Too far

I started a book, and that's never a good sign.

On the way home today I had a thought, nothing new. It had been the same thought that lingers in my head for the past two weeks, but it made me think again.

It's been two months since I've lost myself to an afterthought. That sidebar has now grown into the feature story in my publication, and that's done nothing but distract me.

It's no good, especially when nothing good will come of this. I tried to keep away, but it's just so addictive.

I use the words 'magnetic', 'charismatic', 'weird' and 'captivating', but I know nothing comes near to the inexplicable bath of fulfillment that I am immersed in whenever I'm near.

Too much, too wrong, too deep in to waddle out. I just want the me from two months ago back.

Seconds

The raindrops slur onto the roof
And he stood still, lost.
A whisk, and he turned;
Caught again by the gaze
That he tries so hard to avoid.
A whisper, and his lips move;
A smile, and his face lifts;
A look, and his eyes are lost.
So far they seem, yet he follows
The trace of perfection
That burn in their wake
Across his imaginary sky.

Trouble

I've been told that I live my phases, and it can get pretty intense.

To make me lose my attention, it's got to be a wonder. And what a wonder it turned out to be.

I can't stop. I can't concentrate. I can't believe.

Deeper

They lie black, so deep,
Like the sensuous night sky
Against a bright sun.

Bottomless

Twice, they seize me,
Caught me falling.
So deep, and yet
I know not how;
So still, and yet
I keep swaying;
So rich, and yet
I still don't know
The true colors
Of when they shine.

I pause and think -
Hands to my chin,
Of the many
Reasons there are
To raise concern
About this thought;
That I should stop
My straying gaze
From falling down
To a dead end.

Into the subtext

"Never thought of that did you?" he stared me in the eye as the words drawled from his southern tongue.

I looked at the man before me, unshaken by the abuse he's suffered - scars on his face, a broken jaw, quivering hands, and a bad case of dandruff.

If he were off the horse I'd have taken him for a desert bush.

But there he was, mouthing off to me about some abstract alternative that I was gone supposed to have known before I got myself in this here mess.

I tried to look collected as I delivered the retort.

"No, stranger. Can't say that I have."

There was no expression on his ugly mug when he tugged on the reins of his horse and turned his tattered denim jacket back on me.

And off he rode, with me wondering if I had something better to say when I see him again.

Pieces

I live in a small home, of a small town, in the littlest country. Here, although we're all so small and compact, we've learnt that there are many things that are in abundance.

For instance, there is never enough space for things to go around. I guess that's kinda expected given the amount of land we had to begin with. But then there's the spilling of insecurity; I find it troubling that I can't very well look another person in the eye and trust him with my name.

But last of all, because of all this evil, is the abundance of hope. Such a tragedy this wealth has afforded us - it ruins our lives, takes that of our loved ones, and then as a final insult, someone benefits from it all.

There is a small eating place near my apartment. It lies in the middle of one's journey from the commute to the home and seeks to provide a travelers' rest for those in need of a meal or a quick drink. From all perspectives it seems viable - it's visible from the roads, there is air conditioning (for we are also in no shortage of hot weather), and the food is reasonably good and sufficiently tasty.

But how it suffers! I one day went to buy myself dinner after a long day at work and found the place cleaned out, as it was once before, of tenants. The stores lay bare, stripped of anything that's of value, no doubt by debtors coming to collect. Not even a spoon nor plastic bag remains to give clues of what had existed before.

Overnight - that's how we roll around here. When someone somewhere rakes in thousands and thousands for his culinary showmanship, a family whose main bread was to chop up chicken and place it alongside a humble serving of rice will have to hide out from nasty men looking for payment on the loan he took to start his store.

This is not the first time the eating place will vacate, nor will it be the last. The owners of the land want to collect rent, and there will always be the hopeful who pursue the beaten road, unaware of the mass burial site at the end of the fork.

Hope is a horrible thing, but without it, we all might as well be chickens in a McDonald's poultry farm.

Sunshine in your steps

If the moon would show tonight,
Then let it be for long;
And in the night time sky, so bright
The crickets will sing their songs.

When they're done, the bullfrogs come
To take away their fun;
With their voices, they will drum,
It's time to greet the sun!

