before he/she passes out. How much pain a person can bear before he/she dies. Sometimes I think about drowning, about free falling. Sometimes I think about being beaten to death. The question I would always ask is 'at what point does one give up fighting?' 

I have been beaten before, but not to anywhere near death. And I've been bound and beaten before. The latter is more humbling. I drowned before, and in that instance there is absolutely nothing I could do but pray. Heck, I didn't even have the bloody mood to pray. But that was just me. I've fallen before. Falling is both the fastest and the slowest occurring moment in a person's lifetime. People who've fallen would know what I mean. 

Sometimes I would think about what I would say right before getting myself beaten up. Because sometimes, just sometimes, it's cooler to go down fighting than whimpering like a coward. This is what I would say:

If you're gonna beat me up, make sure you kill me. If you can't kill me, run. Run as fast as you can and as far away as you can. If I find you, prepare yourself a coffin cos I ain't gonna buy you one. 

I can always imagine myself saying these awesome words to my killer right before he pump my head full of lead. But I know reality won't be the same. I know I'd piss my pants and be crying for mercy like a fucking coward. But it doesn't hurt to imagine. 

Sometimes I'd think about confronting someone who owes me money. He would be an epic retard and try to twist the story around to make it sound as if I actually owe him more than he owes me. You know what I'd say? I'd say this:

Here's two sacks of sand. Take it, and run. Before I finish this cigarette, I want you to disappear from my sight. If I find you, you better have the two sacks of sand with you, because I'll need to cover you with them when I'm done with you. 

But I can't do one most important thing in that statement: finish the cigarette. Because I haven't been smoking for a little over a year now. And I don't think I'll ever get back to it. So this means 70% style point has already gone out the window even before I started the sentence. Okay I admit, part of this epic statement I stole from an old Bollywood movie. 

Sometimes I'd try to figure out why people would love to hate each other so much, and why would people need to place themselves in smaller groups of 'elites' so they can actually feel good about themselves. Then I realized that people need to hate. We need to take a side, in everything we do - In politics, in religion, even in existence. So I think the only way for us to be united is if we have a greater enemy. It could be an alien invasion or a killer virus or vampires and werewolves. 

Sometimes I would wonder why is it so hard for us to be ourselves and do what we really want to do because it would make us happy? Why is it that we need to live for other people, make other people happy, be accepted by other people? We don't live their lives. They don't live ours. It's because No Man Is an Island. And because of that every man/woman needs to be a part of society. This means we will all need to conform to certain rules of conduct, and this varies according to how high up to First World scale a society is in. Some find it sacrilegious to smoke cigarettes in front children, while some think peeing by the road side is normal. 

So these are some of the rubbish that go through my head when I'm sitting in a corner all by myself. I'm not an anti-social person, sometimes I am so sociable you'd wish me dead. I may be planning world domination or a drug that can create zombies or a way to kill all humanity. Or I could be planning my dinner, or what to wear for tomorrow's Ball, or what to say if I was his best man.    

Till Death Do You Part

I never understood what it all meant. Probably it's because I grew up not knowing the true meaning of it. To me marriage was always simply humanity's need to be normalized into society's behaviors. Procreation and the need to ensure survival of the species is just another word for the insatiable need to quench one's thirst for lust. If everyone is doing it, so should we. My parents want to have grand kids, so lets give them grand kids. So we've been going out for a million years now, getting married is the only logical course of action. I don't want to die alone or surrounded by cats who'd, out of hunger, eat me.

You see, my family never understood true unconditional love. I don't refer to my extended family, what they do is none of my concern. Mom and dad only ever know how to fight with each other, curse at each other, and throw chairs at each other. There was a lot of hate in the house where I grew up. Not that I cared, it gave me the perfect opportunity to start smoking and drinking and clubbing (called discos back then) and running around with parangs (not what you think, really). You get the picture. I never agreed to LOVE and MARRIAGE and FAMILY and bla bla bla. Well not until quite recently. 

