My Blog

I guess I love to write and I do love to write so there is no guess. Some people say my style of writing is unique and some said it quite a while ago. When I read some of my old entries, I felt: "Man…That sucks". But of course I really love some of the topics I wrote about. I do or did not like the language that I used for certain entries because it is long winded and hundrum. I always use ‘hundrum’ because I know it is a synonym of ‘boring’ but I always forget another which is more common and widely used- ? Now I may be satisfied with my recent posts but maybe in future, when I reread, I will feel obnoxious. Old entries will not only reflect your emotions or thoughts at a particular time but also the lack in you. I guess that is why some people say writing diaries is a good habit. People write journals to complement the imperfection of human’s memory. For me, my brain is all functioning well but currently, there are signs of absent-mindedness. While straying into different topics without a purpose can be fun at times, as do how some novels or texts develop through a plot, constituting a long introduction, I might as well start with the inspiration that I received long ago but have received again just moments ago. I guess writing is a follow-through for certain recurring thoughts. Until it is written, the idea will remain fresh and provide the urge to write.

Revisiting old ideas can be informative as it refreshes a set of powerful principles that you somehow have lost.

I like to deal with the dark themes of humanity such as death and sex. And the tone of my writing, whether in blog or fiction, is often pessimistic. I like to explore the taboo issues of humanity because I love to know secrets of the universe such as the assassination of J.F.K and sexuality.

I found the irony of survival in the world of crickets, at least in my aquarium. Are we also living in an aquarium? Yes we are. These crickets have to fight for food and territory in a compressed space. Worse, there is a sinister scorpion which will strike unpredictably. I deprive them of food so that they have to withstand starvation. At first, they were hopping. Then one by one, they died. And a few days ago, there was only one cricket standing, that could not hop anymore. It has been discovered dead moments ago. Some crickets died because they got crushed by the powerful pincers and their juice got sucked out. The last one which is deemed the most resilient, also suffered the fate of starvation, like many others.

When Kalimuthu Mou Mou was still around, I would shower it with fourty crickets at one go. I guess if someone serves me with forty pizzas all at once, I would lose the appetite. That was the case for Kalimuthu Mou Mou and it refused to even take a bite. It was probably revolting to it. Worse, when those crickets died, an army of ants would march in to clear the mess. Kalimuthu Mou Mou would not be covered with ants but Lucifer had got some ants riding on it and crawling in and out the joints which connect the limbs. I submerged it in water to drown the irritating ants. I watched National Geographic and some species of ants killed a scorpion. Scorpions, predators as they are, remain vulnerable to the tiniest but united nation of ants. There was another time when a scorpion also carelessly crawled into a black widow’s web and served as a sumptuous meal.

Even Kalimuthu Mou Mou, scary as it seemed, would be vulnerable to the tarantula wasp which would penetrate the abdomen of a tarantula and lay eggs in it. Then when the eggs hatch, the larva will gobble the tarantula from the inside. My boo said that the male scorpions dominate the female. Then I said I thought in the animal or insects kingdom, the females are usually bigger in size and rule. She said that scorpion is not an insect. I trust what she read.

I realize that I have been digressing into other topics all the time. And sometimes I tend to post more questions than making an effort to answer them. This is a sign of lack of concentration, because of the total eradication of obsession.

Everytime when I think of an insightful idea or concept, I will write it down on a paper so that when I have time, I will elaborate in my blog. There are piles of papers with scribbled ideas and the follow-through is yet to come. But I sometimes wonder I have to write obsolete events or things. Is it still meaningful to write them down? Like my 20th birthday, I think I only posted here after a month or more. I do not like to simply write and put it up. I know some people do and yes I am criticizing them. They write: "Today I went shopping bla bla bla", "Today I was very angry bla bla bla", or some common daily activities. I want critical thinking or creative ideas, I want an unconventional approach to writing and I want perfect english. I hate ‘lahs’ and ‘blahs’. And this is my new motto- This is me. But not Hennesy V.S.O.P. Each piece of writing must be perfect in my perspective. With these reasons plus the preoccupation with various activities, my writings are always delayed. I went to Redang long ago and part 2 is not completed. Is it still important to write about it? I guess it is important if I think it is and make it. Some people read my blog, some people do not. Some who read my blog will comment and some will not. Some read and remember while some forget. I wonder what one will learn when they read ‘The pilgrimage to Redang island’. What will be going through their mind? I will be surprised with ‘who actually reads my blog’.

