I spent the whole of last night listening to one song and one song only. It was on repeat the whole time because for some reason, I was so hooked on it that I decided to just set it to loop. It was some of the most annoying sounds I've heard in a long time and yet, I couldn't stop listening to it.
I speak, of Jimi Hendrix. The guitarist who never got rich, who only had three official releases throughout his lifetime, an artistic craftsman, the pioneer of the phasing effect, most distinguishable with his upside down Fender Stratocaster, the very meaning of out of this world, who left us a little bit too soon.
"Purple Haze" from the BBC Sessions is the song that I talk about. The song that most of the rock n' roll (or music in general) community thinks might be a bit over-rated, over-played, over-performed, over-covered, and over-listened to. Personally, to me, a good song is a good song regardless of how overrated it is. This particular song was recorded with the fuzzface effect and this particular recording, had more than its' usual share of the fuzz sound. The fuzzing effect is just about one of the most annoying sounds I've ever heard. I liked it for a while at one point, when I first discovered Jimi Hendrix's music and his out-worldly sound. It is by my standards, as a music enthusiast, some of the most important sounds of the 60's and 70's. Jimi was also famous for employing many new effects and sounds to complement his highly intricate yet messy playing. A combination that you hardly find in guitarists nowadays. But the fuzzing is still the effect that annoys me the most.
A quick explanation on what a fuzzing effect is. The first documented utilisation of the fuzz sounds is in the song "You Really Got Me" by The Kinks. Most may know of the Van Halen version without the fuzz, but is recorded with a huge amount of distortion instead. It is basically the sound the the guitarist of The Kinks discovered when he drove an amplifier through another amplifier, driving the sound very hard and saturating it very badly. Later on, many other musicians tried achieving such a sound by destroying their amplifiers and then playing through them after they've been broken. This was a very unreliable method because every amplifier would break differently everytime its' been tampered with. Some musicians tried to standardise the sound by poking holes into the cones at the same position everytime they needed such a sound. It still proved unreliable. Sound engineers then toyed with the idea of producing this sound in a suppository. After some experimentation, it resulted in the creation of one of the first fuzz pedals in audio history. It was called, the Arbiter Fuzzface. So named because the control knob combinations made it look like a face. The effect has had many tweaks over the years to make it more user-friendly (much like the wah-wah pedal and many other peripherals). It is in my opinion, an effect that man has never managed to master throughout the years even with the advancement of audio technology. It has always been unbalanced with a huge amount of either high frequencies but never both at the same time. It was very difficult to use it in a live setting as you could never transition properly from distortion to clean sounds or vice versa.
I was so annoyed by the song that I couldn't even concentrate on doing work. I couldn't concentrate on talking to my friends. To make matters worse, I hadn't even slept the night before and I was madly tired. Yet I couldn't fall asleep even when my eyes were shutting and the body was begging for rest. This man is an inspiration. The very reason why I tried learning how to play rhythm and lead guitar at the same time (not that I am any closer to sounding decent while attempting such a feat). This song is a fine example of a man with many wonders. It is an exhibition of a technical mastery and vision. True to his RnB and Delta Blues roots, every rendition of this song, has different licks and hooks due to the genre's improvisational nature.
A very misunderstood character. Even though guitar magazines and specialists have been telling this story for years, the general public still only thinks of Jimi as a guitarist with great technical ability. Some don't even believe this as they believe he's only show-boating with random sounds. Truth be told, Jimi was technically proficient in a sense that most people don't really comprehend. He was not an amazing sweep-picker or alternate picker although he still had considerably guitar skills. He was a great technician in a sense that he could do many things at the same time. Rhythm and lead guitar playing at the same time was a cakewalk. On top of all that, he would sing at the same time. He was a visionary. Before recording, the music appears to him as a mental image. He would imagine every single guitar part and how it would fit in his musical puzzle as well as how different sounds would complement his desired guitar sounds.
The very definition of originality. Predicted his own death in the song "Voodoo Chile". The methods employed for his songwriting was beyond extraordinary. Till this day, "Little Wing" remains the only mainstream song written in a pop format with no chorus and three same music verses. This particular song is also the first song ever written to be recorded with Hendrix pioneered phasing effect. Something we use very liberally for many recording applications today.
I may not have met the man. I hate many of his sounds. Yet I can't help but love them at the same time. He bade farewell to the world long before he left it. I only wish I was there to see him do it. He's taken up all my sweet time last night. But he can give it back to me, with the rest of my days. I can't help it that I was too late for his world. I'll see him in the next one, and I won't be late......
Monday, September 27, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Double Entendre
I started this little fingering habit a few years back. I suppose now, to be a bit more specific, it'd be 4 years. I was introduced to this habit by a cousin, who although didn't actually like the fingering habit himself, was very much into other people who fingered for a living. I too soon grew fond of watching people fingering.
From the many media sources we have today, the internet was understandably the most accessible. I could not watch it on the TV as the Malaysian government was not supportive of such heavy handling. It has always been an assault on the senses but the government went as far as to ban it almost completely from popular media culture. However, light fingering was often allowed with people who did it more softly and patiently without the aid of electrical toys. Sometimes, my whole family would sit together and watch said people entertain themselves as well as the audience. There's something to it that touches and caresses everyone in a profound way. With that said, it also rubbed some people the wrong way and caused public outcry among the restless youth of the time.
These were young men on the verge of physical maturity bringing with it raging hormones effectively enslaving thoughts and emotions to its' every decisively fickle and tiniest changes. These were also young women with their hypothalamus swimming in a soup of their estrogen leaving them utterly incomprehensible as to the way that they decided to operate. They began naming themselves after human organs and combined them with the various colours that were deemed to be in line with the times and orientation, or just plain aesthetic accessories. These people went underground in an orgy exploding of their very own blood, sweat and tears, in an ironic effort to actually gain big screen opportunity. Much to the chagrin of their parents.
They were, according to the media, degenerates. A generation of pimps and whores. With no particular direction in their caressing and noodling except to achieve the height of physical pleasure and then calling out the lord's name. What they decided not to tell the world was that every single one of us, has a relative holed up in some orifice somewhere, fingering and banging each other to their very verge of sanity and imagination. It was a festival of ravishing that I inadvertently found myself to be a part of later on in my formative years.
