Killing Brain Cells

I have been listening to a lot of Earth Crisis lately. Earth Crisis is my ex-boyfriend's favorite band, though I never did take a liking to any of their songs when I was still with him for all of that 11 years. I wanted to say my late ex-boyfriend, but then I realized he's not deceased and still very much alive. Oh well, he is dead to me now. A friend asked me why I keep mentioning his name in conversations even though we are no longer together. I don't know. I cannot help but to associate a lot of things with him because he was in my life for so long. A lot of them are objective rather than subjective, like when my mom complained about my dad who liked to disappear for days without any news, I will tell her that was how my ex was too. Or that time I went to the Unearth concert, I had to tell people I might bump into him and I'm worried that might be awkward, because he is a fan of the band too. Or when I was enjoying Japanese food with a guy I like, I had to tell myself I am savoring the moment because this guy loves Japanese food and he doesn't. I cannot pretend that he never existed. He did. He's just dead to me now.

Well back to Earth Crisis. There is a song heavy on my rotation called All Out War, and then when I read the lyrics, I found out it's about war against meat eating human beings. Hmmm.. Vegetarianism.. I dunno. The first thing that comes to mind when talking about vegetarianism is that episode in South Park where Kyle developed Vaginitis. It's a condition where a person breaks out in vaginas all over his body when he stops eating meat, and if he stops eating meat altogether, he will turn into one giant pussy. I'm not saying all vegetarians are pussies, but some of them are really annoying, especially the self righteous ones. You eat minced meat and they will come up with unsolicited advice about where the minced meat came from - the leftovers of the carcass which no one wants and can't be sold so they grind them to a pulp and then people gobble it up like it's foie gras. I don't care where it came from, you dickhole. It tastes better than your fucking pumpkin soup. And then there are those people who like to show pictures of cattle or goats being tied to a tree, unwittingly waiting for their turns to get slaughtered. And then pictures of the animals being cut up into pieces. This is especially true during a certain religious season. I am not big on these before after pictures either. I don't want to know where my delicious lamb chop or BBQ short ribs are from, god damn it. Someone else has to worry about that, so I won't. All I know is I am able to enjoy them when I want to.  So in a sense, I am the real pussy.

I would like to try going vegetarian for a week, just to see if I can. I have great respect for vegetarians so long as they don't shove their meat free belief down my throat. That said, I don't feel any less love for Earth Crisis. They can continue consuming their tofu and broccoli and I will continue consuming their music. What a pointless post.

All Out War

I think, I owe it to The Narrator to housekeep this blog and delete some of my old posts. They are arguably a bane to this blog's existence, and I cannot for the life of me imagine them being a legacy when I'm dead. So off to the rubbish bin they went, along with the memories of the person of whom I wrote them for.

So what is up with me? After the stint on the tropical island ended, I was sent to a little shit hole on the south of the mainland. That place totally blew... which made for a wretched and miserable old me. The highlights of my day would be watching Netflix after work and going for restroom breaks at work (They played an excellent selection of music there by the way - was where I discovered The Black Keys.. right at the comfort of a random toilet bowl). I hated the place the minute I got in, and have been plotting my escape since. If you ask me why, I cannot remember why anymore. It's stored in a dark corner of my mind that I do not wish to revisit. I just knew that I should get the fuck out of there. And I did, all within 3 months.

So now I am back, to the place I used to bitch and whine about. I wasn't lying when I said I did not want to come back. I truly did not want to come back. And then I was condemned to hell on earth. A land where Mexicans would kill to get in and Indians would cheat and lie and annoy the fuck out people to get a working permit. And I couldn't leave fast enough.

So thank you M.

Janji Update

This blog deserves an update.

I don't know who we were kidding when the 3 of us tried to jump start the blog bandwagon when this was started almost a year ago. Well at least we tried. No harm trying, you twitter-loving scumbag.

Well here I am in a foreign city on the eve of Malaysia Day. I never forget. I like to think I'm patriotic like that. God I love my country. You never know how much you miss hailstones despite the gold rain here unless you're away for awhile. (this sentence was inspired by Jit Murad's play) Being my first time away for quite a while, I guess I was bound to be homesick.

When I say homesick, I don't mean it in a 'sekolah asrama penuh' kinda way. Of course being away from the humid weather and endless traffic jams is something I'm thankful for. It's just that on quiet nights like these, when the weather outside is freezing cold and wet, your mind likes to wander off where it once reigned: In Bolehland, the land of endless politicking and ungrateful fucks.

So on Malaysia Day, I want to see pass the rhetorics and the lies. I don't care about red paint, gay guidelines and whether any Janji has been Ditepati. Let this day remind us of how 3 (used to be 4) territories came together and laid birth to a nation. The only thing I felt should have been looked into was the date because it could have saved us the whole friggin' debate and countless arguments if Malaysia Day was held on 31 August. But come to think of it, at least we have something to quarrel about for the next one or two centuries.

Happy Malaysia Day!

Call me an old school romantic, but I refuse to believe that one would be in a relationship for money. There are many cases of people being together only for money of course, but I believe mine is not one of them.

Yet when we fight, why is it that he can't talk about nothing else but the amount of money he spent on me? Is that really all that matters? Theoretically, if this is a purely monetary-based relationship, wouldn't that make me a whore? 

Wow. Thank you for outrightly implying that I'm nothing more but a money-grabbing, rotting-piece-of-shit of a whore. 

Where do whores go? Tyrion asked. 

Where there's love. I said.