Have you hung out with a couple who'd keep looking at each other and nodding at each other, not saying anything to each other, and knowing exactly what they were talking about? It's like they went to telepathy school. 

Do you have a friend so close to you, you'd psychoanalyze all the girls he went out with and keep telling everyone nobody is good enough for him? And then suddenly this one comes along and somehow all you could ever do is nod and nod and nod... and smile? 

Then there's this couple who'd spend an entire day in the cyber cafe, each doing their own stuff and playing their own games, not talking to each other, and call it a good date. 

And then this girl who'd always complain about her man, about how silly he is and how he can't do this or do that. And all the while she was complaining, she had this uncontrollable smile across her face - the smile that says 'I love him I love him I love him'. 

Then a very beautiful girl who met this boy when he was in deep shit with no money or anything to his name, stuck by him through thick and thin, even when business ventures turned bad. But every time I meet up with them, I know as long as they stick together they can weather any storm. The boy, by the say, can make his eyes disappear just by smiling. And he looks like a pear now. Yes, his mom agrees. 

There's this guy, who the girl chose over a rich boy (he now owns a Ferrari and all the lots). Even after 4 kids, they would steal each other out for dinner dates. They still look at each other with those eyes, those feelings, like they've just met and they were full of puppy love. They make mistakes together, accept them and move on. They don't own fancy cars or big houses or enterprises, but they have each other. And really that is all that matters.  

I know what it means now. Not that I am ready to embrace it, I still don't think it's my kind of thing. But I understand it. It was never about the diamonds or cars or shiny branded stuff or financial stability. It was never about making their parents happy or doing what everyone else is doing simply because. It's about being able to finish each other's sentences, about knowing exactly what the other wants just by looking at their faces, about feeling the warmth of each other even in the coldest end of the world. 

Fancy birthday and anniversary celebrations are for teenagers. After a while these things will mean nothing anymore, and what is left will be the unspoken affection they have for each other. When they can sit down for dinner, like every dinner before this, eating without saying a thing to each other, proceed to watch a movie, like every other day before this, and go home knowing they've spent another eventful day with the person they love the most. 

People And Paper: Promote or Pull Out

Companies are going paperless. It's a trend, and I was not saved from this when I was running my little business. Going paperless is efficient: filing is made easy and space saving. Emails, news and magazines reach recipients immediately and print cost reduced dramatically. 

But is paperless the answer for everything?  Is this crucial medium of humanity's very civilization facing extinction? Hit the link below and be enlightened on some critical myths of paper consumption and the degree of harm it does to the world, compared to techie substitutes. 

http://www.paperonline.org/myths-and-realities

Seem legit? I don't know how true it is, but I do know we are now a little more educated. 

Educated Guesses, People

During the past Olympics some companies promised a total prize of RM 4 Million in cash if any Malaysian would win us our very first gold medal. Unfortunately nobody came home with the gold, but that isn't the case in discussion. I overheard some people saying it's probably a good thing nobody won the cash prize, and it would be put to better use if these money were given to the poor and unfortunate. Well that's very noble of you to elect this money be given to the needy.

People have no idea how difficult it is being a national athlete and having to fight an ideology especially if they don't have a mentor to show them it's possible. I learnt this while climbing: everyone, given almost similar in skills and strength, will keep struggling on a problem until one manages to top out. Then everyone else will automatically be able to do the same, surprisingly, with less effort than they thought they needed. Its because they know it is now possible to do it. The case is same here with an Olympic gold. Because we have never gotten it before it will seem like an impossible task, especially for the pioneer.

Don't get me? Then you don't deserve to judge athletes and say their jobs are easy. If you think his gold medal incentive should be given to 'deserving' poor people, then lets also give all your increment and bonuses to the poorer people instead. Good idea, no?

