My Blog

I went to my cousin’s wedding last night, the fifth wedding I’ve attended this year. This one was a bit different from the norm though as it was an outdoor wedding set romantically within landscaped gardens with an artificial lake. We dined on roast beef and pasta under palm trees and an expanse of moonlit sky. The only thing missing was a string quartet. And bug repellent. And mist fans because boy, was it sweltering. And flip flops, because my RM300 satin heels got all muddy and ruined. And…well, I don’t want to sound like a grumpy ingrate so I’ll shut up now.

At least the roast beef was tasty.

I hate being at weddings though because everyone will start asking me THE question as some sort of bad opening line for conversation: “So when’s your turn to get married?”

“Hello, I’m barely even 23 yet,” I pointed out to one inquisitive aunt.

“Oh, nonsense, dear,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Blink and before you know it, you’ll be a 40-year-old spinster with a sagging ass and then, it’ll be a lot harder to attract a man.” She looked at me ominously, like that was supposed to terrify me into running to the nearest altar with the first available guy.

“I’ll get married when Meg does,” was my reply to her.

My thirty-five-year-old cousin, Meg, is a lesbian.

But don’t get me wrong - I do believe in marriage. I just don’t think a wedding is absolutely necessary though. Marriage is an act, wedding is a ceremony. What is a wedding but an ostentatious horse and pony show? Most of the time (and this is usually true of Chinese wedding banquets), the bride and groom don’t even know half the guests at their own wedding. And do I really want to subject my family and friends to two hours of bland food, Celine Dion songs and cheesy Powerpoint slides? Most of all, I don’t want to end up seating my poor, single cousins next to nosy aunts who demand to know why they’re not married yet.

So I figure I’ll save everyone the trouble and just elope in the future. Or not.

But if I have to have a wedding, this is the only way I’ll have it: A small, private beachside ceremony in the presence of a few family and close friends. I’ll be barefoot and barefaced, my hair loose and undone. I’ll be wearing a sheer chiffon dress that’ll flap seductively in the breeze. The groom will be wearing boardshorts because tuxes really aren’t all that comfortable. No shirt because that’s very sexy. Then we’ll seal our vows by planting a baby coconut palm tree.

Hahaha.

But really, I’m not kidding…

Recently watched: V for Vendetta.

Is V a social revolutionary or a sword-wielding terrorist? His intentions may be noble but a lot of things have happened in the world since the graphic novel was released back in the eighties. Mainly the fact that terrorists around the world are blowing up buildings that are allegedly symbols of evil Western hegemony on the similar pretext of "liberating the oppressed". So what distinguishes V from your common, garden variety terrorist? The fact that he has a wider vocabulary? Or that he has sufficiently refined taste to blare Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture while bombing historical buildings? No one likes a fascist dictator, but what does this guy have against old architecture?

But when all’s said and done, it’s an interesting movie, full of plausible ideas and resonant quotes like, "It’s the government that should be afraid of the people, not the people afraid of the government."

Listening to: Your Heart Is An Empty Room, Death Cab For Cutie

Download this. It’s a lovely, melancholic song. 

Burn it down till the embers smoke on the ground
And start new when your heart is an empty room
With walls of the deepest blue

Reading: Bono: In Conversation with Michka Assayas

Quite a good read, for a book that’s entirely in Q&A format - thanks to Bono’s acerbic sense of humour and eloquence on matters he feels important. Guess it would be a different story altogether if this Michka dude had been in conversation with, say, Paris Hilton instead. That’s, like, so not hot.

Everyone’s talking about their travel plans with the upcoming holiday season, and also thanks to the recent MATTA fair.

I wasn’t bothered to go because I don’t like crowds and persistent agents with brochures.

And I’m still trying to decide where to disappear to for a week or two. I have relatives and friends scattered like pebbles all across the globe, living in places as far flung as Venezuela and as close to home as Hong Kong.

Traveling is always a fascinating experience for me. And it need not be in an exotic locale that’s a million miles from home. Even in Kota Baru, en route back home from Perhentian, I enjoyed wandering the streets, getting a taste of authentic ayam percik and exchanging casual banter with the locals. It’s a quiet little town - which I guess is a nice way of saying "boring shithole".

Okay, so I won’t exactly be visiting Kota Baru anytime soon. But at least I can say it certainly wasn’t commercialised - which seems to be one of the main concerns for modern tourists these days.

