Monday, October 04, 2010
Friday, July 09, 2010
Nike Cup Final
It was like something out of a football commercial.
You see an urban landscape – dull, concrete gray, listless, but it promised more. It was the perfect foil for something to happen – something magical, spectacular. Two teams of five boys, one team in red, the other in blue, step into the rectangular court, as a solitary ball rests stationary in its middle. The rock soundtrack in the background turns up the tempo.
A player in red kicks off. A cheeky backheel finds a teammate. With a deft flick, the latter evades one tackle. An elegant, Zidane-worthy 360-degree spin allows him to evade another. Free of his markers, the player unselfishly releases his Captain down the right wing with an intelligent through ball. The Captain releases a powerful shot…
Goal!
You half-expect this sequence to cut to the logo of the brand behind the commercial, but all that fills your vision next are scenes of celebration and dejection (for those in blue). Further behind, a large statue of global football’s biggest superstar Cristiano Ronaldo looks down at proceedings, while a black Nike-themed stage, backed by a graffiti mural designed by street artists from Skope, stands in stylish contrast to the historic Kallang Stadium that looms large in the background.
No, this is no televsion commercial. This is the very real, very exhilarating finals of the Nike Cup 2010.
A very bad statue of Cristiano Ronaldo. With cameltoe. Eww.
(From L-R) Samad, Ramly, Albert, Gilberto Nagini and Ali.
And their friends, Osman, Sidek and Stan Jallalabad. I really have no idea who they are.
As the kids played, Tabular rocked with Muse's Starlight, and Kings of Leon's Use Somebody and Sex on Fire.
And after that, The Great Spy Experiment took to the stage.
This shot's for Zat. She's 6 years old.
Ada proves what we all have known for a long while: she can't play soccer.
While I assure TLFC that I haven't lost my touch.
The best striker to ever play for Singapore, and Fandi Ahmad.
Later, Fandi put to good use what I taught him in an exhibition game. Indra Sahdan, Aide Iskandar, David Lee and Fazrul Nawwaz were also in attendance.
You see an urban landscape – dull, concrete gray, listless, but it promised more. It was the perfect foil for something to happen – something magical, spectacular. Two teams of five boys, one team in red, the other in blue, step into the rectangular court, as a solitary ball rests stationary in its middle. The rock soundtrack in the background turns up the tempo.
A player in red kicks off. A cheeky backheel finds a teammate. With a deft flick, the latter evades one tackle. An elegant, Zidane-worthy 360-degree spin allows him to evade another. Free of his markers, the player unselfishly releases his Captain down the right wing with an intelligent through ball. The Captain releases a powerful shot…
Goal!
You half-expect this sequence to cut to the logo of the brand behind the commercial, but all that fills your vision next are scenes of celebration and dejection (for those in blue). Further behind, a large statue of global football’s biggest superstar Cristiano Ronaldo looks down at proceedings, while a black Nike-themed stage, backed by a graffiti mural designed by street artists from Skope, stands in stylish contrast to the historic Kallang Stadium that looms large in the background.
No, this is no televsion commercial. This is the very real, very exhilarating finals of the Nike Cup 2010.
(From L-R) Samad, Ramly, Albert, Gilberto Nagini and Ali.
And their friends, Osman, Sidek and Stan Jallalabad. I really have no idea who they are.
As the kids played, Tabular rocked with Muse's Starlight, and Kings of Leon's Use Somebody and Sex on Fire.
And after that, The Great Spy Experiment took to the stage.
This shot's for Zat. She's 6 years old.
Ada proves what we all have known for a long while: she can't play soccer.
While I assure TLFC that I haven't lost my touch.
The best striker to ever play for Singapore, and Fandi Ahmad.
Later, Fandi put to good use what I taught him in an exhibition game. Indra Sahdan, Aide Iskandar, David Lee and Fazrul Nawwaz were also in attendance.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Harris Bin Potter And The Stoned Philosopher
The Boy Who Tak Mati Siol!
Harris bin Potter is not your average boy.
For one, he is an orphan. His parents, Pakcik and Makcik Potter, had died of very bad food poisoning when he was only a year old. At least, that was what his aunt, Cik Petom, told him.