While it may sound generous to be giving all the money to poorer people, one must also measure its effectiveness. For example, how many time have you seen people crossing busy roads right under the overhead bridge? Each overhead bridge takes almost a million bucks to build, and it was built to significantly reduce the risk of pedestrians trying to get to the other side. Money is only worth spending on people who deserve them. Many people are poor, not entirely but partly, because they choose to remain so. Wealth is not measured by how big your car or house, but how efficiently you use the limited resources you have. Wealth is measured by how much of your own lives you want to live.

So giving money and building free facilities for the poor will not solve poverty. But creating opportunities will. Award the deserving, regardless of wealth. They will spend some of the money, and these money will go into the pockets of other deserving people regardless of wealth, and so on and so on. And if the poor wants to become rich, they will need to show the world they deserve to be so.

So now that nobody won that gold medal. Do you think the companies will give the money away to charity anyway? Chances are not likely. But what if he'd won? He may use 1 million to buy himself a nice car, another 2 million a house and the final million to start a business. The car seller will make enough commission to send both her kids to a good private school. The house developer will be able to pay their contractors for the work and material spent building that house. The contractors will be able to put food on the home table. The business will hire workforce and rent real estate and take out loans from banks. You get where I'm headed. Everything described above would lead to opportunities for people to earn an honest living, and that was just the first stage.

It's silly for some people to blabber uneducated comments on how companies should 'better spend their dollars'. I have worked, very briefly, in one of those big banks. And I've gotten confirmation from friends in the industry that these multinationals are filled with useless people sitting around all day and getting fat paychecks for sucking up to their bosses. Managing their stakeholders, they say. Delegating jobs, they say. At least our athletes fought for something. At least they put themselves physically and mentally on the edge every time they step into the court. 

You, You and You

A great part of my life revolve around friends. In times when family could not, friends were the only ones who could be there when I needed help the most. Many of my friends I still have even after so long. Some I found when times were bad, some I made along the way firstly as classmates and eventually evolving into the closest of brothers. But today I will not talk about you guys. Today I talk about those who disappeared half way, those whom I lost all contact with.Yes. You, you and you. We grew up, we learnt, we taught each other, we protected each other, we inspired each other. But somewhere along the way we lost each other. To circumstances, to bad decisions, to wrong paths. 

You were the first. The one who taught me the number before ONE is ZERO, the one who told me after December ends it will become January again. Those days were very vague, and I was quite shocked that I could remember bits and pieces of them. Like when you used to always bring the coolest pencil boxes to school, those with compartments that would spring out from all angles. I don't even remember your name now, and I don't have anything to refer back to no year book no photographs. Maybe I still have some photographs. I could look them up.

I sat beside you in school. I went to this school alone so I didn't have any friends. My inability to speak like a normal person made it harder for me to voice my thoughts for fear of embarrassment. So there you were, sitting beside me. Apart from the people around who know my name, you were the only one who'd actually talk to me. You were a great artist back then, you could draw out awesome looking dinosaurs and suns and mountains and bears. Because dad didn't give me much money for lunch I would not go to the canteen during recess. And you'd stay with me in class and you'd teach me how to play those game books. Honestly I had no idea what I was doing or what was going on with my character. All I knew was if I made a wrong move and my character died, I'd backtrack and choose the other page number. I think it was the next year when you left, but I couldn't quite remember to where. We never exchanged numbers because we had none. I hope you're doing well now, I hope you're still drawing. I remember your name. I hope you remember mine.

We were friends for about a year or so, and we were close. You were like a replacement for the one who left the year before, and I would teach you how to read game books and draw dinosaurs and suns and mountains and bears. We were like hermits, not wanting to hang out with anyone else not wanting to play the games everyone else would play. Our friendship ended quite quickly. It was good while it lasted because we'd hardly talk to anyone else and I didn't feel uncomfortable talking to you. And when the teacher asked me to call my name out, you'd do it for me because you knew it would be difficult for me to do it. But then it was brief. I think you left the year after, or were we separated when our class got broken up and combined with others. I couldn't remember much about that. But I do remember your name. I hope you're doing well too. Better than I am doing.

