Let’s face it. While we love to separate our parents’ and our elder siblings’ generations by the things they do in a certain time frame, we often refuse to limit ourselves in that certain range when we turn twenty-one. The fact that all sorts of media can be downloaded nowadays puts us in a privileged spot called perspective, where we separate ourselves by what we call “genre”.

Let’s face it. While we endless squabble between Soul and Hip-Hop being the same thing, or Coldplay and The Fall Out Boys coming from the same mother, there was a time in our youth that we once, whenever the radio played those hits, got our groove on at; whenever the music videos showed up on the specials, ogled in front of our television sets at; and whenever we closed our eyes to sleep at night, dreamt of being them on the million-dollar stage at. Those were the times when genre weren’t the issue. It was whether you were respectful enough to his moonwalks.

The fact that he made thrillers on the record sales seemed to be none-of our concern at the time, as phrases like “pure awesomeness” and “icon” were coined for the first time for a once scowled upon profession. To the girls who mature faster than the boys, he was their first and last husbands. To the boys who’ve just reached, or way past puberty, he was their role model. And to most of the under-thirty generation, he was no different than the statue of worship in temples.

While the world gives him much credit for his influence, from portraying gangsterism to one-on-one switch-blade duels; from the purest form of meaningless lyrics to morphing himself into a panther for the heck of it; from dressing up as a Pharaoh to messages that encourage peace and love in a global scale. And who could forget the comebacks that brought us the latest in undead dance moves.

Although not the symbol of mass globalization of our age, he certainly is one of the pioneers.

Either I am still numb to the fact that he has moved on to entertain another crowd, or simply that his memory has been preserved since he sang his last lullaby at his ranch, he will forever be remembered as the one who got my primary school friend, Annie, head over heels for.

Annie, are you okay?

The crowds cheer and whistle as we approach the minister to receive what I believe to be, my last ever major trophy in my uniform-wearing life. Flashes of the camera and pats on the back were seemingly going in an infinite time-line. The world seemed to slow down for a little bit at the moment.

To my surprise, “Finally, we’ve won!” was not the thought that was in my head. Instead, it was “Now what am I gonna do?”

You see, “passion” was never the most appropriate word to describe myself doing the things I do, not because I was never a person who doesn’t appreciate the results one can yield with a lot of sweat and tears put into it. But I was never a person who was known as having defined my own “thing“, largely because I can learn to be passionate about something in a shorter time than most people.

And just because of that I can’t help but feel empty about my capabilities most of the time. Being a Jack of many trades and a master of none, isn’t the best that I imagine myself to be.

I’ve recently committed myself to something I’ve been wanting to indulge in for quite a while, but never had the will to take the first step in. Involving a certain amount of investment, even taking the very first step means there is little chance I can turn back the clock on this.

Which should suit me anyhow. Since I’ve always felt passionate about the things I do, only when being thrust upon it without a choice.

Maybe putting myself in this position is the only way I can do this.

I’ve always believed that whatever regrets that we rack up over the years give us a bitter aftertaste, whenever the thoughts arise. And if experience is of any indication, I’m afraid I do have some for my soon to end three-year stint here in the jungle.

There’s always that personal list that I make for myself during the start of the academic year, which then would seem so in need of addressing, in need of accomplishing them that nothing would seem to be able to stand in the way. Of course, time passes and short-term thrills get in the way, till the point that they almost disappear into the distance, which is when I start to realize that I never attempted any of them, what’ssmore to say about accomplishing them.

And the process would repeat itself again every year.

This time around, instead of setting ”resolutions” and aiming for the stars, I’ve come to a realization that I would never get to finishing them without initiating with the will to continue. By seeing them as things that I have yet to accomplish rather than new things that I’d love to try, I’m hoping it gives me the best excuse not to give myself any for not going along with it.

At least that’s a start.

Fun Fact. Two is my favourite number.

This is how desperate I am.

You know peer pressure is getting to you when you succumb to the very recent addictions that has grippled your social circle by storm. I guess I’ve given enough excuses NOT to follow the crowd. Alas, I failed. So here it is, the dreaded facts about yours truly that you ought to know. Yes, all twenty five of them.

One. I have a blog. And yes I think WordPress is cooler than Blogger. Because I can make it snow during Christmas. Because I can hide it from your googles or your yahoo searches. Pretty neat trick if you want to keep your published thoughts partially hidden.