"It was very bad satay from Johor," she had told Harris. "I've tried the satay from that stall before. Tak sedap lah! Tastes like pantat!"
When Harris heard this speech, he wondered two things: one, how Cik Petom even knew how pantat tasted like, and two, why she didn't drop dead when she too had eaten that infernal satay from Johor.
Indeed, Harris hated the nasi lemak out of his aunt, and not without reason.
Since the unfortunate death of his parents, Harris had been under the care of his Uncle Pandir and his Aunt Petom. In actuality, 'under the care' is a grossly inaccurate statement. Harris was more often than not under their only son, Dumbass. Literally.
And this was a particularly unpleasant situation because: one, nobody likes to be sat on, and two, because Dumbass weighed a hundred kilos.
And when Dumbass was not sitting on him, Harris was badly mistreated by his aunt and uncle. They would talk rudely to him, not let him watch television and make him do all the house chores. For a boy of eleven years, in an age of Playstation 3 and where TV no longer had Aksi Mat Yoyo, this was a foul, miserable existence.
One reason why his relatives abuse him is perhaps because Harris had special abilities. No, it wasn't that he was particularly good at sepak takraw, or could preside over a void deck soccer match, or could play the guitar particularly well.
What made Harris really special was that he was a wizard.
He wasn't exactly a full-fledged one yet, but he was learning to be one at Hog-Tak-Halal-What School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a secret school of magic situated in The PIE. Since this story is written from a Singaporean perspective, most people assume that the school is somewhere along the famed Pan-Island Expressway. The school is however, located on a real pie, called The PIE - block letters to highlight its significance as a locale. Where The PIE is, only witches and wizards would know. How a grand castle could stand erect (hee hee) on a squishy pie (hee hee), only witches and wizards would know. How nobody ever noticed a bloomin' castle in Singapore, again, only witches and wizards would know.
--------------------------------------------
Harris' first day there was literally the most magical experience in his life, hitherto. The school had sent their janitor, the half-giant Hamid, to retrieve Harris from the residence of his Uncle Pandir's.
The above-mentioned retrieval had been a fiasco. Even that notion would be debated as an understatement in some quarters. Uncle Pandir, an air-conditioning technician (a cruder term for his job would be 'air-con repairer'), had mocked Hamid's lowly and common-grade occupation as a school janitor. Hamid furiously corrected Uncle Pandir, saying that he is a 'Hygiene Officer In A Magical School' and that his duties included 'carefully arranging the magic brooms in the right closets'.
Uncle Pandir remained lost in thought for a good two minutes before saying, "I carefully arranged my magic broom in your mother's closet last night."
Hamid had roared loudly at the insult to his mother, while Aunt shrieked even louder at the thought of her husband cheating on her with a half-giant's mother.
Hamid then withdrew a singular satay stick, pointed it at Dumbass, and waved it as he exclaimed, "Mangkuk, siol!" Harris could only watch, half in awe and half in delighted amusement, as Dumbass shrunk, and transformed into a singular brown porcelain bowl.
With that, Hamid grabbed Harris, and fled.
Harris was still laughing as Hamid reached the outskirts of the HDB estate.
"Don't worry," Hamid said. "He'll be back to normal in..." Hamid paused, and was obviously counting in his head. The half-giant finally held up two fingers - "In three minutes."
"I'm not worried about that la," Harris said, smiling. He was exhilarated at finally being away from his Uncle Pandir, his Aunt Petom and his dumbass cousin Dumbass. "Where are we going from here?"
"I'm going to send you back to where you truly belong - the world of magic. And your first stop, Hog-Tak-Halal-What."
"Hamid, I know it's tak halal. Hogs, boars - pigs. All tak halal."
"No, Harris. It's a school. Hog-Tak-Halal-What School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Well, it's a stupid name for a school," Harris muttered under his breath.
Hamid continued, "I took the liberty of getting you your school essentials. It will be waiting for you in school. I studied there too, Harris. You'd love it there."