We'd travel to school together by bus. We became close because we stayed just a couple of blocks away from each other, and it was rare because our school was about 10 kilometers from our homes. We'd bring our bicycles out on the weekends and holidays, and cycle to the famous curry house nearby. We'd play football, basketball, buy Doraemon comics and read them in the park. Society didn't really approve of our friendship, I didn't understand why. I still don't understand now. But we remained good friends, until the day came when you were replaced. My new friends were, well, newer I guess. And slowly we lost contact and never talked anymore. We still saw each other in school until graduation, but we never noticed each other anymore. I stay on the same block as you now. Whenever I drive home at night I'd remember the friend I ditched and forgotten, the friend who cared but were not returned the same kindness. I know this apology will not get to you, and it will not make me feel any better but I'm not ready to walk up to your house and talk to you just yet. So I'm sorry, from afar. 

We'd known of each other's existence but never actually got close until that year when we sat opposite each other. Then I found out you stayed near my house. And I found out your grand dad had an entire housing garden and roads named after him. But that didn't stop us from becoming friends, best friends even.That didn't get your parents too protective of their sons for hanging around people at the bottom of the food chain. Well we never knew of food chains. We knew of friendship and homework, nothing more. When we moved to secondary school, you left. Off to better schools. It was a good move, our public schools were crap anyway. I don't know where you are now, where you are staying and whether or not you are married. But every time I drive pass that corner house with the blue roof I'd remember you. 

You were probably the greatest loss of my life. I can't say it was my fault for you walking out on us all, but it was my fault for now working hard enough to look for you. We spent a good 5 years as the best of friends. We were so close people often thought we were brothers.We got into trouble together, we skipped school together, we started smoking together, we went for Friday lunches at the food court below Metrojaya together. Remember the Curry Laksa? You always loved the uncle's Assam Laksa. What the fuck happened? Why the fuck did you just abandon all the years of friendship and left? You taught me how to be what I am today. You told me when I was having the biggest trouble handling my temper, that I should not close it up instead learn how to use it to my advantage. You taught me, in the midst of all the politics we were facing in the scouts, to keep calm and carry on. You taught me, even beyond my own eyes, that I was better than how I saw myself. But you were not the same. You didn't dare face your SPM results until a year after we got it. You blamed us all for causing you to consistently fail in college. Come on, prove to me what I said was wrong. Come the fuck out and tell me what I heard was crap. Two of our best friends got married last year and the first thing they did was asked me to look for you. Don't fuck around anymore. We all miss you. I miss you. You are a great friend, one I don't want to lose. Come back, dude. We grew up together, that's gotta count for something. 

Friends come and go. Some stay in your heart, others you just forget ever existed. But there are a few, the few that shaped your life and made you who you are today. You learn from the mistakes you made with them, from the things they said to you, the times they stood by you when shit hit the fan. 

End of Freedom in Malaysia?

This is it. Somehow we knew it would reach Malaysia. Get to know the diagram above very very well. If this Act is not removed, freedom on the Internet as we know will end. No, make that THE INTERNET as we know will end.

I know this little blog is too insignificant to do anything or cause any harm to anyone, but this is all little old me have got and this would probably end too :(

Feather Fighter

Source: http://www.veryicon.com/icon/png/Application/Database%20Filter/Filter%20Feather.png

Well this is awkward. I never thought I would be writing about you in here, cos you were never anyone important to me. Not because you're not good in what you do, you no doubt are the best. But so is she, and just because her sport is not in the Games doesn't make her any less respectable. I didn't care much about the way your game is played, although I've grown up playing it every now and then. It's a rich man's game and don't let anyone else tell you otherwise. 

It has always been awesome, how you fell. How you kept falling, over and over again to the same man. I say awesome not because I loved watching you fail so many times, but because you immediately got back up and looked to your next meet with him. I come not as a professional national athlete, but as someone quite similar. You see, my sport did not enjoy the same equality and support as yours mainly because it is misunderstood. I did not get into your sport just to be equal and understood because I'm sure you'd agree that passion cannot accommodate stigma. 