I have 5 aunts. They were the people who gave me my first wood. I had just turned 18 then. A late bloomer as compared to most other kids who start fingering and manhandling their wood at a far younger age as probably given by their mothers. It was the beginning of my college life and I had in a few years ago, realised the carnal appeal of men and women fingering, banging, blowing various objects. I began learning this carnal repartee on my own. I am deeply inspired by visuals and have spent hours being turned on to how my cousin sister handles the piece of wood between her legs as well as the way she caresses the keys on the entire length of a body. Also as I have stated before, the internet was the most accessible tool for me to satisfy my lust for such physical displays. Many nights were spent alone watching and hearing the sounds and voices of such people. However, sadly, the more significant websites charged for such services and a number of performers also charge a significant amount for their performances. I had no choice but to begin downloading such material in the dark of my own room behind closed doors. I could get such stimulating visuals on TV as well. But what was made public was never stimulating enough for my imaginations.
I craved for the old days of crazed hip gyration and bashing thrusts to every beat of their naturally synchronised rhythms. I emulated such visuals on my own wood in hopes of acquiring the same physical congress to achieve the utmost pleasure possible, just like how they did in their seemingly physically heightened performances. Addiction is the best word to describe the way I felt about such noises and movements. I even took to performing such acts with other people, just like my heroes. I had a housemate who loved fingering and caressing wood as much as I did that we began making noises of pleasure almost on a daily basis. This soon led to the introduction of an equally physically inclined human being who was more of the banging persuasion. We then set about finding our own rhythms as a group of youth with a raging need for gratification and satisfaction. We began renting cheap rooms by the hour and made incredibly strange noises sounding almost like dogs or seals or even dying cats as we've been told by certain members of the public who overheard us. We did not care. All we knew was that we were getting each other off and getting off on each other. We would enjoy ourselves from the time we jacked on till the time we jacked off. Many people joined and left our activities. Until we found another constant in the form of a bald old man who was a veteran at the fingering and the gyrating and the thrusting and the blowing. Our 4 men group was finally complete and we continued satisfying each other's needs for the latter part of our college years. Eventually sounding more graceful and less like a moaning cat. However, he was a little old and got bored quickly. Also he constantly lost wood and would always require new inspiration to encourage him to get wood.
We soon took the show on the road. As much as we got each other off, we never really put on as good a show as others did. As such, it was very difficult for us to find representatives. We then had to work the streets and ended up performing once at a live performance centre. We were boned hard by the pimps as we were not paid and was not even given enough fluids to keep our juices flowing. To make matters worse, the main performer was late and the crowd was left watching us nurse our toys as we waited for his arrival. During the time of his arrival, we did as best a show as we could and was for the whole show, completely bottomless. Our college-mates were there to watch as well as some of the lecturers and some children. Not the best family entertainment, but a good place to start to get children interested in the glamorous world of fingering and banging.
Since then, one of the members moved out of the country. Three wankers without a banger was not exactly the most ideal of performing companies and we soon died out. We were yesterdays' news. This separation was the last lick on the ball. We stopped practising and soon grew thick bushes all over our routines. We could not re-establish a rhythm as much as we tried to with other bangers and wankers and blowers.
However, until today, as I have moved out of the homeland of wankers, leaving behind two of the most prominent wankers I know, I continue to finger and to caress my wood on my own. I still strive to make a sticky mark and have since started working the streets. I get paid good money for my finger shows as well constantly getting coins dumped into my bag holes during my solo scenes. I have also met up with my old banger and will soon, seek to re-establish our old fingering-banging rhythm once more. In hope of giving a hard prominent facial right smack on the mugs of the viewers rather than the weak flow of ooze that was once our coup de grace........
From the many media sources we have today, the internet was understandably the most accessible. I could not watch it on the TV as the Malaysian government was not supportive of such heavy handling. It has always been an assault on the senses but the government went as far as to ban it almost completely from popular media culture. However, light fingering was often allowed with people who did it more softly and patiently without the aid of electrical toys. Sometimes, my whole family would sit together and watch said people entertain themselves as well as the audience. There's something to it that touches and caresses everyone in a profound way. With that said, it also rubbed some people the wrong way and caused public outcry among the restless youth of the time.
These were young men on the verge of physical maturity bringing with it raging hormones effectively enslaving thoughts and emotions to its' every decisively fickle and tiniest changes. These were also young women with their hypothalamus swimming in a soup of their estrogen leaving them utterly incomprehensible as to the way that they decided to operate. They began naming themselves after human organs and combined them with the various colours that were deemed to be in line with the times and orientation, or just plain aesthetic accessories. These people went underground in an orgy exploding of their very own blood, sweat and tears, in an ironic effort to actually gain big screen opportunity. Much to the chagrin of their parents.
They were, according to the media, degenerates. A generation of pimps and whores. With no particular direction in their caressing and noodling except to achieve the height of physical pleasure and then calling out the lord's name. What they decided not to tell the world was that every single one of us, has a relative holed up in some orifice somewhere, fingering and banging each other to their very verge of sanity and imagination. It was a festival of ravishing that I inadvertently found myself to be a part of later on in my formative years.
I have 5 aunts. They were the people who gave me my first wood. I had just turned 18 then. A late bloomer as compared to most other kids who start fingering and manhandling their wood at a far younger age as probably given by their mothers. It was the beginning of my college life and I had in a few years ago, realised the carnal appeal of men and women fingering, banging, blowing various objects. I began learning this carnal repartee on my own. I am deeply inspired by visuals and have spent hours being turned on to how my cousin sister handles the piece of wood between her legs as well as the way she caresses the keys on the entire length of a body. Also as I have stated before, the internet was the most accessible tool for me to satisfy my lust for such physical displays. Many nights were spent alone watching and hearing the sounds and voices of such people. However, sadly, the more significant websites charged for such services and a number of performers also charge a significant amount for their performances. I had no choice but to begin downloading such material in the dark of my own room behind closed doors. I could get such stimulating visuals on TV as well. But what was made public was never stimulating enough for my imaginations.
