Why Would I Write

  • I Don’t Wanna Go to Jail

    The other day I read something interesting: When you remember a past event, you’re actually remembering the last time you remembered it, not the event itself. I don’t know if it’s common knowledge but it has been explored in one of my favorite movies of all time – Memento. Anyway, reading about it depressed me a bit. It means unless you have photographic memory, each time you try to remember something in the past, you start to lose pieces of it. Details will change, events will change, feelings will change, and eventually the memory will be drastically different from what it once was. It sucks, but that’s how our brain works. It’s one of the reasons why I like writing down my thoughts whenever they pop into my mind. I know they won’t be the same if I think about them again in the future – how I felt, what I was thinking about etc will all be different after a few days or weeks. If I’m in front of the computer, I try to blog them, if I’m out and about, I make little notes on my phone to write about them later. In addition to thoughts, one of the things I like recording are my dreams. Which brings me to writing about a dream I had last night. I recorded it as soon as I woke up, but details had already started to fade as soon as I started typing them into my phone:

    I dreamed about beating up a politician. I had no idea why or what made me do it but I did it. He was unarmed and I had a stick with me. He was defenseless. Also, this took place while I was holidaying with my friends.

    Anyway I was caught on camera, because I made no attempt to cover up, and I still fled from the scene of the crime. The authorities dropped by the hotel to question me and they told me that I would be going to jail. So for the next few nights, I declined going out with my friends. I just stayed in the hotel. I said I was gonna go to prison any time, so they should have fun without me.

    I didn’t end up in jail, and our holiday concluded with no drama. Maybe I couldn’t dream what the interior of a jail was like, so my brain skipped that part. Or maybe the worrying was done on purpose to make me feel worse. Things could have been interesting or fun in jail? I don’t know. Fucking brain.

    But during my time alone, I kept thinking to myself, oh shit my life is ruined. Nobody is going to hire me anymore. I’ll be a stain in society. I was going to have a criminal record. I wasn’t going to get a decent salary anymore. I was so worried. And I kept thinking, why the fuck did I do that? I wasn’t instructed to. Nobody convinced me or paid me to beat up that old man. I did it on my own! I was filled with regret.

    And so, this morning I woke up feeling like I never want to go to jail, ever. Need someone to beat up a politician? Don’t call me.

  • Variety is the Spice of Life

    If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself over the past 30+ years of being alive, it’s that I enjoy change. I thrive with change. Be it working in a new environment, learning a different keyboard layout, embracing technology or just dealing with different shit in my life. I can handle it. The only thing I can say I don’t like changed is when bands change for the worse (subjectively) – even then, I deal with it by not listening to their new/current stuff, or eventually embrace it. Change is good, it keeps you on your feet. If everything was the same every single day of your life, wouldn’t that be boring?

    If an app doesn’t do what you want it to do – you don’t have to wait for an update to get new features. Find an alternative to use! If you have the means, code one yourself. Unhappy with how your key caps look? Change them. Want a different religion? Go worship something else! That’s the best part about life – you can change your situation. I’m a big proponent of the statement – life is what you make it. I can’t remember the last time I thought to myself, man – I’m having such a boring day. I just find things to do. I’m not saying I have the best life, but I do make it interesting for myself – and that is good enough for me. Sure, it could be better – but that’s just life. A never-ending struggle to improve.

    I thought I had a lot to say when I started the topic, then I realized I had written about something similar previously. Initially, this post was inspired by a dinner I had the other day at a Vietnamese restaurant. I was served a bowl of noodles without any cilantro. I thought it was strange because as far as I know, Vietnamese food is always served with it. That led to a conversation about things I used to dislike as a child but enjoy now.

  • drunkstoreyheart

    drunkstoreyheart

    Ever done anything so terrible you wish you could turn back time? I know I have. Plenty of times. The last one just happened a few days ago.

    After a night of celebrating a bar’s sixth-year anniversary by drinking a lot of six baht beers, my friends and I headed to another watering hole for some drinks and beer pong. After we were done with our never-ending table of cups (on a sidenote, beer pong isn’t as easy as it looks), we headed to the tables closer to the stage to watch the live band, and drink even more beers.

    I had lost count how many I had downed throughout the night at this point, but for some reason I was still on my feet. Anyway, cut to a few songs in, for some reason I get invited by the singer of the band to go up on stage to play a song. Overconfidence, which turned out to be just my drunken stupor, got the best of me and the next thing I know, I was climbing on stage and taking the guitar away from the band’s guitarist. (Hindsight is a bitch, but the correct response here would have been to decline the offer and stay the fuck seated. Then none of this would have happened.)

    I strum a few chords, guitar seems to be in tune. I step up to the mic.

    “Hello everyone! I am George from Malaysia,” I spoke into the mic (as far as I could recall, there was only one other table occupied at the bar that night – but that was bad enough). “This is a song I wrote.”

    I strummed the first chord of Reason. I thought to myself, hey – I think I got this! I started singing.
    Holy shit. I was terrible. However, I figured I’d pick things up mid-song – it was an original anyway, and nobody had ever heard my stuff before (I’m sure after that night, nobody would ever want to listen to my music again). The chorus came – I forgot the chords, played the same chords as the verses. I sang out of key. I repeated lines. I forgot lyrics. Honestly, I don’t think I could have put on a worse show in my life if I even tried on purpose.

    Maybe they were polite. Maybe they thought they would give me a chance to redeem myself. Or maybe it was just all in my head, and the band actually wanted me to get off the stage. For some reason, they told me to play one more song. I think they thought they had discovered the next William Hung and wanted me to continue with the shit-show. So I did. I played a second song. It was all a blur at this point. I don’t remember even finishing the song. I probably ended it right after the second chorus. I can’t remember. At least I didn’t knock anything over or stumble off the stage.

    My friends cheered for me when I got off the stage. I felt euphoric. The pub band probably had the biggest laugh of their lives or were horrified.

    Fast forward to the next day, when I woke up and pieced the previous night together. Holy shit. What the fuck did I do? As if on cue, in came the texts from my friends – photos and videos of my god-awful performance. Nope, it wasn’t a dream. And nope, I’m not sharing shit. You might think I’m being a tease by writing about such an occasion and not releasing the video, but this shit was shameful. I intend to take it to my grave. If anybody else posts the video, fine, but you won’t be getting it from me. This post is here to serve as a reminder that I’m a terrible drunk.

    To Brownies, if you guys ever for some reason stumble upon this post, I’m truly sorry for ruining your wonderful set. You guys were amazing live and I hope you guys go far in your careers. Couldn’t find you guys on Instagram/Facebook to personally apologize (but I’ve sent you guys an email). If you guys ever do drop by KL, drinks on me. Just don’t put me on stage again if I’ve had one too many.