This is why a lot of people my age sniff at arranged tours that take you to ‘tourist traps’ and ‘commercialised places’. But what do they mean by that? As if they’ll go to China and not visit the Forbidden City which, by the way, has a Starbucks within its walls. How much more commercialised than that can you get?

Commercialisation is pervasive, no doubt about it. You’ll find dozens of billboards and cheap gift shops built on ‘natural’ heritage sites. Any pristine beach in Thailand is replete with peddlers hawking their massage/manicure/hair beading services.

I was just reading in the news the other day about how so much of the Arctic ice cover has melted that a ship can now sail unhindered from Europe’s most northern tip straight to North Pole, possibly the last slice of truly unspoiled, virgin territory on earth (if you discount the nasty effects of global warming). Can you imagine the implications? Cruise ships. Polar bear trainers. Man will always find a way to exploit nature. And often in the guise of "eco-tourism", either out of pure greed or just to clear our own conscience about destroying the very thing we have sworn to protect.

And yet I can tell you I would pay good money to take a cruise to the North Pole. Am I a hypocrite? Not quite. Just human.

But really, we’re always reacting with pure outrage when we hear how mega-corporations are degrading the environment and encroaching on natural habitats all in the name of a couple (million) bucks.

You want to help save the environment? Don’t go there. Don’t go to Sipadan if you don’t want dead coral. Sure, blame the developers and even the government for not setting enough restrictions if you must. But it’s an easy economic rationale: it’s supply meets demand. More tourists will naturally result in the construction of more hotels, more shophouses, more pollution. And enforcing a quota on the number of visitors, like what has been attempted in Sipadan, has only proved to be a miserable failure.

Maybe, like the lead character in Alex Garland’s The Beach, we’re perpetual tourists always in search of paradise, for that last earthly sanctuary that’s still pristine and undamaged.

But now, it looks like there isn’t a place in the world that still holds any mystery. Everything has been discovered, everything has been explored, everything has been filmed for a documentary, everything has been trampled to death. It’s not such a lonely planet, after all.

Does life have a sense of irony or what.

You ask for a drop of water in a drought and instead, you get a flood. You ask for a grain of rice in a famine and instead, you not only get a good crop yield that year but also First World nations dumping their agricultural surplus on you on the pretext of "foreign aid" thereby killing the livelihood of your local farmers.

I know. I should stop beating about the bush and get to my point.

Well, just a few months ago, I was imploring God to give me more work to do because I was bored witless.

God not only heard my prayers but He decided to dump a motherload on me as well.

So I couldn’t have chosen a better (or worse) time for an island retreat than now. This weekend, I’m packing my bags and leaving the smog of the city for clear blue skies, warm sunshine and cool sea breezes.

I planned this trip like a month ago so it looks like I’ll just have to push aside all thought of looming deadlines and upcoming events. Of course, I’ll have a million things to do when I get back.

But they can wait.

For now, I’m just going to focus on the trip. Think about what to pack. I think I can fit an entire weekend’s clothing into my handbag. Who needs anything more than a bikini, boardshorts and flip flops? And sunblock with SPF 5000, of course, if you have as little melanin as me.

I’m fighting this great urge to bring my laptop along. You can leave me stranded on an deserted island, I always say, but just make sure it has WiFi. I’m so tech-dependent it’s terrible.

But I’ve decided it’s going to be one of those lazy trips where I’ll just lie on the beach and soak up the sun like a plant in photosynthesis. Cool off in the water when it gets too hot. Sun again. Cool, sun and repeat. The most strenuous thing I’ll attempt is lifting a can of ice cold beer to my lips.

That’s the life, man.

I can’t decide what I prefer. The fast-paced, all-action city life. Or the idyllic bliss of living on an island. Do I really enjoy the simple pleasures life has to offer? Or do I need the trappings of material comforts? Do I favour sipping coconut water by the beach or tossing back martinis at a posh bar? Would I rather have the carefree simplicity of zipping around on a tuk-tuk or the luxury of navigating through traffic in a Beemer? Is it ever possible to have the best of both worlds?

It’s a tricky one. I think I’ll have to mull this one over cocktails by the beach. It’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it. Might as well be me.

