My ride, my ride

I was cruising in my car, going home from work at about 7:30pm tonight. The traffic was teriffic, the air was warm and not too humid. I decided to stop at a gas station, read the big sign that said the 87 octane, $3.00, so I did not look at the rest of the prices listed there. I did not get any gas, in the hope that the price would fall a few cents tomorrow and I would be beating the "market", and feeling good about it (...the price WILL go up tomorrow, I guarantee it).

No, I did not stop for gas this time. I was enjoying the driving so much that I decided to open the rag top of my car for a change. With the top down, I turned up Hotel by Moby on the stereo and started driving again. The sky was wide and nice, and the wind blown onto my face. What a way to wind down a busy day.


Hmmm, can't believe that this Toyota MR2 spyder is my first car ever. Can't afford anything other than a bicycle in college. Now I am one of those punks in a rice rocket... no, not the teen punks, but a grown-up punks. What's the difference you ask? Well, a teen punk will race anything that moves on wheels. A grown-up punk on the other hand are more selective, we don't races trucks, SUVs, minivans, Honda Civic or anything heavier than 3300 pounds. I mean what's the point? What is it to brag about beating a minivan to the next redlight? Beating a Corvette, BMW or anything european (not including VW's and Volvo's), now that's different.

Why does a nice family guy(with minor issues) drives a sports car like a MR2? Well, at my old job. We have about 40 people, but only 7 designers (5 young punks and 2 old punks). And between us, there were, 1 Mazda Miata, 1 Toyota MR2 spyder, 1 Saab Convertible, 1 Porshe 911 Convertible and 1 Porshe 911 Carrera. You see, I have a reputation to live up to. We have nicknames like, "b", "Superfly", "Shotgun", "Swack", "El Gato", "Shifty", "ConfuseUs", but if you are one of the losers, well you were called "Binky" (watch Shakes the Clown). We learned that we were the best of the best, the cockiest of the cockiest. We push each other out of the "box" and made sure that each of us stayed that way. We were surrounded with beautiful people, at least to the ratio proportion of 1.618. To remind us that fact, we have a rubber toy donkey stood on top of our monitors. You see, we ARE the @$$s!... We ARE the ACEs!

It was nice to be young and surfed the crest everyday. Living large (well, as large as our small young wallet can hold) and working hard. 50 hours week meant that you were a 2 percent-er, 60 hours week and you were respected as a member.

I am now older. Married to a beautiful woman (ratio proportion 1.618) with 2 wonderful sons (yes, 1.618 as well). Still an ace, but I don't brag about it (What's the point right?). However, I am definately not an @$$ anymore. Come to think about it I am actually very friendly and very nice. Sometime, I even thought about trading in my MR2 for a minivan, but I will never admit it in the court of law.

Othertimes, I thought that I have become too nice. It is a little difficult to be nice and be edgy at the same time. Wiser now I am, I have learnt to enjoy the little things, like love, like smiles, like compliments, like little fingers on little hands... and I don't even mind a little pain. In fact, I have learnt to enjoy a little of that too. But most of all learning that making others happy is quite a reward in itself.

It's nice to be alive. To change the world bit by bit. To sometimes, give someone, what he or she wanted. To not feel too sad about bad designs that others put up in a lot that does not deserved such insult.

It's nice to feel. It's nice to feel the wind blows onto my face... (another MR2 just went by) Let me look at the mirrors, good No Cops... Sorry guys, I hate to stop writing and run, but it's a rule that, when another MR2 goes by your side (there are so few of us), you must to chase him or her down and then race that person (to see whose equally built machine is faster)... shifting down and... here we go... byyyeeeeee...

(hope my prior decision of not gas up my car will not haunt me later)

Life is going to be good again!!

It's back, it's back. I am going to be happier again. Football is back this coming Saturday.
May the Crimson and Cream roar again!

I am a Sooner born
and a Sooner bred
and when I die
I'll be Sooner dead!


Go Sooners!

Red Soy Milk

Oh! What a fantasy

I wish I could wake up and smile knowing that she would be beside me, the rest of the mornings in my life. Oh! What a joy.

