I'm sure everyone's been through this, especially when you're in Malaysia. Where manners is secondary to social hierachy and the simple phrases like "please", "sorry", "thanks", or even the far more commonly used "hello" that we've been taught to constantly use by our parents either go completely unsaid or sometimes, used with utter bitterness. As if the person they are saying it to forced them to.
As a result, we don't really know how to get our points across, we have so many misunderstandings, we have unecessary arguments, and finally, we tend to lose the will to be polite to one another. We begin to believe that things should be done for us and we do not need to show appreciation, as it is the job of the underlings to serve us. We no longer say "please" when we want a favour done for us thinking that you must have done something for the other person in the past and he or she is just returning the deed. In other words, taking people for granted. We don't bother apologising to others we've wronged thinking we've been wronged on countless ocassions we don't get apologies.
Mom and dad taught us these things for a reason. When such social protocol no longer has a place in modern society, the whole social structure breaks down. In the words of Dr. Sheldon Cooper from "The Big Bang Theory", We descend into anarchy.
Those words, I'm sure most of you would agree, is beginning to ring true if it hasn't already. For the sake of this blog post, I shall only use one example. Malaysian motorcyclists. That alone is enough to explain my point completely. To begin with, I say Malaysian motorcyclists because I do not actually know how motorcyclists in other countries behave on the road. That said, I haved lived and assimilated into cultures from both developed and developing countries. I can and have seen the huge difference in the way the people behave on the roads. Also, when I say Malaysian motorcyclists, by no means am I referring to every single one of you motorcyclists. I am aware that every individual behaves a little bit differently on the road and some of you are very, very well-behaved. However, I do refer to a good many of you. The ones who can't differentiate between right of way and physics. To whom size equals faster runs through the traffic and the ability to cut into everyone's way with ease. To whom physics does not apply until they get hit.
You see this all over the place. In Malaysia, motorcyclists have no sense of lane-keeping. No sense of direction. A one-way street going south can be used to go northwards by a motorcyclist. Cutting lanes, bullying your way past traffic is a way of life. If you can't bully your way through, blare your horn. Who cares if you're just a little mosquito who does not have the right of way and the highway was made for cars. Bleep away and then stare back at the car that was just minding his own business before you came along to ruin his or her day.
I understand that considering the way car drivers behave on Malaysian roads, we're no angels either. As a result, we cause accidents and the motorcyclists, having much, much less protection than a passenger on a car, is far more prone to accidents and serious injury. I would like to offer all of you motorcyclists a solution. Instead of cutting lanes, riding in the middle of two lanes very quickly in the middle of a jam at night, and shouting at every car that rightfully is allowed to change lanes, why don't you just keep to the left of the highway, or the road where you belong??? Isn't that what they teach you before you get your biking licence??? Wouldn't you be able to avoid a lot more accidents if you keep to the speed limit or match the speed of cars and keep to the left where you're not a nuisance instead of speeding along and cutting people up everytime there's a corner or a slow traffic???
Another one is at a highway where there are designated motorbike lanes on the left. Guarded by safety rails so we people who have more sense and drive cars would have less a chance of hitting you should there be an accident. There shouldn't be complaints about bad motorcycle roads. We who drive cars do not care. It does not concern us. We pay the car road tax because we want to drive on the road for cars. You pay bike road tax, no tolls, you get the bike lane. You shouldn't be playing around on places that were made for the car. I don't care even if you have a really good and powerful bike. If there's a lane for the motorcycle, be a good motorcyclist, stay where you are. If you want to come onto the road, work a little bit harder and maybe then you can afford a car.
As much as you think that maybe it, there is another thing that some (a very small number) of motorcyclists like to do. They tend to believe they can bully their way through the traffic. Sometimes when there's a bottleneck at a junction and the cars are really close together (maybe at a junction), you will find that in the midst of five or so more lanes of tightly-packed cars, there will be a few motorcyclists joining in the action. I wouldn't mind it so much if there were two lanes leading to two other destinations and the motorcyclist had to use the right one. That's completely acceptable. However the ones I'm talking about are the kind who shoves and pushes through traffic giving car drivers another thing to worry about when there are a million angles that he has to look at so to not cause an accident. To make matters worse, a number of them like to bully their way through by blaring their horns when they can't move their bikes. They choose to come onto the road yet they cannot wait for the traffic to clear up a little like everybody else. There are moments when you just cannot give way whether it's to a car or a motorcycle and yet, there's a motorcycle behind you on the left, blaring away. He or she is neither in your lane or the lane on the left. Just blaring away, trying to bully his way through on your left.