By the way, the lamest questions people ask me are: "Have class?", "No class?", "Where is your girlfriend?" and "Don’t you need to accompany your girlfriend?" Lame people with lame questions. I understand that you are nodding acquaintances with me but I would be offended if you ask superficial questions rather than personal ones. Ask me my favourite colour. Ask me what brand of underwear I wear and why. Ask me the size of my penis.

"But but butt..It is so weird to askk such questions…"

"No but! It is weird because you have been taught to speak and act in a certain manner and everything that is outside the norm, you see it as weird".

That is why you are so ordinary. If I ask how different you are from others, can you tell me? Hey I want to know your cup size. I want to know your nipple colour. I want to know your favourite food. Asking is just a way to find out your stuff, and more importantly, to know whether you are open and honest. Be careful with what you are answering and be careful when you are not. A "No" or "Yes" is enough for me. Actually, do I even need to ask? What an arrogant bastard I am! Then later, when I find out more about my flaws, I would feel inferior again. I would mumble and dance mambo alone sheepishly until I find answers or strength.

Far enough I have digressed so that the circle now meets the starting point.

When I had Kalimuthu Mou Mou initially, I was not so cruel as to bombard it with excessive crickets. I only gave ‘just nice’. Then, the rest would be held captive in another smaller aquarium. These crickets would turn cannibalistic and dismember each other. Or maybe they would just eat the corpse of a dead comrade. Recently, when a cricket died in the tank, the others did not touch it. I think some were killed by Lucifer while some died without food. But the alive did not touch the carcasses of their comrades. I thought crickets eat anything at all. I guess my theory is wrong. But back then when Kalimuthu Mou Mou was alive, the crickets either killed each other or waited for their comrades to die and later eating them up. I now know the difference. There are three different circumstances. One, the crickets killed and ate each other when there were only crickets. Two, they did not kill and each other in the presence of Lucifer. Three, in the presence of Kalimuthu Mou Mou, they did not ’seem’ to fight and kill each other also. In all cases, ants are the scavengers. I will experiment and find out the reason or reasons.

As soon as the crickets had been placed in the aquarium, the carnage began. They fought to survive. Their species was the only food available. Once a comrade fell, they shared the body. Some took the legs. Some took the head. Some took the wings. Then when the feast was over, round two commenced. The strong stayed. The weak had to die. In the end, all living crickets turned into mutilated corpses and the stench of victory was strong beyond the ceiling as one survived the massacre. The relentless and strongest would rise its hands, if it had any, with bodies laying all over. Then, a gigantic hand grabbed the triumphant and threw it into the big aquarium, only to be eaten by the big, bad and hairy Kalimuthu Mou Mou.

We rise to power, just to be controlled by a greater force…

Today I am benevolent. I released all other crickets that had not been randomly chosen for Lucifer. They are on the grass around my house compound. They would breed and live happily ever after. Or they would migrate to another place such as the field opposite my house. Little do they know about the vicious motives of the ‘Boss’. He let them breed so that one day he would come back to catch them and throw into the scorpion’s pit…

My friends who commented on ‘The real scorpion king’ are right. Obsession is killing me. I have been obsessed with the idea of how obsessed I have been. I have been obsessed with exploring the extent to which my obsession can go. I have been obsessed with reading ‘The real scorpion king’. I have been obsessed with posting my ideas in circles99. I have been obsessed with feeling obsessed.

I was once obsessed with being right. I was obsessed with a healthy lifestyle. Now I am obsessed with ruining my health.

Passion derives from the heart, obsession derives from the mind. Maybe she is right. I did not believe her. Now I do. Obsession is bad. It is driving me nuts.

I was obsessed with my desperation for a girlfriend and I succeeded in getting one. As my obsession went deeper, I lost my mind and her.

Obsession is like alcohol. You will be intoxicated when you take the first few gulps. But the more you immerse yourself in your obsession, it becomes poison. Here I am again as an obsessed drunkard. My boo would not know again until she reads this.

I thought obsession is fine as long as it serves to transport me to my destination. But more often than not, it ships me to the ocean and I get drowned. Jack Hughman’s wife in ‘The Prestige’ got drowned. James Bond from ‘Casino Royale’ drowned a man in a sink. Then, his lover got drowned in the elevator. A cricket was found dead in my aquarium’s water container. Then I also dreamt about it. I was drowned in my blog entry ‘It is too late…’ I am drowned here again, in or by my obsession.

I am too engrossed in the state of obsession that I have forgotten about the state of passion. Obsession makes me feel like I am dead. I am like an evil spirit that haunts something. Day or night, I stalk my prey. I materialize everywhere one expects not to see me. It freaks that person out and drives that person up the wall. That is exactly how I feel when I am obsessed with myself. I haunt myself. I stalk myself. I materialize wherever I do not expect to see me. At the same time, I get haunted, I get stalked and I see myself everywhere I do not expect. It is like John Malkovich entering his own portal and seeing everyone else as John Malkovich. I am being possessed by obsession.

