Sun’s Spots

Darkness…

I hear… a pool, water… and droids. Easy… I should have guessed. Something must have pounded me to crumbs. No way you will catch me near these stinky bacta tanks if I beat…

Was I in a fight?

I remember checking-in at the Bespin Towers. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there. My prize should be on the first level through the turbolifts. Haven’t messed with repulsorlift technology for a long time… but the younger Rebels back at headquarters might appreciate the Repulsor Knife.

It has been a long time since I dressed up for the casino too. One of those survival packs that are all the rage nowadays and a tailored Emporio suit always gets you noticed as a well-traveled man. As well as being a big spender.

What it will always hide is the fact I regularly travel around with silver healing serum,  a couple of bombs (cleverly disguised as stuffed bunnies), enough medkits to resurrect a krayt dragon fossil, my lightsaber… oh yeah, and a vibro-scythe. Mean nasty contraption that makes you look like Death itself. Especially handy around the less-civilized cultures who know diddly squat about Jedi and "them gay flashy things."

I definitely got the Repulsor Knife without any problems. After all, how hard can it be to find an 8-feet tall Wookiee with a mohawk named Mohawk! The ferocity of his race is legendary.

But he was no match for the Force. His raging limbs, like crashing tree trunks, flailed helplessly. My hand grasped around his windpipe, crushing it with my pure will. I remember waiting for that satisfying *crunch* before easing my hold through the Force… and then running the scythe from his shoulder through his opposite hip.

I remember the blood. It was everywhere. They used to say it’s a curse getting Wookiee blood on your hands. Mohawk’s blood was the same as any other. Its sweet smell feeding my bloodlust as I watched Mohawk crumple to the floor, as though in slow motion. His ex-Repulsor Knife floated in the air by the hotel’s new bloody fur pelt. I remember reaching for with my mind and pocketing it. So if it wasn’t the… knife…

Knife… different… deadlier…

No. I… don’t remember. Just as well. It must have been a fever dream of sorts while the bacta tank was doing its work, repairing… no, renewing my body.

"Doh!"

Palek sighed from his corner of the galaxy. Being a longtime pilot, he had undoubtedly found instruction in the Force somewhere out there and could sensed my physical passing through the Force. My rebel multi-way communicator flashed its violet-coloured indicator as another transmission arrived.

"Who was it?

AARRRGHH!!! Run. Run faster! Blood. Everywhere. No time for the medkits. Shit! There he… Hrrrrrggggghhhhh!!!

His knife holds off my lightsaber! It looks… sleek. It looks like just looking at it will make you go blind. I push forward with the saber to propel him back. It gives me just the split second I need to focus my concentration like a brick wall on my attacker.

The scorching white blade of my lightsaber goes behind me and back as I circle defensively. The bodyguard lunges forward without reservations, knife hidden from my view again. I bring my focus to its peak, raising my left arm push him away. He’s shifting lef… wait, he’s spi.. focus!

I throw my best left hook along with that Force Push. It slides harmlessly across where his body was.

Everything gets clearer. I can see his every possible move through the Force. But my body feels like its encased in carbonite. I see him now, the Noghri… jerking his knife from my thigh. The rip shoots up my spine. I look down at myself in the white light of my lightsaber blade.

Blood.  Everywhere. And silence. The Noghri is cackling but I hear nothing. I am near now. I can sense it.

The Force flows from us, through us and around us. Thus, binding the galaxies together. I open myself to its near-visible waves, letting it aid and guide me.

"Not running any more, are ya now?"

The Noghri grinned maliciously. No, there was no point running. I raised my saber one last time, the classic ‘Ground to Sky’ opening signaling my intentions to the assassin. A breed as rare… and some say as powerful as the Jedi.

I saw his knife moving in a blur as I answered, "There is no…"

Death.

Oh… the life of an unattached copywriter.

Making ends meet has not only forced my move home to the wee isle of Penang. It has also dictated a one-month writing stint in Ipoh. Writing what? Property development… again… no, I can’t escape… I’ve been told it’s my forte. Doh!

