November 4, 2015

story of sam

Sam is a laborer who works and lives in an old shop. Day time, he works his ass off for a meager pay and night time, he calls it a day at the upper floor of the shop, which he rented. He might not have good prospects as a laborer but, for what he lacks in wealth/achievement, he makes it up with his happy outlook in life.

Sharing his rented abode, is Sam’s wife called Hilda. While Sam is what a commoner would consider as a good looking person, the same can’t be said about Hilda. Hilda is fat, hideous and she looks like a bloated corpse fished out of a septic pond. But Sam likes Hilda for who she is (for some unfathomable reasons…), and they have led a loving life together. They’ve never had a fight before, and both of them seems to be made for each other.

One night, Sam has to wake up from his sleep to answer the big call of nature, and off he goes to the loo located at the back of the house, which is right next to the kitchen. While he is straining to ooze out the dry turd from his coarse laborer diet, up comes Hilda into the kitchen. She knocks on the toilet door,

“Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Bad food, I guess. Why are you still up so late?”
“Just checking if you’re alright… maybe I can keep you company…”

She then proceeds to get the kettle to boil some water to make Sam some hot tea. And while Hilda is waiting for the water to boil, Sam tells Hilda through the toilet door about his day and some crazy stories some of the guys told him at the shop. They share some laughs and deep inside, Sam is glad to have Hilda’s company there, and he feels homely with the smell of gas burner in the middle of the night, mixing with the hot pungent air inside the loo.

After Sam has done the last fart of the business, he wipes himself proper, pulls the flush and gets out from the loo – in high anticipation for his hot tea and perhaps, the embrace of Hilda. And then BAM! The smell of the burner disappears. The kitchen light is off. No sight of Hilda, no sight of burner, no sight of kettle. It is as if, everything has all along been a perception. Only thing that is still there, is the smell of Sam’s last fart. Confused, Sam quickly skedaddles into the bedroom to look for Hilda, and there she is – sleeping soundly with both arms up on her head, armpit hairs peeking out of her short pajamas sleeves.

“Hilda… Hilda… wake up…”
[wipes drools] “…what?… what’s going on?”
“Were you at the kitchen just now? Where’s the hot tea?”
[dazzled] “What hot tea? What are you talking about, honey?”
“I was at the loo, you were talking to me, and then you disappeared…”
“What? I’ve been sleeping here all these while honey…’

Sam quickly dashes to the kitchen to touch on the burner – it’s cold. The kettle’s cold too, and so is Sam. He suddenly realizes, that the person whom he talked to, couldn’t have been Hilda… Whoever/whatever she is, she sounded like Hilda, talked like Hilda and felt like Hilda. But it wasn’t Hilda. (Sam eventually finds out later in his life that the ‘person’ who talked to him that night, is something that came from a sad ending to a WWII incident in the very place he’s living in…)

………

Based on a true story happened to someone I know, at a place I am familiar with.

michaelooi  | imaginations  | Comments Off
October 27, 2015

Port Dickson

Made a trip to Port Dickson with my wife and kid last month. Reason: We needed to unwind and we’ve never been to Port Dickson so… it became our short getaway trip.

The Plan:
– drive to Ipoh (start damn early in the morning)
– have an awesome dim sum breakfast at Ipoh.
– visit a limestone cave at Ipoh.
– drive to Port Dickson and just in time for lunch.
– have an awesome lunch at Port Dickson.
– grab some groceries and beer.
– check in to the hotel. drink beer. soak in pool. relax.
– by the time I’m done pooling, it should be just in time for dinner.
– have an awesome dinner at Port Dickson.
– back to hotel, more pool time.
– sleep. pool. leave.
Read the rest of this entry »

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October 19, 2015

dickface

Have you ever seen a stranger and immediately the word ‘dickface’ (lan yong – in Cantonese) pops up in your head? I was at the cafĂ© the other day, and saw this guy, with a dyed shit brown hair. And immediately, my mind pulled out the word ‘dickface’, and it reminded me of my college mate Jason. (I’ve written about him here sometime ago).

It was a quasi confession / bonding episode for Jason, and totally weird for me. It was a dialog that came out of nowhere…

Jason: “Dude, sometimes I look into the mirror, I can’t help but think, what a dickface I am.”