Two. I recently found out that I like spending my time at Red Box. Whether its the prospect of sitting in a tiny room with a bunch of people or simply that I can stop thinking about everything else when I’m in there, the feeling is just heavenly. Couple that with a bunch of kakis and I’m good to go

Three. Everyone around me seems to have a deep need to pursue their qualifications in UK. Strangely I’ve never seen myself graduating there. I love the prospect of Europe as the perfect destination to backpack, but that’s about it. I’m always for the US of A. Ahh the irony.

Four. I think I’m about the very few people out there studying what I’m studying and not being a petrol-head at the same time. Almost all my coursemates can name any car they see, along with the price sold in the EU and even to the most minute detail of how many revs it changes gears. A particular housemate can even tell you the average amount of fuel the displacement of one cylinder of a Ferrari F430 burns on part load. Crazy.

Five. When I want something done now. I mean now. Now now. I get mega annoyed when someone gives me an “Okay I’ll do it now” and proceeds to go on autoblog and facebook and lost-tv.com. And when someone tells me they’re done with something I assume it to be done. Finished. Habis. As expected I’ll be uber frustrated if I see them still editing that freaking word document. If only lessons in efficiency come in bottles…

Six. I love my country. No, seriously. I love it here. I just loathe the flawed beuraucratic system. Bureucracy works well here because people love being ranked in a hierarchy. And its flawed because the upper echelons of the hierarchy never realize that responsibility increases with power. A Japanese minister quits when he gets drunk and takes a wrong question on stage. The equivalent version here will just blame the press and hide behind the Premiere. The day will come when I run my own island. And yes I will have a helipad instead of a driveway.

Seven. I have car-accident-o-phobia. That’s why I always opt to be a rear passenger. Been in one too many, but not many enough to be fearless of it.

Eight. I tend to procrasinate when it comes to buying the things that I want for myself. Not too sure whether its because I’m a stingy bastard or because I’m too rationale for my own good. The absence of a DSLR strap on my neck just goes to show how bad it is. Hint: I’ve been wanting to get one since June last year.

Nine. I’m a non-believer when it comes to the spirit of give, give and giving. I give, and I take. Period.

Ten. I used to think McD is the bomb. I still do. I think its strange that my girlfriend thinks its weird that we celebrate birthdays there. Fast food joints totally rock.

Eleven. I had a bet with my best friend that I would lay off cinemas for a month. I chose the shortest month of the year. It’s going well

Twelve. I’m not a fan of direct sales products. Nuff said.

Thirteen. I used to listen to classical music when i was a kid. Beethoven’s 9th and Mozart’s Fur Elise were my favourite. Because they were the only songs in the computer when my parents got me my first Windows 95. In 1995. BT’s didn’t exist back then.

Fourteen. I think that my right brain is more developed than my left. I suck at maths. But I thrive at creative writing. Hence I often wonder why I chose to become what I’ll be becoming.

Fifteen. I love WWII films. Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan rank among the top of my list. I also love WWII games. MOD: Pacific Assault and WWII: Normandy were the bomb. Quentin Tarantino’s “Inglorious Basterds” will be an interesting one to watch. Although it will most probably be in the “fun to watch” category rather than the “awe inspiring” category.

Sixteen. I am a fan of the Sacramento Kings. I have a friend who loves the Lakers and he never misses the chance to lay some salt on the wound of the Kings being the worst team in the league this season. I am tempted to bazooka him on how Arsenal is performing this season but I’m not as informed as him on football news. Sigh.

Seventeen. I don’t see the point of throwing a frissbee around a field to fetch it and throwing it again to fetch it and throwing it again to cross an invisible line so that they get to throw it around and fetch it and throw it around again to fetch it and… I think its as interesting as chasing your own tail, if you know what I mean.

Eighteen. I only learnt how to swim not very long ago. And I’m still not very good at it. Largely due to my above average amount of near drowning encounters growing up.

Nineteen. I value friendship over romance. If I happen to be stuck in a spot where I had to choose, it’ll be very clear what I’d go for.

Twenty. I’ve had a leech climb up my asscrack when I was summiting Ledang a couple of years back. The most hillarious moment was when the person behind me offered to take it out for me. She was a girl.

Twenty-one. I prefer not to have someone say something funny when I’m drinking. Seriously.

Twenty-two. I loathe city driving. I can’t imagine going to and from work if i do work in Kay Elle after I graduate. I think Putrajaya is the best place for a quiet drive and to marvel at the architectural wonders contributed by our tax payers.

Twenty-three. I don’t gamble on money. Partly because I don’t believe in luck. I believe that if one would be to gamble, it would be for a life Sky-diving anyone?