I’ve not visited Ipoh, the Perak capitol, for a handful of years now. So with Denny, my Art Director, as my guide, hotel concierge and alarm clock, I gleefully set off to see what this city has to offer. (My home, Georgetown, is merely a town.)

Guess what?

You know how Penang is said to be the "hawker food haven?" I have to regretfully inform you that such is no longer true. Any self-respecting kiamsap Penangite, on discovering the much lower cost of living in Ipoh, will agree. Yes, Penang food prices ARE comparable to Kuala Lumpur. Sucks, huh? And Ipoh is STILL cheap in comparison to them both.

I have 2 weeks more here, and I do NOT want to see another bowl of ‘Kai Sze Hor Fun’ until next year at least. Denny and our client took me to a little roadside food court in Buntong. It was AWESOME! The ‘hor fun’ is so thin and silky that it is ’see-through.’ At the same time, the soup base was so rich and thick that it is ‘NO see-through!’

Shhluuurrrrrppppp!!!

So no more for me until next year. Not after the 3 of us had 9 bowls of noodles, 1 whole steamed chicken, 1 plate of bean sprouts (taugeh) and some chicken feet (Thanks for your sacrifice, Denny boy :).

Basically, you can just about order anything in Ipoh and it will more often than not be of much higher standard than Klang Valley’s as well as lower priced than Penang’s. Like the common saying goes nowadays, the failed hawkers of Ipoh and Penang have all moved to Klang Valley.

Nighthawks, vampires and other nocturnal creatures should beware. I thought Penang was dead at night until I got here. Ipoh’s nightlife is completely mummified and decomposed in comparison. Everyone seems to be partying at Rum Jungle (Sunway City, Ipoh), leaving almost every other pub/club empty. Hardly any wine places or late night cafes around. It reminds me of clubbing… when I was in secondary school… a decade and a half ago.

Which leads me to… where the heck are all the famed hot chicks of Ipoh?

I swear. It’s become a myth now. Hardly any around. Either that or parents here have really tight leashes. It was not until about a week into my stay that I realised the hawties here are not represented in clubs. At all. The younger crowd here spends their nights at 2 kinds of places mostly-
1. Cybercafes: Girls following boyfriends. Girls in groups. Girls! Finally! I get to see actual girls that don’t resemble anime monsters in any way. Must be the Ragnorok generation.
2. Kopitiams: Yeah. Odd. No nice affordable places to hang out, so the kopitiam it is! (Ipoh is predominantly Chinese, hence mamaks don’t have the same foothold.) It is a much cheaper place to spend countless hours just bird-watching compared to pubs or bistros. But all that food at the same time…

…that’s it!

I can’t stand it!

I’m bored!

And what’s worse…

I need to take a dump. Cheerio!!!

That’s what I used to be blessed with. I close my eyes, my mind shuts down and I’m literally dead to the world for an obscene amount of hours at a go.

Now, it feels like bloody Windows with unresolved resources and tasks that won’t end properly. I blame sobriety.

I’ve been back to the little island where I was spawned for only 2 weeks and I get 2 lingering dreams… The sort that feels like open-ended arthouse flicks (with the DVD dying on you near the ending to boot)!

First dream:
This one was 2 weekends back. It bothers me greatly the way a slice of spring-loaded cheese bothers a helpless mouse. I don’t remember it in great detail… but I remember a girl with beautiful eyes. The kind of eyes that speak without a single word being said. We kept catching each other’s glances in a variety of crowded places. Yes, it was a really cliched and cornballed lovey-dovey setup straight out of a TVB series.

Sigh… A love story, you say… If only…

Next thing I knew, I was in a packed examination hall. In my waking life, I don’t even know what that’s actually like anymore… but I dreamt it. I was there. I was doing nothing, just staring at the blank answer sheet in front of me without a care. I distinctly remembered that I WANTED to fail. The exam was bunk and a load of crap to me; I just didn’t care about it.

Bells rang! Examination over. Lo and behold! My answer sheet transformed into a result sheet… a string of X’s from top to bottom heralded by the big, fat ZERO on top gave me some smug satisfaction. I didn’t know why. But that is not what’s bugging me about this dream.