For the record, guys don’t do shit like that. We don’t do confession stuff. It’s gay. This is totally uncalled for.

Me: [silence]

Jason: “I’m such a dickface, not only I can’t get the girls, they probably hate me too. Makes me rage when I look into the mirror.”

Me: [silence]

Jason: “Do you think I have a dickface? Just wanted an honest opinion…”

Me: “What do you want me to say? You should stop that. It’s gay. Grow some balls and get over it, ok?”

For the record, he doesn’t really look like a dickface. I’d consider him mediocre looking for a Chinese bloke. A little hint of Jack Black in him, with a bigger jowl, and maybe a little bit of retardation in his looks. Dickface? Never crossed my mind (well, probably it’s because he’s my friend).

Jason: “It’s alright man, I understand. It’s hard to call someone a dickface. I appreciate your discretion.”

So the term ‘dickface’ kinda stuck with him. As in, whenever I see some dickface, or hear the term ‘dickface’, I’d think of him. In an ironic sense, he kind of inadvertently associated the word ‘dickface’ to himself.

When I saw the dickface with dyed shit brown hair in the cafe, it reminded me of Jason, and I wondered how is he doing now.

michaelooi  | dialogs  | Comments Off
October 5, 2015

missing

I saw a movie not long ago, featuring Andy Lau looking for his missing (abducted) son. It was an alright movie I guess, although it felt little bit too superficial for me, but it made me recollect of something sad that had happened in my family many years ago. The person of interest, was my first cousin once removed who went missing and was never found.

Her name’s Sharon, and she was also my first tuition teacher. I liked her, not only because she’s hot as hell, but I remembered her as a very nice person who was never angry at me despite being such a menace. Always with a smile, she was a very likeable girl for everyone except my madcap sister, who bit her during a sleepover many years prior (probably envious of her beauty, I guess).

When she went missing, I was about 8 years old. She was in her late teens when it happened. She already started a part time modelling (yeah, she’s that hot) and an intern job then. One day, she left for that intern job like any normal day, and didn’t come home. Mobile phones were pretty much non-existent back then, so the dad (my grand uncle) frantically called up everyone he knew but no one had a clue where she could be. He went to her workplace and no one could offer any clue. It was as if she vanished into the thin air right after leaving work. No ransom, no nothing. So they searched. And it went on for years.

I remembered the posters, the newspapers and the search to the edge of town over random tips from the public. I tagged along with my mom who organized her own search party and went to many places – amongst them, was this desperate attempt to trace her with a Malay bomoh, who did some ritualistic ‘searching’ through a ‘hot candle wax on a bucket of cold water’ portal. Didn’t work, of course. Years went by without any progress, and eventually, both her parents died and she remained missing. Whether she herself is still alive or had long gone from the realms of mortals, remains unknown. If she’s still alive, she must be in her late 40’s by now, probably look misshapen like a whale but most likely still retains her bubbly personality. If she’s dead, then no one will be able to visit her grave, because she has none… and that has got to be the saddest thing ever.

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September 17, 2015

zoned out

I mastered this very special skill called ‘zoning out’ since I was very little. You see, my late mom screamed at me a lot when I was a kid. Whenever my mom yelled/screamed/nagged, I’d ‘zone out’. It’s a great skill to have when there’s a need – eg. protection against nagging, boring meetings, uninteresting long stories from manager/drunkard friend… etc.

So, what is a ‘zone out’? It’s the ability to shutoff all input signals from your eyes/ears into your brain while you’re in a situation. Not a difficult thing to learn (most guys have their own way of doing this), but the key trick is to not look like you’re zoning out (this is where most people fail). I can do a pretty convincing look of being attentive while zoning out.

Yesterday, I was dispensing some fatherly advice to my 9 year old daughter Regine, when I suspected her zoning out on me. I suspected that because I did a checksum on her to repeat what I had said and she struggled. That was when I realize that she have attained this superpower of zoning out. I was thinking, could this have passed down from me? Or did she evolve from the tree on her own branch? And then I started to think about all the skills that she could have possibly inherited from me… and that was when I realized that this is not going to get any better for me…

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