tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-286512882024-03-08T10:57:34.338+08:00Scribblings of An Empty MindJamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-42196799224818791252021-03-04T22:16:00.000+08:002021-03-05T12:57:52.056+08:00Caffeinated<p>I have a million other things which need to be addressed, so of course the natural course of action would be to instead turn to this dusty, cob-webbed blog of mine and try to compose at least one coherent sentence where I don't sound like the village idiot. Alas, since I have developed quite a penchant for rambling nonsensically paragraph after paragraph, I think I am more or less set for life. Still, being elected the village idiot is far more desirable than being an idiot on the Internet. While the former still has a chance at retiring with a handsome pension, the latter is pretty much stuck being a fool forever. Remember kids - the internet never forgets.</p><p>******************************************</p><p>Have you ever been to Starbucks, gentle reader? Oh, what am I even asking? Of course you have, sophisticated being that you are. These days, one can hardly walk a few meters outside without tripping over their shoelaces and suddenly finding themselves in line to order a tall glass of hot caramel macchiato. Starbucks - or the overpriced cafe moonlighting as a coffee house, as I like to call it - has become so ubiquitous, so synonymous with modern living that even the uncles and aunties are dropping by to get their caffeine fix. </p><p>As I type this sentence - and I promise I am not making this up - two elderly couples walk in and join the queue to order. Wait, make that three. Aaaaaand four. Where are these golden citizens coming from? Did they charter a school bus or something? Or did the local population suddenly and rapidly age, and these are actually 20-year-olds whose appearance just so happens to be similar to the fried rice uncle whom I frequent at least twice a week?</p><p>Anyway, as I was saying - Starbucks. Modern living. Yada yada. </p><p>If you told me 20 years ago that people would regularly pay upwards of RM 20 for over sweetened coffee, I'd have probably laughed and go kicked a ball, but these days, that's pretty much the reality, isn't it? Ditto the over sweetened coffee. I remember bringing up in a conversation that only hippies with expensive Macbooks and iPhones go to Starbucks unironically. Well, guess what - I have become that hippie. Yes, you read that correctly. Like a young Anakin Skywalker who slowly spiraled into despair and eventually embraced the Dark Side, so too have I surrendered myself to the Green Siren. </p><p>At least let me take pride in the fact that I have managed to practice restrain all this while and not taken a picture of my drink to upload on social media.....</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnibRSarAH0aCGmUdDz5QoH8M9guFRXcl1tV9WAHFC5Gwhe3JhFTl2R_9HADzMkeeP6OLwpMNc8OQYNJlH2sxyDEqkz4lacXU3i1uSgv-uvXgIm7KLUC3VoBd51TEfpwMd47v/s4608/IMG_20210304_201849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2592" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnibRSarAH0aCGmUdDz5QoH8M9guFRXcl1tV9WAHFC5Gwhe3JhFTl2R_9HADzMkeeP6OLwpMNc8OQYNJlH2sxyDEqkz4lacXU3i1uSgv-uvXgIm7KLUC3VoBd51TEfpwMd47v/s320/IMG_20210304_201849.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Noooooooooooooo!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-66931101414643575892021-01-17T07:01:00.004+08:002021-01-17T07:07:46.212+08:00Keeping At It<p>For all the years that I've spent <strike>philosophizing</strike> writing crappy pieces here, it comes as a bit of a surprise that I've churned out 135 entries <i>only. </i>In my mind - and indeed, I have the drafts to prove it - I think there must have been at least a few hundred ideas which I have penned down in glorious words. Looks like the truth is, most of those ideas get buried in a shallow grave the moment they leave my fingertips. And to think that academic writing will someday be a staple of my diet, hah!</p><p>Actually, what little I have learned from self-help gurus and productivity maniacs on Youtube is this - persevere in what you do, despite not necessarily seeing the fruits of it now. Throw yourself into the unknown. Shout into the void. Brush your teeth before you go to bed. That last one is actually a life lesson hamered into my head by my parents, but the advice holds. The point I am trying to make here is that any good habit deserves to be pursued, even if it goes unnoticed or unappreciated. And in today's modern world of instant gratification, it is so easy for one's efforts to go under the radar. In my case, this applies to my writing in this blog.</p><p>Another example I can think of is my cousin. In the beginning, I couldn't fathom why he kept making different Instagram accounts with different themes and directions. One of them was just random photos with cryptic captions. Another revolved around architecture. Of course, there was his personal account, detailing bits and bobs of his every day life. At first, I didn't really pay much attention as I was too busy scrolling through the thousand photos of food, 4-panel cartoons and enviable gym body figures. But then one day, he came up with the idea of producing short, one-minute horror stories under (yet) another account. And this was the content which actuallly caught my attention. </p><p>So I have been following his progress with great curiosity and interest, and I have noticed that other people have been noticing his work as well. He hasn't reached the 10s of thousand views like other, more established content creators do, but as far as audiences go, his isn't too shabby of a number. They're certainly a bigger figure than my own Instagram feed, but it's not a competition here.</p><p>I've never asked him in detail what his goals are with this pet project of his, neither do I think it's important. What is important however, is that <i>he is making himself seen & heard in the vast space that is the Internet</i>, and that is a commendable achievement. Furthermore, he did it without selling himself short or resorting to cheap gimmicks, which can't be said for more than half of our local 'Instafamous' or 'Youtubers'. </p><p>So yeah, persevere. If you have something to say, keep shouting it out loud even if nobody listens, because you never know when they eventually will.</p>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-34753002558453896102020-12-20T00:02:00.001+08:002020-12-20T00:02:16.376+08:00The Puddle In Front of My PorchIf I have been keeping track of my to-do list correctly, then I have about twenty other things which I should be working on at this very moment. So of course, the natural thing for me to do is instead completely ignore them all, binge on Youtube videos all day long and partake in some pseudo-intellectual writing i.e. rambling on my blog. Why am I like this?