Twenty-four. I’m not a fan of Japanese food. At least the raw ones. I like my meals cooked, thank you very much.

Twenty-five. I’ve just used up half the afternoon doing this meme. Darn. Back to FYP-ing.

You would love to heave a sigh of sweet relief that this year’s celebrations for the new lunar year has finally come to an end, and continue to look forward to many more to come. You would love to. This rare occasion had always been long awaited holiday, when your circle of activity was the size of a small town and your social circle was the size of a few classrooms in school. Friends would talk and plan about visiting schedules and illegal firecrackers and where you could get them weeks before the malls even started adding those annoying songs into their playlists amidst “Focus on the Family” slots by that James Dobson dude.

And then you would grow up. You see, the norm has it that we graduate and move on to greener pastures, where the words “menara” and “gading” finally come together (although you’ve always thought they should never be put together, let alone be the preferred term for tertiary studies) and small town folk like mua-self get to go out and experience THE LIFE. Being “privelleged” as a single child means you get to go as far as you want, minus the miles limited by the mother, you ended up a sea away.

The time comes for you to reuite with the places and people you’ve grown to know and understand most again when you realize that you don’t quite know or quite understand them anymore. When trying to fit into a conversation requires me to be there when they did the “hey remember that time when we..” thing, and continuing a conversation is as difficult as starting one without asking “so when are you graduating again?” and “so how’s studies?” one too many times.

And there’s the people who graduate into being a couple. And breaking up. And becoming a couple again. And breaking up again. And the endless string of text messages and blog posts you read about them doing so. And you realize that you can’t be that guy for them anymore. You just can’t.

And then there’s the coming back to where you currently pursue your so called ambition. And then you realized as though you’ve never left. As if you’re supposed to be here.

And then you realize how small a picture you’ve been looking at all this while.

25/01/09, 11:59:32 PM:

This is herrendous John. Blast after blasts going off just a few blocks from where I am standing. I can feel shockwaves from the explosions of the warheads raining down on the housing area just in front of me, where the remaining Taliban troop have been reported to hold ground.

This is going to be a long night.

26/01/09, 12:05:09 AM:

What you’re seeing now John is a live feed showing the housing area just in front of me. Where the special infantry marines that I’m embeded in will be moving in at a moments notice to make sure the reported terror suspects are caught alive or found dead. The list includes Osama bin Laden’s fourteenth right hand man, Ahmed al-Hadi and lots more.

The air strike from the USAF 13th Division continues relentlessly John. Wa.. Wait! I hear shots being fired from the ground as well!

*Background voice* RPG! RPG!

I have to take cover John. I have to take cover.

26/01/09, 12:15:52 AM:

The bombings seem to have died down slightly over here John. The infantry marines will be moving in shortly to hopefully accomplish their mission.

I will be moving in with the troops and continue to give you continuous live coverage on the surge here.  This is Kenneth reporting live from Kandahar. Now back to the studio. John.

*Background voice* I’m sorry sir but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you to stay behind. It’s too dangerous.

But what happened to my continuous live coverage?

—Static—

Boy. I’d have to rethink the economic recession. Firecracker Street’s been as lively as ever this year.

Happy Celebrations people. Hopes for a less oxymoronic year ahead.

(I just had to do it)

with the only light coming from his room. All is quiet in the station save for the murmur of bustling traffic outside, cushioned by the thick walls. Probably the reason why he always opted for the night shift. If only it was this peaceful outside, he thinks to himself. Sipping on his third cup of espresso, he looks thru the latest cases his jurisdiction has witnessed recently. Petty thefts, car robberies… the files never end. If only we can teach these people the decision they’re making before they commit, he thinks to himself again.

An email pops up on his screen. “Mumbai Attacked” is all it says. He reads it intently, as the fumes from the hot espresso thins out in the cold office. “… over a hundred dead in a series of shootings and bombings in what seems to be a terrorist attack… Taj Mahal occupants being the main targets…” Does it ever end? He asks himself as he ponders the safety of his daughters, wondering of they’ve reached home from the birthday party. He looks at his watch. 2.23 am. Someone’s gonna get a serious grounding if they’re not home already. He thinks again.

Just as he’s about to pick up the telephone to call, it rings, breaking the silence of the office.

“We’ve got an 11-7 sir, gang activity” said the cold, dispatch voice. “What’s the 10-20?” he asked, routinely, while picking up his equipment from the desk to get ready. “Campus area.” replied the dispatch again. “Be there in 20.” he said as he stands up to leave, forgetting the fact that his daughter’s party was nearby the campus as well.

Nothing else says as much.