Comatose Me: The Opening.

First and foremost, what you are about to read is not a hopeful memoir of a survivor, nor is it an autobiographical piece with a remotely happy ending.

This will not enrich you, nor make anything in your life any better. It will not cheer you up, and it will most certainly not bring a smile to your face. If you are snooping around in here hoping to find a tale of courage, of fighting spirit, of the human will to survive, you will be disappointed.

What you are about to read has no happy ending, because the truth is nobody wants a happy ending. The same way we would rather hear a newsfeed about a serial killer than about the current social-political situation in Indonesia, the same way we would rather read an interview of a victim of child abuse and incestual rape than read the testimony of a pious Buddhist attaining nirvana, we are all vicarious.

It’s funny how all our favourite bedtime stories from our childhood end with the happily-ever-after cliché, when they are almost always far from so. Tell me that Hansel and Gretel is not a dark tale about cannibalism and violent revenge. Tell me that Rumpelstiltskin is not a cold metaphor about the devil’s wager and sadomasochism. Tell me that Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is not a satirical stab in the back of religion. Tell me that Rapunzel is not a bleak representation of, once again, the devil’s wager and revengeful bloodlust.

The truth is we are all vicarious. Mere animals craving blood and violence. We don’t want to hear about how you scored a pair of tickets to a soccer game. We don’t want to hear about how well your daughter is doing at school. We don’t want to hear about how your investment in Marvel paid off triple.

We want to hear your sobs about your cousin who’s dying of leukemia with six weeks left to live. We want to hear about your paralysed uncle who’s got nothing left in this world but you, and about how you’re too far under in your pile of bills and debts to do anything about it. We want to hear about gang rape and mass murders. We want to hear about mountain-splitting earthquakes and land-clearing mudslides, about super-massive floods and city-devastating typhoons. We want more violence, more pain, more suffering.

The truth is we don’t want to hear about happy endings. We want to hear about pain and violence and blood and gore.

Someone once told me that in our times of hardship, of pain, of suffering, of hopelessness and of sheer, complete, utter despair, we can look to God for strength. We can pray, and he will empower us with the will to push on. We can meditate on the bible, and it will give us the knowledge to make the right choices so that everything will fall in it’s place. We can surrender ourselves to the spirit of God, and we will be guided onto the right path, the path that he has chosen for us.

Well, whoever told me that was a liar.

All I’ve learnt in my life thus far, however long (or short) it has been, was that if you put your future into the hands of God, you would be disappointed. Very, very disappointed.

What I’ve learnt in my life thus far is that God left our country a long time ago. He left, bags and all, when he saw the sad state we had allowed ourselves to backslide into. He left, without a trace, when he saw that his beloved creations had turned out to become like us. Filthy, corrupt, indifferent animals. Obnoxious, self-centric, power-hungry animals.
We were all made in the image of God.

What you are reading is not a Live Strong-wannabe self-help chunk of encouraging words. This is not a compilation of notes on how to better your life, nor is it a list of healthy coping mechanisms for your disease. What you are reading is not written by a survivor of a potentially life-threatening virus, nor is it written by a recovering addict who has yet to relapse from his compulsive behaviour. This is not written by the gentle voice in your head telling you to stay in the fight, to hold on to the end of your rope, to not give up no matter how hard you fall flat on your face. I am not your mentor, I am not your counselor, and I sure has hell am not the guardian angel in your life reminding you that there is that much more to live for in this world, because the truth is, there isn’t.

In God we trust.

I hate to break it to you, this way especially, but I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. What you’ve got here is a blatant, unadulterated statement of fact, an acknowledgement of the truth, the truth that we are all knee-deep in this shit-hole together, and that we are all going to stay here for a long, long time. What you’ve got here is a little reminder that we are all swimming in the same pool of filth and gore, running around in the same maze of mice and cheese, circling the same bare tree, frozen solid by winter chill and dry, acrid air. We have to be reminded, it seems, that we are all maggots crawling around in the same infected sores, all vultures killing one another over the same slab of dead flesh, all leeches biting off the same god-damned leg. This is who we are, and I am not here to hide it.

Love thy neighbour as thyself.

You could call this a confession, a testimony, or even a desperate plea for attention, and it wouldn't matter. You could try and sugar-coat this and call it a bold, courageous, heart-bearing, soul-stripping reflection of myself, and it wouldn’t matter. The truth is nothing in here will ever matter. Nothing you do will ever, ever matter. In juxtaposition to the entirety of the universe, our lives are but merely flashes of time, coming and going in a split second. What we do in our lifetimes will not matter. The truth is, God in his entirely and omnipotence does not give a shit about us.

I’m sorry.

Pardon me for digressing so, but I'd like to also mention that this is not a chronological compilation of personal events, nor is a neat, orderly diary that contains my most personal secrets and innermost thoughts. This is the result of me penning whatever comes to mind as I go about my days. This is me writing whatever the fuck I want, in whatever order I want. This is me being me, and if this offends you, then I’d recommend that you stop right now. You don’t need to read this. You really don’t.

This is going to offend you.

I repeat. This is going to offend you.