<div><br /></div><div>**************************</div><div><br /></div><div>It's currently the rainy season over here. The days are dull and grey, and they are interspersed with cycles of heavy and light rain. Wet stray cats, shivering from the cold, frequently seek shelter under my porch. On more than one occasion, I have discovered a frog hiding under a cup in my sink. It's already been two weeks since I've done the laundry (can't risk my clothes smelling like they're a makeshift site for fungal cultivation) and I can nary go outside without first pulling up the ankles of my trousers. These are the some of the things that have been going on while the rain rages on outside. </div><div><br /></div><div>Actually, I should be quite thankful that these are the only inconveniences I've had to put up with. Should the Big Flood of 2014 recur (hopefully not), I may very well be typing this out while sitting atop a roof, my sorry behind waiting to be hauled off to a flood center.</div><div><br /></div><div>(I don't think I'd fare well at a flood center. I already cope poorly when placed together with a small crowd in a moderately-sized room, so the thought of being stuck in a vast communal hall together with a bunch of strangers sends a shiver down my spine and makes me break out into a cold sweat)</div><div><br /></div><div>I remember as a young boy, the rainy season used to be more...rainy? What I mean by this is, it used to be that there'd be continuous rain for two or three days at a time. Sure, in between the torrential pours there'd be moments of light drizzle, but the fact remains that it was raining non-stop. These days however, it rains heavily for maybe an hour or two, and then there'd be no rain - sometimes even sunshine - for the following couple of hours, and then the cycle repeats. Maybe this is what they mean by climate change?</div><div><br /></div><div>Whatever it is, I have always associated the rainy season with frequent snacking, drinking hot tea by the gallon, and also warm, thick blankets - all of which I have been indulging in during my weekend off. I'm just really using the cold,wet weather as an excuse to be lazy at this point, but boy oh boy, is it a valid one.</div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-4797374676054869712020-12-02T22:36:00.003+08:002020-12-07T23:05:49.641+08:00Mountain Climbing, Or How I Learned To Love Video Games (I Always Have)I'm typing this out as my head spins round and round, like how the earth spins on its axis to complete a day-night cycle, or how a politician might spin a statement so much, it doesn't even begin to make sense. And what might be the reason behind this dizziness, you might ask gentle reader? I had earlier developed a terrible case of the hives from goodness knows what (I haven't had any previous history of allergies), and unable to further tolerate the burning itchiness creeping up my arms, neck and face, I decided to give myself a full dose of anti-histamine and steroids. As the world swims before my eyes, and the voices of my junior colleagues become more distant, I'm beginning to doubt whether this was a good call to begin with, considering I am on duty tonight.<div><br /></div><div>************************</div><div><br /></div><div>After having finished my exams recently, I started to once again pick up my controller and boot up the good ol' Playstation 4. Considering the last time I actually played the darn thing was when I suffered through The Last Of Us Part 2 a couple of months ago (an entry for another day), I was surprised I still remembered how to navigate the user interface. This is, of course, just another of my exaggerations. </div><div><br /></div><div>Though I am well past my prime (I used to clock in 10-12 hours a day during my peak Final Fantasy days) owing to more adult-ly responsibilities, I still do very much enjoy escaping into my private virtual playground. Single player, narrative-driven games are pretty much my staple diet, but I also enjoy other genres as well. And the game which I am currently playing - called Celeste - comes under the category of *checks notes* ah, yes - "rage game"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Rage game" is a pretty apt moniker for Celeste, as I caught myself coming dangerously close to flinging my poor controller in a fit of blind fury on more than one occasion. However, a heart-warming, relatable story and a delightful cast of charming characters helped me eventually see this game to the end. At the beginning, we're told that it is a story of a girl, Madeline, who wants to climb the titular mountain to challenge herself. However, as we progress through the game, we discover that she actually suffers from depression and anxiety, and climbing this mountain was her way of getting out of a rut. Along the journey, she meets several other characters who share their thoughts and insights into her condition, and consequently help Madeline to change the way she views herself and life. When I put it that way, it sounds more of like a fairy-tale for children, but make no mistake - the writing and the dialogue in this game is really meant for grown-ups going through a rough patch. That makes it all of us, don't you deny it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I related to most of Madeline's dialogue, especially the parts where she has long conversations with the "other part of her". And her interactions with the other characters genuinely hit me in the feels at times, due to how close it hit home. I know gamers keep defending their hobby by saying it's therapy, but for me, this really <b>was </b>therapeutic. If ever I end up seeing a therapist, I imagine Celeste would be one of the topics I'd bring up, and how it had a - maybe temporary, but definitely - profound effect on my life. </div><div><br /></div><div>Before I close this entry, I'll leave you with this screenshot I grabbed from the epilogue. This was after roughly about 11 hours of huffing and puffing through the game, and though it's meant for Madeline, I'm pretty sure we all could do to remember and keep it close to our hearts as well.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Wqd8475x5DyLCsBU5TBG5lPIlNeiCgzY9EW09cflcQAawcLs2A3AIOkDM4M4FxqUY8E3ruQKBoMDFRg9JTYwfnr8Ytf8F1SZrqKSfvPbFJqIfHIuMxTEBV8YcQ-N7l-FkB6S/s1920/you+tried+your+best.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Wqd8475x5DyLCsBU5TBG5lPIlNeiCgzY9EW09cflcQAawcLs2A3AIOkDM4M4FxqUY8E3ruQKBoMDFRg9JTYwfnr8Ytf8F1SZrqKSfvPbFJqIfHIuMxTEBV8YcQ-N7l-FkB6S/w415-h233/you+tried+your+best.jpg" width="415" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-13785676474103267612020-11-29T08:43:00.002+08:002020-12-02T22:09:45.457+08:00I Would Like To Complete My Examination By....