Great minds think alike. Greater minds don't dress alike.

I'll be as brutally honest as I can be: I absolutely, friggin' abhor couples who wear the same outfits. It is not cute. It is not clever. It is not something to be proud of. In fact, you and your equally sloth-minded partner should bury your heads in shame.

Matching outfits only work if both are blind.

I see this trend infecting young and old. The young tend to have upturned collars and wear shorts. The old wear something similar but may share the same set of dentures. Why do they do it? They say ignorance is bliss and if that's the case these yobs are as guilty as Charlie Sheen.

The only time couples are allowed to even wear the same outfit is if it's for an event that requires them to be dressed in uniform. Apart from that, lay off the matching leotards and sequined blazers. Please, do not harm the children.

You wouldn't catch me and my girl wearing the same outfits. Never, I tell you.

Now, where did I leave that blouse...

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Big news coming soon. Real soon.

Wow. It's been a while, eh?

What up, minions?

Oh, how time flies when your brain is nothing more than mush. I make no apologies for the absence, I just could not think of any worthwhile thing to say.

There is light, though. The brain is now "on" and I've a couple of things lined up in the coming weeks. Interesting times are abound, my friend.

But I must leave for now and return to my lair and meditate.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. This post was brought to you by Charlie Sheen's Tiger Blood.

Japan, I heart you.

I may have yet to visit you but I'm sure I will some day. Till then my heart goes out to all who have perished, surviving and living.

The land of the rising sun shall arise again.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Funny how the Whites of the good ole US of A haven't had 101 concerts in support of this tragedy.
P.P.S. Where's Bono, by the way?

The beginning of the end?

This could be the beginning of the end, folks.

Or, it could not be.

Stay beautiful, beautiful people.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. I have a craving for ice-cream.

Taking a break from blogging...

So here's a rather fetching picture of a rather splendid team:

Enjoy the week, people.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. I really have nothing in mind this week. Not even a tiny morsel of an idea. Am I getting old?

The only interesting thing that happened, nothing.

Please check back again. Brain under construction.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Seriously, brain under construction. For real.

Happy 1st. :)

Happy 1st Anniversary to the greatest girl on the planet. And some other planets.

You have given me a renewed reason in wanting to be the best man I can be. Thank you for everything you have done. I will do the same for you.

Sincerely yours till the end of time. I love you.

This is Chris, signing off. 

PS: This was not sponsored by Hallmark.

None but my own.

The grass is greener on the other side.

This obviously does not apply to the Wembley pitch.

When I left the joyful halls of D, I left because I knew I wasn't going where I needed to be. Where I had to be. My career was stalled. Confidence at an all-time low. Sanity diminishing day by day. Going home was a torture, depression manifesting itself in the form dancing rabbits, wielding pink batons (okay, I lie). More work came (something I loathed utterly but am now grateful for) and my friends were moving forward so that added pressure to my already pressured state of mind.

But a light came. It was a lifeline. I pounced on it like a lion on impala (not the most eloquent of proses but do bear with me). When I got the confirmation that my nightmare in D was coming to an end it brought massive relief. The great burden was lifted. Though, a wave of sadness came about: I was going to leave D and its people. It wasn't so bad at first but the last weeks there was really something. Leaving the position was easy, it was the people that proved difficult a task. I think I've said it before but I'll say it again: the people of D are the best. 

Fast forward to the first day at the new place and it went pretty well. The team was nice and friendly though they were really, really quiet and kept to themselves. Finally, I thought to myself, here I am embarking on a journey that will pave the way for my ultimate goal: to be super rich and be the boss of my boss. The work came in chunks and they needed to be done fast. A flurry of emails were sent out, work got done, I went back home happy.

For the first month, that is.

The next two became stale and insipid. I would surf the web for hours on end. I asked for work or tutorials on the environment I was supporting but the guys on the higher level were far too busy with their work. The lustre was fading and so was my enthusiasm. I kept telling myself that I need to get through this, it will be worth it, my dream will come true. But I was lonely there. Lunch time was spent staring into my screen trying to do any work that came in. Then, the call came.

I know leaving NA would blemish my reputation somewhat. After all, I was only there less than 3 months. It was a hard decision; if I had stayed it would have taken a year or so to see results. But the new place offered me something I craved: leadership. It's something I excel at and wish to further enhance. So another leap of faith was taken.