The sky turns blue; the clouds go white;
The shadows start to fade;
As sea and sun and sky unite,
To make a brand new day.

And now it's time for birds to dance,
Flying off with glee,
"Hurry now, let's take this chance!
To the sun, where we want to be!"

Hindsight

There are many things in this world that drive men crazy, but none more than he himself, when left to his own designs.

That thought would sever sanity from institution, truth from reality, reason from time!

For regret eats at regrets, fending off advances by his sound being to rectify the tilt to his balance. But instead, the fuel squandered on distinctly impossible equations of remotely adequate versions of his reality.

A festering curiosity for the painfully obvious, yet deliberately oblivious.

For don't we all question, "why didn't we?"

Me on Immortals

I watched Immortals with the colleagues. It inspired me to rant, so bear with me.

Following in the footsteps of the delectable 300, Immortal promises to indulge our Greek Mythology fantasies by way of viscous blood, flying limbs and scantly clad people.

The storyline is simple, as always (for we all know what happens when we try to interject 'storyline' into a testosterone-filled slugfest *cough* *Troy* *cough*) - the overly skilled but underrated lone warrior has injustice served to him, picks up a weapon and off goes to annihilate other-worldly tyrant for the sake of mankind.

Immortal achieves little in terms of visual stimulation. Pure artistic masturbation, what with the over-the-top ways of dismembering a man in slow-motion. Greek gods, mortal men, overkill.

And an actress gets naked for the hell of it. That's always nice to have in a movie about men killing other men.

Surprisingly, it was what Immortal sought to achieve that proved to be it's downfall. With all the promises of violence and bloodbath, the fight scenes were overly simplistic, often not more than the main character impaling his opponents, slicing their throats and then throwing his spear at some soldier stupid enough to jump into an army holding spears.

Even with an opponent like 'The Beast', all it took were two cuts to the knees before the giant lay defeated after 5 pounds to the chest with his own bludgeon.

And of course, the hero cuts off the head off as a trophy, not to scare off would-be attackers but to toss into the ocean with noone else watching.

Oh, did I mention that it was all for a bow which he conveniently discovered while burying his mother? A bow that was used a total of 6 times in the entire 2-hour movie? The God Killer Bow, as under-untilized as the imagination of the scriptwriter.

If any, Immortal served to prove that even the Gods have Monday Blues, as they fought for their lives in juxtapose with the measly mortals they have 45 minutes ago refused to help.

Goes to show that if the powerful do not realize that they should help the weak, they too will have a lot of shit to clean up afterwards.

The highlight of the night came after the curtain call. I got into a conversation about wigs and minahs and mamas - all worth the price of the broken promise that is Immortal.

P.S. trust the movie reviews in My Paper over TNP.

Cold Coffee

It was a passing glance,
But yet you remember
The face that walked by -

How the pair of eyes so big
Looked into yours and quickly
Turned back to the floor.

Or the sheepish smile
From the momentary
Feeling of awkwardness.

But most of all, you replay
The small of her voice whispering
Something you can't hear.

Back home a hero

The heavy wooden door closed behind me as I entered the captain's room. It seemed a different world to the one that I stepped out from.

Sever was obviously a fan of trinkets, for all matters of tokens were sprawled in every corner. It looked more like a museum than the quarters of a respected seaman.

The man was seated in front of me. He had chosen to take his place behind the desk, away from the small dining table decorated with splendid teapots and serving trays.

There was a parchment lying on the table.

"The brave Mr Cook, back home a hero after the conquest of alien lands!

"That's what they'll be saying of you when we port at Yogava isn't it?" the Captain chuckled.

That a man so mannered would display such a mockery baffled me. I kept silent.

His eyes narrowed, lips curled into a slot as he stated me down, "Do you what that is, Mr Cook?"

The parchment was pushed towards me. It was rolled, but the broken seal was unmistakable; the error of my ways have caught up. There was no need to read it.

"Dear Captain, I believe my offer to bring me to Yagova is a very lucrative one for you and your crew. I expect it to be fulfilled regardless of the consequences," was my answer to Sever.

The Captain stood up, his chair landing hard onto the floor. Heavy footsteps place him towering in front of me. He did not speak, choosing to breathe heavily down my face.