<p>So, earlier this week saw me sitting for my clinical exams - again, ugh - because what is life if not a continuous barrage of trials and tribulations? No, don't answer that. It was a completely rhetorical question, and I have no need for a lecture this late at night on why life is a struggle and some people have it worse than others and that I should be thankful for the life I have. That's an entry for another day.</p><p>************************* </p><p>Having not passed my previous attempt, I came into the exam better prepared this time around. This is of course a lie, as the only time I have ever felt prepared for an exam was some time around the beginning of the new millennia, which given how 2020 has played out so far, might as well be a bajillion years ago. But back to the exam - I had stayed back after work to catch up on reading. I had practised my bedside skills over and over again with my friends till we all felt like throwing up. I even dropped a hefty amount of money just to buy a decked out digital tablet to reassure myself that I was putting actual effort to pass the exams this time around. </p><p>(On hindsight, I might have just been using the exam as an excuse to buy that sweet iPad Pro, but it's already too late to take it back to the shops. Oh well)</p><p>It's one thing to sit for exams as a student. It is an entirely different ball game taking exams as an adult, stiff lower back and all. For starters, there's the added responsibilities of work, family and 1001 other things which I can't bear to list down here. Secondly, these days my body automatically shuts itself down at 10 p.m. whereas as recently as a couple of years ago, I could harness the power of caffeine/artificial lighting/black magic to stay up through the night. Thirdly, it just sucks to take exams at any age.</p><p>Anyhoo, the exams came and went, and now we wait for the results. God wiling, I hope I'll make it through as it's more than just a "see you in another 6 months' time!" at stake this time around. I have burdened my support group more than I would like to, and they could do without having to repeat the stint again. More importantly, I need to pass to feel better about myself. Here's hoping for good news.</p>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-20011773314324592602020-10-19T23:51:00.001+08:002020-10-19T23:51:49.162+08:00A Walk Down Memory LaneRe-visiting the blog - and by extension, posting this entry - makes me feel exactly like an alcoholic father. One, who in a whiskey-induced haze of clouded judgement - decides to up and leave his family one day, only to return years later after having being at his lowest ebb, is then bestowed divine clarity on how important family is.<div><br /></div><div>Not that I've had any experience being an alcoholic, mind you. Never even tasted the stuff. Promise.</div><div><br /></div><div>So what is it really that brings me back here? Did I have a revelation? Is this, in fact, a stranger typing, having successfully hacked and gained access to an ancient archive of non-specific ramblings? Or have I just plainly lost my mind? Well, between me and you, dear reader - it has always been a private ritual of mine to go through my past writings once or twice a year. Keeps me in touch with my former, younger, <strike>more idealistic</strike> clueless self, you see. It is a way of reminding myself who I was before I grew up. </div><div><br /></div><div>(On a side note: not only have I grown up, but I've also grown sideways, front and back. Go figure)</div><div><br /></div><div>Reading back my past entries never fails to make me go through a roller coaster of emotions and memories. To be fair, most of them are embarrassing and downright cringey, which would correspond to the vertical drop section of the aforementioned roller coaster analogy. Other times, they induce moments of introspection, and maybe even bring out a chuckle or two. Sometimes, the entries make me go "wait, what?". Like I said, roller coaster.</div><div><br /></div><div>But this time around, the reason I came back was just to get my muddled thoughts out. I had an itch to write, and neither Facebook nor Twitter was going to cut it. So here I am at my dusty and cobwebbed virtual writing desk, my keyboard clacking away, sentence after sentence rolling out yet I see no clear direction as to where they are headed to. And that's perfectly fine by me.</div><div><br /></div><div>After all, these are the Scribblings Of An Empty Mind, are they not?</div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-33457702082925903672014-09-04T00:10:00.000+08:002014-09-04T00:10:20.627+08:00A Scribbling of An Empty Mind<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I actually have no idea why I suddenly got the itch to write all of a sudden.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Writer's clarity? More of writer's (hopefully temporary) insanity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Goodness, I can't even remember when was my last post. See, this blog has become a very unkempt garden with lines of words strewn all across the lawn. The budding ideas that used to blossom into flowers have long wilted away, killed off by the herbicide that is 'the working life'. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not that the thought to write didn't pop up before - trust me, it did (and I have the <strike>poorly</strike> partly written drafts to prove it). It's just that somewhere along the way, I kind of felt that the things I had to say to the silent reader, and the global audience in general just didn't matter that much any more. Add on top of that all the news about bloggers and Twits (what, they're not called that? Such a waste) getting sued for all kinds of stuff they post on the intrawebs, and you've got yourself a recipe for a ton of self-censorship and a one-way ticket to blogging reclusion. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But deep down, I knew that I'd come back and write here again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Will there be constant updates? I don't know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Will I be as nonsensical and not getting to the point as before? Probably so.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Will a part of me still be that enthusiastic youth with ideas to share and things to say? <i>Most definitely.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stay tuned. Or don't. I don't care.</span>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-82361194060900852822010-11-28T13:23:00.001+08:002010-11-28T13:24:47.652+08:00But I'm Still Not Good Enough To Perform At FunfairsIt's been almost a month now that I've started taking up guitar lessons. The motivation to do so came from the self-realisation of how little I know whether what I'm doing at the moment is correct or actually just plain wrong (my hands hurt when I play for longer than an hour. That has got to be a bad sign, hasn't it?)