I turned around to look at all the rest of the lemmings… the rat-racers. And only one sight caught my undivided attention. The doe-eyed girl was sitting directly behind me. She smiled warmly at me, I remember, and brandished HER result sheet for me to see. It was exactly the same as mine.

Both shocked and pleasantly surprised, my mind screamed "What the f$%^&$%??!!"

And I woke up, unable to sleep, at the hour of ghouls and ghosts.

Just last night:
I dreamt I was dead. I don’t know how or why. Only had the knowledge that I was already dead.

And the place where I was, the realm of the dead, was some freaky-arsed shit. It was a series of corridors leading to dining rooms… very much like the setup of proper Japanese restaurants. All sorts of people (all dead, no less) were in them feasting their hearts out on a variety of I can’t remember what. The food didn’t interest me. And every once in awhile, a group of huge bouncer-type people would charge down the halls rugby-style! They’d smash everything in their way… walls, doors, tables, other people… everything. Odd.

Not wanting to be bowled over, I managed to make my way to the end of this dining section. It opened out into an al-fresco bar. A really Hard Rock kinda bar with some band on an elevated stage playing my favourite 70s, 80s and 90s tunes. If death was really like this, then I think I should check myself into rehab while I’m still alive.

Making my way to the bar, I climbed onto an available seat. Everyone around me was trapped in their own conversations, paying no heed to most things around them. An Indian bartender with a saleman’s smile tended to me. I asked for a beer. And asked many other things. He only gave me the beer and said the rest will come in due time. I took a swig and decided to try my luck again. I asked about the "rugby-chargers" in the previous section… All I got was a devillish grin and the answer, "Oh… they’re too caught up in both life and death. Some folks like that. Why don’t you give it a try?"

Heck! Why not? I’m dead. What else could happen?

"Watch my drink for me, willya? I’ll be back."

The bartender grinned at me… a Cheshire Cat’s grin. Creepy as heck. This is certainly not the hell I expected. I made my way back to the dining hall, striding purposefully this time. As I got there, said "rugby-chargers" crossed my path. I decided to give it a go, joining them near the back of the group. I ran and pushed and shoved and heaved. Everything in our path flew all over the place much like a non-stop bowling ball knocking every stupid pin in its path.

Whoopdee-doo. The chargers were all grinning and grimacing the way vikings would while pillaging and plundering. I didn’t see the point… It all felt utterly senseless.

So… I pushed through the crowd on my own, politely and gently this time. My spot at the bar was still there, as if waiting for my return. I sat down and took another swig of my beer. Ahhh… This part of death, I like very much.

Someone climbed onto the seat next to mine, bumping my shoulder as he did. It was the bartender, now looking much friendlier and very intoxicated.

"How’re you enjoying the life after your life so far?" he asked.

I nodded, smiled sheepishly and raised my beer in a toast. Since he was the only who’d actually TALK to me, it was time to make things clear. I had questions. Many of them… But I only managed to blurt out…

"Hey, look… we’re all dead, right?"

He nodded. At this point in time, he also looked like the kind of drunk person who’d buy any friendly face a drink. Wokay…. next question then…

"So… can the dead die again?"

He stared into my eyes; the bastard was playing drunk! And I awoke with a start. Now these memories of dreams don’t seem to end.

(NOTE: The last instalment of my Space Cowboy entry is indefinitely delayed until I go to war again.)

Ever read or heard anything that mirrors your sentiments exactly?

Though originality and creativity is encouraged, some accomplished wordsmiths have already stated our opinions for us. To that, I say let’s throw originality out the window and honour their very concise words. This article will become a series since it is about the only way I can keep track of my favourite quotes in one place.

Wordsmith #1: Bill Watterson
"Childhood is for spoiling adulthood."

"Every time I’ve built character, I’ve regretted it."

"So, what’s it like in the real world? Well, the food is better, but beyond that, I don’t recommend it."

"Selling out is usually more a matter of buying in. Sell out, and you’re
really buying into someone else’s system of values, rules and rewards."