It’s been a while since I’ve gone out, especially since I’ve been pretty much spending the past few weeks watching DVDs at home while eating ice cream straight from the carton. Life was good in self-imposed exile.

But the recent weekend changed all that. My friends are a reminder that no man (or woman, for that matter) is an island. They’re brilliant.

On Friday night, went to a new bar in town to meet up with some friends. Upon entering the place, a friend waved me down and insisted on dragging me upstairs where some celebrity-studded event was taking place. I was embarrassingly underdressed for such an event. There I was, barefaced and attired in foldover yoga pants and flip flops while all around me were models and actresses in designer cocktail dresses and sexy stilettoes. But I was too nonchalant to care – maybe because I was too busy checking out Hannah Tan and her fine assets. My friend and I decided that she’s so hot, we’d switch sexual orientations for her in a heartbeat. Then, wedged between a leggy model and a beautiful but annoyingly giggly TV presenter, I had to listen to mindless drivel about how bubbles get in champagne. The same way air gets in your head, ladies.

Spent the rest of the night knocking back pink, girly cocktails and chocolate martinis with my friends on some big, cozy couches in a quiet corner. 

Saturday night was spent at Starlight Cinema in Sentul West. Thanks to the self-proclaimed Porky Queen for the free tix and thanks to a certain reality television star for sneaking out the Carlsberg from the VIP area.

Basically, Starlight is an outdoor screening “under the stars” which all sounds very romantic – until you start becoming a blood buffet for mosquitoes, the ants start crawling up your pants and you realize the dampness of the grass has left a big wet patch on your backside…But other than that, it’s good fun. Really. We watched Chicken Little and Over The Hedge with pizza and beer. During the interval, two little boys wandered over to our spot and all of us showered heaps of attention on them, letting them help themselves to our leftover pizza. “Want some beer?” offered my friend, corruptor of impressionable minds. “No, we’re underaged. We’re not supposed to drink,” said the boys, almost in unison. God bless ‘em, so well-taught. That’s right, kids, don’t drink until you can afford to buy your own beer. I mean, until you’re 21. Oh, whatever.

On Sunday, went to see Puteri Gunung Ledang the musical cuz a dear friend of mine got me a ticket. Good thing they had subtitles. My Malay is so bad my high school friends still laugh over the time I got confused with katak (frog) and ketiak (armpit).

Well, anyway, PGL is a more-than-decent effort. Pretty good choreography and music. Impressive acting, better than the shit I see on terrestrial TV. Of course, if you’ve ever seen anything on Broadway or West End, it’ll pale in comparison. I managed to catch a couple when I was in London and was absolutely dazzled by the extravagant sets, props and costumes. But then again, they’ve got the budget to splash out on those. No one’s going to invest that much in a theatrical production here when it only appeals to what I suppose is a niche audience. I mean, does anyone go to the theatuh here apart from gay men and culture vulture types who most likely have studied or lived abroad, listen to jazz, drink wine and do their grocery shopping at Cold Storage. (Sounds like the kind of weird, random data market researchers like to throw around to pretend they know what people want, no?) Not that there’s anything wrong with these demographics but theatre should be accessible to all. 

Well, PGL played to an almost full house which is pretty impressive. It’s their second run as well, which shows that there is hope for the industry, after all.

And the lead actor who played Hang Tuah, Stephen Rahman-Hughes – what a dish. Women, old and young alike, were cooing and squealing over him. My friend was shivering like a wet chihuahua on a cold day after she managed to speak to Stephen and get his autograph. Tee hee.

So that was the weekend (or well, just a snapshot of highlights) gone by in a flurry of hedonistic activity. Whirlwind days and reckless nights.

And they say youth is wasted on the young.

Like a phoenix rising from ash
Like blood flowing from a gash
Only death can bring renewal
Only pain can bring withdrawal

Suffer the fool who would choose
Barren brown earth over the sky’s blues
Because of a fear to take flight
Never will he see day’s first light

Courage to face the elements
Will to piece back the fragments
Of a spirit shattered by sorrow
So that you may bravely face tomorrow

Sometimes I wonder if God sees the world like how we look at an ant farm. Humans are just ants on a much bigger scale. We’re perpetually in a mad rush, going in a million different directions and constantly bumping into one another our way.

We always seem to be in a great hurry to get somewhere. We’re always short of time. When was the last time I drove patiently and didn’t feel anxious to reach my destination? I can’t even remember.