Now I doubt it. Was it obsession or passion that drove me to success? Maybe both? Passion derives from the heart while obsession comes from the mind. Let me make myself clear. The feeling of passion is when I feel excited and I will be bursting with energy, whereas the feeling of obsession is when I glue to something without any particular reason. I am just like a leech sticking on human’s skin and sucking blood. I am just like an annoying fly hovering around a pile of shit. I am just a hamster running incessantly on the treadmill in a container. I am just a ceiling fan spinning nonstop. I am just a zombie roaming around until someone shoots my carcass into pieces. My ripped off hand is still purposelessly crawling on the ground.

I was obsessed with movies. I watched ‘Happy Feet’ then I watched ECW then I watched James Bond’s ‘Octopussy’ then I watched both ‘Sahara’ and ‘The legend of Zorro’.

I escaped from obsession for a few minutes just before I began again with ‘I escaped from…’ I guess the other thing suddenly interested me more than blogging. It distracted me from obsession. The way not to be obsessed is not by being obsessed with solving the problem of obsession but simply not to be! And diverting my attention helps. My passion can save me from obsession. In this case, it will be linked to my old idea that the mind and heart are always at odds. I can start a topic about it but I do not want to fall into another trap of obsession.

Obsession is not something totally bad. I must utilise it in a way that would complement my heart, where passion is ignited. Passion and obsession must go hand in hand and obsession must be led by passion. Sometimes, there is a thin line between passion and obsession. Sometimes, they are mixed up. For instance, when I am passionate, I am obsessed at the same time.

As I continue being obsessed with this piece, I will be with dirtiness as well. It is time to bathe and sleep. Good night folks!

My boo is asleep now…She would not know that I am awake because she is asleep…I just watched Jerry Mcguire. Heard about it quite a no. of times but did not know what it was about. Now I know it is a movie acted by Tom Cruise.

Since high school, the urge to find the balance point of life has begun…And 8 years have passed…I have not got an answer…Or maybe the answer has been with me all the time but I am just not determined enough to make it happen…I do not work hard enough…

I am an easily obsessed person…Once I get in touch with something that I am passionate about, I can’t get my hands off it…This is probably my greatest weakness or is it my strength? They ask me to make priorities but the problem is there is none. When I like something, it becomes my priority. And once it becomes my priority, other things become not important at all…

When I loved basketball, I played everyday. I was always the first to be on the court practising alone, under the hot sun…Basketball was my life…And that was how I became the god of accuracy. Today it is no longer important. And I wonder my passion for wrestling will just vanish as well.

I was once obsessed with my emotions with someone. I was obsessed with my relationship, so much so that I devoted my life to it. As a result, all other parts of my life had been abandoned. When I lost her, my world collapsed.

Just a couple of days ago, I suddenly felt sorry for my spider Kalimuthu Mou Mou. I did not really take good care of it. In fact, I forsaked it for months. From a vibrant and enormous tarantula, it shrank to a ‘bony’ arachnid. It was deprived of food for months and it was trapped in my aquarium. I put myself in my previous pet’s shoes that day and it hurt me. At the beginning, it was so eager to kill. It took down three crickets in succession and took out another lizard. Then, I just left it alone for months. Towards its demise, I constantly poured water in the aquarium and I guess I killed it with the dampness. My last minute efforts of buying it expensive 10 bucks worms, new bedding were in vain. It was on its belly, with skin cracking off. After a brief year, it succumbed to my torture.

I never touched Kalimuthu Mou Mou ever. The sales girl told me that its venom was lethal. But she also told me that it was not aggressive and would not simply bite humans. I did not risk. I was chicken. It died and I did not even touch it.

The new bedding that I bought for Kalimuthu Mou Mou has not been used until recently. It is now evenly spread in the same aquarium for a new inhabitant- Lucifer. I just played with it just now. It is not dangerous because the sting has been removed. I wonder it will grow back. I wish it would. I want it to be how it naturally is. I let it crawl on my hand. I let it crawl on my belly. I stroked its shell and played with its pincers. I do not care if it attacked me. I want it to be able to know who its owner is. I want it to be familiar with my scent and able to recognize it. I want it to be intimate with me. I do not mind if it stings me. Because you are now part of my life. I will love you. One day I will buy you a partner and you will breed. I will let you and your offsprings crawl everywhere…