I craved for the old days of crazed hip gyration and bashing thrusts to every beat of their naturally synchronised rhythms. I emulated such visuals on my own wood in hopes of acquiring the same physical congress to achieve the utmost pleasure possible, just like how they did in their seemingly physically heightened performances. Addiction is the best word to describe the way I felt about such noises and movements. I even took to performing such acts with other people, just like my heroes. I had a housemate who loved fingering and caressing wood as much as I did that we began making noises of pleasure almost on a daily basis. This soon led to the introduction of an equally physically inclined human being who was more of the banging persuasion. We then set about finding our own rhythms as a group of youth with a raging need for gratification and satisfaction. We began renting cheap rooms by the hour and made incredibly strange noises sounding almost like dogs or seals or even dying cats as we've been told by certain members of the public who overheard us. We did not care. All we knew was that we were getting each other off and getting off on each other. We would enjoy ourselves from the time we jacked on till the time we jacked off. Many people joined and left our activities. Until we found another constant in the form of a bald old man who was a veteran at the fingering and the gyrating and the thrusting and the blowing. Our 4 men group was finally complete and we continued satisfying each other's needs for the latter part of our college years. Eventually sounding more graceful and less like a moaning cat. However, he was a little old and got bored quickly. Also he constantly lost wood and would always require new inspiration to encourage him to get wood.
We soon took the show on the road. As much as we got each other off, we never really put on as good a show as others did. As such, it was very difficult for us to find representatives. We then had to work the streets and ended up performing once at a live performance centre. We were boned hard by the pimps as we were not paid and was not even given enough fluids to keep our juices flowing. To make matters worse, the main performer was late and the crowd was left watching us nurse our toys as we waited for his arrival. During the time of his arrival, we did as best a show as we could and was for the whole show, completely bottomless. Our college-mates were there to watch as well as some of the lecturers and some children. Not the best family entertainment, but a good place to start to get children interested in the glamorous world of fingering and banging.
Since then, one of the members moved out of the country. Three wankers without a banger was not exactly the most ideal of performing companies and we soon died out. We were yesterdays' news. This separation was the last lick on the ball. We stopped practising and soon grew thick bushes all over our routines. We could not re-establish a rhythm as much as we tried to with other bangers and wankers and blowers.
However, until today, as I have moved out of the homeland of wankers, leaving behind two of the most prominent wankers I know, I continue to finger and to caress my wood on my own. I still strive to make a sticky mark and have since started working the streets. I get paid good money for my finger shows as well constantly getting coins dumped into my bag holes during my solo scenes. I have also met up with my old banger and will soon, seek to re-establish our old fingering-banging rhythm once more. In hope of giving a hard prominent facial right smack on the mugs of the viewers rather than the weak flow of ooze that was once our coup de grace........
My Home - A Year Later
My family is nomadic. We move around a lot due to dads' job requirements. I personally found it extremely enjoyable. It was because of this nomadic lifestyle that I have had such a unique childhood.
People say that you can't uproot your children too much during their formative years for fear of destabilising their emotional growth. I don't understand the whole social/psychological whatever it is that's connected to this, but I personal disagree. I've been constantly on the road even till today. Back in the day, it was with my family. As I grow older, I start to have to move on my own. Throughout all my journey's I neither regret nor rue any of these journey's I made by force or by choice. Throughout my childhood, I think I've moved house about 7 or 8 times. Some might argue that they're on a very small scale because I only moved within the state and within the country. They aren't wrong, I never really had too hard a time adjusting to a completely new culture like some other kids. But they were all still significant journeys nevertheless.
I've been moving all my life along the west coast of Malaysia, and in all those travels, I've gotten to know so many people from so many different states and the different cultures. Staying in a place is completely different from visiting a place. Even though I was never really long at any of the states, my friends from each of these places, always consider me their own people from their own home state. They've included me in almost all of their racial and cultural stereotypes (langkawians know how to speak mandarin in the most unique way, klians always double park, penangites are scary drivers, etc.). In more ways than one, I'm very proud to be included with these people. Travelling opens up your mind. Showed me a lot more sights than an average kid would see if they only stayed in one place, and gave me far more stories to tell. Everywhere I go, I can find someone who's probably lived beside me or seen the same things I've seen (I know I sound like I'm talking out of my arse here, but it really is kind of fun to share a common past), and the best part is, sometimes, different groups of your friends turn out to actually know each other and you wouldn't have expected in a million years that they're common friends. Yes it all sounds good and dandy now. But constant travellings aren't without its' drawbacks.
Every year for me, it's a constant series of goodbyes. I hate goodbyes. I hate them as much as the next person. No one likes to say goodbye. Not if they're having a good time. At least that's what I think people feel. Over the years, I grew accustomed to it. I still never cease to feel really crappy everytime I have to leave a place or a familiarity. But I've long since began to look for new sights in a new place. Having a new room to redecorate according to your own tastes (hasn't happened yet), seeing new people, observing new people behaviour. But there are many points in my life that I look back, and think of the great times I've had with everyone. I was never a really well-liked person by my circle of friends anywhere. I think the only reason some of my old time friends are friendly to me today is because I am a rare sight that they do not see that much. As such, I am hardly able to annoy them. Looking back, it is a sad predicament that I've long come to terms with. However, it gives me great relief that everywhere, I have still, among the legions of friends who are today, more like acquaintances, some really good friends who really appreciate my presence, enjoy my company, want to include you in their lives, and would do a whole lot for me. See that's real life insurance. I make it a point to stay as close as possible to my friends even as I'm far away. They're my most important commodity. My family is my possessions and my friends are my most trusted currency.
Rewinding a few years back, my first venture out alone. This time, for the first time in my life, my family was physically moving apart. Not emotionally or mentally or whatever. Just that my dad was moved to a new work place without an international school. It was his first venture overseas. As such, my brothers could not be uprooted to follow him and naturally, my mother stayed behind to take care of them at Malacca. I, had just finished my high school education, and made a life changing decision to pursue audio as a supplement to my one lifelong on and off (most usually on) obsession, music. On the same day my dad flew away, I also had to say goodbye to my mom to go live on my own. Sounds very sad right??? I'm not sure about you guys but it was for me. Little did I know that I actually had no reason to be too torn up at all.