Modern conveniences that we take for granted, like e-mails and SMS, are supposed to help make life easier for us but do they really? I was reading an article the other day about the results of a survey indicating that more people are late for appointments these days because they feel they can just simply send a text message to the person left waiting to let them know they’ll be late. I mean, how many times have you texted someone to say you’ll be running late because "you’re stuck in traffic"? Blame the rain, a faulty traffic light, a stalled car on the Federal…

The truth is, you just have shitty time management.

I’d like to, for once, hear someone say, "Oh, sorry I’m late, I was trimming my pubic hair." In which case, I’d totally forgive you for being late because you certainly can’t rush things like that, can you?

I’ll confess, I’ve blamed the traffic for my tardiness on a number of occasions. Punctuality is not exactly my strong suit but I’m working on that.

And even when I’m well on schedule, I feel like I still have to rush because there are never enough hours in a day to accomplish all the things you want to.

I ran into a friend the other day who’s always complaining about how I walk and talk too fast for him. Sometimes when I’m talking, he always looks a bit overwhelmed like he can’t digest all the words that are coming out of my mouth. He, on the other hand, does everything at a snail’s pace.

He’s 27 and has never stayed at a job for more than a year. I can understand why. The word ‘deadline’ probably doesn’t mean anything to him.

Well, it’s not like he ever needs to hold down a steady job, being a trust fund baby (ie. filthy rich parents) and all. And maybe that’s what contributes to his super-laidback nature. If you ever tell him about your problems, the only kind of response you can expect from him is, "Chill out and smoke a joint."

Of course, you can’t ever fault a person for a lack of ambition. Some people don’t perceive career as a measure of your success as a human being. But he doesn’t seem to be concerned about achieving anything else in his life - not even a long-term relationship. I remind him that he’s fast approaching 30 and has never even been with a single girl for more than a year (much like his career, as you can see). What is his response to this? "Chill out and smoke a joint, Steph."

Life is too short, he tells me.

Yes, it is indeed. But as fleeting and ephemeral as life is, I think we all need to have something permanent and lasting that justifies why we spend our waking days the way we do. And maybe that’s why we’re always in a hurry. Because of this sense of urgency, of purpose.

So I turned to him after we exchanged some words - he being ten paces behind me, as always. "Hey, nice seeing you again, but I gotta rush off now," I said.

He nodded while inhaling on his Dunhill. "What are you rushing for, Steph?" he shouted as I was already starting to walk away.

I turned to look at him over my shoulder and called out, "Life. It just passed you by, man."

I took a chance.

Sometimes you’re in a position where you’re totally comfortable with your present situation and you feel that maybe this is all you deserve. You deny yourself what you truly want because you don’t want to jeopardise your position. But why not take a risk and see if it could be more than this? 

Even if it’s just a shot in the dark. A venture into unfamiliar territory. A plunge into the unknown.

So I took a chance. The truth is, I’m scared. Fearful of the consequences and afraid that it may be too little, too late.

But when you want something badly enough, you sacrifice safety, security, comfort and whatever it is that you’re sure of in life. Even for something that’s vague and uncertain.

And then after that, all you can do is wait for the conclusion, while the world seems to come to a grinding halt, yet the minutes, hours, days, weeks and months stretch into maddening eternity.

Too much has been written about the World Cup and that headbutting incident already, so let’s keep this short and sweet. (Or at least as short I know how.)

Best Anti-Hero: Zidane. He might have exited the international football stage in a rather appalling fashion but well, at least one can never accuse him of not using his head. *snicker* Although you can forgive him of almost anything when you watch him with the ball. Just like how easy it was to forgive Eric Cantona when he landed that infamous kung-fu kick on a Crystal Palace fan. We all love a flawed hero. We want to believe that when they’re not losing their cool, they translate all this rage into pure wizardry on the pitch.

Best Villain: Cristiano "Crybaby" Ronaldo. The boy’s got skills, this I gotta give him credit for. If Rooney stings like a bee, then C.Ron floats (past defenders, that is) like a butterfly. Superb dribbling skills and a repertoire of tricks, with enough flair to match Zidane. But too bad he’s just such an annoying prick. I’m not saying that just because he helped to get his MU teammate Rooney get sent off the field during the England-Portugal game, antagonising English media and footie fans alike. But he didn’t exactly endear himself to the German public either during the third-place playoff with the host by repeatedly (and blatantly, I might add) diving. Or as my friend put it, "he was trying to get his PADI license".