"History is the fiction we invent to persuade ourselves that events are
knowable and that life has order and direction. That’s why events are
always reinterpreted when values change. We need new versions of
history to allow for our current prejudices."

"I go to school, but I never learn what I want to know."

"I hate to think that all my current experiences will someday become stories with no point."

"I like maxims that don’t encourage behavior modification."

"I used to hate writing assignments, but now I enjoy them. I realized
that the purpose of writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure poor
reasoning, and inhibit clarity. With a little practice, writing can be
an intimidating and impenetrable fog!"

"It’s hard to be religious when certain people are never incinerated by bolts of lightning."

"My brain always rejects attitude transplants."

"Nothing spoils fun like finding out it builds character."

"The only skills I have the patience to learn are those that have no real application in life."

"There’s never enough time to do all the nothing you want."

"There’s no problem so awful that you can’t add some guilt to it and make it even worse!"

"True friends are hard to come by. . . I need more money."

"What assurance do I have that your parenting isn’t screwing me up?"

"Everybody seeks happiness! Not me, though! That’s the difference between me and the rest of the world. Happiness isn’t good enough for me! I demand euphoria!"

"Mom and Dad say I should make my life an example of the principles I
believe in. …But everytime I do, they tell me to stop it."

"I had resolved to be less offended by human nature, but I think I blew it already."

"So basically, this maverick is urging everyone to express his individuality through conformity in brand-name selection?"

"So the secret to good self-esteem is to lower your expectations to the point where they’re already met?"

"There’s more to this world than just people, you know."

"Why waste time learning, when ignorance is instantaneous?"

"You know, there are times when it’s a source of personal pride to not be human."

So… spot any that you agree with or simply like? Here’s a closing statement by the genius behind the ingenious Calvin and Hobbes series. To Bill Watterson, I thank you for the kind of laughter that expands horizons =)

"Creating a life that reflects your values and satisfies your soul is a
rare achievement. In a culture that relentlessly promotes avarice and
excess as the good life, a person happy doing his own work is usually
considered an eccentric, if not a subversive. Ambition is only
understood if it’s to rise to the top of some imaginary ladder of
success. Someone who takes an undemanding job because it affords him
the time to pursue other interests and activities is considered a
flake. A person who abandons a career in order to stay home and raise
children is considered not to be living up to his potential-as if a job
title and salary are the sole measure of human worth. You’ll be told in
a hundred ways, some subtle and some not, to keep climbing, and never
be satisfied with where you are, who you are, and what you’re doing.
There are a million ways to sell yourself out, and I guarantee you’ll
hear about them."

AKA The things we do (and sometimes wish we didn’t)

In every epic war, not everyone is always at the frontlines. This is dedicated to all my fellow pilots and friends on Space Cowboy who constantly battle… boredom. Yes. We do some pretty mundane things when the war seemingly dies down. For example…

Chilling out on the supply pad. These strategic points are on almost every map for us to rearm and recuperate. It may look like I’m parked and ready to go in this image. Truth is, me and Blackheart were just bored and chatting. (Yes, it’s kinda hard to hold a decent conversation when you’re a few kilometres up there.)

And when bored boys get together, we start doing some pretty weird stuff. For example, getting our Gears to overlap on a supply pad just to see how it looks. This is me and Blackheart, bomber and interceptor, overlapped. Gawd, if only we could transform…

That’s me and another interceptor who joined in the fun. The colour combination works better on this one in my honest opinion. Oh… and the act of overlapping Gears is also jokingly referred to by most players as ‘plane sex.’

Although the above are both me and I-gears, the different looks result from the different frames we use. Naturally, as we gain levels, we also gain access to sturdier frames. And after a certain point, specialised frames such as energy (more hit points), shield (more duh!), agility (extra evasion) and defense (higher duh!).

Like every online community, we also have our sub-communities. While
usually known as ‘guilds’ in other genres, they are known as ‘brigades’
here. This is a screenshot of me being inducted into the Eclipse brigade. It was a shocker AND an honour for me as Eclipse is one of the top brigades. Our leader (seen in the foreground) was previously President of our faction and I’ve had tremendous fun on raids into enemy territory with these guys. Although, due to my lack of skills, I still see myself as the official ‘flying distraction’ or… cannon fodder… or… meatshield.