Professional habit only let me sleep 5 hours at night, so I could quietly enjoy her peaceful beauty for another 3 hours, every night. Oh! What a gift.

Then I would show her the world that I would create and she could then makes them better. Oh! What a life.

She would makes me feel at home, where ever I went. Oh! What a blessing.

I would make her laugh, when she needed a smile, and I could make her happy forever. Oh! What a dream.

And, should she choose to, we could leaved everything behind and hunt down all the hidden Horcruxes and save world. Oh! What a fantasy.

Lunch... Shuttle

Lunch Sunday. I went to a mom and pop restaurant that you had to walk through the next door grocery store to get in to . It was an adventure just to find it and another struggle to gather enough courage to try it. It’s a little clean, simple little restaurant, painted white with no deco at all. Completed with metal chairs and shaky tables. Nothing much aesthetically to sing about, but the food, well, that’s another story. The restaurant served steamy Indian buffet, featuring curry mackerel, Chicken Masala, Spicy Stew Lamb, … emmmmh! They are great and it’s only $5.99 per person!! The friends that I went with agreed with me that it’s one of the best kept secret in H-Town.


Emmm… I am off the topic. This blog is actually about one of the guys who went to the restaurant on Sunday. You see, he spoiled our wonderful lunch by ranting about how boring and unrewarding his job was.

Well, let me explain his “work” and you can be the judge. Last Friday, his director requested him to do an analysis on the frequency interference probability for the TACAN system, if the Space Shuttle were to re-enter and land from the Southern Hemisphere.

You see prior to the lost of Columbia. The Space Shuttles always fly back from the North Hemisphere, due to the abundant of TACAN stations at different bases. But after Columbia broken up in the sky, the route will now be shifted to the South Hemisphere, so if there was another accident, the shuttle will land in the ocean, instead of heavily populated cities.

So this guy is actually complaining about his “job” of manipulating the most advance RC Flying Toy in the world... while writing history at the same time... go figures.

Story from an outdoor wedding and a lone fly

I learnt something from a lone little fly, one day.

It was June, at an outdoor wedding. In a hillside location, about an hour and a half from Houston, Texas, fully equipped with a pond, breeze, birds and the be… emmm… insects.

Since the wedding was outdoor and scheduled at 3:00pm in the afternoon… in Texas, the heat and humidity was getting to all the guests, after about 17 minutes. Half the guests that wore a suit were slowly but politely taking their jacket off. Mine was in my hand by the time the 39th minute kicked in.

The sun was smiling watching us politely fanned ourselves with the program sheets, at the same time pouring his radiance at those poor souls that are still holding out on taking off their jacket.

By the time it hit the 43rd minute, we found ourselves bombarded by one lone visitor. A fly. He was flying around scouting out every one of us one by one. I thought he knew who ate what at lunch, who did not brush his teeth that morning and who forgot to use his deodorant that afternoon. I thought that he was snaring at us, like a reality TV show trying to pick a poor winner.

He found one at the 46th minute! He was a big man, bearded with glasses on. He was one of the tough guys that refuse to take his jacket off, and thus soaking wet. Almost all the people at the ceremony, who were not listening to the preacher, were looking at the fly making acquaintances with this man. I bet all of us were relieved at that point because we were not the lucky winner.

The poor man fought hard to keep the little bugger away, but to no avail. At the 58th minute he surrendered and they lived happily ever after…

The moral of this story is that, if you ever go to an outdoor wedding, in the summer located between the artic belts. Don’t bother with the perfume to make you smell great. A fly doesn’t care if you smell nice, all he worries about is who stink the worst in the group. So remember kids, if you are second worst smelling lad in the bunch, you will turn out just fine.

Wishing... a dragon

Got Eldest by Paolini last night. Wishing that Saphira will once again take me away,… away from here, even for a while.

The pinch in my heart is still there, torturing my #@$*ing sanity.

Trying to flood my brain with the discovered perfection from the 1400’s. Rekindling with my college buddies, Brunelleschi, Bramante, Palladio, Vignola, Alberti and Michelangelo, but they are not filling up all the 15% of brain mass that I am using (if that ancient theory still holds true).