Best Celebrity Impersonation: Luiz Felipe Scolari as Gene Hackman. It’s uncanny.

Lady Luck’s Pet: Fabio Grosso, Italy defender. He won a penalty against Australia in the dying moments of the game. He curled in a fabulous goal against Germany in the dying moments of extra time. What the hell was a leftback doing at the right side of the penalty box? And how the hell did he manage to put that sucker past Lehmann? Someone up there must like him.

"Thanks For Pointing That Out, Mr. Commentator" Award: Commentator for the Italy-Germany semi-final match who said during the last few minutes of normal time, "One small lapse in concentration, one mistake now by either team will have them on the first plane home from Germany. Uh, except the Germans, of course, because they, uh, live here. "

So there you have it. A lot say that this World Cup was a largely unexciting, goal-deprived affair with too many dodgy refereeing decisions and too few outstanding players who really made us sit up and take notice. And of course, this was the last World Cup for stars like Beckham, Figo and Zidane. But I saw plenty of promise yet in players like Aaron Lennon, David Ribery, Lionel Messi and Fernando Torres.

We’ll see them in 4 years’ time.

I’ve always liked football. But I prefer to follow La Liga and Serie A instead of the infinitely more popular English Premier League. "That’s blasphemy," my friend gasped. "England gave birth to football!" I hadn’t even the foggiest who Peter Crouch was until just recently. Guess I didn’t miss much.

The only other sport I’ve ever loved more than football is baseball. Though I played baseball as a child in school, my interest was never really sparked until I saw a biopic on Babe Ruth. What Pele was to football, Babe Ruth was to baseball, god rest his soul.

But I had to watch baseball for a long time before I finally understood the game. If you think baseball’s all about whacking the ball into orbit and then taking off in a cloud of dust like the Roadrunner - well, you’re only half right. It requires slightly more complex skill and strategy than that. Being a non-contact sport (ie you don’t get to beat up your opponents like you do in football, um, I mean boxing), it can be kinda boring to watch at times. But once you understand the game, then it really is a joy to watch.

The greatest all-time player to me was Jackie Robinson. As the first black man in the major league, he faced a lot of racism on the field - even from his own teammates. But he proved that talent is beyond colour, creed and race.

And isn’t that what the World Cup is about? Everyone gets an equal opportunity on the pitch. Even if you do look and play like Peter Beanpole Crouch. And that’s just one of my top 8 reasons why you should be watching the best sport in the world if you aren’t already and yes, I’m talking about football:

1. To see Third World countries, like Ghana, thrashing global superpowers like the US. It’s nice to see the triumph of the underdog. Never mind that some of these underdogs are playing in European clubs and drawing a salary higher than the GDP of their home country.

2. Watch them elbow/shove/kick each other and then throw up their hands in feigned innocence. Watch them hit the decks and clutch one of their limbs in agony at the mere whiff of contact. Why, they’re almost better actors than Anthony Hopkins and the WWE pro wrestlers.

3. Football is about skill, talent, stamina, speed and strength. Like a lot of sports. Unlike many others though, it also involves a great deal of tactical strategy. And I speak from a wealth of valuable experience. Um, Championship Manager 5, available for both PC and PS2. Maybe that’s where Sven Goran Eriksson should get some practice.

4. Classic quips from the commentators. As the British commentator observed during the England-Trinidad game when Dwight Yorke was unfortunate enough to get struck by a ball in a delicate region: "Ohh…right in the Michael Ballacks!"

5. If you think only the offspring of Hollywood celebrities have funny names, then you haven’t tuned into the World Cup yet. There’s Yipi Yapo from Ivory Coast, Kaka from Brazil, Pimpong from Ghana and Sangat Bulu from Portugal.

6. Every game is unpredictable. You never know when there’s going to be an upset. Fortunes can be changed in an instant by a red card or a dubious refereeing decision. Just ask England.

7. The football pitch is the only place where men cry, embrace, kiss and jump on top of each other in wild joy. Brokeback Mountain doesn’t even have that much gay action.

8. Football’s pure entertainment.

‘Nuff said.