Lost in Limbo

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Too tired to write about it.

Still suck, but not as much as the previous lessons. Got to play Ode to Joy (beethoven’s piece). Sounds grand, eh? It’s a 1 hand basic keys song. Eheh.

Finished my 3rd day tagging out of 7. Delivered 3 babies already (could’ve delivered more, but I’m shoving my tagging partner to take some). Only 5 required anyway. Post-call. Yes, they do have actual on-calls for taggers!!! Alternate days pulak tu. Which means I’m on-call tomorrow on my birthday! Dammit!!! I’m gonna make sure I get paid for this.

Started off with that walking exercise. C, D, E, F, G on the right hand and C, B, A, G, F on the left. Easy enough.

Then my tutor went through with me some of the previous lessons. Again, easy enough.

Then she taught me how to play with both hands. I was like "WHAT THA FCUK?!" It. Was. Freakin. Difficult! Sub-cuticular suturing was a stroll in the park compared to the torment of stumbling on the keys. And we were just playing some basic keys!!!

If it weren’t for the air-conditioning, I would’ve sweated like hell. How people read both staves and tap on the right keys at the same time is way beyond me.

Then my half-hour playing the piano was up and I did my theory lesson. Still feel like a kindergarten kid, I say. I even got a homework (which I almost finished in class. I hate homeworks!). While I was filling in the blanks and drawing notes, a girl of about 10-11 years of age came in for her session. My tutor left her to warm-up. The kid was freakin fast! Tutor came back, told her to step it up to the beat of 200, and the girl hammered away.

To tell you the truth, I was seething inside. If my skin were not tanned, I’d be green with envy.

Maybe one year from now I’ll read back this entry and laugh myself silly. Provided my piano skills have improved by then.

Hah! Wait till I buy myself a brand new piano. I bet the little girl has to depend on her mommy to do that! Hah!

Down, boy!

I went to class with much anticipation. Finally, realizing one of my childhood dreams. I couldn’t be further off.

I really felt like I was back in kindergarten! I’m using these beginner books made for children under 7! I got to follow the dotted lines to draw the treble and bass clefs, and I matched the right UFO with its note-count.

I just passed my first degree and now I’m facing this? It’s a lesson at humility, I tell you.

Sounds like I’m complaining, huh? Can’t wait till Friday lesson.

Sure for now I still stagger at Mary had a Little Lamb. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll play Over the Rainbow for you.

Too much Sam-Soon…

My Name is Kim Sam-Soon. Haveta watch this. Soundtrack’s superb as well.

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Phrase to take to heart:

Love like you’ve never been hurt before
Dance like no one is looking
Love like you’ve never been hurt before
Work like you don’t need the money
Sing like no one is listening
Live like today is the last day

Time: 1515 hours.

Listening to: Josh Kelly - Home to me

Apparently that bout of depression is lingering still.

I’ve had so much time today that my mind wandered off thinking. Yes, thinking. Makes me itch to start working again, so that I’ll be too busy to think of things other than what to do with my patients.

I’ve finally come to terms with why I’m a bit off-balance once in a while. I’m frustrated. All that pent-up energy but no outlet.

All my life, life has been served to me if not on diamond-studded gold platter, a gilded, polished brass one then. I’ve never actually taken that Risk, that fork off the main road that would lead me to the unknown. Things I wanted to do, I could do easily, and for those seemingly too difficult, I swerve and look the other way. All my life I’ve depended on my parents to smooth the way for me. Even having worked for 4 months now I still don’t get the concept of saving up for a greater goal. Money has never been that big an issue for me. Sure, I could only dream about getting an expensive car, or buy clothes that amount to more than 1k at the swipe of a credit card. But whenever I run out of money, my parents would top it up for me. Now that I’m working, the money I make is usually enough to last the month but there never is anything left for savings.

I’ve always wanted to do plenty of things in life. I wanted to learn the piano, draw a comic strip, paint a masterpiece, publish a novel or at least short stories. People say I have talent, that I can do all these things, but I’ve never taken anything up seriously to a professional level. Why? The simple truth: fear of rejection.

Try growing up always having to seek your family’s attention and approval. You grow up damaged, although it doesn’t usually show. I did send some of my short stories to Silverfish Books, though I’ve never told anyone about it. Not a single one got published. Some of my works were better than one or two published, but none of my writings reflect my culture. Or so I keep on telling myself. As a result: writer’s block that’s been ongoing for 2 years now. That’s why I refuse to submit my artworks to magazines as insisted by my friends. I’m afraid that the one thing I have myself to credit for, the one thing I love the most, would be taken away from me.