Harris held on to Hamid as he magically teleported them away from Tampines, where his relatives had stayed, with his (Hamid's) magical satay stick. Magical teleportation was an uncomfortable experience, and Harris closed his eyes as he braced himself for the trip.
When he opened his eyes again, he was on a winding dirt path that cut into a forest and led to a grand stone castle.
Harris gazed, open-mouthed in awe, at the majestic castle. It rose high above the trees, reaching for the clouds but failing. Still, it was probably higher than Bukit Timah.
"Welcome to The PIE," Hamid said grandly. "And before you, is the magnificent Hog-Tak-Halal-What School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Harris stepped toward it, but his feet sank into brown, soft, squishy soil.
"It's a mudPIE," Hamid told Harris a few seconds too late.
------------------------------------------
Before Harris went further, Hamid stopped him again. "I'm guessing your aunt and uncle didn't tell you, Harris. Your parents were murdered by a dark and powerful wizard."
"So he was the one who made the satay? Damn that bastard from Johor!"
"No! No! There was no satay from Johor involved. This wizard personally killed your parents!" Hamid looked kindly into Harris' face. Right now, it was a face that wore a pained expression.
"What was his name?" The words came out slowly from Harris, through a veil of controlled rage.
"Oldermat," Hamid replied.
"Which mat? Who's he older than?"
"No, that's his name. Oldermat. Thing is, on the night he tried to kill your parents, he also tried to kill you. But he failed. He failed, Harris! Like a Mat trying to do advanced Mathematics, he failed. And people say he's now dead, thanks to you."
Harris only stared wordlessly as he tried to digest all of this.
"You're the boy who tak mati, siol!"
Friday, June 25, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Seamlessly Torn
The reason why I am silent or use scrypted words
Is the gulf between
Who I am the second before she speaks
And who I will be three heartbeats after seeing you
It is the difference
Between skin and rain
Between life and light
Between like and fall
Between chance and Chancery
Between angels and barbers
It is the essence
Between page twenty-eight of
The Book of Eternal Slum
And page 14 of Ber
The reason why I am silent or use worded scrypts
Is the gulf between
The ghost of Venus in her
And the ghost of ghosts you're not
Is the gulf between
Who I am the second before she speaks
And who I will be three heartbeats after seeing you
It is the difference
Between skin and rain
Between life and light
Between like and fall
Between chance and Chancery
Between angels and barbers
It is the essence
Between page twenty-eight of
The Book of Eternal Slum
And page 14 of Ber
The reason why I am silent or use worded scrypts
Is the gulf between
The ghost of Venus in her
And the ghost of ghosts you're not
Friday, May 07, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Malheureux Aussi/The Quixotic Quatrain
Yesterday, I closed
a chapter in my life after a month's manic mulling,
only to find that it
has been open for far too long as it is.
a chapter in my life after a month's manic mulling,
only to find that it
has been open for far too long as it is.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Je Me Creusais Mon Grave
Promise to Crystle:
If I do not text Crystle by Saturday, the 10th of April, I will have to buy her 2 rounds of drinks.
If I do not text Crystle by Saturday, the 10th of April, I will have to buy her 2 rounds of drinks.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tabula Rasa
I had a dream last night.
The world was ending in a frenzy of people unmoved. They stand there, too fearful to move under a sky of pure white, above a ground that did not know who or what it was anymore..
I seemed to be the only one moving, moving between maniacally stationary bodies, looking for people I knew. I found the five purest knights sitting calmly on a bench. I looked up at them in all the love and adoration I've had for them in the eternity of almost 10 years. They looked down on me, upset and disappointed at the life I've made for myself. My stomach lurched, my mouth dried, and something got stuck in my throat and decided it liked it there.
Two technicoloured beacons shot from the sky, and all of humanity jumped to avoid it. I dropped the book I had in my hand, and the beacons turned towards me, and I immediately dropped to the ground, in a fetal position. I didn't dare to look at the beacons - they were like the eyes of a mentor whose teachings I had discarded for navigating through minds like Hers and to shine a dark black light in my head.
I had sins, but not today. Today, I had fetid, naked darkness.