I could not falter, "And I believe I have more than enough to spare you the trouble of calling the British dogs on me."

He smiled. There was a sharp pain in my chest, but still I could see him smile. I looked down and saw a dagger in me, and as he withdrew the blade from my beating heart I could see his smile widen.

"You do not come in to my ship a wanted man, threaten me with your riches, and tell me what to do with myself, Mr Cook," he slid back to his desk, wiping the blade on his trousers.

I buckled to the floor, my knees giving way as the vision stated to blur.

He gave a signal, and the door behind me opened. Heavy boots carrying a heavy man entered the room. There was the smell of death about his, drenching the room with blood and sweat.

"Look around you, Mr Cook. We have no use for your gold out here in the ocean! My men are hungry for a little more than riches."

The Captain turned towards his collection, "That pocket watch of yours will make a handsome addition."

Big hands clamped down on my arms as he dragged me out. I could hear the imbeciles cheering, no longer making fun of the unwelcome guest. They looked at me like wild tigers, after playing with their prey.

Coffee in a lonely room

A whiff, a stir, a sip;
Taken without expression
when a smile would greet
the welcoming taste.

The weather outside, cold;
The people indoors, hidden;
The air around, filled
with the tingling of a moving spoon.

White is mixed with beige,
Two beings offering little resistance;
Unlike the stinging sensation
that rests in my chest.

Towards the breeze

Life is driven by greed, and that desire causes people to act unlike themselves, trading their morals for varying acts of misdemeanor warranting varying degrees of consequence.

Of the many thefts, there will come a heist; of the many beatings, there will come a death; of the many lives affect, all will attempt to run.

And here I am, victim of my own greed, escapee from the consequences of my actions, stricken with the burden of my reward from an act of crime too far past to turn back.

"Tis a good day, Mr Cook!"

He is Francis Rivers, crew of the Merry Maker - a vessel I have taken my troubles to. The short excuse of a gentleman has become somewhat of a friend to me over the few days that I have been stuck at sea.

"That, you've been saying for the last two days, Mr Rivers... "

"... and it hasn't gotten any better! Haha!" Rivers cries, completing my sentence, sans my usual sarcasm.

"Haha!" reverberated the crew, listening intently to his foolery.

There should be around thirty of them, a motley crew cast together with the help of a dodgy tavern and the promise of booze and women - of which the former they have no lack of, judging from their lack or sense in gravity or oral hygiene.

And I have become a joke of sorts to them, me with my scent of the civilization that they chose to leave behind. I have become used to this, and the bantering ceases to a sometimes tolerable degree. But they soon pick up another part of myself to ridicule, and the fun goes on again.

That is, until they hear the voice of their captain.

"I fail to see the humor of this situation, gentlemen."

Silence, sniffles and gruff laughter turn coughs as they choke on their fear of the captain. Dressed as distinguished as a life at sea would allow him, Redford Severs helms the Merry Maker.

The name of the ship was his idea, though not one in the crew can convince me of the reason why. There is no hint of merry in the face of Severs, and his treatment of his crew do not tell me otherwise. I've seen fingers chopped off and skin scorched for as much as a look of discontent.

This man commanded discipline, and he will get it.

"Mr Cook, I will see you in my cabin," he said before the heavy oak doors close behind the giant of man.

This is the man who has taken me aboard his ship, and has in his best effort be civil. I follow him, glad to be rid of the company of idiots he calls a crew.

The weight of lead

Isn't it funny, how the more we don't want something to bother us, the more it does?

It sinks within us, like we're standing on soft sand with lead weights pressed down on our shoulders.

We don't listen, even though in a way we admit that we can't stand any further. Time makes the impression deeper, and the falling rain makes the sand softer so we sink faster.

The longer we stand, the harder we find to step out, the more we want to step out, the more we say we don't want to.

Isn't it funny?

Pansophy

It hurts, but we move on. In the rain, sound numbs the frozen emotions, lending strength.

Pictures revolve around memories lethal - fast to the point and lingering to ensure. Not much to work with, but artisans are seldom in need of excess.

The real world becomes blurred visions, paintings of what's in front of our unwitting eyes. Windscreen wipers act as hosts to a wealthy pool of reasons. More to come; there is always more.