<br /><br />Some acquaintances brushed it off as being a waste of money, saying that with the advent of the Internet - and more notably, Youtube - learning stuff online has become cheap and effective. "There are so many people in cyberspace who take the time to produce really good, informative instructional videos covering all sorts of topics ranging from what kind of make up to apply for a dinner event to how best to go about training your tortoise to leap through deathly rings of fire. Thus, it goes without saying that there are tons of instructional videos on guitar playing. Why waste your money on lessons?" they argued.<br /><br />It's true that the interwebs does help in learning. A LOT. I'll be honest right now and say that I've downloaded a fairly large number of videos myself and if it weren't for those videos, I'd still probably be holding the guitar upside down or back-to-front. However, there's something about the human interaction that takes place during teaching that can never be replaced by any online lesson. The awkward mistakes that are corrected on the spot by a stern rap on the knuckles, say, or the simple nod of approval at having perfectly nailed that riff - these are things which make learning more meaningful.<br /><br />Though it's a bit embarrassing to admit, another personal reason why I took up lessons was nostalgia. I wanted to remember my days learning the organ - the songs I had to repeat for two to three weeks because I sucked at playing them, the scales that tangled my fingers worse than a messed up ball of yarn and the sight reading which I have never really understood.<br /><br />I'm still not good at playing the guitar and my left hand still hurts at having to hold down those damn bar chords, but at least I now know the 5 posititions of the A minor pentatonic scale and their correct fingering! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to practise my hammer ons and pull-offs for a bit for next week's lesson.Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-54102383260360929932010-10-24T01:20:00.001+08:002010-10-24T01:21:57.809+08:00Hungry at Half Past One In The Morning Did ThisWhen I was growing up in primary and secondary school, I didn't have that much of a chance to stay out of the house and explore the local geography. This would be in direct contrast to a boy of similar age living somewhere in say, Kampung Orang Asli Donglai Baru, Semenyih. However, it is understandable for my parents to be naturally worried that their firstborn son might be led astray by the bad influences of video game parlours or shopping malls should they let him go out too often. At least in the rural village, the biggest threat would only probably be the rabid, flea-infested neighbour's dog.<br /><br />So when I reached the legal age to go outside and stay outside after 7 p.m. - if there's ever such a thing - you can imagine what it was like for me. Details are a bit hazy, but I think it did involve a lot a walking, perpetual sweating and a pair of dead tired legs by the end of the day. I really enjoyed not being at home at night partly because of the stuffy atmosphere in the house (still is) and partly because I was fascinated at how colourful the nightlife was. Simply put, I was like a moth hypnotized by the soft blue glow of a pendaflour light and I loved every moment of it.<br /><br />But I'm older now and that excitement has worn off. A bit. Still, these days I do enjoy the occasional nocturnal escapade, especially if I have the spare dough for it since driving around the relatively quiet streets at night still uses fuel and fuel costs money; not to mention the late night supper of nasi lemak and iced milk tea. And it is usually during these late night suppers that I bump into young parents with their even younger children also enjoying the food on their plates.<br /><br />Now, it strikes me as odd that such young children (I'm talking about as small as 3 months old) should be wide awake at such an ungodly hour, and eating while they're at it. Once, I came across such a family at 2 plus in the morning. Eyh, what's that about? Don't these kids need their sleep? I thought babies were supposed to be asleep more than half of the time and what's this I see?<br /><br />I may not be in the best position to talk about the disciplining of bedtime habits of children since (a) I don't even have some of my own and (b) my own sleeping habits aren't exemplary - as you may be able to judge for yourself by now. But to me, it's still a bit weird and downright wrong that these parents should be bringing their children out at such an hour, especially if it's only to socialize with like-minded friends with children of their own. Even worse than that would be the parents that bring their children to the extra-late night markets that go on until the wee hours of the morning. Surely that can't be healthy, right?<br /><br />Has the influence of nocturnal vampires (and to probably a lesser extent, the Twilight series) finally gotten to us? I don't know. I'm going out for a late night supper to clear my head nowJamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-21999268292124050982010-10-09T03:37:00.004+08:002010-10-09T03:45:00.818+08:00It's Crystal Clear, Isn't It?I may or may not have mentioned this in the past, but I am blessed to have spent quite a good number of years growing up abroad, Edinburgh to be more precise. Though my memory is hazy when it comes to details, there are bits and pieces from that period of time which are very clear and vivid to me. Let's see...I remember going to <a href="http://www.sol.co.uk/s/sciennes/old/index.htm">Sciennes Primary School</a> and running around the school grounds during recess. I remember having a red-haired boy as a best friend; Robert was his name. I also remember jumping up and down the apartment till the person downstairs (Mr McKenzie was his name, wasn't it?) came upstairs and blasted my parents for not taking care of their offspring.<br /><br />Yes, good memories in all.<br /><br />Another thing which I remember well is a game show that was on air at that time. It was called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Crystal_Maze">The Crystal Maze</a> and it had me glued to the telly whenever it was on. And why wouldn't I be? A team testing their skills in a maze the size of two football pitches with a bald host named Richard O' Brien who talks nonchalantly makes for a fascinating watch, wouldn't you agree?