I do not know what my dream meant, but there was a presence in it I have never felt before. One that convinced me with my eyes that the dream was real.
The world was ending in a frenzy of people unmoved. They stand there, too fearful to move under a sky of pure white, above a ground that did not know who or what it was anymore..
I seemed to be the only one moving, moving between maniacally stationary bodies, looking for people I knew. I found the five purest knights sitting calmly on a bench. I looked up at them in all the love and adoration I've had for them in the eternity of almost 10 years. They looked down on me, upset and disappointed at the life I've made for myself. My stomach lurched, my mouth dried, and something got stuck in my throat and decided it liked it there.
Two technicoloured beacons shot from the sky, and all of humanity jumped to avoid it. I dropped the book I had in my hand, and the beacons turned towards me, and I immediately dropped to the ground, in a fetal position. I didn't dare to look at the beacons - they were like the eyes of a mentor whose teachings I had discarded for navigating through minds like Hers and to shine a dark black light in my head.
I had sins, but not today. Today, I had fetid, naked darkness.
I do not know what my dream meant, but there was a presence in it I have never felt before. One that convinced me with my eyes that the dream was real.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Quarter of a Month
Has sex lost its sanctity?
When did it become caustic for me to adulate you?
Or postured when I touch your skin -
A soupçon of ardor, does it reach your bones?
When did my body become a pied-à-terre
for the bleating consequences and muted rhapsodies
that colour our own Decauxes?
Does it mean nothing for me to sigh,
as your eyes flutter, urgent wings of a butterfly
dancing upon the soft undulations of your visage?
Is all this gone forever, pushed through grills
like words of ancient wisdom in our year of the bored.
We are tethered to bittersweet memories untold,
inclined to believe they are stuck to the soles
of our shoes, dragged for the ride until we want to pick at them again,
but dragged through Apathy's bitter war with Cupid.
It picks an arrow here, a point-55 there
And its bitter blood taint our tears;
That trickle unevenly down my cheeks, out
from reddened eyes that have seen too little of your face.
When did it become caustic for me to adulate you?
Or postured when I touch your skin -
A soupçon of ardor, does it reach your bones?
When did my body become a pied-à-terre
for the bleating consequences and muted rhapsodies
that colour our own Decauxes?
Does it mean nothing for me to sigh,
as your eyes flutter, urgent wings of a butterfly
dancing upon the soft undulations of your visage?
Is all this gone forever, pushed through grills
like words of ancient wisdom in our year of the bored.
We are tethered to bittersweet memories untold,
inclined to believe they are stuck to the soles
of our shoes, dragged for the ride until we want to pick at them again,
but dragged through Apathy's bitter war with Cupid.
It picks an arrow here, a point-55 there
And its bitter blood taint our tears;
That trickle unevenly down my cheeks, out
from reddened eyes that have seen too little of your face.
Friday, March 12, 2010
A Day In The Life Of A Misplaced French Dessert
Interlude to whisper time
Solitude of iced chatter
The strips of glazed phlegm
On mama's burnt soufflé
Ornaments, upon kitchen's copper, this
Cord ends where unrivalled breaths from
You and I and we dine
Because singing was so three days ago
Forks and Dos and spoons and Res
Sprinkled from papa's cheroots
That smoked my brains
And smocked my yet conceived daughters
In the tiara of angry mob, that throng
As the television dies;
So we all sit and our prayers stuff our noses
And our stomachs sing sans soufflé,
Burnt or not or out
"We thank you for our health, and we thank you for today."
Solitude of iced chatter
The strips of glazed phlegm
On mama's burnt soufflé
Ornaments, upon kitchen's copper, this
Cord ends where unrivalled breaths from
You and I and we dine
Because singing was so three days ago
Forks and Dos and spoons and Res
Sprinkled from papa's cheroots
That smoked my brains
And smocked my yet conceived daughters
In the tiara of angry mob, that throng
As the television dies;
So we all sit and our prayers stuff our noses
And our stomachs sing sans soufflé,
Burnt or not or out
"We thank you for our health, and we thank you for today."