Well…I’ve taken a lesser risk in life today. I’m sacrificing 2 hours a week for this, and for a lazy bum like me, it’s something. It means a whole lot more than that simply because I’ve been wanting to do this since I was small but kept on putting it off. I’m going to regret this later, what with my busy schedules and all.

My piano lessons start tomorrow night.

And I’m planning to save up money to buy a piano.

I was watching My Name is Kim Sam-Soon today while chopping peanuts into halves. 3 series down the line and I got bored. I was going nowhere. There were still plenty more to chop.

Then I browsed through D-Addicts’ forums. Yada, yada, yada (details…who needs em?), I came across usual actor heights. Most of the main actors in these dramas are at least 5′ 11" tall, the usual would be 6′. And the women are mostly of my height. Had a bout of depression. We had a sort-of family gathering last Saturday, and ALL my younger cousins are now taller than I am (not to mention more flesh-y)!

So I proceeded with typing "grow taller" on Mamma.com. Half and eyeblink later all these ‘Grow taller secrets’ links sprang up. I was intrigued with this growth hormone supplement that you have to take 3 times a day. You could grow up to 5 inches in 7 months and you can even be above 25 to do that! (sorry, no pic. Couldn’t find it right now).

Now, I know for fact that once your growth plates have fused together you can’t grow no more. Growth hormone in excess after that will lead you to a not-so-pretty condition called acromegaly. That’s where your bones get thicker instead of longer. Even the tongue and skin get thicker (and greasier). It ain’t pretty. You get the picture.

If only I have a credit card. I’d buy the supplements in no time.

Kean Khang…your thoughts on this?

Sigh. I’m depressed.

     Going to Ampang Park that Sunday was almost pointless. I couldn’t find the Soundforge CD software I wanted, which means I have to go to Low Yatt to look for it. Bummer.

     I could’ve went home straight since I had nothing better to do and I only had around RM30 in my wallet. Instead I hung around there and the comic shop at City Square for almost 4 hours. Home is not one of my favorite hangouts, especially during the weekends.

     By the time I stepped into the LRT it was already 6 something. As expected, it was a sardine can. People jostled in the same time as some trying to worm their way out. If this was the pink Bas Mini, the situation would’ve been exactly the same. The only thing lacking was the conductor ordering everyone to pack in while trying to make ample space for some pretty girls to go in.

     I went in and waited for the door to close for me to lean on. The whole LRT was packed and noisy with the presence of humanity. Which I drowned out with a button. My iPod was turned on full-blast with The Killers singing All These Things that I’ve Done. I pretended not to notice people standing close to me stealing glances at me - or more precisely, at my earphones blasting like stereo speakers.

     A lot of passengers went off around Keramat area; when we got to the Jelatek stop, I finally had room to breathe. I leaned against one of the partitions and skipped a song. I was not in the mood for Hotel California.

     It was when I looked up that I noticed her.

     An old makcik had just entered the LRT with full, big plastic bags slung around both arms and a girl about my age got up from her seat and offered it to the makcik. Other seat occupants, mostly boys and young men, did not even look their way. I’m not the type to offer my seat, either. That’s why I prefer to stand in busses and LRTs even when there are seats available.

     At first glance, she was just like any other girl. Except maybe prettier. But the way she smiled at the makcik was familiar. Somehow I knew I’d met her somewhere.

     Rina.

     I stopped breathing for a few moments. When recognition settled in, I gave myself a half-smile. Even after all these years she still had the same effect on me. The only girl in school who at least made an effort to invite me along in social activities.

     She stepped out of the LRT at the Wangsa Maju stop. I never knew she lived in that area. There were two more stations till my stop. For a moment I felt tempted to follow her out to say hello or something. I took a step forward.

     The doors closed slowly. I stood right in front of the doors watching her through the windows as the LRT resumed its motion.

     She wouldn’t have remembered me anyway.

Look around. What do you see? That’s right. Nothing much, huh? Do you even feel that strong wind blowing from outside? It’s cold, isn’t it? Cold and dark and gloomy. Exactly your kind of place. Can you feel the insecurity creeping in, like small, needle-legged spiders crawling from the ground and onto your skin? Don’t kid yourself. You feel it, and you hate the feeling.