<br /><br /><div>Intermission: I'm watching a clip of it on Youtube as I'm writing this</div><div><br />It was thrilling to watch the drama unfold as each member of the team took turns to play games testing them in terms of skill, strength or intelligence and if they failed to complete the challenge in the set amount of time, they'd be 'locked in'. On the other hand, if they successfully completed the game, they'd acquire a crystal which buys them more time for the final act - catching gold tokens flying in a flurry in a giant crystal dome.<br /><br />According to Wikipedia - and the few comments I've read so far on Youtube - it was a massive hit among viewers; very fitting for a game show prepared on a massive scale. A healthy number of commenters have also cried out for a new season but I don't think the producers are in a hurry to build another giant maze after tearing the previous one down several years ago.<br /><br />Is it too much to ask for to have The Crystal Maze replace some reality shows on Malaysian telly?</div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-85661135353492437402010-09-28T00:59:00.001+08:002010-09-28T00:59:45.801+08:00Axe RockI was blessed with the opportunity to go to a boarding school when I was in Form 4. However at that time, it wasn't so much of a blessing as it was a display of authority on the part of my parents, but I was too young and too foolish at that time to realise (or rather, admit) the benefits a boarding school had to offer a growing young adult like myself.<br /><br />Besides learning how afternoon prep sessions are actually just siestas in academic disguise and packets of Milo can be subject to ironing to become a sort of crunchy biscuit, I also learned to listen to what some people might call rock kapak or 'old school rock'. Some might cynically point out that most of the songs are just sappy love ballads sung by skinny men with long hair in tight jeans, but hey, who cares?<br /><br />XPDC. Wings. Search. Lefthanded. BPR. Slam. Spring. You name it, I listened to it.<br /><br />I still remember how a couple of friends and myself would be lying on the chilly floor of our dorm during the cold weekend nights when the hostel was quiet because most of the students were back in their hometowns enjoying themselves. A cassette player would be playing and we'd be singing along softly - or loudly, depending on the song - until we either dozed off without realising it or the warden came in and whipped our sorry asses to sleep.<br /><br />Ah, good times. Good times indeed.<br /><br />The funniest thing about it all is that most of my friends who also went to boarding school would have the same memories - late night sing-a-long sessions accompanied by friends. And though they don't talk about it, I deeply suspect that they also had their fair share of getting a taste of the cane for staying up way past bedtime.<br /><br />So is rock kapak actually a universal phenomenon among students in boarding school? If so, it should probably be made a compulsory co-curriculum activity. Better than whatever rubbish it is that's played these days.<br /><br />P/s - given this knowledge of my personal history, it's amusing to see the surprised look on my friends' faces when I tell them I listen to Malay songs. Is it that weird?Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-44096357325135078632010-09-17T14:28:00.003+08:002010-09-17T15:07:54.431+08:00Mari Beraya!Is it already a week into Syawal? By golly, time sure flies doesn't it? Even if you're not having fun and are stuck at home feeding the stray cats that come begging for food every day. <div><br /></div><div>So yes. Life is about to resume as normal as the week draws nearer and nearer to a close. Those still enjoying their days back in their hometown will most probably start sighing while packing their bags. I'm not too familiar with the feeling as I've been back in Kuala Lumpur since the 3rd day of Raya. My sighing would be when I'm forced to drive on the roads this weekend when everybody - and I do mean everybody - comes back. </div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of which, that just happens to be the thing I despise the most about Kuala Lumpur when it comes to Raya. Which bright spark came up with the tagline '<i>Raya di Kuala Lumpur sebulan!</i>' I wonder? What was the purpose of it in the first place? Was it a desperate attempt to trick people into coming over to the house and finish off the abundance of Raya cookies? (our house still has about 3 containers worth of cookies, by the way) Or was it to make the effort of spring-cleaning the house worthwhile because if not you're not going to clean the house to show it to other people, why would you clean it at all?</div><div><br /></div><div>Whatever the reason, all I know is that for the next two or three weekends, the roads will be full of cars with people in them smartly dressed for the occasion of <i>pergi beraya. </i>This in itself is not a bad thing, but please, can we just try taking turns holding open houses and not have everybody opening all their houses at the same time? Pretty please?</div><div><br /></div><div>By the way, my house is always open; you don't have to wait until the weekend to come over. Just let me know in advance that you're coming so that I can scour the kitchen for any other cookies that need to be disposed of quickly.</div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-19570081024736588852010-09-16T22:45:00.002+08:002010-09-16T22:50:08.700+08:00Is It Safe To Come Out Yet?Yes, I kind of developed a phobia of putting my thoughts into writing lest people find them disgusting and started hating me.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Well, it might have taken me close to a year but here I am now, on what is hopefully the road to healing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Watch this space</div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-10192935977862129662009-11-23T14:59:00.005+08:002009-11-23T15:11:54.519+08:00Dance Little LiarI tend to avoid putting faith in the human race. Like I once <a href="http://quillbearer.blogspot.com/2006/08/something-about-me.html">said,</a> any race which doesn't have the merry ring of a gun shot to start you off and a finishing line where you can wave your arms in the air once you've crossed it, deserves to be looked upon with eyes full of suspicion. And the more people I get to know, or the more I get to know people (whichever is relevant) the more my suspicions are confirmed.<br /><br />A little bird (to be read in the British context of the meaning) told me a few days back of how one of her friends has been showing a more unpleasant side to herself these past couple of months. The supposedly soft-spoken, modest and shy girl was slowly revealing herself to be quite the caustic, ill-willed witch who would grab any available opportunity to snidely remark on the little bird's actions. This came as quite a shock since said person was highly regarded by her peers and pressures as being a good example of 'The Last Malay Woman' standing, whatever significance that may bear.