An accurate basketball pass.

A synchronized dance spin.

A flawless harmonization.

A spontaneous journey to nowhere.

A new scenery.

A smile.

A lame joke.

A nice smelling shirt.

A girl with long straight hair.

A guy with a perfect jaw-line.

A flick to a friend’s arm.

A word of gratefulness.

A hot bowl of soup in winter.

A glass of lime juice after a 2-hour bedside in the hospital.

A scandal.

A bubbly housemate.

A rub on his tummy.

A compliment.

A thought-provoking discussion.

A contagious laughter.

A walk along the beach.

A different perspective.

A fresh purpose.

A sense of freedom.

A touch from You.

My chains are gone, I’ve been set free.



From football to basketball,

From running to swimming,

From hiding to revealing,

From uniting to separating,

Seriously, why even bother planning?

Somehow there will be someone who’ll disappoint,

Somehow there will be something that’ll stand in your way,

Somehow there will be somewhere that’s too far to reach.

Yet somehow, there will be someone who’ll stand by you,

Somehow there will be something that’ll push you on,

Somehow there will be somewhere that you can run to.

Life is unpredictable. Awesome.

The time has come.

Mixed feelings. That’s what I tell everyone who asks how I feel about this transition.

‘Hell yeah! I’d leave right away!’ would be my reply 2 years ago.

Why the different reactions; then and now?

Back then, I felt like I was an animal living in a cage; where going out required special reasons/occasions and there was always a curfew.

Now, I get to go almost anywhere I want, and all I get for coming back late is a little reprimand and I’m off the hook.

Back then, the furthest I could travel alone was within the state, and the longest I could leave the house was 12 hours.

Now, the furthest I’ve travelled alone was to another continent altogether, and the longest out of the house was 2 weeks.

Back then, I hated the restrictions so much I almost sower to break awy from this ‘cage’ and run like there’s no coming back.

Now, I miss the angry faces and long lectures they used to give me when I arrive home late from a party.

Soon, I’ll have to decide where I should or should not go, how late I should be back because no one will care if I even come back.

Soon, I’ll have to travel alone, maybe with a couple of friends if I’m lucky; and leave the house for for good, unless I’m lucky enough to get a job near home.

Two years ago, I would’ve jumped for joy at such a circumstance, yet now, it scares me more than ever.

Why is the grass always greener on the other side?

Why must I appreciate things only when it’s gone?

Freedom, here I come. You better be worth it.

Sporty 10′

Yeah even I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but I guess announcing it on my blog is going to make me actually do it *fingers crossed*

So why?

Well besides the fact that the World Cup and Thomas Cup is going to be going on this year, I do need to thank G that kinda made me realize how important sports is and will be to me.

Thinking about it, I cannot even play a single sport, unless you consider table tennis as one (which btw I’m hardly good at). 

On a serious note, which guy doesn’t know how to play a sport? 

What am I going to do while my other guy friends hang out in mamak stalls all night long supporting their favourite team?

How many excuses am I going to create to decline their offers to play a sport?

What am I going to tell my son when he wants me to train him in football?

Some tell me I should just accept who I am because they like me just the way I am, but who am I kidding?

Thanks guys for being so accommodative, but I’m not going to accept that I am a soft guy that only knows fashion and the latest gossip in Medical school.

Jo told me I’m a 70% female, 30% male. #$%!!$#$!!#@@@#@!! Sigh.

I want something to look forward to in the evenings besides studying and waiting for the next sales to come.

I want to be able to celebrate kicking a ball into a goal post.

I want to say joga bonito and actually believe in it.

But isn’t it too late?

Sure go on and laugh at me, but I rather be laughed at now than have my son be laughed at because I can’t participate in a father-son football tournament. So yes, future son, I’m doing this for you. 🙂

So in 2010, I’m going to be the first 20 year old guy:

– wanting to learn how to play football now (gosh I am old!) 

– researching about the 2010 World Cup because I don’t know a shit about it

– who ‘s not going to give up until he manages to shoot a goal in a goal post

– that is going to prove to everyone that it’s never too late for anything, even sports.

– who will get Jo to tell me I am at least a 50% male.

Anyone care to join me ? 😀


Coming from a family of seven, it’s mind-blowing just thinking how we managed to live peacefully under the same roof for 18 years, and not kill each other yet.

Not a punch on another’s face.

Maybe a slap. or two.

And some foul languages.

Of course, there were times I really wanted to runaway from them, having the ‘fly and breakwaway’ spirit of 17 years old. It was noisy back then.

I open the front door, and I’ll see two guys sitting down at the computer desks, a man reading the newspaper, a lady shouting away from the other corner of the hall; and two girls, one much older than the other teaching the younger one art or music.


I would hug each one of them and tell them how much I loved them being there, even if they weren’t talking to me, that their shouts were music to my ears, that by them obstructing the hallway is yet another reminder of their presence in my life.

And now all I can do is just wish I did so.


Now I open the front door, I see a lady sitting at the computer desk because she has no one to shout at, a little girl watching television because she has no one to teach her art or music, and a man sleeping because it’s actually quiet enough to make him fall asleep.


I miss the times where I see two big guys running around like little kids because one pinched the other guy’s nipples.

I miss the where I had to squeeze my way to get a comfortable seat at the dining table because there’s just too many of us.

I miss the times where I could choose who to falsely accuse for forgetting to switch off the lights downstairs.

I miss the times, whether good or bad.


And soon enough, I’ll be closing the front door and not open it as often as I would want to.

For the times have past, and all I can do is treasure what’s left.

You should too.


I’ve been discovering things about myself;

some I wish to keep, some I wish to be rid off, and some I wish to never have known.

As much as I want to see myself heading down a straight path,

took some turns, crossed some lines, made some detours, and finally realise; I’m back to where I started.

Funny how life makes you run from your present circumstances that you hate, and finally brings you back to the same spot, only now; you kinda like it here.

Maybe because after you’ve ran to the other side, that ‘present’ becomes unlikeable.

And you turn away again. And again. And again.

And since three right turns in a square brings you back to where you once were, there you are enjoying the ‘present’ you’ve once hated.

Maybe we’re just meant to hate what we have, and love what we don’t have.

Or maybe it’s time to appreciate what we have in the present and stop running.

But how do you know when to stop? Which ‘present’ is the best?


Contentment. I just wish I knew what that means.


The missing piece.

You wake up hoping for a great day ahead.

Suddenly a bottle gets thrown in your face.


You avoid confrontations hoping to avoid damage.

Yet they corner you till there’s no way out but to fight back.



You try your best hoping to please everyone.

Still, one error makes everything else you’ve done meaningless.


You blame it on the immature bitches and bastards.

You blame it on the selfish ones that treat you like a punching bag.

You blame it on the over expressive bitches that can’t just mind their own business.


So what?

They’ll always be there.

They’ll come stepping on your tail when you least expect it.

They bitch. They judge. They punch. They accuse. They take sides.


You run. Hoping to find that missing piece.



F*** off.

I don’t need drama.

I’ve had enough to write an entire soap opera.