He's great and all, but that's only because he had you. Look at the sprinter. You think he's having a lot of fun? At the final moments of his run, he looked up at the time to see if he had broken his last record. That's not fun, that's a morning walk. Who is Superman without Luther? Spiderman without Carnage? Batman without the Joker? Holmes without Moriarty? Every champion needs an arch rival. This arch rival keeps him on his toes, keeps him on the edge, keeps him alive. You are this arch rival. Do not despair for although the arch rival almost always loses in the end, he is just as important as the hero himself. Because this arch rival is the only reason why the hero wakes up every morning actually feeling alive.  

I know despair. I know how it feels to have fallen over and over again, fought and fought and fucking fought and can NEVER get what you want. I don't know how it feels to be doing it for the first ever medal for our country, but I know how it feels to be doing it for myself. 

This set us apart from each other. This is the reason why you're there and we, mortal humans, sit here and watch as you fight valiantly. You lost again. But you won, again. Because nobody else can go this far.  

If her sport was in the Games, it would be the both of you. Then maybe you'll feel a little less pressure, you'll feel a little less like puking from the nerves. But it's not, so you're all we have. You always fought like a God. Not because you were great from the beginning, but because every time you face him you are better than you were before. That is God in my eyes. 

There will be no story for those who come, win, and leave. There will be no immortality for a hero without his greatest foe constantly chasing him down. You have achieved immortality. People will talk about you, about how you kept fighting and kept falling just inches behind. People know that real life is never as beautiful as the stories. Not everyone wins. But life is also never just about winning. Life is about fighting. The complacent who stay in their comfort areas and tell everyone their lives are complete, they don't know shit. 

If you go on, do this for yourself. Don't carry too much weight this time. Look into his eyes and take him down, for yourself. Everything else will fall into place. We may have a holiday, we may have free food, they don't matter. What matters is you. 

Don't get me wrong. I have not gotten renewed faith in you, I've not taken a liking for you and your game. Although it's nice to watch, I don't like it any more than I did before. But I know that while taking the road less traveled, I'm not easily inspired. But for this brief moment I am. The thing with people who fail too much is that they have too many reasons not to get back up after a fall. I am inspired by your relentless desire to achieve, by the little time you take on the ground, by how quickly you get yourself back up. 

The Awakening

The chime. The wind moves and this little chime lets lose a short burst of orchestra. Again. And again. They all sound the same, so they all bring me back to the same memory. That of the days when problems were smaller, but seemed like everything I could ever not bear. That spot where I'd always go to seek temporary escape from the confinements of social conformity. I'd smoke, I'd smoke up. Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody hears. Nobody but the select few of us.

I hear sound of crashing waves. I see the sun through palms desperately trying to block it's rays from me. Their shadows dancing on white sand. Nobody as far the eye can see. A bowstave, white, silent save the crashing waves. A hammock is a beautiful companion, a book beams you to an alternate reality. A gust of wind would ruffle the leaves above. Sometimes I think it was the rain, but it was just the wind ruffling leaves above me.  

Rain is beautiful. It cleanses, it washes away the dirt. Grey clouds reflect the world's true state of mind. Tick and tock they tap on the tin roof. Tick and tock they tap on gravel. The way it is accompanied by an angry mob of storm winds, swaying trees and raging rivers. Then it would end in a calm and still lake, a mirror reflecting the sky. It smells pure, it smells like acid being removed from the world. It smells like the cleansing of evil. 

Smells warm. Smells calm. Smells like the past, the times when everything you ever cared about is what to do tomorrow. Smells like a snooker center, the One Dollar coins cascading into horse machines, the crackling of clove cigarettes, of pool balls crashing onto each other. That distant buzz of a defected fluorescent lamp. Smells like that cheap whiskey you just puked out by the road side. Smells like mint and pepper in that rolled up joint. Smells like a stagnant room of old and stale cigarette smoke in the air. Smells like the soggy carpet below, never been washed. 