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
In The Arms Of Sleep
Sleep will not come to this tired body now
Peace will not come to this lonely heart
There are some things I'll live without
But I want you to know that I need you right now
I need you tonite
I steal a kiss from her sleeping shadow moves
Cause I'll always miss her wherever she goes
And I'll always need her more than she could ever need me
I need someone to ease my mind
But sometimes a someone is so hard to find
And I'll do anything to keep her here tonite
And I'll say anything to make her feel alright
And I'll be anything to keep her here tonite
Cause I want you to stay, with me
I need you tonite
She comes to me like an angel out of time
As I play the part of a saint on my knees
There are some things I'll live without
But I want you to know that I need you right now
Suffer my desire
Suffer my desire
Suffer my desire for you
Peace will not come to this lonely heart
There are some things I'll live without
But I want you to know that I need you right now
I need you tonite
I steal a kiss from her sleeping shadow moves
Cause I'll always miss her wherever she goes
And I'll always need her more than she could ever need me
I need someone to ease my mind
But sometimes a someone is so hard to find
And I'll do anything to keep her here tonite
And I'll say anything to make her feel alright
And I'll be anything to keep her here tonite
Cause I want you to stay, with me
I need you tonite
She comes to me like an angel out of time
As I play the part of a saint on my knees
There are some things I'll live without
But I want you to know that I need you right now
Suffer my desire
Suffer my desire
Suffer my desire for you
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The Ministry Off Education
The gutter, the gun and The Holey Post
Tell you where to think, what to thank, and when, why.
You’ve got to fight for your right to fight for your right
When It’s signed away the back of your head,
The tips of your fingers
The student sat in gaschamber class
Droning, staccato and manic
Wondered if black widows
Are received by the Death of spiders
Or does Grim, contoured by man,
A shaming stranger shape to her for
An intimate occasion –
Into the afters
The mentor and the student wander
Narrow faceless corridor, endless walls
“Look, a door!” the mentor pointed out.
“Ooh where does it go?”
“It stays where it is, I believe.”
Tell you where to think, what to thank, and when, why.
You’ve got to fight for your right to fight for your right
When It’s signed away the back of your head,
The tips of your fingers
The student sat in gaschamber class
Droning, staccato and manic
Wondered if black widows
Are received by the Death of spiders
Or does Grim, contoured by man,
A shaming stranger shape to her for
An intimate occasion –
Into the afters
The mentor and the student wander
Narrow faceless corridor, endless walls
“Look, a door!” the mentor pointed out.
“Ooh where does it go?”
“It stays where it is, I believe.”
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Yours Truthfully
You know what typo error I think is the funniest?
When you mean 'HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH' but you end up saying 'GAGAGAGAGAGAG'. Because you want to laugh but you end up repeating such a coarse syllable that ends in a choke - 'GAG'. It's interesting how when you repeat 'HA', there is mirth, but when you repeat 'GA', there is unsavoury stupidity. No, no, I have a point to all this.
Dearest.
"Ar-ar-ar-ar-ar-ch-ch-chi-chi-chitect," stammered Dumbass like a complete dumbass. Dumbass was a freshman in St. Jude's, and was one of the school's richest kids. Chauffeured to school, gold-framed lunchbox - still carries a lunchbox - flat,oily, preened hair that gives the face a come-hither-and-smack-my-shitface quality. Of course, his name isn't Dumbass. It's Jonathan Earl The Third. His dad's an investor who has donated generously to the board of directors and - "m-m-m-my m-m-mom's an-an-an ar-ar-ar-ar-ar-ch-ch-chi-chi-chitect," he finished. Took me quite a bit of effort to not laugh.
The dark, chlorinated broom cabinet fell silent.
There was a low, snarling voice to my left, and I knew Brandon was going to have something to say. And so did I. But as you know, I have to say the right thing at the right time. All the time.
I did something horrible today.
"Your mother," began the low, snarling, voice. "Is not Theresa Watten-Earl -"
"Thursday, 13th August," interjected a gravelly, throat-block voice. Brandon was not able to hide his voice too well now, and was forced to choose his words properly. "Where were you?" He has a point. Really. You'll see.