Am now about to enter my third week and, blimey, has the work come in droves. I've been in more meetings, concalls, discussions and whatnots than my last 2 positions combined. The team I work with is chattier and livelier while my boss actually views my opinions and thoughts very seriously. He also has given me free reign over certain areas which is something I'm truly grateful for. While I'm the only one in my field I reckon I will move forward much faster in terms of management and technical skills.

Exciting times are ahead. I won't lie and say I'm not worried about the future. I'm scared shitless, actually. I'm doing things I've never done before and I've a responsibility far bigger than I initially thought. But I'm going with all guns blazing. Wish me luck, guys.

The grass is surely looking to be greener here.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Take that, Spurs!

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.

Goodbye and thanks for the chicken.

Goodbye* can be a sad or happy thing. Most of the time it's just a normal thing. "Hey, take care and goodbye!" That sort of normal thing. But this time, it's a sad and happy thing.

After 2 years and 2ish months, my journey with my current employers will come full circle this Wednesday. Leaving a company where you got your teeth cut is never going to be easy, especially if you've made a connection with the people. No matter how crazy things had happened, you'd still feel a sting in your heart when your time to leave is approaching. It's very much your first love that wasn't to be; you'll never forget it and you'll never feel any bad feelings towards it.

Without this company, I wouldn't be the person I am now and will be. Aside from gaining the work experience I need so badly for my career, I've learnt a lot about dealing with people of all types (the bad ones have helped thicken my skin but it's still surprisingly smooth). Confidence and belief are at an all-time high, thanks to the working conditions and what transpired during my stint. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, so goes the saying but thankfully no-one wanted to do that.

I think.

So here comes the thank you list: I would like to thank the management (SH and Janhot), for hiring me in the first place, my team (you know who you are!) for helping me to develop my career. Special thanks and eternal gratitude go out to these beautiful people: Bill, you're such a fucking asshole but you're an absolute riot, thanks for being the older brother I wished I never had. Badul, you and I have a lot of things in common, so much so it scares me and while you act like a right dickhead, you're just a big goofy oaf. Akka, thanks for everything, I have no idea why or how you've become part of me but I'm glad I'm part of you. Since I'm not that kind of person but I will be this time: thank you, my dear RM. You've made me happy and hopefully we'll be together through thick and thin and in between. I will cherish what this company has given me and you're the best.

I guess this is it. I won't lie and say I don't feel sad writing this. The memories are starting to flood in my thoughts and it's not easy to not remember the good times. I will truly miss this place and its people but the time to move has come. I can only wish that the new place will have people half as good.

If any of you people are reading this, don't forget me. I know won't forget you.

This is Chris, signing off.

* - Or is it good bye? No-one says badbye or bad bye, right**?
** - Psst, I do.

If life was a talent show, I’d be voted off already…

This ain't me, folks. Really.

A thought came to me while I was on one of my evening jogs. (I was thinking so much that I almost fell into a drain. I fell nonetheless.):

What are my talents?

Hmm, let’s see, shall we? Is digging my nose to uncover green gems of gloop whilst typing out an SMS considered a talent worth bragging about? On second thought, I don’t think I want to list that when I go to an interview. I can burp the ABCs but normally by the time I reach M I’m slightly out of saliva. I can come up with the most inane conversation starters but the time I reach the middle it gets lame.

I’m not so sure myself. I can barely play the guitar. I find it difficult trying to hit shuttlecocks going at speeds even tortoises would laugh at me (if they had a sense of humour and a funny shell, get it? shell? hehe). My running skills are only feasible for five minutes and after that I’ll just pass out from embarrassment. My computer skills are limited to the things I know which aren’t much to begin with. I try to read five books at a time but I end up getting a headache from trying too hard to follow just one. My cooking skills are excellent provided I don’t cook in the first place. I try to sound all-knowing and burly but in the end I come out as slightly cocky and very cheesy nerd.

So what is my claim to fame? What makes Chris stand out from a crowd of talented, multi-talented, super-talented people? The answer is simple:

By being me, I guess.

I think that pretty much sums up everything.

Here’s something I wrote during my five-week course that I somehow forgot to include previously:

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. 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 simply as Bloody Idiot, confuses my confused face with my I’m-thinking-but-it-looks-like-I’m-confused face. He’s a nice guy; humorous (he laughs at his own little jokes) but his thick accent makes the jokes sound like a fish trying to spew water out from its mouth. But 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.

Shucks. I have to go now. I have a course to finish.

And on a much happier note, I’d like to announce that I start my new job next week, Monday! While the job is somewhat dissimilar in area from the course that I took, nevertheless, it’s still under the same scope. I’m excited as can be, so much so I’m planning to get myself a new pair of trousers. Yes, trousers!