I started college in the month of June (I think). I was still a young kid who knew nothing about the business I was trying to get into. However, I looked like a was a veteran. Sadly, that gave a lot of people the wrong perception about my musical knowledge and industry involvement. I would clarify such misunderstandings as soon as it arises, but sadly, some take it as me being snobbish (I was just being honest you stupid f****.....).
During orientation, some of the first people I met, were Indian guys. A whole group of them. Then I got to know more and more Indian guys (which was weird because my mom always said I spoke with the Indian accent all my life). Of course, I met other people of other races as well, but the most significant ones were Indian. I got to know the Africans and the Indonesians. Along the way, met a lot of Penangites who knew where my house was and knew the same people I knew (see why I think travelling is awesome???). Either way, soon after, I grew close and comfortable to a group of people as I have never been with any friends. I was never really sure what they thought of me. But I am confident that, at most times, my company was enjoyed though not always appreciated. Which was fine with me. I personally suppose that's how it is for almost everyone. This was the beginning of my new life. People whom I feel comfortable with and are comfortable enough with me to actually depend on me for some things. These were people who didn't know my past and asked me about it. Some of them even found it interesting. I was very happy with my college life. A safe and proper clique that I felt like I belonged. A number of us ended up moving in together. It was the perfect set up in my opinion. We all had some issues with each other but it was a housemates arrangement and to me, it was normal and happened everywhere. I'd like to think that the rest enjoyed staying in that apartment as much as I did.
We had our activities and such in that house. The way I never really could with my family because of the constant movement and such. And besides, staying with your family is entirely different from living with your friends. It was a great breath of fresh air for me. Of course, among all my housemates, my family was the most often to come visit (which is why I found out that I didn't have too much to get too torn up about). When I was moving around, I missed home-cooked food and cheap street food and being with the people instead of sitting in a fancy restaurant almost every night while everyone was out enjoying themselves (it was fine when I was a kid. I didn't know the difference. But it got more difficult as I got older. And yes I lived in hotels when I was younger). When I came to college, I was no longer the well-dressed, boring, always-had-money-to-spend, academic, appearance bothering kid that I used to be because that's how I was trained to be all my life. To make it short, I let my freak flag fly. Sparks flew and so did the jokes. It was all very fun to me.
My housemate was a very well-liked person, and he always had visitors. I on the other hand, was the complete opposite. But many of his friends, became my friends. I like to think that they too enjoyed my company to a certain extent and they'd hang out pretty often at our house. It was a good time. Everything I needed was in that house. It was very close to what I'd pictured as a home. I had my close family of friends and I really did enjoy myself. I had great adventures with said friends and they enriched my life in a way that I'd always had pictured a close group of friends would.
Since they were also my college-mates, they helped me with a lot of my assignments and I almost never helped them with theirs. Because I was a clueless audio student and they were 'clueful' students in their field. It was a place of activity as well as tranquility for all of my housemates and I. It was my first apartment when I had a significant other. It was the setting to the time when I properly discovered infatuation and then attraction. It was a setting to heartbreak. It was the setting to my housemate's green screen project of which I had great fun just watching them do their work.
* I know this is going to sound kiddie. But I also had great fun when they let me hold the camera for the lack of another person around for them to hold the camera. It was actually a relief to not have to act but also an honour to appear in their productions in the past. And I reiterate that acting and visual appearances just aren't my thing.
It's funny how such a place can be of such great significance to me, but there still are some great friends of mine who have not seen my apartment (drawbacks of moving around. friends aren't around). It was the place where I developed my guitar playing and sadly, annoyed all of my housemates with my constant "Smoke On The Water" and "Little Wing" riffings. My housemates were my first guitar teachers and because they were all very, very much into music, they were also great musical influences. I rediscovered my "Penang music" and learnt a bit more about the significance of metal in that house.
Over the years, a few people have moved in as some of the original occupants moved out. They were all good friends and good people. I feel like that house had never left its' family. Then came the time I had to move out as my college course was over. I was graduating with a farcical Diploma in Sound and Music Design. I was a farcically certified audio engineer.
At the end of June 2009, I moved out of A2-3-2, Cyberia, Cyberjaya. Whatever road it was I couldn't be bothered to remember. I had one last day in that house. Turns out it wasn't the only last for me on that day. I had a bee in my bonnet, and I was badly stung. The sting lasted for weeks but that day marked the end of any significance. It soon escaped. But before I was badly stung, it took care of me right at the end of my rent. I still miss my old place, as well as the events that conspired. My experience there as a whole. The very first place I had learnt to call home. I don't believe people can forget a significant past (of course you can let go of it but not forget it). Thank goodness for that too. Because I never want to forget any of my significant past.
I've started a new life down under. Again, everything is completely different, and yes, I am thoroughly enjoying my experience here. However, as always, I look back at my past and I always miss it. Now that I finally feel like I've had a home, I miss the past even more.
You know the old saying "home is where the heart is"??? Well, I think I left my heart at home.......
People say that you can't uproot your children too much during their formative years for fear of destabilising their emotional growth. I don't understand the whole social/psychological whatever it is that's connected to this, but I personal disagree. I've been constantly on the road even till today. Back in the day, it was with my family. As I grow older, I start to have to move on my own. Throughout all my journey's I neither regret nor rue any of these journey's I made by force or by choice. Throughout my childhood, I think I've moved house about 7 or 8 times. Some might argue that they're on a very small scale because I only moved within the state and within the country. They aren't wrong, I never really had too hard a time adjusting to a completely new culture like some other kids. But they were all still significant journeys nevertheless.
