Closing Time

We just closed December.

It was hell. In a way, I've just closed December, too. And two thousand five.

It's done.

It's over.

What a fucking crazy year.

What an endless parade.

What a ride.

I'm done. I've had enough. I want to start the New Year tomorrow.

It's mad.

I've been blogging for a year.

I've been living, seeing, hearing, feeling, thinking, breathing it all in.

I've gone from college senior to junior writer.

I've gone from lost to found.

It's been wonderful. It's gone from bad to worse to up and down, and fucking sideways.

Cheers, everyone.

Keep it massive.

Future Perfect

If I had studied a little harder before my O Levels, I could've aced a few more subjects.

If that had happened, I might've realized my then aspirations of attending the London School of Economics, and might've even graduated with a degree in Political Science, or perhaps even, International Relations.

And if that might have happened, I might've graduated much earlier, and would've started my first job when I was twenty-three (or twenty-four, give or take some sex, drugs and rock 'n'roll).

If so, I would be living a different life, different in its entirety from the one that I am living now.

Different friends, different tastes, different music, different clothes, different everything.

And then she says: "But I like how you've turned out."

That's an encouraging thought.

It makes some things that I've gone through feel a whole lot more worth the while.

The Big Easy

It's a little early in the day for this, but I have a New Year's Resolution that I'm going to start practising from today onwards.

It's called "Chill The Fuck Out, Suffian."

Yup, I think I do need to chill out abit. I overreacted at something yesterday, and it caused me and someone else a bit of grief. Needless to say, misunderstandings can always be avoided, if you just take a second to try and see things as they really are.

So, I'm gonna chill.

About everything.

Heck, I've slowed down a hell of lot since I brushed past the Mid-Twenties mark, but hey, maybe it's not enough.

I want it over-easy, sunny side up.

Highway Hell

To aspiring Works Ministers and national infrastructure planners alike, if you ever intend to build a highway that runs the length of Malaysia, say, from the northern state of Perlis to the southern tip of Johor, could you please consider making it at least, yes, in the very least FOUR FUCKING LANES ON EACH SIDE.

Yes?

FOUR FUCKING LANES ON EACH SIDE.

It took me 7 hours yesterday to travel from my dear grannie's in Taiping back to KL.

SEVEN FUCKING HOURS.

That's more than enough time to fly to Perth.

The story goes that when the authorities were running feasibility studies and projection models for the North-South highway, back in the Eighties, they based it on the Federal Highway.

THE FEDERAL FUCKING HIGHWAY.

Back in the Eighties, they must have thought that people would have probably had hover cars or could teleport back to their kampung by 2005.

THAT MUST BE WHY THEY BASED THEIR RESEARCH ON THE FEDERAL HIGHWAY.

What's more, the '80s recession and a lengthy court battle between the Opposition and United Engineers, the builders, held the project back for about two years after it was initially set to be built, therefore contributing to a rise in the cost of the project and forcing the authorities to skimp on the original plan.

Whatever that was.

Brilliant.

But I'm going to stop bitching now, because it was worth enduring the jam just to see the smile on my grannie's face when we arrived, and being there with her throughout the festivities. Oh and the food was brilliant, too.

Selamat Hari Raya.

Fallout

Being a fan of literature (read: bookworm/geek), I get flashes, from time to time, of all the things that I've read. Sometimes whole passages, sentences, phrases and if I'm lucky, some dialogue from a Stephen King novel.

It's an amazing feeling, almost like having epiphanies. Fond ones.

Lately, I've been seeing pages from Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park, in particular, the illustrations on the title pages of each chapter. The fractals, coalescing, a freaky wire-mesh of conflict and disorientation.

And yet, some how, whole.

Why the fractals? Why now?

I'm not sure if I'm analyzing too much, but this is bothering me.

It's not unlike sighting an iceberg off the starboard bow, knowing fully that there is Something Big resting gently beneath the surface.

Oh, I don't know.

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There I was, a few hours later, sat on a wooden bench at the Ampang Speedy Car Wash, waiting for my Satria to get all nice and shiny when I suddenly realized that it was Roni Size booming from the speakers.

"Holy Two-Step, Batman, it's Roni Size!"

You'd expect them to listen to something more like Mawi, but bless them, the lads have discovered Jungle.

At nine in the morning. On Deepaavali.

Happy Holidays.