Merdeka!

Let’s relate ourselves to history guys. Our country’s history. In so many ways, a blokes passage in life has been chartered in the course of Malaysia’s past, and doomed to repeat itself.

It all started with Parameswara claiming our northern states and setting up his empire. Exotic, raw and intriguing to the locals, as so we were after donning on our dark green school pants for the first time, and realizing that y-front scuba brand underwear that Mama bought from Mun Loong is not a good cover-up for what you and friends now call “stim”. We wanted to pitch tents and start conquering unchartered lands.

Then the Portuguese came to Melaka and brought with them funny words in funny music like jingling nona. Awkward as that time may be, reminiscent of our awkward nights in Boom Boom Room, Spinning or Base 2 (Yow Chuan) – trying to look 18 wearing Cross Colors oversized t shirts. All I wanna do summa zoom zoom zoom anda pom pommm….was just as weird as the culture brought into our shores by those clock tower building, funny name giving (Stadthuys???) traders down South in Melaka. But dance we did, and funny slangs we spoke, and got our share of A Famosa’s.

Then the English came to teach us some decorum. Whipping the savages that we are into shape. Much like a steady girlfriend at Uni. Maturity and stability. Pre-med credentials outweigh your earlier skills of drinking Pelican pre-mixed vodka while doing the Macarena at Modesto’s. We were taught to ingest continental breakfasts instead of the usual touch and go buffet lines. That is until….

The Japanese landed! Just like the time when we realized there are more women outside of campus for the first time. In kamikaze like fashion, we were thrown off balance in the corporate world. Hot female bosses enslaved us in tight MNG work attires. Being a whipping boy in the office further enhanced our inferiority complexes, which are duly released in the form of binge drinking and sleeping with anything that doesn’t resemble a pad with wings or panty liner.

Communism swiftly ensues, and completely drags us back to the dark ages of doing things for the “common good” – which translates into living together and her training you to be of “good husband material”. And not long before…

The English comes again in the form of “the understanding one that was right under our noses the whole time” – Mutual benefits and a few ribbing and courtships and negotiations later, formed a marriage of cooperation that seemingly sets us free in knowing that the future looks so promising and that you once again, are a fulfilled, and liberated man with everything he could ask for…

Which brings us to today, just finding out that we’re still secretly the house b^tch who only THINKS he wears the pants in the house….but she’s the one that chooses which ones were allowed to wear.

Happy Independence, chaps!

Belated 2010 Resolutions

Hi 2010. Sorry it took so long to submit my KPIs for this year. Hardly noticed you already arrived, since 2009 was still bumming around, ranting about his ROIs.

I thought I'd be a bit smart this year by setting multiple resolutions and rate myself based on percentages at the end of the year. This way, I can console myself with an alphabetical rating evaluation system.

So here goes.

For 2010, I will:

1. Stop procrastinating by 2nd quarter of the year.

2. Learn how to crunk

3. Minimise asking stupid questions like "Are you asleep?" by 5%

4. Research on why African American women like to dance while trying to check out their own ass simultaneously

5. Grow some balls and smoke with the windows open while driving along Karak Highway after 11pm

6. Not sing along to Taylor Swift songs

7. Stop trying to search for famous porn stars on Facebook and try to add them as a friend

8. Not succumb to Kent when they don't sell Dunhill Lights

9. Try to remember jokes

10. Not type words like "huhuhu" or "kuikuikui" or "ahaks" on any social networking site status, comments or photo description

11. Only order lauk for "3 orang" even if there are "5 orang" at the table

12. Stop wondering why some older women have a paunch right below their belly button area

13. Shake MeMeLaLa's milk bottle thoroughly so that ALL the powder is diluted. Even if I'm half asleep at 4am

14. Stop watching horror movies on DVD in hotel rooms when I can't sleep

15. Try to save up for : A Slurpee machine, and a McFlurry machine

16. Try to find a lamp, rub it, have a genie come out, and wish for pants with magic pockets that will always have a lighter in them

17. Stop asking myself how those ugly dudes scored those cute chicks

18. Trim. And keep them trimmed.

19. Stop wishing Claire Danes never grew thinner, and forever remained at that balcony with wings attached to her back

20. Stop singing back up to S Club 7's Never Had A Wish Come True e.g. "I never had the words to say (never haaaddd the words to say)"

21. Not flex my biceps while brushing my teeth

22. Not be too lazy to sabun my ankles and feet while bathing

23. Stop playing solitaire while taking a dump

24. Find new carik makan songs to sing to when out with clients for Karaoke.

25. Learn the names of Malay female celebrities

26. Find out how to actually pronounce the word "cajole"

27. Learn how to write using the pen that 'twists out' without twisting it back in while writing

28. Stop being suckered into opening motivational slides in powepoint slide show format forwarded by well intentioned friends, colleagues and families, hoping it was a cover-up attachment for some juicy celeb porn

29. Download ICQ and open 2 accounts and message myself so that I can listen to that familar "uh-oh" sound again.

30. Find and kill the evil troll that keeps making holes in my socks

31. Eat the timuns in all my nasi lemaks

There. I think those are pretty realistic goals for the year.