Saphira, please fills up the rest of the space that my buddies are unable to. Take me away to Ellesmera and may be we will find Vesta there, as well.

Two strangers

Earlier tonight, I got home pretty late. Tired, ate and watched Doctor House interviewing another doctor and commenting about her shoes... in another words, minding my own business and trying to relax... unexpectingly there's a knock on my front door. I opened the door and found two strangers standing there. The old man was frail looking accompanied by young chap with an Astros cap on.

They introduced themselves as Mr. Law and son. They came from Bau, Sarawak, the little town where I spent most of my childhood. I immediately, invited them in without knowing what to expect, but I was excited because, it was very rare to find another soul from that part of the world.

We talk about a lot of things, from the weather, to humidity (you will understand if you live here in Houston) to jobs and especially about our little town. But something was missing that I could not put my fingers on. After finished the fresh squeezed orange juice, the old man suddenly got serious but sadly said, "Do you have my wife's certificate?"

Let me tell you, that sentence brought out the coldest sweat in my body. I immediately understood, even thought I would never have otherwise. I got up and got my wife to help me find an envelope that was sitting there under the phone for two months. We could not find it this time.

I had to tell the guys that I would find it within two days and would give them a call as I did. They left quietly with soft handshakes and words of thanks. After they left, my wife and I spent the next hour, flipping through all the boxes and files trying to find the yellow envelope. With determination, my wife finally found it. The envelope was still sealed in it's original mailed form. I have not open it or knew about it's content... well, now I do.

The envelope was sent to me about two months ago, from my aunt in Bau, Sarawak. She did not say anything about the content, but asked me to send it to an address in Houston. I did just that, but it was returned to me marked "Return to Sender". I filed it and it went away from my memory until tonight. You see, my aunt is a life insurance salelady...
I hopped into my little two seater and drove out an hour to Richmond to deliver the envelope, right that instant. Mr. Law receivered it with a little tear and a lot of thankfulness.

As I drove home, I had so much in my little mind... you see, after writing about death and funeral for the last few days, tonight, I actually had to deliver a death certificate to a stranger and his family. It was quite overwhelming.

I have seen so many deaths... 13 of my best friends from high school, only 7 of them are still alive. They all died violently. I was not a very good boy when I was in my teen. I did not know better then...

I love photography, so in a small church where I served now, I was also the "designated" funeral photographer. I recorded and bridged the livings and the deads into hardcopies,... into reality. I never keep any copy of those photos I took. A few year back, when one of my buddy who was still in college died, I was his photographer as well. I photographed him when he was playing basketball with us wearing his favourite Superman logoed blue t-shirt, and I photographed him, as his was holding his neatly folded Superman logoed blue t-shirt with his eyes closed, while his parents and sister kissed him.

I miss you, buddy.


I also remember that, death, is not really death, unless you have a certificate. A piece of paper brought us into this world and it will take another piece of paper to let you go..

A little haircut

Saturday, I went a barber shop,... to get a hair cut, hoping that some of my brain cells would have grown on my hair.
Cutting them away would then help me get rid of some of those memories...

Solving problems

The significant problems we face today cannot be solved at the same level of thinking we were at when we created them - Albert Einstein

In the mind of a clown with no makeup on

If I were to wear costume and makeup. It would be easier, because I would not have to smile to smile. I would not have to try to crack "smart" jokes to look happy. The painted smile would do the job for me.

If I were to play the role of the crying clown. It would be easier, because I could cry to cry. And I would look normal. My tears would stain my face, but it's okay. Cause sobbing was my trade.

If I were to wear a red rubber ball on my nose. It would be easier, because after a while, everyone would think that, it's just my style and they would leave me alone.

Trouble is, I am a clown... with no makeup on.

My funeral

The wind was blowing the Texas sand to cloud the orange sun away. In the corn field where the tombstone sat, corns were popping in the heat mocking the ceremony of this dead. It did not matter I thought.

The fresh filled soil holding up the tombstone not so proudly. But the garnishes of popcorns made it quiet delicious I must admit.

I looked around but I could not see anyone attending my funeral. Not a single soul,... or were they all late? I am not sure. I did know however that my parents and my siblings would not be here. They were 5000 miles across the oceans and mares. Goodness, this would to be one lonely funeral. I was the only one feeling sad about me dead.