Forgive me but all motorcylists seem to tell the whole world to sympathise with them. To understand their predicament. They are physically smaller, and some of them aren't able to afford a car. Well not being able to afford a car is unfortunate if you actually want a car. But if you get a motorcycle, behave yourself. Don't annoy the car drivers. The lanes are designed to fit cars and buses, not bikes. That's why they are 7-8 feet wide. You are allowed on the road but you shall keep to the left so that we won't accidentally hit you. It's for your own good. If you're physically smaller, don't think that it's an advantage and you can cut in front of everyone. In a collision between a car and a motorcycle, you cannot win. At u-turns, if you decide to turn alongside a car, don't cut him up when you straighten up. You skid, you end up under the car. I simply don't know how they cannot understand such simple logic. In Australia, motorcyclists treat cars with respect. In return, they're also treated with respect by car drivers. They too use their inferior size to get past traffic but they do it carefully. They too race between the lights but they don't cut people up on purpose. They too ride very fast on interstate roads and on fast lanes, but they are genuinely good, powerful motorcycles that can match and handle the speed that the cars can. They also understand that they are entirely to blame should there be an accident involving them when they decide not to use the motorcycle lane. As such, they stay there. Unlike Malaysian motorcyclists who constantly blame drivers for being rude or causing accidents.
If you want to be safe, buy a car. If you can't afford it, work harder. If you want a bike, keep to your lane. No one needs a mosquito buzzing around making a nuisance of him or herself on the road. You don't pay the road tax we pay. You don't deserve to use roads that were made for us when there are roads all over the place made for you.
I do not say this because I hate motorcycles. I understand it's appeal and I too have a liking for the whole open-air experience. However, I do not believe it's very safe to travel at speeds deemed dangerous even for a car, on a vehicle that has to be propped up by a stand when it's stationary. A motorcycle is flawed in engineering terms for it's extremely short wheelbase, and it's height which is immense considering it is usually only about 2 feet wide. As a result, it not only cannot stand on it's own, it has a very high centre of gravity.
Cars are a different story. We're much safer in the same environment. It weighs much more of of course. But because we're always more stable at normal speeds, we brake faster, we corner better, we can also drive much faster. As a result, at most times, there's just more fun in a car. Some of us car-drivers will choose to have it on a public road. A motorcycle cutting us up at our territory is not something we welcome. Not even at normal driving conditions. We don't appreciate it from other car-drivers, we certainly don't appreciate it from you two-wheeled houseflies.
So to those motorcyclists who have been brought up and taught how to commandeer a motorcycle by the society that does not understand manners, keep in mind. Your society may have given up on manners and respect, but if you don't start practicing it again, car-drivers might give up on their patience as well. Then society really descends into anarchy. We will be unharmed and you will be left in tears when there are accidents that seem to only involve you people all over the place. When that day comes, if your brain turns into a puddle of red underneath car tyres, just make sure that you don't get your blood anywhere on the car. It's a bit of an inconvenience to us.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
My Fuzz Face
It's been exactly a year since I left home and been at Australia.
For 4-5 months, I never really wanted a fuzz face.
The next 6 months however, I really wanted a fuzz face and spent time learning about it every single day. Then I had the fuzz face for 10 days.
Now I don't anymore and I miss it dearly.
An art form never mastered but constantly coveted by man.
A dream it was and a dream it probably always will be.
For 4-5 months, I never really wanted a fuzz face.
The next 6 months however, I really wanted a fuzz face and spent time learning about it every single day. Then I had the fuzz face for 10 days.
Now I don't anymore and I miss it dearly.
An art form never mastered but constantly coveted by man.
A dream it was and a dream it probably always will be.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Journey Thus Far
Being about 6000km away from home, you begin to realise what it is that you've been taking for granted for years and how much you miss them now. For instance, right now I miss having decent curry.
Not long ago however, just a few hours ago in fact, I woke up and the first thing that popped into my head was the way my youngest brother looked when I scolded him after he stole my eraser back when I was in standard 3 or something. I remember feeling so bad at myself because of how sorry he looked and I ended up giving it to him. Then I remembered how I used to scold my second brother for being always being so shy and difficult and completely incapable of taking care of himself back when he was a kid. It got so bad that I went to the point of physical violence. Never anything too bad, but it was pretty demeaning and humiliating to the both of us.
At this point, you can probably tell that I've never been the most well-centred of people. I used to have virtually no patience and was very well-known for having both silent and loud explosions of temper. This was before teen angst kicked in. Many people suffered in my wake. When I think of all the trouble I caused, I did suffer too.
