Man's Search For Meaning

A little more than 9 months ago, I took up a job. It was nice and safe, and relatively comfortable: in line with what I studied in University (which was mostly a waste of time - I was unprepared for University life, I don't enjoy programming, and I didn't learn much that was useful in life; yes, I should've just taken a bloody year off and travelled, but the mindset I inherited then didn't permit myself such a 'luxury'), pays well, and is very near my own home.

I took it up because I was sick of being broke. I took it up because I was sick of my mother pressuring me to follow the herd. I took it up because I wanted the worry of my financial quagmire off of my dying father's shoulders.

Now, not even a year later, I realise what a cost I have paid. Re-realised, really, as I realised it some years back working at Prudential Services Asia. I have sold my soul at slightly above RM20 an hour. And that's even before the cunts at BN take my money to fund their lifestyles and spout shit from their mouths. Before defenestrating people and/or blowing them up with C4.

So 9-10 hours a day I'm doing busy-work: chasing people for work that's poorly defined, creating systems that get changed a month later, updating documents that become irrelevant that month later, struggling to understand those poor definitions, fighting for sense and meaning. After that it's too dark to walk my dog, I'm too drained to do much else.

Weekends, the little time I have to myself, I try to keep my room and my mind uncluttered. After that it's running around trying to maintain some semblance of living - chores, meeting with friends, loving people. Semi-regularly, it's back to the office.

I hate myself for being so weak, so unflexible, so fat, so unhealthy. And so, I spend money to make myself feel better, thus fully closing the trap. Stuck in a place I can't get out of, and I no longer have the heart to. I no longer have the heart to consider driving at 120km off of a flyover, or banging my head or my fist into something hard to feel that pain, or going skydiving without a parachute.

I recently dreamt that I was cycling on the wrong side of a highway to a very distant place, and how accurate that is. What the fuck am I doing with my life?

Right. Rant over. Long overdue update to the blog, but so little has been going on in my life that that's all I can say. It's just work and keeping up with the fucked up politics in the country run by goddamn cunts.

How...

... do I say get off your fucking arse and do the necessary work to shine?

... do I say forget your self-uncertainty and just do it?

... do I say you're never too old and cynical to learn more?

... do I say you can't always have things your way so fucking get over it?

... do I say I'll never understand you but I love you?

... do I say sorry I'll never do it again, and I'm ready to go now?

... do I say you're who I look up to, I respect you and I love you?

... do I say thank you to everyone who's walked with me along my journey, however brief?

... do I say we never talk but I love you forever?

... do I ask for help?



Am I too demanding? Do I have too high expectations? Is it too much to ask for the very best of people, even if they themselves don't know what that is, don't see it in themselves?

What do people see in themselves anyway?

When night turns to dark, thoughts turn to darkness...

... and from darkness, unto death.

Murder is acceptable. That's what society today tells us - murder is perfectly acceptable. Not in so obvious terms, of course. Hot-blooded, books say, happens all the time. Crimes of passion. Revenge. Cold-blooded, the newspapers say, is fine, everyday stuff. Bombs. War. Withholding food from famine-stricken nations. TV and film, of course, are the biggest culprits. Anybody with enough testosterone pumping through their veins (and that's not just guys) who can watch war scenes and go "YES!!!" knows this deep down within. And who watches Gladiator and not pumps their fist in victory at (especially) the final, vengeance kill?

There are days where I contemplate it. I imagine the scenario - perhaps one day it's the handbag snatcher, who knocks over an old lady whilst taking her bag, and I manage to push him off his bike. And proceed to smash his face in with his helmet. Perhaps another day it's an intruder in the house, who dares threaten my family, and I manage to grab a sharp object. A parang, preferably. And proceed to chop his fingers off. No guns for me, no sir. Iffy, sissy stuff. My gun scenario usually has me disarming the perpetrator (through a lot of sheer luck) and my torturing him for using the gun. Kneecaps, elbows, shoulders, the usual. Using the gun of course, high irony factor.

Every so often I entertain these thoughts as hot-blooded adrenaline-fueled fantasies. But when the blood rages hotter and adrenaline pumps harder, I pray for such situations. I wish to batter, maim, destroy. Reduce what was once a man into something no longer. And deliver it for sacrifice.

Because what I truly want to deliver for sacrifice is actually my own battered, maimed, destroyed body. As a message, if you will. "One man's meat is another man's poison," perhaps. Or, "Listening is love". Maybe, "Passion, drained."