Although we are our Gears on this game, there are moments when we are not. Yes… there’s always that time when everyone needs to sell/buy stuff and whatnot. In fact, the city is the only place where we’re out of our Gears.

Here’s a shot of the Eclipse brigade chilling out in the bar. It’s a non-functional bar but a nice environment to just chat in. Oh… for those of you who are still wondering, my In-Game Name is: Riceball.

I just decided to move away from the whole macho/cool naming conventions and name all my characters after ball-type foods. Besides, isn’t it insulting when you’re bombed to heck by a flying… RICEBALL???!!! I also have a low-level A-gear (tank) called… Beefball. Heh.

COMING NEXT: WAR and… WAR!!! (Peace? Pah!)

It’s everything it promises to be.

Manic dogfights. Outsmarting missiles. Killing tanks… wait, a tank? ARGHHHH!!!!

For us pilots in the feudal simulator that is Space Cowboy, war is a fact of life. We may not have chose it. But it has swallowed us all in its bloodthirsty wake. And as reason leaves my brain… as blood clouds my vision… I discover that I love waging war!

Finding your place in its world is as simple as finding an attitude you believe in.

I-Gear:
Think air superiority. Armed to the teeth and faster than most missiles, it puts everything else in the air to shame. A pity all those armaments and speed left it very little space for armor. Think heavily-armed paper aeroplane.

B-Gear:
Enola Gay’s reincarnation. Pound for pound, it is not as powerful in the air as the i-gears or as durable as the m-gears. But show him a ground target or fly too close and you’ll feel why EVERYONE fears a skilled bomber.

M-Gear:
Every game has its healer and this is it. Few choose to play one but every M-gear is everybody’s best friend. Trust me, knowing a few will keep you alive longer. That and its thick hide ensures that it stays around to aid you as well.

A-Gear:
And what warzone is complete without a tank? None. Seeing one of these clunking hulks land is enough to draw the attention of all seasoned pilots. Give them 3 seconds, and they’ll rip you to shreds no matter what you are.

But the best part of this game after years and years of hacking and slashing and backstabbing… well, let’s just say there’s nothing quite like sneaking up on an enemy’s arse and shoving everything explosive you have up his tailpipes. Except for, maybe, the bomb-touch of mega-death… but that’s for another time =P

Here’s a preview of the calm before the storm. Just click HERE to see me and my countrymen gather for a massive rush through a portal. Fully knowing an equal or greater force is waiting for us on the other side. Only the true warriors know war is not decided by skill alone. Dedication is just as important a factor!

COMING NEXT: The things we do (and sometimes wish we didn’t)

Avril Lavigne, you have been owned!

Here’s my new *shlurrrrrrrrp* dream, Younha - 18-year old Korean lass making it big in the J-pop scene.

I’ve been enthralled by her ending theme in "Bleach" since last year and after finding her music video…. Hang on, let me pick my jaw up off the floor :p

Inquiring minds and curious paedo’s can watch it right here. Of course, I was of the impression that she was a ‘moto kawaiiiiiii’ jap-chick until yesterday. Did I mention how cute she is?

I likes it. I wants it. Precioussssssssss…………..

What’s your view on this?

If you happen to be from Penang (especially), you’d probably wouldn’t give it much weight or thought. Lip service maybe… but not seriously.

Surprisingly enough, this came to my attention during a family dinner. Being the youngest (by far), I’ve always had the pleasure and privilege of simply stating what i want during meals. And it always arrives on my plate deboned or deshelled (unless it’s a drumstick, of course).

A few weeks ago, my brother mentioned that I must have grown up in a non-competitive environment. And that was entirely because I take my own sweet time with my food. Cravings and munchies notwithstanding, of course. Now, I must say that I had to resist the urge to laugh in his face.