Close your eyes. It will make you see. It will show you the true world. On the fourth floor of that car park, with a six-pack. Rewind. Turn that dial back and feel it click and click and click. As it goes, feel it tighten. When it cannot be turned any further, release that dial and see everything come to life. A complete rerun of your life, what happened and who you met. How you managed to survive every single hardship thrown at you and how you always managed to stay on course. You see with your eyes, but they are not your guide. They betray you. 

Cry. Laugh. Scream. Love. Hate. Embrace existence. Embrace consciousness. Feel while you can, enjoy the good enjoy the bad. It will end soon, for all of us. This is one thing we all have that we cannot change. It doesn't matter if you're the most influential person in the world, the richest one ever lived. Touch that oil painting, look into your dog's eyes, listen to every instrument made in the history of man. See people. See yourself. See yourself in the eyes of people around you. See yourself in the eyes of your dog. Scream. Laugh. Love. Hate. Feel. Smell. Hear. See. 

Crime: Have a Seat

Crime rate sky-rockets here in KL. Some say it's caused by the Emergency Ordinance repeal which led to the release of some hardcore gangster into our streets and causing these havoc. Other theories may point to the long term economic imbalance that have finally led to desperate people taking desperate measures to survive (although I believe the need to rape someone is hardly considered a survival measure. There are donkeys). Some may say we are still one of the safest parts of the world, comparing to other worse-off countries. 

Political or not, shit has hit the fan and I don't think the police force have the capacity to protect us right now. And I'm not the kind of person who take comfort in comparing myself with unluckier ones. Not that I'm not grateful for what I have, I find it really selfish that I need someone else to be worse-off for me to feel good about myself. 

12 hours difference, we have a city - first world and all - witnessing a psycho riddling an entire cinema full of lead.  And this is the part of the world where people have, on average, the best standard of living, and kids curse at their parents over getting black iPhones instead of white ones for Christmas. It wasn't even the first time something like this happened. 

So on one side we have desperate people, struggling to survive, robbing and stealing (and raping) to make ends meet. And we have on the other side people so well-fed with everything they ever needed, they have nothing else to do but re-enact scenes from super hero comic strips. 

Then we have the middle - Europe - where people would specifically pickpocket tourists anywhere in the streets, because they prefer not to do it to their countrymen. Imagine the irony when tourism stimulates their collapsing economy. Well at least they don't gag you and rape you and throw you in the middle of the jungle.  

So what do we do? Besides the obvious - releasing the T-Virus and turning all humanity into mindless zombies. We protect ourselves because the police can't do it. Bolt the doors, lock the windows, look around you when walking, learn to scream, trust no one (especially not the ones in BMWs or equivalent), don't stop to help anyone, be home by 9PM. Don't eat alone, don't eat, don't buy new clothes, don't buy anything, bring less than RM 100 out at any given time. 

If you're a virgin, have sex with someone you like before you get raped. If you own a nice car, scratch it and replace the emblem with one of an inferior brand. Insure every damned thing you can, even your dog. If you live in a guarded community, buy the guards food every now and then so they won't rob your house. Lock your house when you go out. Lock it when you go in. 

Live in a jail cell. Forgo freedom. Forgo life. Set a curfew. Stock your kitchen with enough food to last you a month. Or two. Build a panic room. Build a panic room in your panic room. Build a proper toilet in that panic room. 

Sell your BMW, buy a 10-year old Hyundai Accent (if you really do want to, contact me). Learn MMA. But when approached by robbers, give them everything and don't attempt to fight back. You have more to lose than they do so MMA ain't gonna do you shit. 

