I can watch it alll dayyyyyy looonnnnngggggg
coz unlike Heroes, I know it doesn't have a crap
ending. ohh yeahhhhh
Hanging out
Down the streets
The same old thing
We did last week
Not a thing to doooo
But TALK to you
WooaaaaaaYEAHHHHHH
I was at the kitchen, examining a bunch of bananas for
ripeness.
The father steps in.
I heard his gruffy voice, "Can eat already. But not
very ripe."
I thought I heard wrong. "Huh??"
Said The Father, more loudly this time, "CAN EAT".
So I twisted one lucky yellow banana out of the bunch
and it splitted open down the side instead of
detaching from the top, a sure sign that it is... not
ripe enough.
The Father continues, "But not very ripe".
wtf..
The Intern strode in at 9.13am. The daily consistency of the slightly late arrival deserves a mention.
9.16am, the death clutch of sleepiness slips in her deadly hand.
The Intern is too drowsy and too far gone to continue writing.
A toast for my deceased grandpa. And another to the reaches of the Internet.
I'm doing the midnight shift for the fourth straight night at the funeral, currently tapping into somebody's wireless network from a pavilion among the HDB estate.
In an hour's time I'll see a pudgy woman emerging from the lift lobby behind me, with a cigerette in her mouth.
In two hour's time another better looking lady will be on her way to work, carrying two bags with her, sometimes three.
And yet another hour later, I should be waiting for the rest to wake up from deep slumber, so that I can return home to my morning bed. I usually fall asleep the moment I lie down. But not today. The crematorium awaits the body which won't wake again.
Contrary to what many may have feared, The Intern is still alive.
Days have fallen into weeks, and the weeks daisychained to the first month passed. By the end of this week, the halfway mark would be reached.
Each day of slavery has since taken on a monotonous routine of filling up the 17" monitor with my face while trying to debug some programming shit. Such braindrain is punctuated only by lunch and teabreak which is sadly losing its regularity; Fat Tham declared to embark on another of his nonsensical Slim Tham 2007 plan.
The working environment remains cold and silent. The most meaningful exchange of dialogue was over in two lines when Jenny the HR personnel handed me my first internship pay cheque. It was a fruitful conversation. Fruits are expensive these days. I now spend my daily existence looking forward to the next dialogue that I will have with her in a month's time.
The hours after work are less predictable. But I usually take the lift down. If nothing major crops up or the world doesn't need saving on that day, The Intern heads home to watch Heroes. About 4 more episodes to the finale of Season 1. At the end of that, the secret cache of 100+ carefully selected films should be able to last for a year or so.
I'm famous!
For a few milliseconds on Wednesday at least.
My letter got published by Today in her feature on the National Stadium where readers wrote in of their memories. So I did. And my passionate letter must have moved their hearts and souls to get selected, but not before the editors tore apart the innards and churned it around, save for the start and end which thankfully remained more or less intact, else I wouldn't have recognized it at all.
Between me and the lady called Jun-lei, who edited my piece, it started out embarassingly though.
My entry started with the mention of a little tin box which holds all the ticket stubs of the football matches that I had attended at Kallang. When she called me, The masquerading Intern, I was asked to bring down that little tin box with the particular ticket stub of the match that I wrote of. Sure I thought, I'd be delighted to.
When I rushed home after work, my precious tin box was nowhere to be found. It wasn't standing at where it should be, nor was it anywhere else. After moments of digging around, I finally realised that I had somehow arrived at an unsentimental decision to dump it, tin and contents, just a couple months ago.
That was a really depressing moment.
I had carefully kept all the tickets for years, starting from the 90's. So for almost a decade, they sat in darkness as docile memories do. Then came that fateful day when I decided that I'm never ever gonna do anything with these tickets since hey, they are all in my head and heart, so I threw them away. And now when that moment arrives for me to show off that piece of paper saying Singapore vs Bahrain, dated 2001, I have nothing.
Sad.
And embarassing when I call back Today to inform the lady that I no longer possess the tin box which I wrote of with pride.
Anyway, from the result of the editing, I experienced at first hand how conforming and politically correct the paper must behave especially when it is part of the national broadsheet. The words of the eventual published piece couldn't muster a fraction of the emotions burning through Kallang that night. Mild by comparison, that's right.
Here what's I originally wrote, within the restricted 200 words:
A little Mauna Loa Honey Roasted Macadamia Nuts tin box holds all the ticket stubs of the Lions’ games that I had attended. Of them, the most memorable match was the World Cup Qualifier against Bahrain in 2001, held at Kallang.
Singapore needed a win to qualify. Our opponents were leading and we struggled to get past them, tried as we did. Despite their superiority on the pitch, the middle-eastern charlatans started time wasting with more than 20 minutes of the game to go.
The crowd was incensed, outraged.
The trickeries of time wasting that they employed made a mockery of the beautiful game, even out-doing the comical Rivaldo in World Cup '02.
Singapore fans reacted in a way I had never seen before, cheering, shouting and cursing as one. That was Team Singapore, if I may borrow the present day term, at its united best. Coins were thrown and bottles flung in a mad cacophony. Rubbish strewed the pitch, and I don’t mean the Bahrain players.
Police had to intervene, so did Nazri Nasri, the Lions captain then. The Bahrain team bus was waylaid by lions and had to be escorted out. Kallang certainly roared that eventful night.
The edited version:
I can say very surely and strongly, that i dislike japan. despise even. That's not to say I can never have a japanese friend, but the nation on the whole is screwed up in my opinion.
In fact, I used to have a half jap half korean classmate back in secondary school. And in my impressionable young teenage mind, let's just say that her behaviour appeared somewhat deranged at times.
In the recently whaling saga, and not for the first time, the japs insist on killing 1000 whales in the name of scientific research. What research, they did not say. I guess they haven't think of what excuse to research on yet. But what they do know is that once the phony cover is over, it will be followed by the macabre sale of whale meat, for food??, and maybe to make perfumes from the dead whale blubbers.
Screw you japan.
I haven't ever see a whale yet, and you're gonna kill them all off.. bitch.
And of course I have to talk about WWII. The government have never seem to be remorseful about their atrocities even till now. The forced apologies over the years were merely to placate the anger of affected countries. And will the kids in jap schools ever know about what a great bunch of mother fuckers their predecessors were in all the wars? (see wikipedia)
By no great coincidence, japanese are perverts. The number of molesters who get away with it scot free is shocking. (see wiki) Heard from a japanese tour guide that, if you get molested on the train, either whack the guy or keep quiet. the police won't or can't help. The profligacy of jap porn is another example of the perverted nature. See the vending machines dispensing used panties for olfactory pleasures. And how about porn stars eating theirs or someone else's shit.. now that's really really fucking gross and a libido turn off.
From war crimes to murdering whales to sick perversion.. just a stroll down different avenues for them isn't it?