I look back over the years and see how my brothers have grown up into fine young men. The way they carry themselves. My second brother even has a job now and my youngest brother has found an interest in girls. My dad was a family-man who would come home everyday even during lunch time to be with his family (because we stayed where he worked). I think it was his presence that instilled a sense of responsibility in my brothers. I don't even have too hard a time taking care of them. My brothers hardly get themselves into any trouble. In fact among the three of us, I've caused the most trouble over the years.
I remember a time when I was taught how to ride a bike by my dad. Then I remember the times when I taught my younger brothers how to ride the bike. Once we all knew how to balance on two wheels, we pretty much ran into everything we could. Clumsiest people on earth. For some reason, we were all rather unathletic without practice. But after years of playing football and running, we actually possessed a certain amount of skill. I used to think people who sucked at sports were just that. They just sucked. Up till now I've still never met anyone who could go from being flat-footed to knowing how to place a football in a certain part of the net from half the field away. That was how my brothers were. After having years of no practice, I've noticed that they are becoming more and more flat-footed again. I never knew this was possible. I always thought a person was one or the other. I did not think there was a possibility of alternation let alone multiple transitions of abilities.
My brothers now both play guitar. We never really came from a musical family or anything. But all my uncles including my dad, could sing and play guitar. The three of us, play guitar far better than them, but should never be asked to sing. Just recently, we found out we have a huge number of relatives from my father's side who are all musically-raised and come from a musical family. Our assumptions that we were the first to get into the gigging scene was completely wrong. I come from a family of entertainers and advertising people. Considering the way my family members behave, advertising people seem to be like entertainers as well. I love that part of me. I love that part in my brothers. We're always able to strike up a conversation or draw interest. All three of us do it in very different ways. But we have that much in common. Yet, all three of us suffer from a lack of confidence. The entertaining is just a way of hiding it. I have since noticed that it's the same for a lot of my family members. As much as they wouldn't care to admit it.
My second brother now plays better guitar than I do. I still bust his chops for playing metal. But only for fun. In actual truth, I was so bloody proud of him I could've punched him. This includes my youngest brother as well. Both of whom picked up the guitar after I did. Still juveniles but behave like real men. Taking care of my mother when dad and I are away. I like to think that my mother is in very safe hands because in many ways, they've always been far more family-orientated than I am. My brother has since gotten a driver's licence and crashed a car. Following in my footsteps of pulling a whole lot of shenanigans. In short, getting a bit more independent. My youngest brother will soon be doing the same. The way I listen to them tell me stories nowadays, sometimes you can't believe how much they've grown up. These are the first people whom I've literally watched grow up and grew up with me.
We used to give each other nicknames (Jaguar and Jagung) and I used to draw them cartoons of superhero's with fruits for heads (Orangeman, Appleman, etc.). The villain was always "The Bee". Don't ask me how that happened. I was a kid. My imaginations were a bit nonsense. It still is. The same goes for my brothers. From those childish jokes to the intelligent, grown-up jokes I sometimes hear from them nowadays, it surprises me to think that just 10 or so years ago, I was still teaching them how to tie their shoelaces. Now, I'm teaching them about college. In fact, they might even know more about it than I do at this point.
They still close the gates for me every single time I go out. I still remember waving goodbye to them everytime I leave the house with the car. I remember playing childish games even at this age with them. For example seeing who can shout the loudest and most annoyingly in staccato (very hard to explain) in the car when mom's not around. I always take the liberty of sending them to their jamming sessions. Makes me very proud to see them have their own bunch of friends with the same mindset and actually setting out to achieve something or just to have fun.
Waking up earlier, and remembering how my brother looked so guilty after I scolded him for stealing my eraser when we were so young, made me think of them a whole lot. As you can tell, I've had a lot on my mind these past few days. The way things are now, and the simpler times when the thing we looked forward to most every single day is to go out and ride our bikes and crash into each other. I taught them about grasshoppers and frogs. I've seen them create wonderful things out of nothing. Do things that I'd never have thought or imagined doing in a million years. The childish nonsensical words and whimsical songs we came up to tease each other, still ring rather clearly in my head.
I know it may be a bit redundant to say this now. But I've seen my brothers from the day I put on their diapers wrongly for them, up till today when they're growing into fine young men. Besides being incredibly proud of them, I really do miss my brothers now......
Not long ago however, just a few hours ago in fact, I woke up and the first thing that popped into my head was the way my youngest brother looked when I scolded him after he stole my eraser back when I was in standard 3 or something. I remember feeling so bad at myself because of how sorry he looked and I ended up giving it to him. Then I remembered how I used to scold my second brother for being always being so shy and difficult and completely incapable of taking care of himself back when he was a kid. It got so bad that I went to the point of physical violence. Never anything too bad, but it was pretty demeaning and humiliating to the both of us.
