Rescue.

It's been what, exactly a month since the entire class was together in the same room. It's been exactly 1 month since the 12th of January, the day we collected our results amidst the stench of fear and elation, anticipation and jubilation in the school hall.

And we all recall how it felt to be in class together, not knowing that as each second quickly ticked by, memories were being constructed at the back of our unconscious minds. And now we look back and reminisce about the good old days of hanging around the corridor outside class when Mr.Ong had decreed that "Thou Shall Not Loiter During Curriculum Time". I start to ponder, why didn't i treasure my time in school? Why didn't i do the right things back then so that when i look back now, i'll be satisfied with my achievements?

Oh how true the saying "People don't treasure what they have until it's finally gone", gone like my favourite periods of English when it sounded the horn that i could finally get some justified sleep. Or just chatting in a group amongst ourselves, totally oblivious to our surroundings or the fact that there was a teacher around trying to conduct her lesson.

It's these times that my classmates and i look back on, and wonder why couldn't time just stand still. So we would be together for a long time to come, that we could forever remain unchanged, in our creased uniforms, sitting on tables and nonchalantly sipping at our Pink Dolping bottles and talking about how screwed up school was. Oh! the irony..

To the good ol' days my friends, to the good ol' days!

Stranger Than Fiction

Harold Crick, played by Will Ferrell, is a man who has everything perfectly scheduled, from the number of time he brushes each tooth to the exact number of steps he takes while crossing the road to catch the bus to work at exactly the same time everyday of his life. But one day, his perfect existence is shattered by a voice, a female voice in his head which seems to be narrating the events of his life. This voice belongs to Kay Eiffel, a world renowned author who hasn't published a book for a very long time. In all her previous books, she's killed the main character at the end. Now she has to kill Harold Crick, and is experiencing writer's block. One day, realizing his death is only imminent, Harold becomes desperate in his search of the narrator in his head and talk her out of killing him. His search leads him to Jules Hilbert, an English Professor who tries to narrow down the possibilities and figure out what kind of story Harold is in - and who's writing it. In the meantime, knowing of his impending death, Harold Crick finally starts living his life and this in turn leads to a budding relationship with the rebellious and almost anarchy-like Ana Pascal, the owner of a bakery.

I could continue telling the rest of the story, or i could leave it hanging here. The latter of which i will do. Simply a must watch movie, for no movie review can amount to what the movie actually is. A story of love, a dark romance. Of comedy and humour. And perhaps the most important of all, living one's life for today and not for anything else.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Stranger Than Fiction.

Animosity.

Sweating profusely under the sweltering heat, amongst the hustle and bustle of city on-goings, i ask myself if my day could be any worse.

Back at the restaurant, i nonchalantly sip at my cup of Pepsi, trying desperately to come up with the name of the song that's playing on the speakers. Failing in my attempt at a recall, i give up and let out a sigh. I leave my cup of Pepsi half empty and walk off in search of something to do to occupy my time. Refill someone's dwindling refreshment or take an order?

People walk past me as if i have a piece of paper stapled to my forehead saying "Don't fuggin' acknowledge the fact that i'm actually here". Obviously they don't care, they've got their own problems, a cheating spouse or maybe trying to reach Maxwell Market before majority of the lunch crowd do. Why should they bother about a spectacled kid giving out flyers that advertise a Steakhouse with particularly tasty Lamb Loin?

They simply amble off without so much as a wave of a hand or a "No Thanks". Every now and again, a neatly dress and extremely sophisticated looking passerby would come along. In the distance they see me looking at them and they decide to act like i'm Kevin Bacon from Hollowman and they avoid me either by walking behind me or moving away from my outstretched hand. Then there's the "Omg, is that Brad Pitt sitting at the kopitiam" act, which involves me sticking out my hand and the person just staring out into the distance as if i was one of the millions of trees in Singapore which no one pays attention to. More often than not, people do acknowledge me and i sincerely thank those that did, especially the ones that decided to ease my burden and take a flyer or two from me, some even thanking me in the process when it should have been the reverse.