Good luck with yours, peeps.

Hang Tuah Fails SPM From Excessive Clubbing Nights Out

The Day Of Conundrums

I stared at a mannequin with temperature aversed nipples today and thought that the world was just like a store full of mannequins. Full of superficial tits.

I went to Memory Lane today and noticed that there were 13 "Goodbye!" cards. But there was not a single "Welcome!" greeting card and thought that people won't really like you until they know you're gonna leave soon.

I went to a store today and saw a Malaysian brand trying to sound like an Italian brand selling Malaysian songket and songkoks for Hari Raya. To Malaysians who want to feel like they're wearing Italian inspired songket and songkoks, no doubt. I bought one and cursed at myself in the toilet while shaving just now.

I saw an TV commercial showing a dad looking guilty at the dinner table, when his 5 year old girl said to him "Waaahhh banyaknye makanan ayah!". And a tagline came out along the lines of "Elakkan Rasuah". And the end shot was the father reaching out and continuing to eat. And the ad was sponsored by the government.

I had to slam on the brakes today when a Subaru Impreza decked out in full Rally kit and decals emergency braked in front of me upon reaching a bump in the road.

I went to Times Bookstore today and was annoyed that there were only FHMs, CLIVEs, and NEWMAN magazines with scantily clad women on the covers when I was looking for AUGUST MAN September issue to see if they're finally putting more scantily clad babes in their content.

I wanted to buy a baju raya that is corporate yet looks rebellious, from good designer brands that are going for cheap, that doesn't look Ah Beng. I think the fashion industry is purposely avoiding my segment in their focus groups.

I walked past British India today and noticed their prices and wondered if a bunch of Malaysian designers decided to create a brand that reminds Malaysians the feeling of being screwed in the ass off of our money by the Colonists.

I wish there was a book that summarises the stories of all the other books that I've bought but never read.

Technically a cock doesn't come with balls. Only testicles near their backbones. Ironically our leaders are cocks with no balls, while the people who make up the backbone of the country are closest to all the piss work.

Caution : Calculative Risk Ahead

A lot of my friends are getting married this year. Either they're 3 years late or I was 3 years early. There's nothing worse than to turn up at a buddy's wedding with a baby in tow. There'll always be 2 camps of friends at a wedding. One that snickers at the groom on his impending doom, and another that welcomes him with open arms. You know what they say, the more the merrier. But in most cases, these wishes by baby-toting husbands are more like cheese tied to a string leading into a box trap. Obviously with a baby as an accessory, you fall into the latter category.

But as a consolation, friends' weddings also serve as a time for people like me to find a desperate purpose. To put the experiences I went through to good use, and impart my newly found wisdom to the walking dead.

Marriage, my soon-to-be domesticated compadres, will ultimately amount to a game of numbers. A series of binaries that will distinguish your right to the bed or sofa, a night at Laundry or doing the laundry. It's about calculated risks, and how to manage them.

Sure, you may get all caught up in matrimonial afterglow - you sit down together, holding each other's hands, gazing into each other's eyes and list down a checklist of magical and wonderful things that you will do for each other, with unicorn rides into the sunset, baking carrot cakes together while you cuddle your unborn child within her glowing and growing belly.

You'll be the best husband ever! And she did a great job in moulding you since the engagement. She'll be the best wife in the world, and she can't wait to fill in the role of your very own Martha Stewart.

But what makes a good husband? By doing more than what a boyfriend does?

And what makes a good wife? By doing less than what a single, available woman would?

Wrong.

It's completely the other way round. At least to you, it is.

