I am a Malaysian Human. Whatever that means...

If I was born and bred in Nigeria, I would be a proud Nigerian. If I was born and bred on some remote hilltop village which is located only by trekking for 8 hours and climbing treacherous mountainous regions located in Borneo, I would be proud to be a, um, village person from Borneo. If I was half Jamaican and half Japanese (Jamainese? Japacan?) but bred in Scotland, I would be a proud Scot.

But I was born in Malaysia. I was bred in Malaysia. And I’m not sure if I’m proud to be a Malaysian. Or a human, for that matter. But that’s really a whole different kettle of fish altogether…

Over the years, I have had the “not bothered” attitude when it comes to my nationality. To me, I’m in Malaysia and there’s no point in me doing patriotic things. Like attaching detachable flags on my car. Or jumping off a building wearing the national colours. I’ve never stuck the country’s flag on my car. I’ve never worn a t-shirt bearing the Malaysian flag nor do my handkerchiefs bear the distinctive colours. Heck, I don’t even remember the words to the national anthem, Negaraku. (I will surely be hunted down and killed and have my entrails on pikes after this. Mark my words.). I just know that I’m in a country that is both distinctive and every so often exasperating. I won’t do that and I don’t see myself doing it in the foreseeable future.

I won’t lie and say that I’ve never made a racist remark myself. When I was growing up, I was subjected to, at times, really disparaging remarks about my skin, my eyes, and heck, even my very existence. Never accuse me of being a racist. I hate everyone equally.

Racial harmony? Never heard of it.

It has been said that with the country’s current political situation and other whatnots, a number of people have talked about immigration in order to escape. Escape from what exactly, I’m not sure. I have heard of people citing reasons such as the many hiccups in the judiciary system, the lack of unity among the races, our RM5.68 (!!!11LOL11!!!OMG) cup of Americano coffee as catalysts to jump ship. I for one wouldn’t mind working in another country. In fact, I don’t mind if I had to work in another country for the rest of my work-able life, but when my bones start to ache and I develop a belly the size of a small manatee, I would love to come back, and ultimately, finally settle down.

I may hate it from time to time (which right-thinking Malaysian doesn’t?), the people, the road, cashiers, contractors, salespeople, but home is where the heart is. You can call me unpatriotic. I just call it as it is. Today, the country celebrates its 50^th year of independence. I, on the other hand, will celebrate my “freedom” on the 3^rd of next month. Now, that’s more meaningful to me.

Happy 50^th Birthday, Malaysia.

Here’s to another (un)glorious 50.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Exam is next Monday. Wish me luck, guys and gal. I’ll bring them with me.

Yikes

Wow.

The third week of my not-really-5-week course is now over. Just slightly over a month ago, I was busy doing nothing. Right now I’m so preoccupied that I even forget to shave. My beard. No funny thoughts. The last two weekends just blitzed by like a, um, blizzard. And the next two will be no different. In fact, they’re going to go by so fast, I’ll have a beard of epic proportions by the time I get to the exam room (no hall, since the organisers are cheapskates).

Mr. Overachiever, who henceforth shall be known as simply as Mr. Just-A-Question; Just-One-Question; This-is-Bad, confuses my confused face with my I’m-thinking-but-it-looks-like-I’m-confused face. He’s a nice guy; humorous at times, but his thick accent makes his jokes sound deadly boring. Get him into a classroom, and he’ll transform into a 12-year-old with a beard of epic proportions. Nasty.

I’d like to think I’m one of those guys who can multi-task. You know, for instance, brushing my teeth and headbanging. That kind of thing. The last three weeks have been anything but.

I’m so screwed.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: No loooooong posts make Chris sad.

I'm running on empty

As previously mentioned in the last post, there’s the overachiever who asks questions when there’s not even an answer to it. Yesterday, the funny fellow turned to look at me, and with an expression that was a mixture of disbelief and general WTFness, asked me, “How can you be so happy?” I told him, “Coz I took some weed?” He. He. He.

Well, fortunately for him, no. I didn’t say that but now I wish I did. It would’ve just whizzed by him faster than you can say “Dumbarse!” anyway. But I did say this, “There’s no point in being in a state of constant negativity and doubt. It’s unhealthy. And really uncool, too.” Not particularly Zen-inspired but it got my point across. I hope so because he still gave me a WTF look.

I hate to say this, but I’m so busy that I don’t even have the time to do simple things, like baking a cake. Not that I bake cakes to begin with but you get the idea. My body feels like it’s made of clay while my brain is number than a cold pack of sea cucumber. Every day for the past two weeks feels as though I was put into a blender with no Off switch. For some strange reason, I can’t seem to remember what I’ve learned so far. This is bad, as the exam’s only a couple of weeks away and I still have about twenty chapters to go. Woo. Pee.