You look back. The mouth of the cave is well within sight. You can even see some of your friends hanging out at the camping site. Don’t you feel like turning back? It’s warm and bright, and more importantly, it’s safe. You turn and look at the other end. Can you see them? How can you not? The light coming from the end of the tunnel bares it all. You see two of your friends jumping like excited monkeys. You hear the whole lot of them laughing out loud, their voices reverberating throughout the cavern. They’re just, what, fifty, sixty steps ahead? Not that far, come to think of it. And they’re already at the exit. You look back again. You’re more than halfway through. You put your left foot out. Then your right one. You move forward to join the fun.

Not even ten steps and you stop again. Feel the insecurity? It’s nice, isn’t it? Making your steps heavier as you go on. Your heart beats faster; your breathing is getting shallow and uneven. You feel the tightness in your chest. You remember this feeling so well. You’re scared, aren’t you? No? Maybe? Just a little? Come on, who are we kidding? You are scared. Will you turn back or call out for the others to wait for you? You don’t have to answer that question. It’s obvious. Pride is keeping your lips and feet where they are, isn’t it? You’re too proud to backtrack, and you don’t want to trouble your friends in front by making them wait. Is that your right foot moving forward? Your choice, your consequence.

You stop, unsure of where to go. To your right the ground gets higher, ever nearing the low ceiling, but you’re not sure if it’s a dead end or not. To your right the creek flows slowly and quietly, oh-so-harmless. But the bank leading to the tunnel mouth looks uneven, a bit unsafe. You make the obvious choice. One more mistake for you to jot down in your endless record of screw-ups. Now is the exact time to call yourself stupid for not bringing a torchlight. Stupid. Are you listening? Stupid. That’s you. Who in his right mind would take a hike into this dark natural tunnel all alone and without a torchlight? But come to think of it, your mind is never quite right, isn’t it?

You turn back. The entrance is still there, and still tempting. But knowing you, that’s not where your feet will go. The bank it is. You walk more slowly this time. The tunnel floor is uneven and a bit slippery. Your friends are already outside jumping into the water. The splashing sound is more than welcome to you. You want to hear yourself making that sound. You want to be out of this dark place so bad. You quicken your pace, but just a little. You’re stupid, but not reckless after all.

Why are you stopping this time? Oh. The opposite bank. It looks so much safer, doesn’t it? The creek is not so wide, and if it’s just like at the camping site, you’ll only be wet up to your ankles. Tempting. You call out to your friends outside. Do you cross? Is it safe? No reply, only laughter and splashes. You call out again, but louder this time. There are replies, all right, but not the kind you’re expecting. Soft screeching sounds greet you from above. You can’t count how many individual sounds are making the noisy screeches. Bats, hundreds or thousands of them perhaps. No need to get defensive. No, they don’t creep you out. You’re not scared of them like many people would be. But you stop hollering out of respect. This is their place, not yours, and you’re agitating them with your loud presence.

You’re standing at the edge of the bank. Decisions, decisions. Your instinct says keep on walking where it’s dry. You do the opposite. Harmless. Shallow like at the camping site. That’s what you think.

The moment you step into the water you step out of time. After a second that lasts forever, you realize something is horribly wrong. This is not supposed to happen. Why are you chest-deep in cold water? Why is your left hand grabbing a rock so desperately, like your life depends on it? And why is your right hand, totally submerged in the water, holding tight your towel and fresh set of clothes, all obviously drenched and dirty? And what is it you feel under your feet, slimy, slippery, soft and floating in the water? What is happening? What is the meaning of all this? Stupid! Why didn’t you listen to your instinct? You never do, you stupid, stupid man! Just look at the predicament you’ve put yourself into this time. Predicament. Who came out with that word? Do you even know what it means? Stupidstupidstupid!

SHUT UP!!!

I’ve entertained my inner voice long enough. My left arm is aching and my feet cannot feel solid ground. The bed must be deeper than chest-level. The obliquely outcropping rock I’m holding on to feels slippery and slimy. I assess my surroundings. I’ve lost my right slipper and by reflex, my foot is already feeling for it. There are slime, sludge and soft things floating in the water, but no slipper. After a few seconds of blind groping, my practical side takes over. Forget the slipper. I can afford a new one. I look at the bank from where I stepped off. In the darkness I make out its shape and position. It’s not a bank, it’s a small cliff! I sling all my drenched clothes across my shoulder and reach out for the jutting rock. Using all my strength, I haul myself up, heavy wet clothes and all. I sense myself groping blindly, desperate to be on dry, solid ground.

Now I’m on the bank, panting, aching all over, and drenched chest down. Fuck my pride. I call out for help, for someone to come back with a torchlight, for someone to come.

All of the sudden I feel so alone, so helpless.

Only the bats reply.

