Change will come...

...when you least expect it.

Watch this space.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: If you ask me nicely, I might just tell you what it is.

Hate makes the world go round.

Don't you just love a clear blue sky? Minus the stifling heat of now, of course. But, what's this? Yet another person, nay, idiot, bumped into me without uttering an apology for doing so. When I turn around, I know why. He's one of those idiots in sneakers, wears a cap the wrong way and is from a race generally known for the laziness and stupidity.

Oops, did I say the wrong thing?

Look, I hate everybody and anyone. So when someone accuses me of being a racist, I'll just pfft right at their cheeks. We all hate each other. If not hate, we distrust. Usually such unbridled ennui is because of someone's colour of their skin. It's a natural feeling. Even the nicest people I know, some of them polite and lovely on the outside, harbour deep resentment towards certain quarters.

And these are just the guys.

Racism in Malaysia is still alive and well, my friend. If a friend says they've been to here and there and have experience something bad our first reaction would be to say, "who was this terrible person?" and whence told, you'll say, "ah, thought so." We have preconceived notions about certain races that when we are regaled tales of good deeds we'd be aghast that it isn't what we've known.

It is not confined to just to other races, it even happens within one's own race. I should know; if it was a crime, I'm guilty. And I'm not ashamed to admit it. It just is. It's not like I sit down I come up with derogatory terms and jot it down on my Post-it note on my fridge.

Oh, the horror stories of what this race is and isn't have been told from generation to generation but does anybody try to tackle the "issue"? For starters, it isn't an issue, it just is. It's a fact of life. We whine and bitch about it till the cows have gone to another kampung but nothing happens. Because people don't really give a damn even though they're more than willing to share a whole sundry list of gripes. So why do we even bother?

Whining and bitching brings catharsis, that's why.

I've been on the receiving end of some pretty nasty racist comments. I doubt it won't happen again. Life goes on. Being a racist isn't a choice, it's already chosen you.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Alice in Wonderland was so-so. Bring on Clash of the Titans!

At least I don't have to wear that funky suit.

The steps taken are small, light and nary a sound. Heat? Unbearable. Imagine seeing your skin peeled, no, flayed before your eyes. Ironic that it's burn-proof material. My breaths are short and reek that is my own mouth is starting to nauseate me. But I cannot not be 100% focused. I just can't. I reach for the garbage strewn all over the ground and push them away. Colourful wires connected to a device that could blow me and the neighbourhood  to smithereens sat there ominously as though I was dared to cut them one by one.

I do.

Sweat is running down my face, the salty taste a reminder that I need a drink later. My earpiece crackles, I hear a command issued to me to get my ass back right this instant. As I'm walking back to the Humvee, I see hands waving at me. The visor limits my visibility considerably and so I walk faster. Another crackle and command yells at me, telling me that there's a suspicious-looking guy with what looks to be a remote detonator and that they can't get a good shot as the guy is running too fast. My heart is pounding so fast I think I might explode. I run as fast as I can in this godforsaken suit. 100 yards later and a mushroom cloud erupts behind me, throwing my body like a rag doll. While the blast echoes in my ears, deafening me and my cry, darkness takes over and the last thing I see is the scorching sun and smoke...

That's how I would imagine being a bomb expert. While I reckon The Hurt Locker and my current position are miles apart, I can relate to its stress, without the threat of loss of life, naturally. One tiny mistake, a miscalculation, even pressing the button that may or not determine the next second of your life, all that I can relate to. Sure, the drama and the high-tension are nowhere the level of such, however, the events of the past few weeks could be summed up with the above description. 

An explosion of the senses and mind.

This is not the first time I have kicked a fuss about my job but the past few weeks have been rough, to put it softly (do you see the pun?). If I had an out-of-body experience I'd try to kick my corporeal ass myself. Is this the path that will lead to greatness? I surely hope so, otherwise a 30-year-old me is going to be sorely disappointed (but, hopefully, wealthy). It also doesn't help that the old workplace also misses me. It was such a beautiful time. I truly miss it.

Just like how you will never forget your first love; you will never forget where your career took off*.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: The Hurt Locker was all right. Yes, just all right.

* - Only, that the first real job I had happens to be the best place where one can be. If you're planning to loaf about immeasurably, watch countless Youtube videos and having the best lunches ever then the old workplace is the place for you.

R.I.P Gurshan Singh

It's funny how you think that your life sucks after a hard week at work and then you read something like this.

The world you know it just got a little bit more violent and less happy. 

R.I.P little guy.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Godspeed to the family of Gurshan Singh. Justice shall prevail.