"Th-th-th-th-that's ya-ya-ya-yesterday," stammered Dumbass.
There was this boy, and I didn't like him. At all. But he's yours.
Answer the question. Truthfully. I willed him as though I had some hitherto unknown psychic ability. Didn't work of course.
Truthfully, yours.
"I was in school," he said too fast with too little stammer, revealing more than he wanted to.
When you mean 'HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH' but you end up saying 'GAGAGAGAGAGAG'. Because you want to laugh but you end up repeating such a coarse syllable that ends in a choke - 'GAG'. It's interesting how when you repeat 'HA', there is mirth, but when you repeat 'GA', there is unsavoury stupidity. No, no, I have a point to all this.
Dearest.
"Ar-ar-ar-ar-ar-ch-ch-chi-chi-chitect," stammered Dumbass like a complete dumbass. Dumbass was a freshman in St. Jude's, and was one of the school's richest kids. Chauffeured to school, gold-framed lunchbox - still carries a lunchbox - flat,oily, preened hair that gives the face a come-hither-and-smack-my-shitface quality. Of course, his name isn't Dumbass. It's Jonathan Earl The Third. His dad's an investor who has donated generously to the board of directors and - "m-m-m-my m-m-mom's an-an-an ar-ar-ar-ar-ar-ch-ch-chi-chi-chitect," he finished. Took me quite a bit of effort to not laugh.
The dark, chlorinated broom cabinet fell silent.
There was a low, snarling voice to my left, and I knew Brandon was going to have something to say. And so did I. But as you know, I have to say the right thing at the right time. All the time.
I did something horrible today.
"Your mother," began the low, snarling, voice. "Is not Theresa Watten-Earl -"
"Thursday, 13th August," interjected a gravelly, throat-block voice. Brandon was not able to hide his voice too well now, and was forced to choose his words properly. "Where were you?" He has a point. Really. You'll see.
"Th-th-th-th-that's ya-ya-ya-yesterday," stammered Dumbass.
There was this boy, and I didn't like him. At all. But he's yours.
Answer the question. Truthfully. I willed him as though I had some hitherto unknown psychic ability. Didn't work of course.
Truthfully, yours.
"I was in school," he said too fast with too little stammer, revealing more than he wanted to.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
On Tioman
Okay so maybe sometimes I'm not the smartest guy around
suff says:
fucking beautiful place
Crystle says:
i wanna ride a donkey there
okay thts so random
suff says:
HAHHAAHAHAHAH
are you thinking of those explorers who discover beautiful beaches in mexico
and they usually go around in donkeys
Crystle says:
hahahahaha
no!!!
i rode a donkey there e other time la!
HAHAHA
suff says:
to tioman?!
Crystle says:
omg
not TO tioman!
IN tioman!
hahahahahahahahhahahah
WTF SUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
suff says:
OH
HAHAHAAHAHAHAHA
Crystle says:
RIDE A DONKEY TO TIOMAN?!?!?!?!?!?!??!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA
suff says:
yeah its a separate island
but i thought
hahaahahah
HAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA
suff says:
fucking beautiful place
Crystle says:
i wanna ride a donkey there
okay thts so random
suff says:
HAHHAAHAHAHAH
are you thinking of those explorers who discover beautiful beaches in mexico
and they usually go around in donkeys
Crystle says:
hahahahaha
no!!!
i rode a donkey there e other time la!
HAHAHA
suff says:
to tioman?!
Crystle says:
omg
not TO tioman!
IN tioman!
hahahahahahahahhahahah
WTF SUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
suff says:
OH
HAHAHAAHAHAHAHA
Crystle says:
RIDE A DONKEY TO TIOMAN?!?!?!?!?!?!??!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA
suff says:
yeah its a separate island
but i thought
hahaahahah
HAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Je Te Veux
Cela se sent tres mal, cela se sent tres raison
Je rentre chez toi tard dans la nuit, pour toi
Mais ma cherie,
Où vous-êtes maintenant?
Je rentre chez toi tard dans la nuit, pour toi
Mais ma cherie,
Où vous-êtes maintenant?
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