I've been moving all my life along the west coast of Malaysia, and in all those travels, I've gotten to know so many people from so many different states and the different cultures. Staying in a place is completely different from visiting a place. Even though I was never really long at any of the states, my friends from each of these places, always consider me their own people from their own home state. They've included me in almost all of their racial and cultural stereotypes (langkawians know how to speak mandarin in the most unique way, klians always double park, penangites are scary drivers, etc.). In more ways than one, I'm very proud to be included with these people. Travelling opens up your mind. Showed me a lot more sights than an average kid would see if they only stayed in one place, and gave me far more stories to tell. Everywhere I go, I can find someone who's probably lived beside me or seen the same things I've seen (I know I sound like I'm talking out of my arse here, but it really is kind of fun to share a common past), and the best part is, sometimes, different groups of your friends turn out to actually know each other and you wouldn't have expected in a million years that they're common friends. Yes it all sounds good and dandy now. But constant travellings aren't without its' drawbacks.
Every year for me, it's a constant series of goodbyes. I hate goodbyes. I hate them as much as the next person. No one likes to say goodbye. Not if they're having a good time. At least that's what I think people feel. Over the years, I grew accustomed to it. I still never cease to feel really crappy everytime I have to leave a place or a familiarity. But I've long since began to look for new sights in a new place. Having a new room to redecorate according to your own tastes (hasn't happened yet), seeing new people, observing new people behaviour. But there are many points in my life that I look back, and think of the great times I've had with everyone. I was never a really well-liked person by my circle of friends anywhere. I think the only reason some of my old time friends are friendly to me today is because I am a rare sight that they do not see that much. As such, I am hardly able to annoy them. Looking back, it is a sad predicament that I've long come to terms with. However, it gives me great relief that everywhere, I have still, among the legions of friends who are today, more like acquaintances, some really good friends who really appreciate my presence, enjoy my company, want to include you in their lives, and would do a whole lot for me. See that's real life insurance. I make it a point to stay as close as possible to my friends even as I'm far away. They're my most important commodity. My family is my possessions and my friends are my most trusted currency.
Rewinding a few years back, my first venture out alone. This time, for the first time in my life, my family was physically moving apart. Not emotionally or mentally or whatever. Just that my dad was moved to a new work place without an international school. It was his first venture overseas. As such, my brothers could not be uprooted to follow him and naturally, my mother stayed behind to take care of them at Malacca. I, had just finished my high school education, and made a life changing decision to pursue audio as a supplement to my one lifelong on and off (most usually on) obsession, music. On the same day my dad flew away, I also had to say goodbye to my mom to go live on my own. Sounds very sad right??? I'm not sure about you guys but it was for me. Little did I know that I actually had no reason to be too torn up at all.
I started college in the month of June (I think). I was still a young kid who knew nothing about the business I was trying to get into. However, I looked like a was a veteran. Sadly, that gave a lot of people the wrong perception about my musical knowledge and industry involvement. I would clarify such misunderstandings as soon as it arises, but sadly, some take it as me being snobbish (I was just being honest you stupid f****.....).
During orientation, some of the first people I met, were Indian guys. A whole group of them. Then I got to know more and more Indian guys (which was weird because my mom always said I spoke with the Indian accent all my life). Of course, I met other people of other races as well, but the most significant ones were Indian. I got to know the Africans and the Indonesians. Along the way, met a lot of Penangites who knew where my house was and knew the same people I knew (see why I think travelling is awesome???). Either way, soon after, I grew close and comfortable to a group of people as I have never been with any friends. I was never really sure what they thought of me. But I am confident that, at most times, my company was enjoyed though not always appreciated. Which was fine with me. I personally suppose that's how it is for almost everyone. This was the beginning of my new life. People whom I feel comfortable with and are comfortable enough with me to actually depend on me for some things. These were people who didn't know my past and asked me about it. Some of them even found it interesting. I was very happy with my college life. A safe and proper clique that I felt like I belonged. A number of us ended up moving in together. It was the perfect set up in my opinion. We all had some issues with each other but it was a housemates arrangement and to me, it was normal and happened everywhere. I'd like to think that the rest enjoyed staying in that apartment as much as I did.
We had our activities and such in that house. The way I never really could with my family because of the constant movement and such. And besides, staying with your family is entirely different from living with your friends. It was a great breath of fresh air for me. Of course, among all my housemates, my family was the most often to come visit (which is why I found out that I didn't have too much to get too torn up about). When I was moving around, I missed home-cooked food and cheap street food and being with the people instead of sitting in a fancy restaurant almost every night while everyone was out enjoying themselves (it was fine when I was a kid. I didn't know the difference. But it got more difficult as I got older. And yes I lived in hotels when I was younger). When I came to college, I was no longer the well-dressed, boring, always-had-money-to-spend, academic, appearance bothering kid that I used to be because that's how I was trained to be all my life. To make it short, I let my freak flag fly. Sparks flew and so did the jokes. It was all very fun to me.
My housemate was a very well-liked person, and he always had visitors. I on the other hand, was the complete opposite. But many of his friends, became my friends. I like to think that they too enjoyed my company to a certain extent and they'd hang out pretty often at our house. It was a good time. Everything I needed was in that house. It was very close to what I'd pictured as a home. I had my close family of friends and I really did enjoy myself. I had great adventures with said friends and they enriched my life in a way that I'd always had pictured a close group of friends would.
Since they were also my college-mates, they helped me with a lot of my assignments and I almost never helped them with theirs. Because I was a clueless audio student and they were 'clueful' students in their field. It was a place of activity as well as tranquility for all of my housemates and I. It was my first apartment when I had a significant other. It was the setting to the time when I properly discovered infatuation and then attraction. It was a setting to heartbreak. It was the setting to my housemate's green screen project of which I had great fun just watching them do their work.
* I know this is going to sound kiddie. But I also had great fun when they let me hold the camera for the lack of another person around for them to hold the camera. It was actually a relief to not have to act but also an honour to appear in their productions in the past. And I reiterate that acting and visual appearances just aren't my thing.
It's funny how such a place can be of such great significance to me, but there still are some great friends of mine who have not seen my apartment (drawbacks of moving around. friends aren't around). It was the place where I developed my guitar playing and sadly, annoyed all of my housemates with my constant "Smoke On The Water" and "Little Wing" riffings. My housemates were my first guitar teachers and because they were all very, very much into music, they were also great musical influences. I rediscovered my "Penang music" and learnt a bit more about the significance of metal in that house.