Unwelcome, unwanted, overrated and all too infamous - the draining substantial from our deepest thoughts. Too diverse to gather, too shallow to drown in, we wander.

Kef from a midnight scribble

How very wrong, sometimes, the things that feel so right. As the dark deepens and the air stills, emotions stir easy and the mind runs amok.

I am often stunned by the importance of the sun- this blunt truth brought to light (haha) with the aging night.

Familiar sights are lost in the pale yellow street lights, and I turn to relying on my memory to find the way. Rights become lefts, and the way forward seems to take me into another realm.

A thin veil of moist covers the night, mixing with the sweat on my brow as panic seeps into an ill-convinced mind. There is no secret in fear, like how there is no way out once you trespass.

But you power on, forced by the urgency to escape and the insecurity of retracing what you never were sure of in the first place.

And what do you find?

We all have different ways of saying it, but we all know what it feels like - a dull ache in the chest; an uneasy clench of your diaphragm; the cold, choking cough that lingers after the warm drink.

You're addicted, you want more because there wasn't enough to begin with. That's why you're here in the first place - a feverish desire to indulge yourself in the very essence that you know is wrong and unforgiving, living off little victories from the faintest grip on your lost imagination.

And you tell yourself to end it, but yet here you are, throwing out words to complete strangers who will judge you without knowing you at all; in this mist of careless revelations, there can be only one benefit - that I came out and said that I can think of nothing but.

Badminton Racket Review: Prince Black Pearl

Before all my expensive Yonex rackets were the value-for-money series - Karakal, Carltons, Dunlop, and Prince. These were the underrated rackets that little wanted to try because there was the perceived excellence that is Yonex, Li Ning and Victor.

We know how much I adore Carlton rackets (even more so with the recent purchase of a Powerblade 9902), but I've had the pleasure of using 2 Prince rackets so far, and I've only had good things to say about them.

This one here's for the very pretty Black Pearl. The racket first caught my eye when I was choosing between this and the Black OS - it was nice and shiny (always good to attract attention), but it also was a conventional head shape. I've never had one of these so I got curious.

Let me first state that I am no pro, and this is just my evaluation of the racket to my playing style and experience with it. If anything, I'm a low-intermediate level player looking to improve myself by playing more often and taking the lessons that I learn from the court away as pointers for the next session.

With that said, on to the review.

Prince Black Pearl XP
Dry Weight: 86g (3U)
Grip Size: G5
Balance: Even
Max String Tension: 28lbs
Flex: Stiff
Strings: Yonex Nanology 98 @ 25lbs

I've only used this racket for singles play.

Technology:
- Oversize Head
- Triple Threat
- Super Strike Shaft

Defense
Coming with an oversize head means the swings come slower, but this racket isn't very much heavier than the rest anyway so the bigger head comes into play. Defensive shots are clear and precise, with the shuttle reacting the way I want it to. Reaction to drives comes easy with the even-balanced weight and larger sweet spot.

However, having larger head also means that you're left with less shaft. That took my defense down a notch when I reach for smashes down the side tramlines.

I've also recently been host to a lot of body smashes. With the Black Pearl it's less of a problem because of  the speed at which I can move the racket and the larger hitting area given by the overhead head. The specifications of the Prince Black Pearl XP makes it a pretty all-rounder in defense - speed from the conventional head and even-balance counters the drag by the oversize.

Attack
The "XP" in the name means "Extra Power", or I'm told. Being an even-balanced racket, I wasn't able to pull off much power from the racket, but what I did notice is the quickness from the sudden snap of the wrist and how that translate to a very fast reply.

My smashes sounded sharp and crisp, landing mostly where I intended them to. Although I found myself using more check smashes with the wrists than the full-on court busters, the feeling of how quick the shuttle came off the strings were addictive.

However, the XP branding really came through when it came to the cross court pushes and fast drives. Not a fan of using those often, I found it amazing how accurate the Black Pearl can be.

Control
This is one to talk about. The Prince Black Pearl XP gives me a lot of confidence when it comes to moving the opponent around the court. Drop shots, net play, drives, pushes, clears and deception came easy with the Black Pearl in my hand, and I'm glad for it.