But I cannot. I cannot slice my wrists and eventually crumple into an ever-expanding pool of my own blood. I cannot zoom up to 180 and smack into an oncoming lorry (anyway what if I live after? Now THAT would truly suck). I cannot dive off the roof of a high-rise. I have too much to live for, too much I want to do, too much I want to get done. Dreams to enable, dreams to build. A meaningful life.

And to throw that all away just to communicate that one (or three) message to someone? Sheesh. Talk about overkill.

Worse, the person might not even get it.


But oooohhhh isn't there such a dramatic thrill to that? Cutting your own wrists and bleeding to death in front of someone? Hmmm maybe I should write a play on that. Crikey, I like it more the more I think about it. For The Platform next year, perhaps.


Writing's so good for the soul. Assuage, that's what it does (and what a word). Thanks, blog.

What A Day...

Just had a rehearsal where my body went through a whole gamut of emotions. Partly from the songs and the latest orchestrations and directions, partly just letting go from the buildup of yesterday, partly a result of recent events, and partly from just missing the damn rehearsal room (though very much appreciating the time off though not technically time off).

Tunku the Musical. Much as we're still figuring out lots of things in terms of the production as a whole, it will absolutely kick ass. Musically we're working hard to fine-tune it, but some songs are so powerful and emotive that combined with the orchestra, one song or another will strike a chord in every heart of the audience. Visually we're still in the dark about how we'll look - what our costumes are (though we'll have a slight preview this Sat at the press conference) and what exactly will be the images projected on stage (part of our funky production). Movement-wise we're also still working it out, though I predict (as mentioned before) that most of us will be still with the dancers doing the bulk of the movement.

And yes I'm not impressed with the poster / picture thus far. It hasn't been explicitly said that this is it (unless I missed that) but I hope I hope I hope pray pray pray that this is NOT it. One of the writers was raving about it and frankly, he's off his head.


Sponsored someone new to Agel today. Happiness, it's been awhile and this month's looking especially good. Just in time for a training tomorrow as well as a PBR, which is as good a set-up as can be - and one more step towards building good residual income.


Yes, performed Tari Canggung Hamidah yesterday at Auditorium Museum Shah Alam (yes). Generally enjoyed it - I do love the stage. Personally thought I could've done more with my character, though I'm not sure what; the limited rehearsal period and the poor production team meant that we didn't have too much time to work well. My character has a lot of potential for humour, which is a most tempting demon (eliciting laughter is sheer joy) but one that should not be layan-ed unless necessary.

Overall I think people enjoyed the show, though the cast, the technical team and the stage management team were relatively inexperienced. It showed, with several missed technical cues, delayed entrances and underprojected voices. I did feel it was practically a one-man show (in terms of production, not the performance), so great kudos to Baem for shouldering such extreme madness. Bloody stupid thing to do but sometimes one has to make do with only the cards dealt them. We had only one technical run, with no full dress rehearsal - and even that tech run, the tech team weren't prepared for.


Lessons learned:

1. The director should not act in his play. Though there's no fixed rule about this (and apparently some directors can break this rule with great panache and aplomb), for most people this will be highly detrimental to the play.

2. Delegate to people and trust them. I do think that there were many underutilised heads there that could've made the production flow better but weren't used.

3. Stage management and technical should: a) know what they're doing, b) know the script, c) attend at least some rehearsals.

4. A production just needs so many people who know enough of what they're doing, and doing it. Teamwork gila.


The venue's so-so. Stage is decent, carpets need a very very desperate thorough clean. Acoustics seemed ok though didn't get a chance to really test it. Stage layout a bit silly, the rigging lines are just immediately behind the back wall curtain making it an unnecessary danger. Backstage layout also a bit silly, too many steps means added danger to movement (people and props). Only suraus on the floor (or maybe even building?) are next to the changing rooms, which means no privacy and disconnection between backstage and public. Poor maintenance lah, the real Malaysian malaise. I wouldn't mind performing there again but I'd not stage a production there myself.

Me? I think it was a good experience. More time on stage, in front of people never hurts. Having experience in a Malay play might help. Working with different people is useful. Exploring the Cina within is always fun.


Ok late already.