Then again there are some with absolutely no manners whatsoever. Instead of even trying to avoid me, they act like they're occupied when they near me. Some pretend to look for something non-existent in their purses, others start scatching at they're faces so their unable to take the flyers. Thing that pisses me off the most is that right after they've walked away, they stop what they were doing a few seconds ago and continue on like as if they've found their EZ-Link card when in fact they've got nothing.

I wanna' hit these frekkin' morons so badly, i have to handcuff both my hands to a pole and throw away the keys just to stop myself.

Life is tough enough. Without you, it's unbearable.

Poise.

Editing pictures is uber fun. That's why TP should let me into VSC, damn you fools.

Please?

P.S. : Thank you Jiahui, [:

友(friend).

Kunsheng : Aye Chris, you try the laksa soup, like shit sia.
*Christian looks at Kunsheng and continues eating his Bak Kut Teh*
Kunsheng : You just try, not nice one at all lor, it's more like chilli soup..
*Christian tries soup at the same time as Zengting.(can't remember what she says)
Christian : Not enough coconut milk lah.
Kunsheng : Fuck lah, i dowan' eat liao!

*10 minutes passes like a housefly buzzing around our food*

*Christian watches Kunsheng drink the laksa soup, Norvan joins in*
Christian : I thought you said the soup sucks, still drink for what?
Kunsheng : No lah, i drink that time will excited de. You try, drink one big spoonfull.
Christian : So when you drink laksa soup you will "OOO!" and "AHHH!" because it's exciting ah?
*Christian shakes his head in dismay while Zengting starts laughing like a hyena*

Just one of the manymanymanymanymany conversations between Kunsheng, Zengting, Jiawen, Norvan and me when we went out yesterday. Most of the time it's excluding Jiawen because she mostly speaks chinese and i have a "Screw-Chinese-Speaking-Mofos" policy. And she's also afraid we'll disturb her when she decides to speak, which is already very seldom(majority of the time she laughs along with Zengting).

Here's the general route we took, i prefer calling it the "Scouts Route".

1. Rendezvous-ed at Harbourfront MRT station at 12pm SHARP!(by emphasising the word "sharp", you should have already figured out that TWO girls were LATE)

2. Purchased 5 tickets for "Love Matters", a local production directed by Jack Neo.

3. Proceeded to eating Carl's Jr. where the burgers comes in irregular sizes, onion skins are used to make Onion Rings and the Iced Tea is so bland it makes the controversy surrounding Mas Selamat's escape sound like a walk in the park.

4. Laughed like a frekkin' lunatic while the show was being screened, and it was so predictable that Kunsheng and I kept saying what was gonna' happen next. Overall, 4/5 stars i guess(due to dirty humour that Kunsheng and I found particularly hilarious, same can't be said of the two boring girls).

5. Norvan turned up at close to 3.30pm, after we'd left the cinema. The buffoon wasted 10bucks on a show he didn't watch.

6. Walked around Chinatown and we all got matching keychains with our chinese names and the word "友" painted inside a circular-hollow piece of glass. Now we'll remember this outing forever, and ever.

7. Walked around the area, harassed a Japanese man at the bridge at Clarke Quay and i gave him a sweet sweet "Arigato!" after he took a picture for the 5 of us.

This conversation took place a short while after the smexy Japanese man left.

Zengting : You know "Arigato" isn't the full thing for "Thank you", it's like only half leh.
Christian : So "Arigato" means "Thank" in Japanese ah?
Zengting : Yayaya! (finally i get to teach Christian something, about time!)
Christian : So if i say "Arigatos" with an "S" at the back, does it mean "Thanks"? *signature cheeky grin appears*
Zengthing says between laughs : You..*haha* idiooot! *hahaha* Not like that lah moron! *tries punching Christian*

8. Rested at the park area infront of Parkview Square, a building that looks like one that would fit in Gotham City, Bat Man's metropolitia. Played games on my iPhone that involved so much tapping and shaking it made us look like spastic kids fresh out of an asylum.

It looks way more gothic at night.

Many other events transpired during our time together. And it would take me at least a decade to write down everything.

I find this conversation extremely hilarious and absolutely awesome.

*Christian sits down after buying his Bak Kut Teh, Zengting and Jiawen leave to buy their food*
Zengting : Goodbye!
Christian : Good.. Riddance!
*Ebil monstah slaps Christian in the back*

Now we're simply, the "Usual Five".