Although the even-balance of the racket means I'll have to work a bit harder to deliver the distance on the clears, the ease at which that task comes makes the disadvantage negligible.

Perhaps owning to the bigger hitting surface, net shots and drop shots (both of which require you to hit off-centre from the sweet spot) are relatively easier to perform.

Looks
Chrome and gold. Stunning. You can now call me, Gold Finger.

Comparison
I've only had a few other even-balanced rackets, and I'm going to to compare this to the Carlton Vapour Trail Vanquish. With the Carlton among my top-favored rackets, the Black Pearl comes pretty close in the control department. Well suited for players like me who like to win the game by having the opponent out-maneuvered, the Prince Black Pearl XP comes in slightly behind the Carlton Vapour Trail Vanquish in terms of control and speed.

Prince Black Pearl XP

Defense: 8

Attack: 7

Control: 9

Looks: 9

Something silly

I saw a little girl today,

She's as cute as can be.

But the moment she had a look at me,

All she could do was scream!!



So off I scamper, so afraid

That she would stomp me flat!

And I if don't go home today

My family would be sad.



For it's been raining fast and hard

In the forest where I live,

And to escape from drowning fast

My shelter I have to leave.



So little girl don't be afraid

Of me, the tiny worm.

For you are a thousand times my size,

So it's me that should squirm!

Misshapen

How can you miss someone you never knew? Have the image of the person linger at the sound of a tune?

And to keep listening to that same song over and over, just so the image will stay and you don't have to miss them so much and the heart will stop aching.

How can the heart play such tricks on the mind, making nonsense valid and overcome the logical sense of things?

Each beat, each word, each strum of the guitar.

There are limited memories, and to you they are crystal. Holding on in your mind like the tremble of the last string and repeating with the first. Again.

Two words, accompanied with the lyrics of the slow, meaningful chorus.

How can you miss someone you never knew?  I guess it's just because you hope to know them so well.

Sentient

There was the door, and the here I was. The anger tipped my foot closer and closer, sounds of five minutes ago ringing in my mind, feeding the decision, teasing the thought, influencing the eventuality.

"For the end," I could hear myself say.

"It's been too long."

Freedom, and onwards to the light, but the heart paused as I took the last step out. It sinks, it wobbles, it turns the sour of a painful regret.

What pain left behind, pride took over, and the forward movement continued. Aching feet dragged along the shadows of the distorted hallways.

"Don't look back, don't give in," a voice tries to convince.

For a different tomorrow dawns as soon as I left, and that future will be uncertain. I had wanted this, I had made my move, I will follow my decision.

In the days to come, I will realize the truth in my leaving, and the ripples of my actions. But for now, I embrace my bravery and step out.

Slowly, unsure, inconveniently lost; nothing to lose but what should  have been lost.

Perspectives

I guess Bhutan's trending right now, at least on my facebook wall.

As all ignoramus are, there I was minding my own business playing my facebook game when all of a sudden a post about one of our social media-savvy ministers came on.

It was about a written reply to his reference to the small kingdom of Bhutan. I won't repeat what was said because if you don't know by now you're better off reading one of my badminton racket reviews.

With that out of the window, I started asking whether I've actually placed myself in a similar situation as our dear minister - looking at a place with colored shades and wondering why it's all so retro.

Coming from a guy, it can get pretty annoying when someone comes up to you and starts offering advice left and right about how much better your life will be if you'd just start improving the way things are done.

Kudos to the citizen of Bhutan for opening my eyes on the varying degrees of the word 'better'. From the eyes of our minister, who comes from one of the most competitive countries in the world, the slow-paced lifestyle of Bhutan probably means the people are struggling to make ends meet, working their malnourished asses off just so they can afford the latest iPhone.

At that moment, I think he was placing himself on a higher pedestal.

Read the reply to our minister's perspective and you'll see the values and culture missed out by his city-dweller worldview.

I guess when you earn the paycheck of 30 people in your country, there's hardly space to consider that people can be content with breaking their back and sweating in the fields.

But then again, that's just how I see it. From now, let's all try to understand a few more perspectives before shooting our mouths off aye?

For a better world, and a few more fresh breaths of air.