<br /><br />"<i>What are the chances of you unknowingly hurting her feelings and this is a form of revenge?</i>"<br /><br />"<i>I don't know. But she could always be straightforward and tell me if I did any wrong to her</i>"<br /><br />"<i>Can her change in behaviour be attributed to the normal phenomenon of menstrual bleeding?</i>"<br /><br />"<i>As a dignified, modern day female, I am highly offended by your simple thought process that crankiness in the female species is directly linked to their monthly shedding of endometrial tissue. If you'll excuse me, I have other more important issues to focus on such as the direction of the 1Malaysia policy</i>".<br /><br />Note: the bottom half of the conversation was fabricated to add extra appeal.<br /><br />****************************************<br /><br />Obviously, this is a very one-sided story and I have yet to go and ask Queen Ursula about her version to the story. Then again, why would I want to? She might get angry with me or worse, turn my tail into legs and make me go above to meet Prince Eric if I poke my nose into her affairs. Plus, I have never been that close to her owing to her fondness for writhing polyps as decorations on the walls of her underwater cave.<br /><br />But never mind whether I do decide to get involved or not; that is not the point. The point is, appearances are deceiving. Therefore, don't judge a book by its cover and don't judge a judge by his gavel.<br /><br />p/s - I must be delirious. This post doesn't make any sense.Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-27449096010181074842009-11-17T19:18:00.000+08:002009-11-17T19:19:16.877+08:00Speaking In TonguesIt is unbelievably amazing how much power the mysterious word holds. It really is true. The more your spoken or written thoughts are shrouded in mystery, the more people become mesmerised. You can even try it out for yourself - throw a rhetorical question at the most unimaginable moment possible and watch how others are intrigued by it like moths taking to a fluorescent light. I can now fully appreciate why some people prefer to take the indirect and sometimes incomprehensible approach to express themselves.<br /><br />Still, it doesn't hurt to be transparent once in a while, yes?Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-31804292836049514142009-11-10T20:59:00.000+08:002009-11-10T21:00:14.234+08:00SympathyI think it was Oscar Wilde who said 'Anybody can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathise with a friend's success'.<br /><br />I concur with you whole heartedly, Oscar.<br /><br /><i>Still trying to find the drive to write</i>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-26276165125241917422009-11-09T01:51:00.001+08:002009-11-09T01:53:08.201+08:00RedemptionAnd to start writing again.....<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div>....where do I begin?</div></div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-10833275661171214482009-08-09T11:14:00.006+08:002009-08-09T12:54:45.618+08:00Late Night Suppers - Your Gateway To Interesting Characters<div style="text-align: left;">The saying 'the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak' nicely sums up my position for the past two or three weeks. But then again, I suppose you could probably sum up my whole life in the same way. Anyway, whoever came up with that saying obviously was not sensitive to the condition of people with Duchenne muscle dystrophy. Absolutely no respect at all, I say.<br /></div><br />*****************<br /><br />Sometimes I get hunger pangs in the middle of the night. This is especially true if I didn't take dinner earlier. Or even lunch. Sometimes probably breakfast too. But let us not dwell on minor event build-ups. The important thing is that from time to time, as I am furiously typing out that case write up (which always gets done at the very last possible moment) way into the wee hours of the morning or furiously clicking away on Mafia Wars, my tummy will send out an audible noise signaling that it has gone without food for too long and if I don't do anything about it sharpish, it promises to be a pain in the arse. Now why would an empty stomach hurt my butt?<br /><br />So the other night it happened again. I was just about to pull off a heist on this mafioso's mega casino when I was interrupted by a loud gurgling sound. Without so much of a thought, I shouted towards the bathroom 'Hey, since when did we keep Listerine in the bathroom?' without noticing that my room mate was sound asleep in his bed. Oh.<br /><br />As someone who has done this many times, I can tell you that going out for a late night supper is akin to making a decision in what career path you choose to take. You go out into the world, all fresh faced - sometimes not, more so when you've been typing out that bloody case write up - ready to take on anything the world throws at you. But the first gust of cold wind that hits your face makes you realise that you haven't actually thought of what to do, or in this case, what to eat. And thus you are left standing by the dimly lit sidewalk, hand clutching wallet as motorists zoom by in search of the next mamak stall for another round of teh tarik.<br /><br />However, on this particular night my head was crystal clear and I knew exactly what I wanted - spicy anchovy buns and a tin of Boh Teh O' Ais Passionfruit with real honey to wash it all down. Actually, that's a bit of a lie. I didn't know what to have for supper but that was what I ended up with after skimming the shelves in 7-11 for close to half an hour.<br /><br />And as I slide up to the counter to pay for my purchases, a man in his late 40's walks in. I glance at him and he smiles back. A nice looking fellow, but as I was about to find out, appearances can be cruelly deceiving.<br /><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">'Adik, bagi sekotak Dunhill 20. Hmm..bagi yang comel sikit la. Ha, yang gambar baby tu'</span></div><div><br /></div><div>(Give me a packet of Dunhill 20's. Hmm...give me a cute one, will you? Ha, the one with the baby on it, that one)</div><div><br /></div><div>I choked on my own spit, trying to suppress a laugh. But as I walked back to my hostel - buns and canned drink in hand - I realised that these are the very smokers who I'll be dealing with in a couple of years. So what can I expect from a chronic chain smoker who thinks that a picture of an aborted foetus is cute? Not much, me thinks.