     Have you ever been so immersed in a novel that you are actually there experiencing everything? Have you watched a show so captivating that you root for certain characters while loathing some others?

     I’ve just finished reading Stronghold by Melanie Rawn (my 2nd or third time round, cant remember). It’s the 4th out of 6 books. At the end of the title Rohan, the protagonist since the first book, died, leaving Sioned, his Sunrunner High Princess alone and desolate. It’s time for their son, Pol to be the main character, as 1 generation gives way to the next.

     But still, it sucks when he died. The characters live and breathe inside me, and when someone I’m "attached to" dies…you get my meaning. It just sucks.

     Same thing goes for shows. I like watching Korean dramas. Although averaging about 16 to 20 episodes each, and most of them get draggy halfway through, plus they typically have complex love triangles (sometimes squares, pentagons or more), the actors portray their characters well, so well in fact, that when I finish watching the last episode, I’d go "Crap. It’s over. Now what the hell am I supposed to do with my time? What happens to them after this?"

     So much so I sometimes dream of extended or alternate storylines! (vivid imagination, remember?) I’ve just finished watching all 16 episodes of "My name is Kim Sam-Soon" which I downloaded from the net. (Yes, I did finish the book and the show the same day. I needed to pass time while waiting for the download process to finish. 700mb per file, beb!). An excellent romantic comedy, which I’d recommend to anyone and everyone, just as I’ve recommended "Full House". About a pastry chef who’s turning 30, plump and average looking (although she’s sometimes cute), luckless in love, and looking for love all the same. I’ve read the reviews (English ones). The show just finished airing its final episode last month or so, and 48% of Korean household tuned in on the show. Sam-Soon left a strong impression, partly because it reached out to single women of late 20’s and in their 30’s, but from watching it myself, it’s because of a strong storyline and good character portrayal and development as well. A bit mushy and a bit cliched at times, but it was wholesomely entertaining. I think I may go for a second run at it.

     BTW, I’m on in-between-postings leave. That’s why I have time enough to do all these meaningless stuff!

     Babbling. Back to my main point. Now that the show’s over, I’m like "Oh man, what am I supposed to look forward to tomorrow?" I’m downloading another series, but that’s beside the point. That’s the bad part about getting too attached to the characters and the show itself. The good part would be that I’m inspired. See how I’m ranting on and on? I’m having writer’s block yet here I am yapping away! I feel like drawing, I feel like writing a story, I feel like taking piano lessons, but a small nagging part of me wish for that special someone so that I could fight and make up with her, hang around, annoy each other, just like in the shows and dramas.

     Melodramatic. I’d best be off.

Rina

     It’s amazing how people can change so much and yet stay the same. Time does that, I guess. I was checking out Hooverphonic CD at Tower Records when I saw Liyana, my old schoolmate, with her boyfriend. Even having lost touch for almost 3 years now we immediately recognized each other. She’s skinnier than I last saw her, her hair brown and curly, and so much prettier. I said as much.

     "You look exactly the same! I envy you!" This she said with a wide grin, which, as I recall, was exactly the same as it used to be.

     Liyana introduced me to her boyfriend, Jas, who did not look quite Chinese (his father’s Malay, as I later found out). He’s tall, fair as most Chinese are, and has a smile that you can’t easily forget. I have to admit I was a little bit jealous at that time. The girl has a cute boyfriend; who wouldn’t be jealous of that?

     The three of us had lunch at Chilli’s, where Liyana and I had ample time to catch up on old times and friends. Jasmeen I heard is in her 3rd year of Medical school in Ireland. Maya is expecting her first child (I’m still a bit annoyed she didn’t invite me to her wedding). Kim is doing her practicals in one of the hotels in Bukit Bintang area. So she really was serious when she said she wanted to be a chef.

     We traded stories and numbers as Liyana’s boyfriend listened in silent amusement. He pretended not to pay attention to what we were saying, but he smiled once in a while when he heard something he thought was funny. Which was fine by me…

     "Wonder what happened to Adrian?"

     Adrian…Adrian. It took me a few seconds to recall his face. "The guy who sat near the back door and refused to participate in our class activities?"

     "Yeah. Wonder if he’s even cuter now."
     A sputter followed by a mock glower. So Jas was the possessive type, huh? All three of us could not help but laugh aloud.

     We had such a good time that day. Jas insisted on paying for lunch. It was almost 6 when I took the LRT home. It feels good to get to live back the golden days of highschool even for 1 afternoon. Liyana made me promise to call her as often as I could, a promise which I intend to keep.