Over the years, a few people have moved in as some of the original occupants moved out. They were all good friends and good people. I feel like that house had never left its' family. Then came the time I had to move out as my college course was over. I was graduating with a farcical Diploma in Sound and Music Design. I was a farcically certified audio engineer.
At the end of June 2009, I moved out of A2-3-2, Cyberia, Cyberjaya. Whatever road it was I couldn't be bothered to remember. I had one last day in that house. Turns out it wasn't the only last for me on that day. I had a bee in my bonnet, and I was badly stung. The sting lasted for weeks but that day marked the end of any significance. It soon escaped. But before I was badly stung, it took care of me right at the end of my rent. I still miss my old place, as well as the events that conspired. My experience there as a whole. The very first place I had learnt to call home. I don't believe people can forget a significant past (of course you can let go of it but not forget it). Thank goodness for that too. Because I never want to forget any of my significant past.
I've started a new life down under. Again, everything is completely different, and yes, I am thoroughly enjoying my experience here. However, as always, I look back at my past and I always miss it. Now that I finally feel like I've had a home, I miss the past even more.
You know the old saying "home is where the heart is"??? Well, I think I left my heart at home.......
Getaway Car : My Story
No, the title doesn't make sense, not unless you've read my friends' first. I recently have and this is the result.
I have always been a bit of a drifter. My whole life people would assume I'm a bit lost and devoid of a direction. I don't mind it at all. Kind of fun actually when people always wonder what you're all about yet don't ask because they think they already know the answer. But that perception actually could not be further from the truth.
I'm not at all directionless. In fact, for someone who never plans ahead, I seemed to have had my life planned out a bit too rigidly. The whole thing is actually the other way around. I have a yearning to always know what's going on later on. In other words, to be able to see the future. To actually enable me to get somewhat close to doing something like that, I like to plan the next few years ahead of me. So if it goes according to plan, I can look back and say, "I looked at the future and everything was fine" (No I'm not smoking anything or intoxicated in any way). Things are so rigidly planned for my future by myself and my parents, I realise within myself that I have a constant need for impulsive decisions. I always crave for free time devoid of any plans. Although I love them if they are flexible. It's not a hobby, it's a lifestyle. I hate planning for the near future and always leave it wide open. Of course, it means many lonely moments, but it also means a lot of out-worldly stories to tell.
Which brings me to driving. Back when I was back in Malaysia, my favourite thing to do was drive. I love driving. I like to think that I do fine at it. I do it whenever I can. Whether it's just to take my mom to the shops, or for a night out. Whenever I have free time and a reason, I would drive. Sometimes I would even if I didn't have a reason.
With driving, I could go anywhere I wanted. Just for that moment in time, I could feel like a superhero and drive on the highway, or pretend to be a KL boy and drive in the jam, or be a tourist and hold the traffic just to see the sights. It is a slice of freedom. Its a break from the reality you made for yourself, but need to see something else once in a while. As such, I find myself very, very liberated while driving. It isn't just driving, but any sort of activity I do that I'm allowed to be impulsive with.
I reciprocate in principle, those that have been stated in my friends' blog. I agree whole-heartedly with the fact that people seem more liberated to talk and share experiences while driving going nowhere. How a very difficult experience (like running out of fuel) could actually seem enjoyable along the whole journey. I find it especially true in himself although I'm not sure if he realises it or not (he should realise it now unless he's really stupid). You might never get to where you thought you might be, but you'd always have a good story to tell (for example, an accident).
Unlike the friend of mine, I do not have a vast majority of friends who can talk rubbish for hours and switch back to being wise in a snap. I have a great variety of friends due to my constant travelling around the country. The ones I notice that I can really feel comfortable being around with are my friend from college. And there is a great number of them that I can honestly speak without filtering my words or ideas. As with the original blog that this entry has been made as a reflection to, I find it most easy while driving going nowhere. And yes, these people are witches. You find that, a dyslexic friend can be some of the most spiritually bright person you've ever met, or a middle-aged guitarist actually had big dreams that burned out way too soon.
I have on the most part, been the driver, considering I know the road probably as well as any KLian around, and recognise the habits of the local drivers just as well as anyone from around KL. Since then, with the variety of friends I've driven around with, I've done so many things that I wouldn't have done under normal circumstances. Good examples would be the time where a lady poured out her heart and her life to me in a car, the time I drove like a madman and crashed, running out of fuel, and me myself exposing my personality in its' rawest to others (most often to my housemates and bandmates).
I guess you could say my point right now is that, I've had some of my greatest experiences while driving going nowhere. I've ended up at Port Dickson once when I was supposed to just go to town, and I've trolled for "bapoks" with friends, even met a cab driver who offered weed as a friendly gesture. The element of unpredictability is the biggest factor that I'm trying to express here. I love impulsiveness and driving going nowhere is a perfect combination of things I love along with constantly producing great, unexpected experiences.
Even writing this right now makes me want to relive those times. And when I relive those driving times, I'd want to relive the stories that I'd be talking about while driving. All the crap that we went through after say, running out of fuel or cash.
But did we care? Of course not. Those were all great times.
I whole-heartedly agree that sometimes, not knowing where you're going is a good thing. Not knowing what lies ahead of you. Not planning every detail.
Today however, was not one of those days.....
I have always been a bit of a drifter. My whole life people would assume I'm a bit lost and devoid of a direction. I don't mind it at all. Kind of fun actually when people always wonder what you're all about yet don't ask because they think they already know the answer. But that perception actually could not be further from the truth.
I'm not at all directionless. In fact, for someone who never plans ahead, I seemed to have had my life planned out a bit too rigidly. The whole thing is actually the other way around. I have a yearning to always know what's going on later on. In other words, to be able to see the future. To actually enable me to get somewhat close to doing something like that, I like to plan the next few years ahead of me. So if it goes according to plan, I can look back and say, "I looked at the future and everything was fine" (No I'm not smoking anything or intoxicated in any way). Things are so rigidly planned for my future by myself and my parents, I realise within myself that I have a constant need for impulsive decisions. I always crave for free time devoid of any plans. Although I love them if they are flexible. It's not a hobby, it's a lifestyle. I hate planning for the near future and always leave it wide open. Of course, it means many lonely moments, but it also means a lot of out-worldly stories to tell.