Till the next time, take care y’all.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Oh, and if I were to quit in two weeks, well, you know where to find me.

I’m having a .23 life crisis

I wanted to post a picture of me when I was just a babe. But this pic rocks, don't you think?

For many, turning 21 is a momentous occasion. It’s a badge of honour of sorts, it means that you can vote, legally step into a bar, pub or casino without having to resort to using fake moustaches and ugly Hawaiian shirts that were made in Hanoi. You are now fully responsible for your actions. Whatever you do now will reflect on you till the day you die.

In short, turning 21 is grossly over-rated. But it sure is loads of fun.

It was only last Friday that it dawned on me how much I’ve grown as a person. Or rather, how old I’ve become. My friend, who was celebrating her 21^st birthday, had her close friends and family invited by her boyfriend to her surprise birthday bash. I along with Fillit made our way to the swanky and expensive-as-heck Japanese restaurant located at the most haughty and poor-feeling inducing mall in the country with high hopes of having a great time. After almost being strip-searched by the rather overzealous Laotian waiter at the entrance, we were escorted to the booked room, where on the way the smell of awfully fresh seafood was making Fillit and me queasy. When we finally reached the room, the first thing that came to my mind was: who are these young boys and this rather large girl with a rubella mark that resembles a splattered egg? Providentially, I saw the birthday girl otherwise I would have stormed right out. With a plateful of oysters, no less—after all, I was hungry. After the party, we then left to have drinks (read: drinks to make birthday girl drunk) at a more fitting location (read: away from the parents).

Located at Sri Hartamas, once a terrific place to hangout and be seen, it is now a haven for wannabes and pretentious show-offs. It never fails to leave me with a smile on my face. On this occasion however, it also made me chuckle derisively. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that if you were there, you would have thought that this was an outing for wide-eyed, pimply kids who have not seen the city at night, led by three (yours truly, Fillit and the boyfriend) nonchalant, booze-crazy child-minders. And we aren’t even booze-crazy. The birthday girl’s friends, to put it mildly, were so nerdy and innocent-looking it made me look like a seasoned pompous git. And I’m no more than 3 years older than them! The way they handled themselves; the grating, raucous laughter; the childish banter; it all brought back fond memories of when I was their age. I looked at Fillit and said, “Damn, we were exactly like them albeit with much better looks.” He nodded sagely and continued looking at the pretty girl wearing the cowgirl getup.

I used to think I was cool when I was 15. Monstrously wrong. At 18, I thought I was king of the hill. Horribly, ghastly wrong. When I turned 21, damnit, I’m the Supreme Emperor of the Universe! But with a few days remaining as a 22-year-old, I feel lucky. Lucky to have a great family, wonderful friends and a future that doesn’t have Celine Dion songs in it.

This year marks the first time in my life where if I could care less about my birthday, I would. By the way, have I already mentioned that this Saturday is my birthday? Anyway, I was never one to celebrate the day I came into this world. If I had known how crappy the world would turn out I think I would have stayed inside my mom’s uterus. He. He.

Rather gross joke aside, the last 5 years have been a real ride. The day I turned 18 was the day the Chris that you now know was beginning to blossom like a pretty flower. Before this, I was just any other ordinary kid who liked nothing better to do than to laze around and be with my friends. Heck, I’m still am that kid albeit with a much better vocabulary, sense of direction, fashion sense (I think), and just as parsimonious as ever.

Plus, I’m also much handsomer now.

This is a 22-year-old, soon-to-be 23-year-old Chris, signing off.

PS: I welcome presents in the shape of metal CDs, jazz CDs, books (none of that feel-good books, thank you!), supermodels and of course, wishes.

Hello! May I be your salesguy*?

Due to the fact that I am now employed (finally!), I am now unable to properly construct sentences that will leave you gasping for more, wishing that it will never end. In other words, readable material.

But fear not, I have the weekends. Well, some of it, anyway. What I can say now is that the pay is peanuts but the commission is fantastic (according to my employers but I don't give a toss, more on this soon) and I have a real working man's sling bag to complete the whole professional look. Unfortunately, my potential clients will not get to see my lovely bag but rather, will instead get to hear my manly and mellifluous voice telling them why they should do business with me, a boy who has no sales experience whatsoever but is still trying his luck selling things.

Life's pretty cool, eh?

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Do anyone want to buy something from me? I sell for cheap cheap one. No worries.