Nonetheless, it really bothered me. Here’s my brother, a self-made man who embodies polite society, saying that I’m not carnivorous enough??! WTF!!! Honestly, isn’t the quality of life more important than its quantity? In much the same way, I believe the enjoyment of food is in its flavours, not how much more I shovelled into my trap compared to the next guy.

It struck me as really odd though. Yes, it’s a dog-eat-dog world. But why? Yes, the strong prey on the weak. But why? Take a look at your typical 10+ course Chinese dinner. It honestly feels like a ‘dressed up’ version of a roadside buffet with everyone grabbing what they can. (Bless all restaurants that divvy it up for you.) Most are so busy securing their share that… well, honestly, it’s a ideal scenario to ENJOY food. And if you’re not a person who ENJOYS the sensation of every morsel, then ask yourself honestly… "How much do I enjoy life?"

Yes, it’s my honest opinion that these two are related in much the same way that life and hope are related. That is why I firmly believe that to change the world for the better, and also to have lasting world peace, the answer is simply… Table Manners.

Firstly, table manners are not merely superficial rituals. It is essentially a system for sharing. And by that I mean to willingly share equally. No one has to stuff themselves, thus allowing for more enjoyment of the food. You need not worry about your share… because you’ll be worrying about whether other’s are getting their share.

But mostly, it revives conversation. After all, if you have the time to enjoy the food, you also have the time to enjoy your company. Again, let’s look at a typical Chinese stereotype… Group arrives, group chatters loudly, food arrives, group is silenced, food finishes, group chatters again.

If you want to change the world, change it fundamentally. And table manners to me is but one means of moving society away from its dog-eat-dog tendencies.

COMING SOON: More strange thoughts from a fragile little mind.

Do any of these fill up your routines?
E-mail. Internet. Online games. LAN games. Movies. DVDs. Game consoles. Daily news. Blogging…

Personally, the act of checking and replying my mails (personal and work-related) takes up the better part of 2 hours. Great way to pass the workday. Not a great way to pass the work. Does all this emphasis on cramming as much as possible into a simple day make your life better? Let’s face it… how long do you take to have lunch on a weekday as compared to a weekend? And why the difference? I for one have never truly tasted my lunch while under deadlines. You could say I’m always listening for the whooshing sound they make as they go by. Simply pee-in-my-pants exhilarating!

So how do you all do it? That is… work, correspond, socialise, blog and everything else. I do know of a fair few people who never sleep more than 6 hours a day. Getting more out of life, they say. Well, I for one have never taken the opinions of zombies seriously. After all, if you’re not properly rested most of the time, why should I believe that you are at your most efficient? In fact, I wonder if such people are mentally balanced at all.

(Let’s face it, some of these people spend 90% of their day facing a monitor. From whatever it is they do at the workplace… to the porn/messaging/blogging/whatnot at home. And vice versa in some cases.)

Some believe they’re sacrificing their youthful energy for a bountiful life in the end. Well now… doesn’t that mean living a poor, wretched life so you could have a richer death? What’s the point? Sure we can’t all have what we want, when we want it. But we sure would like to be able to enjoy it when we do get it. Working harder, smarter or both at your 9-to-5 will NOT make you rich. This is statistically true. It will, however, make you more comfortable. Perhaps even more well off.

But.

NOT!

Rich.

The organisation will grow richer. Its stakeholders and boardmembers will grow richer. You will grow… more comfortable. Trust me, there are many ad agencies out there with only a handful of creatives handling accounts amounting to 8-digits. With the amount of work and sacrifices they’ve put in, what will they be retiring to? Only their savings, I’m afraid. And that’s the horrible truth. Caveat emptor, eh? Well, we all bought into that life once. And a lot of us are still clinging on to it by the skin of our teeth. (And yes, that is the exact poser used by all insurance agents and financial planners.)

Now… I fear I have digressed too far and have ended up being even more long-winded then the Ho-Lee girl (she writes better and I feel threatened, so there ;). So here’s a parting thought…

Day jobs are stable. But if you truly want to be wealthy, do it on the side.

Of course, you can just risk it all and start your own business… but that’s another can of worms for another time altogether. Cheerio.