As I scrolled up, I just realized that I had been obsessed for a few minutes with blogging about my pet. At the beginning of this year, I was obsessed with mahjong. I was once obsessed with clubbing. I am obsessed with psychoanalytical theories. I am obsessed with blogging. I am obsessed with expressing my ideas in circles99. I was obsessed with late nights. I am starting to get obsessed with late nights again. I am obsessed with myself. I have been obsessed with myself. I am being sucked into my own vortex of thoughts. My self is being diminished by my obsession. I am obsessed with my obsessions. I am obsessed with the word ‘obsessed’…

As I got obsessed with performance, I walked out the Monash ballroom the world heavyweight champion. Just as how I walked out the Sunway ballroom the WWE champion. And just as how I walked out the Multi Purpose Hall the Intercontinental champion.

As I got obsessed with writing, I succeeded in producing a Gothic literature. Just as how I succeeded in getting three essays read in class in one shot.

Obsession is a young man’s game, as stated in ‘The Prestige’. I have been playing this game for 8 years, in different fields, one at a time. What if I play this game in all areas all at the same time?

I was obsessed with masturbation. I was obsessed with porn. I was obsessed with ICQ. I was obsessed with my appearance. I was obsessed with getting a girlfriend. I was obsessed with depression. I loved it. I was obsessed with loneliness. I magnified my loneliness. I was obsessed with revenge. I cursed her. I was obsessed with hatred. I wanted to burn her alive. I was obsessed with anger. I wanted to stomp on their heads. I was obsessed with slumber. My room was my coffin. I may be obsessed with slumber again after I finish blogging about this.

I was obsessed with being alone. I was obsessed with buddhism. I was obsessed with satanism. I was obsessed with thorough cleanliness. I am obsessed with thorough dirtiness.

I was obsessed with wanting to be accepted. I was obsessed with the emotional comfort some female friends provided. I was obsessed with being somebody whom I am not. I was obsessed with uniting my old friends. I was obsessed with the past. I was obsessed with my fantasies. I made up a person and tried to match it (the image) with a real person.

If one has been realistic, exposed to the truth from the beginning, he would not feel anything. If one has been brainwashed with false hopes or fake dreams in the beginning, the awakening would be very painful. It is not only painful to realize the disparity between dreams and reality but what is more painful, is that you realize that you have been foolish enough to think that dream is reality.

People are scared to change their belief because a subversion of their belief could mean an overhaul of the definition of their life. This could mean that the history of their life is either meaningless pursuits or erroneous principles that lead to self destruction. People are scared of change because realities are too harsh to accept. I was traumatized once. I was tormented. As I speak now, tears would accompany. I suffered and I am enlightened. Others would indulge in self deception, making up stories to self comfort. Some would constantly be stuck in the pain. Some would repress their pain into their unconscious, causing self denial or self destruction and let unfavourable change happen. They let things be. They let it affect themselves without knowing it. They let it manifest in themselves. That is why they make the same mistakes. That is why they fear. That is why they fall. I dealt with every pain. I took each agony. I must have been a courageous man. I have built real resistance. I am as strong as steel.

I was obsessed with thinking and neglected doing. I was obsessed with doing and neglected thinking. I was obsessed with muscles and forgot my brain. I am obsessed with my brain and muscles do not matter. Astrology is right. Scorpios are easily obsessed with something. Scorpios are extreme. Their world is black and white. Things will go from one extreme end to another such as love turning into hatred partly because of Scorpios’ obsession.

I am obsessed with myself. I have been obsessed with writing this piece and the outcome is gratifying.

I wish I had the indulgence to sit here blogging about my thoughts and emotions for hours like I did last year. Things are pretty different today. I have got a boo. That is one. I have got a car. That is two. I have got a life. That makes three. No time for being a sensitive new age man, no time for basketball, no time for gym. I have got a life and it is a busy one.

I have got so much to say here. I asked my boo to help me remember the topics that I want to write here. Redang trip part 2 is not up. So is too fast too furious. My birthday is too interesting not to jot down.

Am I slow? Am I a bad multi-tasker? Am I a bad planner? Am I bad in prioritizing? One thing is for sure- I have got too many to do. Is it because I am ambitious? The answer is all of the above.

I remember the days when I could spend an hour in the bathroom scrubbing dirt off my body. I remember the days when I could spend four hours working on my biceps. I remember the days when I clubbed on Thurs, Fri and Sat. I remember the days I called girls in the middle of the night to chat. I remember the days I went to William’s mamak to eat two plates of mozarella cheese. I remember the days when I struggled and suffered. Today I am still struggling. But for different things. I was once decimated by emptiness but today I have been dwindled by chores and tasks that never seem to end…

I have not been eating for months. At least this is the feeling with which I have been seized recently. I have shrunk drastically. My health has deteriorated tremendously. I sneeze all year long and I wonder pneumonia is going to hit me one of these days…

I just want to have more time. I want time to stop. I want to have more strength!