Portal

The furnace within
Hotly boiling blood
Energy uncontainable
Expelled in a flood


Cursing, swearing
Vocally vehement
A too-often clash
Of wills adamant


Pain? Physical, yes
Remorse? Naught but one
The daily viewing
Of damage done


Splinters of wood
Flecks of skin
Left to remind
Of past emotional sin

I need my own place

I am reaching the end of my tether. I cannot keep fighting to be listened to, to be respected as a human being, to live life as I see fit. My defences against the WMD of Guilt, Expectation, Comparison and Conformity are wearing very thin.

So I hit. Anger. Frustration. Unreasonableness. Anger. Illogicality. Frustration. It's that kind of blood-boiling anger that makes you want to hit. All combined into a mad flurry of blows, plowed into my door. Cassius Clay would be proud.

Times like those, I wish some handbag-snatcher, or rapist, or murderer, or some other ne'er-do-well would just come strolling by so I can beat the fucking shit out of him/her. Yeah I'm a righteous motherfucker when I'm pissed.

My elbows came next. My knuckles hurt, so I swung my elbows into the door. Damn there's a lot of power there - serious shit man, if you want to beat a motherfucker at very close range, use your elbows and put your body into it. Do the twist, break an asshole's cheekbone. Nice.



I'm sorry, door. You have to bear the brunt of my volatile control over my anger. You suffer from my inability to make our relationship work. You have to endure my cowardice in moving out.

Fear not, door. Your time for peace will come soon.

Human Touch

You and me we were the pretenders
We let it all slip away
In the end what you don't surrender
Well the world just strips away
Girl, ain't no kindness in the face of strangers
Ain't gonna find no miracles here
Well you can wait on your blessings my darling
I got a deal for you right here
I ain't looking for praise or pity
I ain't coming round searching for a crutch
I just want someone to talk to
And a little of that human touch
Just a little of that human touch

Ain't no mercy on the streets of this town
Ain't no bread from heavenly skies
Ain't nobody drawing wine from this blood
Its just you and me tonight
Tell me, in a world without pity
Do you think what I'm askin's too much
I just want something to hold on to
And a little of that human touch
Just a little of that human touch

Oh girl that feeling of safety that you prize
Well it comes at a hard hard price
You cant shut off the risk and the pain
Without losing the love that remains
Were all riders on this train

So you've been broken and you've been hurt
Show me somebody who ain't
Yeah, I know I ain't nobody's bargain
But, hell, a little touch up and a little paint...
You might need something to hold on to
When all the answers, they don't amount to much
Somebody that you could just to talk to
And a little of that human touch
Baby, in a world without pity
Do you think what I'm askin's too much
I just want to feel you in my arms
Share a little of that human touch
Feel a little of that human touch
Give me a little of that human touch


Bruce Springsteen

Cara Madre

I am writing this here, because I do not know if I will ever be able to say it all in person. I don't believe that I have sufficient command of my emotions when it comes to talking to you, and unfortunately I don't believe that you will actually listen to all I have to say. Worst of all, I don't believe that my words will affect you in any way whatsoever. But these words need to be said, or at the very least put to writing.

Fact is, I cannot communicate with you. To call it a generation gap, a gender gap, a role gap, or any other gap would be farcical - the yawning chasm between us beggars description. What is important to you is superficial to me. What is important to me is foolish idealism to you. I have little interest in describing my day while it is still unraveling, and I have no answer to the question "why didn't you say hi?" Ultimately, I know it is an expression of concern and care - however, it is a conversational dead-end. I do not know what to do with it. To attempt to begin chatting with such a classic line is like attempting peace negotiations by opening fire on the diplomatic envoy. "Hey, these bullets might stop. You'll miss it when it's gone, I tell you!"

Frustration. Anger. Hatred. Hopelessness. Furiousness. Helplessness. I am not the daughter you so desire. I am not my brother. I am not your subordinate. I am not a mind-reader. I am not your venting ground. I am not perfect. As a child, as a man, as a human being. Neither are you. As a parent, as a child, as a woman, as a human being. You do not know what is best for me - how could you, when you do not even know me as a man? ; do you even know what is best for yourself? - nor do you know what is right for me. And no, you do not know better than me. The way things stand, no, we can never be "friends". And if you're grooming me to "take care of you in your old age", you are most definitely going about it wrong. VERY wrong.

Guilt is a motivating force, yes. Possibly the worst. It works, but it makes the victim feel like that - a victim. Dirty whether it's done or not. Possibly dirtier when it's done, for having allowed guilt into the system. Stop it.