Which brings me to driving. Back when I was back in Malaysia, my favourite thing to do was drive. I love driving. I like to think that I do fine at it. I do it whenever I can. Whether it's just to take my mom to the shops, or for a night out. Whenever I have free time and a reason, I would drive. Sometimes I would even if I didn't have a reason.
With driving, I could go anywhere I wanted. Just for that moment in time, I could feel like a superhero and drive on the highway, or pretend to be a KL boy and drive in the jam, or be a tourist and hold the traffic just to see the sights. It is a slice of freedom. Its a break from the reality you made for yourself, but need to see something else once in a while. As such, I find myself very, very liberated while driving. It isn't just driving, but any sort of activity I do that I'm allowed to be impulsive with.
I reciprocate in principle, those that have been stated in my friends' blog. I agree whole-heartedly with the fact that people seem more liberated to talk and share experiences while driving going nowhere. How a very difficult experience (like running out of fuel) could actually seem enjoyable along the whole journey. I find it especially true in himself although I'm not sure if he realises it or not (he should realise it now unless he's really stupid). You might never get to where you thought you might be, but you'd always have a good story to tell (for example, an accident).
Unlike the friend of mine, I do not have a vast majority of friends who can talk rubbish for hours and switch back to being wise in a snap. I have a great variety of friends due to my constant travelling around the country. The ones I notice that I can really feel comfortable being around with are my friend from college. And there is a great number of them that I can honestly speak without filtering my words or ideas. As with the original blog that this entry has been made as a reflection to, I find it most easy while driving going nowhere. And yes, these people are witches. You find that, a dyslexic friend can be some of the most spiritually bright person you've ever met, or a middle-aged guitarist actually had big dreams that burned out way too soon.
I have on the most part, been the driver, considering I know the road probably as well as any KLian around, and recognise the habits of the local drivers just as well as anyone from around KL. Since then, with the variety of friends I've driven around with, I've done so many things that I wouldn't have done under normal circumstances. Good examples would be the time where a lady poured out her heart and her life to me in a car, the time I drove like a madman and crashed, running out of fuel, and me myself exposing my personality in its' rawest to others (most often to my housemates and bandmates).
I guess you could say my point right now is that, I've had some of my greatest experiences while driving going nowhere. I've ended up at Port Dickson once when I was supposed to just go to town, and I've trolled for "bapoks" with friends, even met a cab driver who offered weed as a friendly gesture. The element of unpredictability is the biggest factor that I'm trying to express here. I love impulsiveness and driving going nowhere is a perfect combination of things I love along with constantly producing great, unexpected experiences.
Even writing this right now makes me want to relive those times. And when I relive those driving times, I'd want to relive the stories that I'd be talking about while driving. All the crap that we went through after say, running out of fuel or cash.
But did we care? Of course not. Those were all great times.
I whole-heartedly agree that sometimes, not knowing where you're going is a good thing. Not knowing what lies ahead of you. Not planning every detail.
Today however, was not one of those days.....
Mr. Cab Driver
Yes, that number from Lenny Kravitz. The scene from that song as well happened to me when i first came to the land down under. I choose to write about this now because it happened right when I came here, and the song I'm listening to reminds me of this incident.
With the instalment of the first black President of the United States, one would assume that racism is virtually non-existent today. But as of 2 or possible more months ago (I know I'm very late with this) I observed and experienced otherwise. As expected, this particular incident involves a white man, an Indian man, and me. But the chain of events are not exactly of what you'd expect. I shall stress beforehand that I threw no insults or objections the whole time. So no, it wasn't because I was rude. Here goes:
It was my second morning Melbourne. I had just taken a ride in the tram for the first time, my tummy filled with meat pie to last me through the day. I went to the central station (equivalent to the KL central back home) because I had no idea how I was supposed to get to school. After lot's of searching and inquiries, I still made no headway because my school, as much as it's famous, is still probably the smallest and least well known university in Melbourne. So I decided that, since it was my first time, I'd splurge and take the cab.
Now for this story to make sense, you have to know that at Flinders Station (the equivalent of the KL central), you can't just hail a cab as portrayed in American movies or as per the Malaysian culture. There are special lanes designated for getting taxicab service. Much like any other central stations anywhere. These special lanes are covered with fences on it's sides leaving just enough space in the middle for slightly more than one but not enough for two.
So I line up behind some people who were already waiting. Shortly after, a middle-aged white couple lined up behind me. Ten minutes of waiting and I was finally at the front of the line. It wasn't long before a cab stopped by where we were to pick people up. Instinctively, I walked towards the back door of the car. But before I managed to open the back door, the cab driver came out (which I found weird because usually, he waits in the car while passengers get on board). He was a middle-aged Indian guy. Quite obvious that he was an immigrant because of his thick Indian accent. More than half of Australian cab drivers are immigrants from Asia who settle here.
The cab driver who has stepped out of his car, calls out to the white couple behind me. Now, I was more confused than affronted. I thought that maybe there was a ticketing system or whatever that I didn't know about that I hadn't complied to. Buuuut, the white couple, being polite and respectful of my place in front of the line, told me to go first. Instead, the Indian csb driver says to me "did I say you were next? I called out to them didn't I?" in his thick accent quite rudely while pointing to the white couple. The couple was surprised and was quite affronted. They proceeded to debate with him about the fact that I was at the front of the line, logically suggesting that I am by all means and purposes, the next to receive the taxicab service. Yes, the couple was arguing for my sake while the cab driver went on a rant saying migrants like me come here to make trouble and don't understand simple instructions in simple English. He continues to say that he'll choose who he decides to ferry around in his cab and chooses not to ferry someone who probably doesn't even know how to tell him where he'd like to go. What was I doing you ask....... well, I was standing there, gobsmacked, speechless and blank-faced (probably fuelled his idea about my inferiority). Not even knowing that I was being insulted and racially discriminated. After a while of this, while still not exactly comprehending the true nature of the situation, I asked the cab driver what the problem was. He shuts me up by telling me that I don't need to start talking. I was affronted but couldn't get a word in edgewise because he then ends the argument with the couple and points to the people behind the couple and ferries them instead. Leaving me and the couple to catch the next cab.