Husbands will ultimately justify their efforts into the marriage by what they're doing LESS than what they used to, not more. For example:

1. Less going out with the blokes

2. Less time on the PSP

3. Less drinking sessions

4. Less karaokeing sessions

5. Driving with less speed

6. Spending less on himself

7. Going out with the blokes but spending LESS time than usually before and coming back early

Wives, on the other hand, will compare that with what they're doing MORE of:

1. More time in the kitchen

2. More time sorting out the laundry

3. More time cleaning the house

4. More planning (equals less spontaneity)

5. More heart to heart discussions

6. More health conscious

7. More time at home.

And these are the numbers you'll automatically pull out when the honeymoon's over, and you're being questioned on your contribution to this matrimonial relationship.

And when you men start thinking of of what you're depriving yourself of, also think of what's added on her plate.

Then maybe, just maybe...you'll both see that Hubby needs to spend more time with his friends. And Wifey needs a break from the dishes.

So you can still come home at 3am, drunk driving while playing the PSP. And do the dishes.

Either way, you still lose, you jackass.

Mano a Mano

There's this theory that time and space can be bent. And, if bent at a 180 degree angle, you get to see yourself, just in a parallel plane. If you adjust the angles, you can manipulate time and space to see the past, and possibly, the future. This can be verified by Denzel Washington, as evident in his misadventures in Deja Vu - if any of you wish to know further about this opening remark more than giving a toss to read where this is all actually leading to.

So, say you had this uncanny ability to manipulate time and space albeit the nerdy costume and gay superhero name. What would it be like? With a twist of your left and right hands, you somehow work the angles and voila, you're standing face to face with the previous you, and the future you.

Previous Me would be the one that freaks out the most, first.

Current Me would then turn to Previous Me and hug him ever so tightly, screaming phrases like "I miss you!" and "Take me back with you!" or bawling out " Don't ever leave me again!".

Then Previous Me starts kicking me in the ass, screaming out "What did you do to me?!?" or "How could you!?!!".

But suddenly, Previous Me will notice a few things that he missed out on all the commotion.

Parked in the garage is a magnificent steel stallion, idly sleeping in turbine slumber, with bared nostrils and 4 nose rings oozing out of its own charisma of dur technik, that has been versprunged.

And at the front door a beautiful lady with adoring eyes and a sunshine of comfort and heart.

And in her arms, happiness, joy and beauty bundled in a tiny human being's body.

Previous me starts to think "Dude, this is not so bad after all".

And Current Me picks himself up from the floor and brushes him off. "Yeah, you know what? You're right. This is way better than what you got going on over there...kinda" (points to 43 degree angle of warped time and space of 2002, where some Kampung Baru mongoloids were dancing on the podium in Bar Ibiza, dancing to Beyonce).

And both of them will turn to Future Me. "Let's see what you have on your side, old man".

"I can't show you." he says.

"But I'll tell you all about it over a few brewskies, gents."

And we'll talk and talk all night till the wee hours of the early morning.

Contented and pleased with ourselves, we all adjourn.

Previous Me goes away to find a chick with an apartment to crash at.

Future Me goes back to his house just in time to catch his son crawling back from his night out.

And Current Me goes back to change fresh diapers and kissing his sleeping wife goodnight, and thanking God for what he had, he wouldn't have had it any other way. And for what he has, to hold them tightly and never let go. And for all that's destined to come his way, to be true to who he was, that made him who he is, and will lead him to who he will be.

Have we met? Cause you look DAMN familiar, man.

My 28 day old baby girl woke up for her second morning feed at 6am today. I was half asleep, holding her bottle to her mouth with my right hand Taking my cue from all fatherly characters in feel good family movies, I started to softly coo and babble baby talk to her as she was noisily sucking away at the silicone teat.

But instead of getting the overly familiar giggle, smile and cute gestures back, all I get was an intense look on her face with an expression that clearly resonated a chill of deep and dark experiences from my past.

It was that unmistakable female facial expression, with slightly frowned eyebrows, cocked head to one side and questioning eyes. "Like, Can I help you? Do I know you for some reason?"

In my short tenure as a father, the same thoughts did pass by in my mind a couple of times. Do I really know my daughter? Should I take for granted that she actually knows me? Or do we both just pretend that we know each other?

So she stared at me. This giant, holding her tiny body in his arms. Popping bottles in her mouth. With that look plastered all across her face.

She doesn't know me.

But she doesn't mind. Somehow she feels that it's safe and she doesn't cry or wail or kick me in the nuts and escape by rolling herself down the stairs to the neighbors house and cry "Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger!".

I don't really know her.

But somehow I'd jump in front of a moving truck for her.

Then she kicked me into reality, signalling to me that she's had enough milk for now. I pull out, burp her while trying to ignore the milky stench, and was rewarded with a resounding audible of her poop and the unmistakable tremor in her diapers.