Pray. Pray for either a Bay Harbor Butcher, a T-Virus or a police force competent enough to keep us safe. God won't save you. People will. But God won't hurt you either, people will. Move away from KL. Move away from crime. You can't because as long as there are people, there will be crime. There will be killing and raping and torturing and stealing and filling an entire cinema full of lead. There will be corruption and cronyism. There will be hate. There will be people taking comfort in knowing there are other people out there in far worse conditions than them.  So to Crime, I say: Have a seat, get comfy. You're here to stay as long as humanity draws breath. 

There Was Once A Famous Pomelo Tree

There was once a famous pomelo tree in Section 4. It was tall, it was great, it was quite a magnificent thing to behold. We'd meet at a very young age and we'd go on to become closest of friends. I jest when I said you were like the pomelo tree, never being able to grow taller than you already were. I jest a lot, whenever I can speak fluently without choking over every other word.

It was magnificent that the pomelo tree looked rather tall back then, with those big leaves. Not many leaves, but those still on the tree were big. Another reason why I kept relating the tree to you. But you took me for who I am, as I did for who you are. We made the best of our friendship with however little we had. It seems so that whenever the rain fell and the night felt bleakest, you were there. I know we all have our own problems to deal with and we can't always be there for each other. But the fact that you were always there comforted me.

It was funny now that I recall, I have never seen that pomelo tree bear fruit. It was either that or you never bothered to share the works of your tree with us. We'd sit in a coffee shop with the table full of empty glasses, comparing our dream cars and analyzing our future. We'd often laugh about how super cars are a complete waste to most people because they are either too old or too stupid to drive them like how they should be driven. We'd talk about how it would be like if we were rich, the amount of people we would piss off. And then we always agree that God is fair to keep us at the bottom of the food chain. "Wipe your face, you're sweating."

The good thing about it is that we will always walk from school to that little bus stop and wait for the bus. And we'd stand behind that telephone booth, right in front of the police station, smoking. The good thing about it is that we can sit around all day without having to do anything or spend any money, and still be able to have fun.

The pomelo tree is gone now. It signified your past, it is where you were from. It's passing is not a loss, but progress. You have learnt from what you did and where you came from, and you are preparing for a future that will allow the next generation to do the same. By letting the pomelo tree go, you are turning a new leaf, preparing for the next step in your life.

There was once a famous pomelo tree in Section 4, the tree that was our roots. You are embarking on your next journey now, and the only thing I can hope is that we can still be a part of it. Because this friendship is not of convenience or of similar interest. This is a friendship of deep understanding, and we both would agree that no money in the world can buy this kind of relationship.

I'm glad for what happened, for who I met. I'm glad to have met you, to have met that once famous pomelo tree, to have met everyone else strung around this web of brotherhood.

Here's To The Days

The days we were great, the days we loved, the days we were excited about every coming day, the days we couldn't be left without each other. Here's to the days when we were all smiles and all fun and play and we can't get enough of just staring at each other. 

Here's to the end of those days, here's to the end of the torture that came after the excitement. Here's to the mistakes we made, to the times we felt we fell short of each other's expectations. Here's to the shit we had to endure to make things work. To the lack of communication, to the lack of understanding. To wasting each other's time. To hating each other deep down inside but never had the guts to bring them forward. 

Here's to expectations. Here's to hoping one would live to them. Here's to constantly giving second chances, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and never seeing change. To disappointments, hate, love, hate, disappointment, loss.  

Here's to the good times we had, the places we went although not many. Here's to the dreams we shared although very brief, the differences we had and how hard we tried to make it work. Here's to the boring times that turned out eventful after all, the little things we did that meant so much to me.  

 Here's to you wanting to prove you're right. Here's to you thinking I hate you. Here's to me not being able to explain why I shunned you off. To me not being able to live up to your dreams. Here's to you being able to find someone better, I'm sure it won't be hard seeing I was so low on your scale. 

Here's to the end of it. 

Here's to good-bye. 

Here's to an opportunity to be friends again, maybe, up to you. But not yet. 