The depth of feeling and emotion you are capable of generating in me beggars belief. Unfortunately, most of that feeling and emotion is negative. So much so that you are the only person on this earth that can make me contemplate suicide. Overly dramatic, perhaps, but very true. Whether it is tackling a lamp-post or a heavyset tree at high speed for a glorious final blaze, taking a sharp kitchen knife to my wrists in your face so you can see my agony, or flinging myself off a high-rise for that brief moment of utter freedom - I have thought these things, some many times, and I still do. It is only my joie de vivre - my sheer will to live that denies me the peaceful eternity I seek.

Yes, I do not fear death. Perhaps I see it as my only escape from the emotions you cause - self-hatred is possibly the worst I feel. What I do fear is not having done something significant with my life. Contributed meaningfully to the people of my life, contributed meaningfully to the world. Made things better, made a positive difference.

You mock my desires. You mock my choices. You mock my dreams. You mock the path I have chosen for my life. I do not mind, for I understand your reasons. However, YOU do not understand. And that, I mind; for you are not interested in understanding MY reasons. And there lies the biggest gap of all. I do not know what it is that has made you so arrogant, so egotistical, so self-righteous; be it society, age, career success, upbringing or insecurity - but what I do know is that I do not wish to follow your path.

I do love you. Not in any way you understand, but that's well reciprocated - I do not understand your expressions of love either. It's simple - we cannot communicate. I need the benefit of hindsight to understand what you say. I also need to know that I'm being listened to when I speak. You need what I call 'idle chatter'. Frankly, you need a daughter - which I am not. Hoping that I'd become one out of the sheer force of your will is false hope - I was born with a dick, and it's not dropping off anytime soon.

The trouble with unspoken expectations is that - they are unspoken. Unclear. Unknown. Communicating with them does not work. Even keeping them does not work. They destroy relationships.

I know that you're doing the best you can, and that you've done the best you can with what you knew. Life is a journey of learning. What I do not respect is believing that you already know it all; that there's no more learning to be had, that there's nothing that can be made better. I do not blame you, but I do not forgive you.

I don't know what to do anymore. I will, of course, work very hard at proving you wrong by becoming a bright star in my chosen path - but that wouldn't make you see anything new, would it? And I'll pay you back everything you ever put into me, since money is so damn important to you. Our relationship will be kept wonderfully superficial, fear not.

Perhaps I'll take up prayer. Surely if anyone can show you the light, it'd be your God, right?

All luvved up

Thus ends the opening night of Ah Steve. It ran wonderfully, with all of us feeling the buzz of energy and the enjoyment of the crowd and then later seeing who it was exactly who came for the show. There's something wonderful about seeing familiar faces from your life who are beaming in happiness for you. Thank you so very much for coming and waiting, guys - it means so much to me.

Of course, what made it especially wonderful and magical tonight was that M was there. How do I put into words those moments - from the meeting of the eyes, to the first words, the first touch, the enjoyment of each other's company once again, the goodbye. Last time I called it 'joyous ecstasy and deep sadness', and that's it all over again. I think in my past month of busying myself with everything in my life, my love and care for her got pushed to the further corners of my mind; tonight, it all came surging back. Someone just said, "she's your biggest fan lah," and that broke my heart all over again. Not in a bad way, but in a really beautifully bittersweet way. My words are failing me (several glasses of wine might have have something to do with it) - in essence, we still care a lot for each other, and yet are steadfast in our stance of how our relationship should go on. So tragic hor? Or in the words of the immortal HT - a Greek tradegy.


What next?

Continuing the theme of being luvved up, L said something absolutely wonderful to my ears. She's (not-so-) secretly praying that I don't get an on-stage part of Tunku so that she can have me assisting backstage. Yeah I don't care much for that praying bit, but it's nice to be wanted, isn't it?

But I'm sorrylah babe, I'm aiming for a lead role. God knows what that role is, but if it can somehow fit I want it. The masochist within wants to be belasah-ed kau-kau by Mervyn.


Agel & Urgency

The thing I've always hated about the word 'urgency' is that I'm not sure how to answer the question "what is it". Conceptually I know it is the antithesis of procrastination, and that it encapsulates "do it now 'cos there's no better time", but such platitudes don't adequately answer the question. Whatever, I'll bullshit my way through when someone decides to ask me.