What you are about to read is going to remind you that the world you live in is not rainbows and butterflies. It is going to darken your every Sunday morning. It is going to make you live your every waking moment knowing that we are all goners. It is going to be me telling you in your face that we are all fucked. We are all host to parasites. We are all condoms stuffed and stretched to their breaking points with demons, infected with the most poisonous, most vicious reptiles we ever laid our eyes on.

Our bodies are the temples of God.

This is not my diary. This is not my confession. This sure as hell is not my plea for pity. I would rather you call this my eulogy. My little compilation of funeral talk. This is who I want to be remembered as, who I want to go down in history as, and if this bothers you, you should stop right now, while you still can.

No, really. Go do something that makes a difference. Go do something that you can be proud of. Or even better, go so something that will make your parents look back and know that they had made the right choice by having you.

I repeat. You do not need to hear this.

Consider this your final warning.

* * *

Just a little experimentation on a multiple-part story that will take a while to complete, considering the fact that my slavery to one of the most authoritarian organizations in the world won't allow for regular updates nor remotely inspired moments.

The Longest Stride.

And just when I thought that it was impossible, I just discovered teh interweb in Taiwan. Awesomite. Am at the hotel lobby now, trying my best to evesdrop on a couple of Taiwanese folks babbling on in the most complex form of hokkien I've ever heard in my life.

Anyhow, I digress.

It's been what, 3 weeks since I last saw home? Not a cool feeling. Closest I've ever been was during the last trip to Cambridge back in 2007, and that was exponentially more bearable, since I actually spent the time with my friends having fun and learning stuff that actually means something in my life, as opposed to the past 3 weeks of pure mental torture in the god-damned mountains in the countryside of Melliniloobi (obviously changed to protect the integrity of this open secret that is supposed to be my training ground).

If I have had any say at all, I would not have chosen to go in the first place, but now that it's all said and done, I've actually had a rather memorable experience, albeit one that I'd not necessarily like to revisit. It was tough, no doubt, but I'd say that it has made me a stronger person, in every sense of the word.

Sure, scaling the mountains during training killed my knees and pumped fire into my lungs; sure, the cold winter season combined with the high altitude left me shivering all night, every night, praying that somehow something will provide a fraction of warmth; sure, the long stretches outfield without a change of clothes and a word from a loved one left me with the heaviest feeling I have ever felt in my heart; I have learnt from it all, if that's even remotely imaginable.

I've learnt that what doesn't kill you does indeed make you stronger, and that sometimes, all it takes is a thought of a loved one to push you over that slope, to help you make it through the night.

I've also learnt to look on the bright side of things (yes, for real).

If I could take home one story to tell the world, it would be this one magical moment I had the privelledge to experience. Our platoon were on a defense mission, and that meant climbing one of the highest hills in the region (one that makes Bukit Timah Hill look like a speed bump) in our full combat loads to harbour for the night.

I recall very distinctly bitching to myself every step of the way, asking myself with every difficult step up the slopes, how I don't deserve this shit, and how I feel like reporting sick and calling it quits.

We took about an hour to reach the top, and when we did, I was humbled by an extraordinary view of what looked like mountains upon mountains that streched way beyond what I could see, flanked by distant city lights and tall pylons that glowed in the brightest white I have ever laid my eyes on.

In that one single moment, every burning muscle and sprained joint in my body was comforted by a view that will stay in my head for a long, long time, if not indefinitely. For that one single moment, I stood in awe of what lay before me. There was a slight mist, and I could feel the cold air burn my cheeks; I was on top of the fucking world.

(Alright, that sounded extremely cheesy, and I'll admit that I spiced up the whole experience exponentially, but I'm in the mood now, so forgive me if I'm blabbering.)

The bottom line is, I'm glad to say that that experience has evoked in me an inclination (perhaps passion would be a better word) to experience such rewarding (I don't know what else to use here) experiences again, and I made a pact with a buddy of mine to scale Mount Kinabalu together, around 4, 000m in height, roughly ten times of what I had scaled (which comepletely and unrelentlessly killed me as it is). I just hope I'll have the balls to honour that pact.

I just scrolled up and noticed that this is a pretty long and boring entry; I shall attempt to salvage the situation by ending this here. I might continue when I eventually get back to sunny Singapore, but I prolly won't be in the mood.

So yea, I'll be c-c-coming home in a couple of days. Yay me.

Half-time.

So I'm gonna leave town for a while for overseas training (in Taiwan, to be exact). Not looking forward to it immensely (nothing exciting about foreign jungles), but still nervous anyhow.

On a side note, I've been feeling rather empty these few days/weeks/months (if you haven't already noticed, in which case you must surely be blind). Not quite sure why. Might be army, might be my inability to pursue my interests for whatever reasons, might be my personal problems/obstacles/difficulties, might be a mid-life crisis (at 19!), might be the weather. I don't know. I'm just hoping that this out-of-country experience will do me some good (or let me breathe some fresh air, at least).

Wish me luck. Till then (a month from now), I'll be missing you guys.

Addicted to that Rush.

Tonight, I witnessed passion in it's purest, most unadulterated form.