Now That We're Here

Source: 

http://taotauajer.blogspot.com/2012/03/sadis-video-episod-akhir-doraemon-sad.html

A colleague of mine, he brought a Ukulele today. Immediately I thought of you. F is for Frolic through all the flowers, U is for Ukulele. N is for nose picking, chewing gum and sand licking here with my best buddy. 

But you weren't always a Spongebob fan. I remember we used to have all issues of Doraemon comic books. Back in the days an issue would come out every fortnight, and  we would go buy them from the nearby bookstore. The book store still looks the same today. You would read them, as if you know what they mean. Then you would draw on them. It made me mad when you drew on them. Because you would make happy characters sad or angry. You would give them silly brows that changes their emotions and it annoyed the hell out of me because these comic books were very limited. 

Mom bought a Doraemon video from the store, and you would always ask us to play it for you. Once you learnt how to operate the player by yourself, you would play it every morning at 8 AM. Every single day. You would sit in front of the tv and you would sing along and dance along. 

I remember you always wait for mom to come back from work. If she isn't home by 7PM you would call her office and cry for mom. Her boss would answer the phone all the time. 

A little while later you started getting fascinated with Garfield. There were comic strips you would cut off the daily papers, and you would make scrap books full of them. Then you started drawing them too. Initially it was tracing from actual comics, then you went on to making your own strips. I remember we made a frame for one of your comic drawings. If I only remember where it is kept now. 

Times were quite bad, and I don't know if you were aware of it. Mom and dad always fought. I tried my best to not let you see them. I would always carry you up to the room and lock ourselves inside. Then they eventually broke away from each other and you had to stay with mom on weekdays and us with dad. But that didn't lessen the fun we had. 

You were in high school, when things turned for the worst. Our family was an broken as it could ever be. Everybody hate going home because we would always have to deal with bitchy parents and fights and fights and more fucking fights we all hate. Your brother and I were outside hanging out with friends all the time so we didn't have to deal with those fights. We didn't have money. Dad fucked up. You started skipping school and smoking. You would hang out with the wrong bunch in the park and learn all the wrong stuff. And you did them just so we would notice you. So we did, the day you came home with all those cuts in your arms. You got our attention. 

After that things were good. Straight As, one year after another. You would know a lot of skanky friends, hang out with them, but never stoop to their level. Not even once. You knew how to return home to your family and you think of us before making any decision outside. We are all grateful for that. 

So you started to dream of things you wanted. When other materialistic girls wanted Burberries and Guccis and Pradas, you wanted llama farms and polar bears and pandas. Your fighting fishes were Doraemon and Rudolph.

Most girls dream of meeting Prince Charming who'll be very rich and give them everything they want. All you talk about is making money and buying your very own Impreza Version 10. We'd play RO together, although just very briefly I loved it. I hope we can do it more often even now when you are about to leave. 

I call you stupid not because you are stupid, but because you are silly. You would make mistakes, laugh at yourself, and let it go. That is something I have to learn from you. 

Look at you now. No longer the little girl with that red flowered dress with the sour face, no longer the round-rimmed glasses girl who looked like Jackie Chan's son. You are no longer insecure of your physical look, well not always. Your ears look just fine. Who would've thought someone in our family could afford a scholarship from a world-class university. 

Times will be tough from now on, but know that it will only be temporary. You will be alone, but you will never have to deal with things by yourself. We may be hundreds of miles away, but we will always be there for you, just like old times. No more weekend visits to Mid Valley, though. 

But chin up, this is for a brighter future. We will adapt, we always do. People reject everything in the beginning, but we always adapt. Go out and face it with everything you have. Things will get better and you will eventually love the new life you will have. 

You are the second best thing that happened to our family, second to our little doggy. 

Go and do the best you can. You are the best that ever came out of this family, and you will be better than anyone else can ever be.  You will open a new chapter in your book of life. You will pursuit a greater goal, and face a greater challenge. And you will succeed. What ever happens we are already very very proud of you.