Suddenly, emerged from the orange mist, two human arrived,... yes I knew them, my sons. The older one was holding two books in his right hand. The first book was his favourite "I SPY" book where he would find all of the 53 hidden frogs from the rain forest. The second book was the graphic novel of JLA: Pain of the Gods. His favourite story in the book was about The Flash trying to save all the victims in a burning building. He saved all of them except 2 little boys. The scarlet speedster finally let it all out while crying in Wonder Women's arm and said, "I can't run fast enough to get away from that image." And yes, my older one was crying and he is wiping his eyes with his left hand.

My little one was crawling on the mound, playing with dirt and eating popcorns. He was happy... he was lucky.

In the orangeness I saw a women, looked so very familiar. So familiar that I wish I could say that I knew her well,... I thought that she looked like my wife, but the wind blew harder the shape devolved into orange sand.

When the wind died down a little, another shape occurred. She looked like me but much prettier, sounded like me but much softer, and moved like me but much swifter, and then I knew that it was just another form that the Texas sand was toying with me.

I turned and saw my children, sad and lonely... No this won't do! This shallow grave, this sand, this smell of popcorn... this was not right... where was my coke and where were the tumble weeds, where were the tumble weeds?!

I took JLA: The Pain of the Gods from my son softly. Turned to the chapter titled Emerald Warrior and started reading. Holding both sons in my chest and I read to them the story of John Stewart, the man who worn the power ring, symbol of the intergalactic Green Lantern Corps. Controlled by his will power, the ring made his imagination manifest, and being an architect, he conceived some pretty cool objects and turn dire situations into victories.

Any moment now, the doors in this theater will open and the light will blind all this suffocating orangeness away... andI..., and I will wear that power ring.

The third time I died

Today I died for the third time.

The feeling that someone was continuously squeezing my heart was replaced with a sharp pain that was associated with a major blow to the same area.

It was bad, even though I was expecting it and praying for it, because the reason was right. Dying means peace to most people, but for me I sincerely hope that I would never find that peace for a long, long time to come. I would rather feel as alive as before this third death of mine.

Folks, I don't think I will write about dying for the forth time (I would probably be eternally unconsious that time). I don't think I am that blessed.

The first time I died, I was inside my mother's womb, so I was told. I was supposed to be already dead and the doctors were taking me out from my mother three months before I was due. Well, somehow, an old doctor revived me. That was the miracle from God that gave me life.

The second time was at a hospital, I was 16, lasted a little less than 10 minutes. That was a miracle from God that changed my life. (from relatively evil to relatively good, relatively speaking of course)

This third time was a metaphorical death that marked the end of a miracle from God that reminded me of living,... and live I will.

The fourth time, well... I will have to find out when the time comes.

A l_ve letter with_ut "_"

Dearest Elleb,

I l_ve y_u fr_m the b_tt_m, _f my pencil case,
I l_ve y_u in the s_ngs, I write and sing.

L_ve y_u because, y_u put me in my rightful place,
and I l_ve the prs cheques, that y_u bring.

I l_ve y_u fr_m the b_tt_m _f my pencil case,
I l_ve y_u the way y_u never ask me why.

I l_ve t_ write ab_ut each wrinkle _n y_ur face,
and I l_ve y_u till my f_untain pen runs dry.

yours,

C_nfuseus

(c_ntain b_rr_wed fr_m lyrics of "S_ng t_ wh_ever" by The Beautiful S_uth)

When Bush w_n his first term, all the "W" were rem_ved fr_m the White H_use's keyb_ard. It t__k me a few years t_ try t_ play with that idea.

_h, by the way, check_ut The Beautiful S_uth. Their s_ngs are really playful yet s_phisticatedlly drunk... in a g__d way.

My jaguar shark

I have found my jaguar shark.
Finally found the answer to the question that I have forgotten... for exactly 1000 days.
Trouble is that, the answer tells me that I might not be happy ever again for the next 57 years of my possible life. It is a choice, nontheless.
I would give a pound of flesh for my jaguar shark.... yes, a pound of flesh.