Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Hero of the Day: Fernando Alonso

Fernando Alonso. Champion.

Fernando Alonso. 2005 Formula 1 champion.

Nuff said.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

If The Name's Bond...

If someone's word is their bond...

...and they break that word...

...does it mean that the bond is also broken?

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

A Book's Cover

"It's not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me."

Batman, Batman Begins

Monday, September 19, 2005

His Song

My brother ambled into my room, appearing to the outside world as oblivious as he had always appeared as. He came in slowly and stopped, looking around as if in awe.

Under the duvet cover, I lay unmoved, unconscious still. It is almost noon on Sunday, but I had a late night, and revelled in that Sunday morning feeling of waking up late.

He ambled towards me, and, placing his hands on me, shook me slowly.

I stirred, and opened my eyes slightly. Seeing that it's him, I grunted a hello, before closing my eyes again.

He wouldn't let up. He shook me again, and motioned towards my guitar against the corner of my room.

I grunted him to go away.

Of course, he didn't listen. He sat down next to my bed, cross legged on the floor, and kept bothering me.

Until I realised what was really going on. At how stupid I'm being.

I opened my eyes, and went to pick up the guitar, before settling back in bed.

Then I started strumming.

I hope you don't mind, Abali. I hope you don't mind that I put down in words.

How wonderful life is...while you're in the world.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Kingdom Hospital

I walked through the ill, the living, the dying.

It abhors me. The smell of death, of illness, hangs in the air, attacks my nostrils, insulting my general well being.

“Hello brother, can you take off my boot?”

I am here today to visit my cousin. He has been diagnosed with dengue. He’s recovering well enough, but I wanted to visit him all the same.

“Excuse me brother, please take off my boot…”

I turned to the direction of the voice. The owner is an old man, lying helpless apparent. He is stretched out loosely, his head propped lightly by a flat pillow. He is dressed in green garb, which would not doubt hang off his body is he stands.

I look to his feet, almost hidden from view by a pillow that is curiously fuller than the one propping his head. It is bare.

“There is no boot,” I replied to him.

“Come on, brother, help me out…”

I ignored him and turned back to my cousin. He seems puffy and dazed, having just woken up from his sleep. “I hate hospitals,” I told him. “That makes the two of us,” he replied.

It has not been so. For many years, given that my mother works in one, I am comfortable enough not to hate hospitals. It is a place of healing, a place where the sick are treated for reentry into common life. In the past 18 months, however, I feel that I’ve seen enough of hospitals to last me a lifetime. A feeling that I’ve been here before. Almost a sense of déjà vu, to the point where they all look and feel the same.

“Brother, can you give me some water?”

I turned back to the old man. He seems weak, yet his eyes looked at me, intent. “Please,” he said, “help me out.”

I looked over to his side table, and poured water into a mug. He drank gratuitously. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Too soon, the visit was at an end. I left my cousin, unable to cheer him up anymore. I don’t know what else to do. I’m sure that if I’m in the same position, I would feel the same way.

I left walking, feeling revolted still by the smell of illness.

As I walked away I realised that I hate hospitals because it is a place that puts me in the midst of people who I can’t help. No matter how hard I try, people will live, and people will die, and there is little I can do about it. It's this feeling of helplessness that I hate.

Perhaps it is not really hospitals that I hate.

Perhaps I just hate being me.

Ah well.

The world might be dying, but at least I shall give it water.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Stage Beauty

"Beauty is a form of genius - is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation. It is of the great facts in the world like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in dark water of that silver shell we call the moon."

Oscar Wilde

*Thanks Anna :>

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

AM Radio

Q. How do you know a person is radioactive?

A. When they constantly play their radio.

Monday, September 05, 2005

Rebel Billionaire

There are 6 billion people in the world.

6. Billion. People.

And only one of you.

Which is great. You're one out of 6 billion. You're unique, special...you.

But what's the point of being special, of being you...

...if you can't be seen amongst the 6 billion?