</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/35040769@N08/3802037749/" title="Sly Look by quillbearer, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2670/3802037749_ed16236c05.jpg" width="500" height="333" alt="Sly Look" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This begs for a caption. Really, it does.</div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-47719213897348656742009-07-24T23:40:00.006+08:002009-07-25T00:04:45.023+08:00Say Hello To My Little Friend!!!Upon logging onto the internet (or interwebs, as I like to call it) for the first time since last Thursday, I was mildly amused to see my bank account balance - $1,999,046.<br /><br />And that was only for a week I left my three fruit marts.<br /><br />The above - without a doubt - does not portray my real financial status. In real life, I am a poorly medical student with only RM15 in my tattered wallet to see me through to the end of the week and dinner tonight is going to cost me RM8 since I am desperate for my interwebs.<br /><br />So where on earth did I earn close to two million in just a week? In Mafia Wars on Facebook, of course. You might recall that I am an advocate of Facebook and its sometimes nonsensical quizzes but that fandom has just been escalated to newer heights after I was introduced into a Mafia family by <a href="http://budakblur.blogspot.com/">Pakcik Hassan</a>. What is an elderly Malay pakcik doing in an Italian organised crime syndicate? The first rule of the Mafia is you do not talk about the Mafia. The second rule is you DO NOT talk about the Mafia.<br /><br />To it's credit, Mafia Wars is not a fancy looking game. You will be sorely disappointed if you were expecting to see highly detailed character designs in the form of men dressed in suits carrying tommy guns going all trigger happy while on a bank job. There is no blood, no gory executions and most certainly no Hot Coffee mod. In fact, the most you'll be given is an animated revolver being loaded with bullets. Hardly entertaining unless you're in the munitions business.<br /><br />But even though it is a simple click-click clicking game, the real attraction lies in the decision making process which makes up the whole gaming experience. The player is given health points, energy points and stamina points to spend on doing hit jobs and launching all out attacks on other mafioso. Going all gung-ho on other Mafia families will not only almost ensure you get your arse handed over to you, but you will also lose a lot of money and as any good gangster knows, no money means no tommy gun ammunition.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir21Cei93oeWvINtRo45d8snLLi_jNvl5E9iWEtYxYE854Hdl5unr8RScOTSv60ykOdu6rl5Lf1cMgN9PWFID8UbsiG5pVCxZoAwCeTwwcJ2naGq8YceVZsQY5-iDg07AQxPUN/s1600-h/Picture+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir21Cei93oeWvINtRo45d8snLLi_jNvl5E9iWEtYxYE854Hdl5unr8RScOTSv60ykOdu6rl5Lf1cMgN9PWFID8UbsiG5pVCxZoAwCeTwwcJ2naGq8YceVZsQY5-iDg07AQxPUN/s400/Picture+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362053191062810370" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Plus you will get punched in the face and receive 3 damage</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>So yes. This is my new obsession at the moment. Anybody who wants to fight the good fight may join my Mafia family and together we shall show the rest who's boss. Capiche?Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-56614187897682430182009-07-14T11:53:00.000+08:002009-07-14T11:54:42.165+08:00What's The Meaning Of This?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Aren't you going to ask me what's my first impression of you after the first time meeting all these years?</span><br /><br />"Well, are you going to answer that?" asked my brother. There was an impatient emoticon at the end of the sentence.<br /><br />"Oh, yes. What was it again?" I typed back, with keyboard markings on my face.<br /><br />*******************************************************<br /><br />We had been talking about an incident which had happened earlier that day. He had gone out with a group of old friends from school and amongst them, was a girl whom he used to have a crush on. Have you ever been in that position? What did it feel like? Did you get butterflies in your stomach or was it more of like the sensation one might get had he unknowingly downed a plate of bad rice? Or were you all cool about it, not flinching a bit even when your eyes briefly met in a gaze which seemed to have lasted an eternity?<br /><br />So they had lunch; a nice lunch at a nice chicken rice shop. Myself, I have some experience in attending these so-called 'small reunions' and I know that at the table, everybody will be talking at the same time and you get kind of lost trying to figure out who's listening to who, never mind what they're all talking about with their mouth full. Your best bet to indulge in some decent conversation would thus be to grab the partner of choice and make a getaway for it to another eatery, but since this is not practical at all, the second best option would be to sit next to the person of interest and make small talk then. Which is what my brother did.<br /><br />They chatted a bit about what they've been up to the past few years when the girl suddenly popped the question above. "I mean, was she sincerely asking whether I wanted to know or was she merely stirring the bush, get what I mean?" my brother asked. "To be truthful, of course I am a teeny bit curious but shouldn't things like that be discussed in private without us being surrounded by onlookers? What gets me the most is when I texted her a bit later in the afternoon, asking about what she meant, I didn't get a reply. Strange." he continued.<br /><br />Just because I was born two years earlier does not mean I am wiser in matters such as this. To me, girls are - and will always be - a puzzle wrapped in shrouds of mystery and locked up in a box of enigma.<br /><br />Any girls out there care to give their two cents? Boys are welcomed too; I don't discriminate.Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-19420131243904977542009-06-23T21:02:00.004+08:002009-06-23T22:28:12.875+08:00And The Answer Is....Since many of you asked what I'd give in order to achieve happiness, the answer is...<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/35040769@N08/3653334769/" title="The Whole Lot by quillbearer, on Flickr"></a><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/35040769@N08/3653334769/" title="The Whole Lot by quillbearer, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3383/3653334769_98ff0e301c.jpg" width="500" height="333" alt="The Whole Lot" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">....a quarter of my weekly allowance.