I can only hope and pray that the next week will be better.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Somehow, I’m not that worried. After all, this is only just the beginning. I hope. My brain is benumbed from trying to cram in a fuckload of shit. Pardon my English.

Finally! An update! Woohoo!

The last five days have been a blur. Seriously. From having all the time in the world do shave my armpits to not having much to sleep, this five-week course has really put me in place. And it’s not even five weeks. It’s more like three and some. I don’t know how to count.

Anyway, the week’s been tiring as heck. Train rides to-and-fro the training centre have been fraught with idiots in all shapes and sizes. It also doesn’t help that the reference book I have to lug back every single day weighs more than my dumbbells, which aren’t the lightest things in the world to begin with. I feel like banging the book on some poor bugger’s head but I resist.

(Oh, how I resist...)

As usual, in my class there’s the overachiever who wants to know every single thing there is to know about something that has only one definition. It’s kind of weird seeing old men who have way more experience than me peering at their own reference book and slowly keying in data. I feel positively young. There’s also an old guy who knows a lot and always arrogantly points out things. He must be quite the charmer. And then there’s the lady who’s so polite, she’s actually annoying. Reminds me of me.

It’s all good, though. I’ve learned shit loads of things. Sometimes, I get lost, which is understandable considering that my only experience in the corporate world is sitting in a tiny room, keying in data for eight hours for two months. The only thing keeping me from going insane and start killing rabbits is the fact that I would be highly desirable once I pass the friggin’ exam. It’s a pipe dream, I know, but it’s still a dream.

I’m off for now. I have to study. Really. But don’t worry, I’ll keep on updating and visiting your blogs. Laters!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: I find this really, really interesting. Has anyone heard of a gay Jesus before? I think not. I say, if your own belief system is as strong as sticks on fire, and you believe whatever that gets fed down your throat, then you deserve to be hit on the head with a sledgehammer. Either than that, I say bravo to the gay pastor. You, sir, rock.

PPS: As funny as this may sound, I'll be attending my very first night class today (Saturday)!

If you think you’re nice, you’re not

I’m a nice guy. Most of the time, anyway. I’m polite; I say please and thank you far too many times that after a while it sounds rude. I always queue to pay my facial wash. I am predisposed to avoid trouble because it’s too much trouble just to be in trouble. I like to think I keep chivalry alive and well. I do hold the doors for you females, you know. I am sometimes too effusive in my praise. I am known to be glib at the most inopportune times. Which brings me to this:

I can’t stand it when people are nice to me.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice when someone comes up to me, and says that hey, you’re nice a guy. It makes me go all Melinda “I think I can see it; me neck!” Doolittle, but only for awhile. But when people are very nice to me, I get uncomfortable. Agitated, even. Sometimes, the evil side of me would think that these people are fake and sycophantic. My evil side even has a name. It’s Evil Chris. Imaginative, eh?

I remember an incident in my previous life as a salesguy, one of the seniors told me to never say “Thank you” to the client at the end of a conversation. I gave him my trademark WTF + Huh? look, and asked the obvious, “Why the hell not?” He shrugged his nonexistent shoulders, cracked a wry smile, and unctuously said, “Because it means that they are doing you a favour.” I tried to digest it but since I had a pretty crappy lunch, I quickly nodded, scrunched up my face so that it looked like I totally agreed with what he said, and walked back to my station. All the way (10 metres) I called him many an impolite imbecile.

In shopping malls these days you’ll likely to encounter a helpful, sometimes annoying store help. I don’t like them. Starbucks employees have a proclivity to not say Hello! Good afternoon, sir! to me even though I’m dressed in my best singlet and shorts, but when a similarly dressed White Man who has a belly bigger than me, they’ll drop whatever and start complimenting the fellow with much aplomb. But I have to say that things are not as bad. Yes, there are still some rude bastards and even ruder mofos who think they are God’s gift to the masses out there and when you thank them they draw a blank look.

On a completely different note altogether:

I’m going back to studying next week. Woo. Pee.

Since currently my job as a freelance busybody which pays me a grand total of nothing, I reckon it was high time to go for an upgrade of sorts. The course is a five-week professional certification, which in theory, will make me highly marketable. (I hope so!) I’ve been at home for almost six months now. I have nothing but compunction for my ineptitude and the blameworthiness is entirely mine. But come next week, changes will be in order and hopefully, and I really do hope a lot, that everything will turn out according to my grand plan. Failure is not an option.

Wish me luck!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: My new haircut makes me look like a gangster of sorts. Nice.