At this point, you can probably tell that I've never been the most well-centred of people. I used to have virtually no patience and was very well-known for having both silent and loud explosions of temper. This was before teen angst kicked in. Many people suffered in my wake. When I think of all the trouble I caused, I did suffer too.
I look back over the years and see how my brothers have grown up into fine young men. The way they carry themselves. My second brother even has a job now and my youngest brother has found an interest in girls. My dad was a family-man who would come home everyday even during lunch time to be with his family (because we stayed where he worked). I think it was his presence that instilled a sense of responsibility in my brothers. I don't even have too hard a time taking care of them. My brothers hardly get themselves into any trouble. In fact among the three of us, I've caused the most trouble over the years.
I remember a time when I was taught how to ride a bike by my dad. Then I remember the times when I taught my younger brothers how to ride the bike. Once we all knew how to balance on two wheels, we pretty much ran into everything we could. Clumsiest people on earth. For some reason, we were all rather unathletic without practice. But after years of playing football and running, we actually possessed a certain amount of skill. I used to think people who sucked at sports were just that. They just sucked. Up till now I've still never met anyone who could go from being flat-footed to knowing how to place a football in a certain part of the net from half the field away. That was how my brothers were. After having years of no practice, I've noticed that they are becoming more and more flat-footed again. I never knew this was possible. I always thought a person was one or the other. I did not think there was a possibility of alternation let alone multiple transitions of abilities.
My brothers now both play guitar. We never really came from a musical family or anything. But all my uncles including my dad, could sing and play guitar. The three of us, play guitar far better than them, but should never be asked to sing. Just recently, we found out we have a huge number of relatives from my father's side who are all musically-raised and come from a musical family. Our assumptions that we were the first to get into the gigging scene was completely wrong. I come from a family of entertainers and advertising people. Considering the way my family members behave, advertising people seem to be like entertainers as well. I love that part of me. I love that part in my brothers. We're always able to strike up a conversation or draw interest. All three of us do it in very different ways. But we have that much in common. Yet, all three of us suffer from a lack of confidence. The entertaining is just a way of hiding it. I have since noticed that it's the same for a lot of my family members. As much as they wouldn't care to admit it.
My second brother now plays better guitar than I do. I still bust his chops for playing metal. But only for fun. In actual truth, I was so bloody proud of him I could've punched him. This includes my youngest brother as well. Both of whom picked up the guitar after I did. Still juveniles but behave like real men. Taking care of my mother when dad and I are away. I like to think that my mother is in very safe hands because in many ways, they've always been far more family-orientated than I am. My brother has since gotten a driver's licence and crashed a car. Following in my footsteps of pulling a whole lot of shenanigans. In short, getting a bit more independent. My youngest brother will soon be doing the same. The way I listen to them tell me stories nowadays, sometimes you can't believe how much they've grown up. These are the first people whom I've literally watched grow up and grew up with me.
We used to give each other nicknames (Jaguar and Jagung) and I used to draw them cartoons of superhero's with fruits for heads (Orangeman, Appleman, etc.). The villain was always "The Bee". Don't ask me how that happened. I was a kid. My imaginations were a bit nonsense. It still is. The same goes for my brothers. From those childish jokes to the intelligent, grown-up jokes I sometimes hear from them nowadays, it surprises me to think that just 10 or so years ago, I was still teaching them how to tie their shoelaces. Now, I'm teaching them about college. In fact, they might even know more about it than I do at this point.
They still close the gates for me every single time I go out. I still remember waving goodbye to them everytime I leave the house with the car. I remember playing childish games even at this age with them. For example seeing who can shout the loudest and most annoyingly in staccato (very hard to explain) in the car when mom's not around. I always take the liberty of sending them to their jamming sessions. Makes me very proud to see them have their own bunch of friends with the same mindset and actually setting out to achieve something or just to have fun.
Waking up earlier, and remembering how my brother looked so guilty after I scolded him for stealing my eraser when we were so young, made me think of them a whole lot. As you can tell, I've had a lot on my mind these past few days. The way things are now, and the simpler times when the thing we looked forward to most every single day is to go out and ride our bikes and crash into each other. I taught them about grasshoppers and frogs. I've seen them create wonderful things out of nothing. Do things that I'd never have thought or imagined doing in a million years. The childish nonsensical words and whimsical songs we came up to tease each other, still ring rather clearly in my head.
I know it may be a bit redundant to say this now. But I've seen my brothers from the day I put on their diapers wrongly for them, up till today when they're growing into fine young men. Besides being incredibly proud of them, I really do miss my brothers now......
Monday, September 27, 2010
The Fuzzface
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......
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 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.....
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