* = it was originally salesMAN but since I don't feel like part of the sales shtick yet I'm calling myself salesGUY instead. Only time will tell.

Non-conformity in my inner self, only I guide my inner self!*

When I was but a wee lad, I always wanted to be like James Hetfield of Metallica. I copied the way he held his superb black ESP Explorer, stood the way he stood and tried to sound like how he sounded. I was about 15 and was steadily losing interest in all the Green Day clones and dreary rock bands (read: Creed). I was slowly being indoctrinated into a new music faith and I wanted to look the part, to be uber cool. So I had three-quarter pants and a chain that was actually a combination of a short wallet chain and one from my police cadet uniform which gave it a one of a kind look. It was ridiculous and radical. You could have chained a pit-bull with it. It screamed poseur but I didn’t care. I just wanted to look like my then idols.

I fell for the whole “wanting to fit in” stage of my teen life. I remember vividly that what I wanted whenever I saw anything on TV my dad would shoot me down with a resounding “No.” It echoed in my head, the No bouncing off the walls of my sanity. Thankfully I was shot down so frequently I just gave up in the end. Otherwise I think I would have turned out a depressed child wanting a strawberry lollipop and have an imaginary friend named Bob who likes kittens. Preferably dead.

It’s a common occurrence for parents to send their young children to one tuition centre to another, one music class to another and having them play sports whenever their little feet can. Parents are in a way, trying to compete with each other to see who can go all the way to outdo each other. Whatever happened to friendly competition?

For awhile when I was in college I used to envy my friends who had the latest things. You name it, they had it. I just couldn’t figure out where the heck they got so much money. One would have the latest mobile phone, another would be wearing a pair Dockers I always wanted (the best trousers ever), or the newest whatever. They were so cool and I was so bland that I got envious. Try as I might I couldn’t be like them. Yet again, thankfully I got so downtrodden, and so sick of all the bullshit media feeding me images of what is cool, that at last I said, fuck this, I’m going to get people to try and fit with my style.

So what does conform mean anyway? According to the dictionary, it means “to comply with accepted standards, rules or customs.” By that definition then a good percentage of the planet’s population is a conformist of some form or another. Conforming to the norm while everyone wants to go against it is like going against the tide, you’ll tire yourself quicker and you’ll eventually drown. It is an inevitable part of life. We are all guilty of conforming. By not conforming to the norm we are in reality conforming to another norm. Think about, if you’re against guys who wear pink and you choose to wear black, then I’m afraid to say that you’re part of the anti-conformity conformists of the Black Brigade. You’re either a part of the bandwagon of commonness or you’re a pedestrian that goes against traffic just to see if the cars would swerve to avoid you.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to buy that pair of Nike shoes. People look cool wearing it.

* = refers to Brazilian thrash metal legends, Sepultura with their classic Inner Self.

Gute Nacht und Gutes Glück.

PS: I feel the need to apologise. I feel that I didn’t make myself as clear as I had hoped. Some parts in this post I feel that I’m slightly off tangent with regards to the topic and for that I apologise.

PPS: Since we’re on the subject of conformity, I’ve decided to *GASP!* convert Whacker Inc into *GASP!* Blogger Beta!

PPPS: And since I felt like doing it, here's my new blog where I give my 2.666 cents worth of reviews from books to music to even toiletry products.

Whacker Inc's Reviews and Ughs

The Day Chris Wore A Silly Hat

Boy did I have fun. Serious! 17^th September 2006 marked the day that finally I got to go up stage at a not-very-swanky hotel and receive my honours degree. And I had to wear robes that draped over me like an ominous shawl from the mediaeval days. What joyous fun.

It’s funny that I had left college for 9 months when memories of it are still swimming in my head as though it was only yesterday I kicked the CPU in class (it was an accident, I swear). Time passed by as I and my friends went about reminiscing the good and bad times, how intensely hot we were due to the silly heat trapping robes, and how working life sucks. Even when most of us hadn’t seen each other since college ended the camaraderie was as strong as ever.

So there you have it, after 9 months of waiting, cursing, registering and more cursing, my association with my former institution of higher learning (HAHAHA!) is now over. I am a proud holder of an honours degree of which I’m not that proud of. At the very least of it I feel that it enables me to knock on some employers’ door.

I honestly didn’t think I would have had a good time but I was proven wrong many times over. To all my friends, hopefully that wasn’t the last time we meet. Keep in touch everyone!

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: I look like a dork I know. But that was on purpose. I swear.