Belletristic.

Belle of the Ball.

Like uncharted territory, i wanna' dwelve deep.
Deeper into your hair and possibly reveal.
All that you truly are when you're fast asleep.
Do miracles exist, and can time really stand still.

I deliberate and i investigate.
The flames engulf you, the cold reminds you.
Is it true love or do you just infatuate.
All of them men, even some women are in love with you too.

The grass, the oh so green grass.
And as you prance around in your blue dress.
Trees turn to stone and the seas freeze to glass.
Even the eagles land and to you they all confess.

A new life she brings to all who breathe her in.
Her smile, her name and even her hands.
Within her atmosphere, something extraordinary begins.
These wars and hatred are all just pretend.

I've always suspected and i've always claimed.
You hold and uncanny resemblance to the special someone.
Who visits me in dreams with self-proclaimed fame.
You tease me, you please me, you should know it isn't fun.

Among these people, between these walls.
Here she wanders and there she creeps.
She's the brightest there is, she's the Belle of the Ball.
But never a day, will she fall into the deep.

For should that day come.
Our hopes and dreams would cease to exist.
Something catches in her throat, all dirty and lumped.
As she falls, we'll grasp her firmly in our fists.

For should her blue dress turn black.
She'd make us repair it with more than just glue.
And if her pumps go all greyish and slack.
She'd turn us into filthy rags, smelly likes shoes.

So now i must confess with no time to spare.
Would she be there to swim the blue seas.
Without concern and without despair.
For now i must depart, to put my soul at ease.

To battle her demons, and conquer my fears.
Of losing the battle, and never return.
For if that were so, i hope she actually tears.
Proof of her love that will always, always burn.

Tenderfoot.

Remember this picture KS? Found it buried in a long-forgotten-folder under a tub of computerscopic dust. I think that's your triple-nippled cousin in the background.

Having re-entered my house after going down to get a drink from the vending machine at a little past midnight, i locked the gate quietly. I'd woken up at about the same time with a sudden and immense craving for Mountain Dew and one eye glued shut from lying face down in bed. As i sat down in the kitchen, i could hear the distinct grunts of a horny gecko failing in it's attempt to attract a suitable mate. I slowly sipped my refreshment and the craving gradually dissapated. Without any prior warning whatsoever, i was strucky by an idea so profound that it put Einstein's E equals MC Square hypothesis to shame. Pouring what remained of my carbonated drink into Ivory's water bowl and watching her lap it up like a dog(haha?), i decided to put my idea into writing. Lying on my bed, elbows propped up and stopping blood flow to my hands, i whipped out my iPhone and activated application "Notebook". And thus i began doing something i had never even contemplated doing before, write a poem. As i racked my brains and quietly in the presence of my brother's steady breathing upstairs(bunk-bed) composed the poem that would propel me to poetic stardom, my poem slowly but surely began to take shape and meaning. As i put the finishing touches to my new past-midnight hobby, i read aloud the sentences to myself, making corrections where i saw fit. Hitting the "Done" button, my poem was saved, a series of 10 short "four-sentenced" paragraphs, forever in place. I would have full ownership of my work and would rip apart, from head to toe, anyone who dared to pry it from my grasp. As i marvelled at my work, like God did when he created the Universe as told in the bible, i couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude to the gassy drink that woke me from my otherwise unfruitful slumber and would have resulted in me never writing the first of what would be 5 "Poems Past Midnight". To the drink that shocked my tastebuds with it's awesome sweetness and sheer force of cold that numbed my fingers. Thank you Mountain Dew and it's manufacturers. I'll remember to promote your drink once i've reached International Acclaim, heck i'll even do commercials for free as long as it involves me downing gallon after gallon of your famous drink or me swimming in a sea of dew, surrounded by mountain-sharks.

P.S : Sorry you had to read all that nonsensical wish-wash, and if you got to this point and understood everything prior to this, i applaud your notable achievement. And if you're wondering why you don't see any poem in this post, after my crazy-madman-ranting about Mountain Dew and it's inspirational properties. Fret not because i'm still pondering a suitable title for my first self-composed poem. :\