The reason I bring it up is because of this: in Agel, the compensation plan brilliantly rewards the "correct behaviour" - one of them being urgency. This is a business - you go out there, take action and make yours work. However, I know someone who has been thinking about joining for the longest time - 4/5 months, at a guess. I really believe that he does want to join - but he's waiting for something. Lord knows what that is, but in his dilly-dallying he's missed a few massive opportunities to reduce his workload to make a lot of money.

Look, dude. A huge reason to join Agel is timing. When you have the opportunity to be responsible for bringing leaders into the business; leaders who will be the reason for Agel's success, who see more potential in it than you do and want to make it happen for them - you take it. There's more work because it's new, but there's more rewards because of that work.

Grab life by the balls, make sure you have yours, and go make shit happen man!


More on loneliness

This arrived in my mailbox recently:

If you are afraid of being alone, you are dependent on others for your sense of self, and if you are dependent on others, you block your receptivity to inner guidance. Being willing to be alone involves being willing to be different, to have commitments and values that don’t blend with any crowd.

-- Ingrid Bacci

Show some love to the loner within. The lone ranger within.

Chaos-chasing

I recently told someone that my emotions are so shot-up and all over the place that I now regularly have to fight off cigarette-desire again. Only ex-smokers and some smokers will truly understand this (some, because the rest are too unaware of their bodies to realise what's going on) - whether it's the sight of an ashtray, or the smell of burning cigarette, or the sound of scraping flint, or even the wistful curl of transient smoke; my body wants it. Craves it. Desires it, for that brief one moment, with its entire being.

The skin prickles with anticipation. The fingers rub, feeling the absence of the stick. The breath quickens in preparation. The eyes search for the necessities - the pack, the fire. The mind is flooded with thoughts of comfort, relaxation, social acceptance.

And the Soul fights back. The Self. The Spirit. The Heart. The Will. Call it what you will, it is usually a silent scream. Absolute power, completely emasculated by a being too scared to trust it. Thankfully, in this I have learned to make it a habit of trusting my soul. I like to think that I cheat by having cigarillos / cigars; but that is needless self-deprecation - I know that I grow stronger, better, happier every time I say no to a cancer stick.

I'm still learning to trust my soul in other things in my life.




I'm just back from Velvet, which is strangely the place I felt most keenly a powerful emotion. An emotion I felt and wrote privately of last month. An overwhelming emotion. An emotion that may seem most unlikely for someone like me; who values his space, needs regular time alone, yet has many people he can call 'friend'. That emotion is loneliness.

Language... has created the word "loneliness" to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word "solitude" to express the glory of being alone.
~Paul Johannes Tillich, The Eternal Now

I believe that I have found my path in life, for this point in my life. Where everything makes sense, where everything has a beautiful symmetry and harmony to it, where everything feels just right. And that's where the glory lies. But because everyone has their own path, there is no one person I can truly talk to and be with right now. No one to share everything with, no one who truly UNDERSTANDS. And that's where the pain lies.

I spoke to an old friend and saw so much self-denial and learned helplessness. I chatted with my mum and saw so much narrowness and negativity. I met with old schoolmates and saw so much low self-esteem and lost dreams. It's painful to see, but I'm choosing to see.

Now I know that a way to make this work for me is to find different people with whom I can share and be with for the different aspects of my life. It's just that the transition to that mindset from my previous one hurts. Realising what I'll have to let go of, seeing what I need more of / less of in my life, working against entrenched habits.

Because I also see old friends having epiphanies about how they want to live life and choosing to; old schoolmates reaching for their dreams and the stars; new friends who stand for their individuality and their individual beauty; new people who believe in themselves and believe themselves worthy of everything this bountiful life has to offer. That is why I choose to see. Inspiration. Uplifting. Meaning.

The title, if you're still wondering about it at this point, actually refers to the fact that I'm driving myself even further down this path that I'm taking. I see my pot of gold at the end: I just might have to take multiple trips to hell and back for it. Thankfully I've just found myself a lovely quote that brings a bittersweet smile to my lips.

There is no insurmountable solitude. All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. And we must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence, in order to reach forth to the enchanted place where we can dance our clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song - but in this dance or in this song there are fulfilled the most ancient rites of our conscience in the awareness of being human and of believing in a common destiny.
~ Pablo Neruda, Toward the splendid city: Nobel lecture

Yes, I did have fun tonight. Some same-old same-old songs, some strange dance groups, hot as hell. But fun. Anyway how often does one have such a thought-provoking clubbing experience?