</div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-11621696174679511752009-06-18T21:49:00.002+08:002009-06-18T21:52:05.346+08:00Happiness<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/35040769@N08/3482737857/" title="Down by quillbearer, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3635/3482737857_77ff88f5a0.jpg" width="500" height="333" alt="Down" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What would you give to achieve it?</div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-35993866648584484672009-06-04T21:57:00.001+08:002009-06-04T22:02:21.834+08:00A Book With A Face<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeflIzk0RjJ0HBroN0rzZMLVNKJEuleJdnBESPhGMVx2mEUZajJS6txqoYcafBlQhmB6JpX50pBqdt27PIvYgsxzWfrJENH1r0N5hTDCKyD817vhcybTzjYTvsqtb6DCus5iED/s1600-h/facebook.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeflIzk0RjJ0HBroN0rzZMLVNKJEuleJdnBESPhGMVx2mEUZajJS6txqoYcafBlQhmB6JpX50pBqdt27PIvYgsxzWfrJENH1r0N5hTDCKyD817vhcybTzjYTvsqtb6DCus5iED/s400/facebook.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343471873242556226" /></a><div><br /></div>These days, everyone is on Facebook. From my old classmates, to the ones I have now and even people who I have no idea who they are yet, want to add me as their friend. All this is flattering (Hey Jams! 3 Qudoos!!!) but frankly, the one thing I'm really waiting for is for Ex-President Bush to come along and invite me to join the cause 'STOP CALLING MUSLIMS TERRORISTS!'.<br /><br />Note: if anyone reading this is personally acquainted with Ex-President Bush - and no, I don't necessarily mean you Ms Rice - would you kindly pass along the message? Thank you.<br /><br />Apart from asking friends to join causes (some of them hilarious - Think: Save The World From Stupid People, anyone?) another craze on Facebook seems to be taking all these quizzes devised by other users, some of them whom I suspect may have too much free time on their hands. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Name The Footballer</span> and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">What Is Your Personality Type?</span> are some examples of the more intelligent quizzes while <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">What Date Will Your Wedding Day Be On?</span> and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">What Type Of Shoe Are You?</span> are rather the exact opposites. Yes, there is a quiz which will tell you what type of shoe you are if you are willing to waste ten minutes of your life answering some questions which have absolutely nothing to do with shoes.<br /><br />(On that thought, how does one become a pair of shoes? Do you have to have a last name like Choo? Or die first to be later reincarnated as a pair of Manolo Blahnik boots lovingly handmade using the finest alligator leather? No, wait. Do not answer. My mind cannot take this anymore.)<br /><br />To me, the purpose of a quiz is to dig out some useful information about the person taking it, not such flim flam and flummery made up in the same amount of time it takes me to take a swig out of a milk carton while scratching my belly. In fact, if I wasn't too much of a lazy bum, I would have devised a quiz of my own which would probably ask questions like '<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">What aspect of Jamil do you find most attractive</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">?</span>' or '<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">If you ever had Jamil as a friend, will you treat him to some ice cream?</span>' or perhaps even '<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Jamil demands some attention. What do you do now?</span>'<br /><br />.....<br /><br />I don't think it'd be a rather popular quiz, would it?<br /><br />postscript: I just became a fan of 'DAMN YOU FACEBOOK, I AM TRYING TO DO HOMEWORK'. And damn you indeed.Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-66666074219994793562009-05-28T20:50:00.003+08:002009-05-28T21:04:10.523+08:00Hold My Hand<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/35040769@N08/3559146977/" title="Frown by quillbearer, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3597/3559146977_894843c39b.jpg" width="500" height="333" alt="Frown" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div>When we were small, parents would hold our hands wherever we went. To the shops, across the road and sometimes even to the loo. <div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/35040769@N08/3559946006/" title="Wary Of The Cameraman by quillbearer, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3566/3559946006_50cc737efa.jpg" width="500" height="333" alt="Wary Of The Cameraman" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div>As we grew up into toddlers, young children, adolescents and young adults, the hand-holding disappeared bit by bit until one fine day, we suddenly realise that that special clasp of hands - the very one which we yearned for its protectiveness and warmth just not too long ago - is no more.</div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/35040769@N08/3559947928/" title="Marched Off by quillbearer, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2445/3559947928_dc736c9611.jpg" width="333" height="500" alt="Marched Off" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Isn't it about time that we started holding our parents' hands again?</div></div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28651288.post-43065935729292888422009-05-23T21:22:00.002+08:002009-05-23T21:23:53.964+08:00My Inner Child<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/35040769@N08/3482863099/" title="Err... by quillbearer, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3384/3482863099_b032199952.jpg" width="333" height="500" alt="Err..." /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Err.....</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Mum likes to tell me how difficult a child I was - if I can ever be called one. To the best of her memory, I was 'the boy who wanted to be an adult before his time' (in fact, she still repeats it now on several occasions). <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was the boy who wanted his own room at an age when others still slept with their parents.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was the boy who would rather learn to wash the dishes and do the laundry than hire a new maid when the last one got married.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I was the boy who would never smile and have a perpetual frown on his face.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm going to have to find a different inner child to get in touch with for my current paediatrics posting.<br /></div>Jamilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17708217449923837639noreply@blogger.com6