I will hang on…I will stay strong…And I will be the great one. My name is Ting Jer Huan. I am King. The scorpion king. You know me but you do not know me. And are you ready?

Why is it even important for me to show up at graduation? I showed up anyway.

I can remember those faces. The girls wept uncontrollably. Why would they want to control anyway? If there was any moment, this is it. They need not hold back their tears. They let it all out. I was only a witness.

Guys gathered around the messy tables in class, singing popular mandarin songs to celebrate our last day. A guy broke down in tears. There are too many memories, too many meaningful moments to which he is too attached. He cried because he knew he would not be able to create these memories anymore. I felt empty, almost exactly the same as I walked in here. I wanted to cry because there was nothing for me to cry about.

I had no friend, I had no fulfilling memories, I failed to get a girlfriend, my results were lousy. I was a weirdo, I was a delinquent, I wanked my days to fame…I was a nobody…

They would go play futsal, puff, have a rendezvous, have an outing. I had not been called once. I do not have to charge my phone for days. Its function is to fit in my pocket until it dies out. A sudden call would turn me on and excited as I will say: "Mushi mushi!"

They had their groups. I had none. I was roaming from one to another like a spirit. The most they would go is: "No class?" or "Got class?" I would say I have ‘class’ but maybe you will have trouble appreciating it. Eddie talks to me about wrestling and I always give him the latest updates. He always initiates this topic.

I had been disillusioned. I thought that the times after graduation are a continuation or advancement on the friendship that we have established. Graduation actually marked the ending of it and everything after it is a new beginning at which people gradually split into different directions. I was absent all along because I was present somewhere else in my world of hallucination, desires, cravings and conflict, fighting with myself.

As I began glowing, the audience had left. I go all around the world trying to get back the same audience but they are no longer interested in the experiences or feelings that they once invested in. They are up to something else. I have been dancing and singing alone on the stage, with a small group of audience yawning but sometimes cheering. Many performers have quit performing. I have been the dancing and singing crap of an obsolete and dilapitated stage.

My mental growth is a retrospective journey throughout which I constantly lull myself to believe that I have the ability to bring the dead to life. It is a show that I always both orchestrate and perform alone. It is a solo singing, no longer a choir. I missed the show of life and I missed it forever…They refuse to be part of the band anymore.

Each single detail of my life I analyze and scrutinize, like they are little diamonds. I intellectualize every single emotion I feel. Every single day, I try to figure out what happened yesterday. I have been obsessed not with myself but with understanding myself. I want to know whether that femme fatale loved me. If she did, how much? Why did she not want me back? What made her lose feelings towards me?

Why would no girl like me when many recognized that I was good looking?

Why would I not retaliate when one of the three mobsters slapped me in the face? I always got into a fight as a boy. Have I deteriorated owing to civilization or ideology or simply the influence of a girl?

I continually find answers for questions of my life. The best specimen to study and experiment with is none other than myself. Any self diminishing element must be removed permanently. There will be a day when I rise to power and I will torment those who ‘thought’ they would ‘get away’ with it…

As I solved yesterday’s mysteries, I am left with today’s, only to be answered in future. How am I then going to catch up?

Time is linear but my mind is never. Should my mind’s progress not be congruent with time? People wake up everyday forgetting most of what they did yesterday and I am an anachronistic psychopath who asks: "What happened yesterday?"

People’s memories are fucked up. They forgot what they did, why they did it, how they did it etc. Whenever they encounter with an event or object, they come up with hypothesises, regard them as ‘truths’ and live by it. They are a bunch of losers always swimming on the surface while I dive to the bottom in search for the pearl. When I surface, they are already on the opposite bank. I am always one step later. Because of my unremitting search for answers under water, I am drowned. When I float, people see me as a corpse. No I emerge as a mutated fish-man, just like Kevin Costner in ‘Waterworld’.

While one may think he is smart enough to judge me, he has not even had a grasp at the dictionary defining me. I wrote the dictionary and I am still writing…

People study communications to be a journalist, event manager etc. I was not interested at all until today. I have found some answers in some theories. Girls must remain domesticated because a child’s early development requires motherly love. Sometimes when we wonder why someone is so bitchy, abhorrent or pretentious, the reason could be traced to that person’s upbringing. I am a boy who lacked the experiences of having my dad as a role model because he was always not home…The reason I have fallen to become a sensitive new age man who is emotional and sissy…