Tonight, I was graced by a splendid display of pure art.

Tonight, I understood what it meant to connect emotion and music.

Tonight, I saw a marriage of four musical gods born to play together.

Tonight, I saw a group of four old friends waving their final goodbyes as they sang their hearts out.

Tonight, I saw Mr. Big.

Shadows in the Fall.

I'm sitting by the corridor, and it's lit a brilliant white. The florescent stings my eyes.

It's cold, so fucking cold.

I hate them. Someone turn them off.

I want to sit in the dark.

I want to sit in the deepest, blackest darkness. I want to sit in the shadows, the warm, warm shadows, where I can't see, and where I will never be seen. I want to sit somewhere where I can disappear, and never be found.

The lights sting. They burn. They light up everything around me, and I hate it.

I want to sit in the absence of light. I want to sit in the absence of sound. I want to sit in the absence of everything.

I want to sit where there is nothing to remind me of who I am, of who I used to be, and of who I'll become. I want to sit where no one will ever look at me, where no one will judge me, where no one will say a word about me, or to me. I want to sit alone. Without light. Without sound.

The lights are still on, and they piss the fuck outta me.

In the light, I can see everything. I can see my past, my present, my future. I do not like what I see.

In the light, I'm bare, naked to the world and exposed to everything in it. I'm exposed to every lie I've ever told, every grudge I've ever borne, and every fucking heart I've ever broken. In the light, I can see clearly, and it disturbs me. It shoves my footsteps in my face, and I hate it. I fucking hate it.

I don't want to look at myself, cus I know I won't like what I'll see. I don't want to hear the sound of my voice, cus it disgusts me. I don't want to think, cus every sentence that forms in my head disgusts me. The voices in my head disgust me. My eyes disgust me. My feet, my hands, my fingers, they disgust me. Everything disgusts me.

Someone turn off the lights.

I want to sit in the dark, where I am most comfortable. In the dark, I feel at home. I feel empowered. Empowered with honesty. Empowered with pure, unadulterated sincerity. Empowered with a voice that I am comfortable with, a sight that I can bare to see, a thought I can bring myself to think. In the dark, I am familiar. I am all-knowing, I am all-powerful, I am all-encompassing. In the dark, I can be whoever the fuck I want to be. I want to be powerful. I want to be famous. I want to be tall and muscular with great skin. I want to be your Jenny Craig, your David Gilmour, your Jesus.

The lights. The god-damned lights.

I want to be invisible. I want to be gone. I want to be gone. I want to be gone. Dead to the fucking world. Dead to my past, my present, and my future. I want to disappear, and never be found.

I want to sit where I'm alone, without a single soul to speak to, without a job to do, without a thought to think. I want to sit where I cannot do these things, for they scare me. They scare me. They scare me.

My every sight scares me. My every word scares me. My every thought scares me.

God, someone turn off the lights. They scare me. They scare me. They scare me.

They scare me.

They scare me.

They scare me.

Right Where It Belongs.

So I was at Robyn's last night, along with Feng, and we had what I'd like to call, in childish terms, a heart-to-heart talk. Between then and now, nothing much had changed; we're still living in our different stages of life, we're still moving on in our different stages of life, and we're still accepting and beginning to understand what it means to be in those stages of our lives.

A little something had, though. I felt a certain comfort, a certain reassurance that, out there, at least someone (or someones) still gives a shit. And that makes me smile, which is an occurance that is becoming rather rare these days.

Last night made me think about friendship, and what it really does to people. I remember when we first met, about a year ago, with us randomly bumping into each other in the canteen extension. I remember our little gatherings, where we would make fun of each other and laugh together. I remember our study sessions, which always start out with great conviction, ZOMG-I-shall-study-for-184387589237-hours, but always ended up a little less than productive. I remember our little talks, where we would dig deeper and offer words of encouragement/advice to each other.

Fast forward to today, and things are quite different (naturally, of course). We're all facing our own challenges, trying to overcome our own obstacles, fighting our own demons. Some of us know where we're going, some of us are lost. Some of us are happy, some of us are sad. Some of us are doing well, some of us are not.

That being said, I wouldn't change a thing. I don't wish to turn back time to when things were alot simpler. I don't wish for perfection, nor idealism. I don't wish for regular get-togethers with all of us always being there, always ready to meet, always having fun and laughing our heads off.

I'm happy now, really. (Wow, that surprised me.) I'm beginning to understand that what makes life what it is is not the good memories, the happy moments, the fun times, but the hard ones, the ones that depress us and makes us sad, the ones that challenge us and strain our relationships.

I'm beginning to understand that what makes friendship is not meeting regularly and celebrating each other's birthdays, but having that someone you would want to call whenever you're feeling down, hearing that honest voice you know will try to understand and offer sincere advice, speaking to that patient and unjudging listening ear you know you can rely on.

Now that's friendship, and I'm happy to say that I'm right where it belongs.

Electric.

My knee hurts.

My knee FUCKING hurts.

I swear, if you give me one more ounce of shit, just one more, I will snap and I will blow your fucking brains out.

Good night.