I didn't go to school that day. Didn't take a cab or anything. I thought that since it was only orientation, It wouldn't be a matter. Months have gone by and I have found that to be true. I thought that I'd find a proper and cheaper way to get to school by doing some research considering it was the weekend the next day. Instead, after that fiasco, I spent my time walking and getting lost, just to explore the city and it's cultures. The kind couple asked me if I was alright. I still wasn't sure of what happened at that point and assured them I was fine. They were probably very sympathetic of my plight after that because they spent a whole 20 minutes or so just telling me of the places of which I might find useful (places to eat, government offices, immigration, etc.). I found a spot and sat down for a while just wondering about what had happened. I did in the end, understand what happened and continued to brood for a while. I however, stopped brooding when I found a place that sold 1 dollar pizza slices. Compared to the prices here, that was the cheapest and filled me up well.
So there it was. My first full day in Melbourne and I already saw the best and worst this city could offer. As much as I do not advocate it, I believe racism has never left the world. We hear tales of white cab drivers not picking up black guys as is expressed by the great Lenny Kravitz. I did think that there was a chance that it might happen to me when I get here, but never in a million years did I expect to get it from an Asian guy holding on to stereotypes against his own kind and a white who argues for my sake.
You'd think, compared to what was about a hundred years ago with the open discrimination against women and certain races, the world is a better place today. But these events give me a reason to believe that some people are still as stupid as people were back then. Racism no longer an issue? I have reason to believe that in certain factions, it just got uglier......
With the instalment of the first black President of the United States, one would assume that racism is virtually non-existent today. But as of 2 or possible more months ago (I know I'm very late with this) I observed and experienced otherwise. As expected, this particular incident involves a white man, an Indian man, and me. But the chain of events are not exactly of what you'd expect. I shall stress beforehand that I threw no insults or objections the whole time. So no, it wasn't because I was rude. Here goes:
It was my second morning Melbourne. I had just taken a ride in the tram for the first time, my tummy filled with meat pie to last me through the day. I went to the central station (equivalent to the KL central back home) because I had no idea how I was supposed to get to school. After lot's of searching and inquiries, I still made no headway because my school, as much as it's famous, is still probably the smallest and least well known university in Melbourne. So I decided that, since it was my first time, I'd splurge and take the cab.
Now for this story to make sense, you have to know that at Flinders Station (the equivalent of the KL central), you can't just hail a cab as portrayed in American movies or as per the Malaysian culture. There are special lanes designated for getting taxicab service. Much like any other central stations anywhere. These special lanes are covered with fences on it's sides leaving just enough space in the middle for slightly more than one but not enough for two.
So I line up behind some people who were already waiting. Shortly after, a middle-aged white couple lined up behind me. Ten minutes of waiting and I was finally at the front of the line. It wasn't long before a cab stopped by where we were to pick people up. Instinctively, I walked towards the back door of the car. But before I managed to open the back door, the cab driver came out (which I found weird because usually, he waits in the car while passengers get on board). He was a middle-aged Indian guy. Quite obvious that he was an immigrant because of his thick Indian accent. More than half of Australian cab drivers are immigrants from Asia who settle here.
The cab driver who has stepped out of his car, calls out to the white couple behind me. Now, I was more confused than affronted. I thought that maybe there was a ticketing system or whatever that I didn't know about that I hadn't complied to. Buuuut, the white couple, being polite and respectful of my place in front of the line, told me to go first. Instead, the Indian csb driver says to me "did I say you were next? I called out to them didn't I?" in his thick accent quite rudely while pointing to the white couple. The couple was surprised and was quite affronted. They proceeded to debate with him about the fact that I was at the front of the line, logically suggesting that I am by all means and purposes, the next to receive the taxicab service. Yes, the couple was arguing for my sake while the cab driver went on a rant saying migrants like me come here to make trouble and don't understand simple instructions in simple English. He continues to say that he'll choose who he decides to ferry around in his cab and chooses not to ferry someone who probably doesn't even know how to tell him where he'd like to go. What was I doing you ask....... well, I was standing there, gobsmacked, speechless and blank-faced (probably fuelled his idea about my inferiority). Not even knowing that I was being insulted and racially discriminated. After a while of this, while still not exactly comprehending the true nature of the situation, I asked the cab driver what the problem was. He shuts me up by telling me that I don't need to start talking. I was affronted but couldn't get a word in edgewise because he then ends the argument with the couple and points to the people behind the couple and ferries them instead. Leaving me and the couple to catch the next cab.
I didn't go to school that day. Didn't take a cab or anything. I thought that since it was only orientation, It wouldn't be a matter. Months have gone by and I have found that to be true. I thought that I'd find a proper and cheaper way to get to school by doing some research considering it was the weekend the next day. Instead, after that fiasco, I spent my time walking and getting lost, just to explore the city and it's cultures. The kind couple asked me if I was alright. I still wasn't sure of what happened at that point and assured them I was fine. They were probably very sympathetic of my plight after that because they spent a whole 20 minutes or so just telling me of the places of which I might find useful (places to eat, government offices, immigration, etc.). I found a spot and sat down for a while just wondering about what had happened. I did in the end, understand what happened and continued to brood for a while. I however, stopped brooding when I found a place that sold 1 dollar pizza slices. Compared to the prices here, that was the cheapest and filled me up well.
So there it was. My first full day in Melbourne and I already saw the best and worst this city could offer. As much as I do not advocate it, I believe racism has never left the world. We hear tales of white cab drivers not picking up black guys as is expressed by the great Lenny Kravitz. I did think that there was a chance that it might happen to me when I get here, but never in a million years did I expect to get it from an Asian guy holding on to stereotypes against his own kind and a white who argues for my sake.
You'd think, compared to what was about a hundred years ago with the open discrimination against women and certain races, the world is a better place today. But these events give me a reason to believe that some people are still as stupid as people were back then. Racism no longer an issue? I have reason to believe that in certain factions, it just got uglier......
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