A few days ago, my 'good pal'(extra emphasis on the '...') Jega told me there will be a futsal competition today. With all dignity thrown of the window, I decided to take this opportunity to make my 'talents' known to the outside world. With my agile feet, robust physique and suave personality I will be in Old Trafford in no time. Don't even mention about the golden boots. Ferdinand will be mesmerised by my 'Great Wall of China' move. He would, with all his years of proffesional play, be stunned into submission for its simplicity and grace. Imagine him right now, rolling around Highbury's greens with both hands clenched onto his ever shrinking forehead, struggling to gurgle in the last breath of his sane mind: "All those years of scurring from one side of the field to the other! All those months of intensive training and stuidous resolute! All those days spent in the gym flexing those triceps of his! All wasted for I do not know the wisdom of Soon Lee's flabby and inept metabolism!" "What is the 'Great Wall of China'?", you may ask. Also known as the 'Berlin Wall', 'The Great Wall of China" is the trouble-free yet effective way of seeding out those pesky strikers. It involves a fortitude of great virtues such as the compounded lazyness of a Form 6 student, the futile pessimism of STPM and the brick-laden ignorance of exam day and assignment deadlines. Now to reveal the tactic which make Bergkamps stutter, Ronaldos raging: Stand still like the tembok you are, and hope for the best. The first implication on your would-be opponent is bewilderment by your unorthodox style of play followed by a period of denial of what has happened. Finally, the decapitating sense of his own subconcious will invade his alredy dysfunctional concious self. The player will then be heaped with such paranoia that he will charge back and score an own goal. How about it? Okay, to be honest it only works in theory. But, isn't that enough? Alright enough about the author's sly handling. Now, back to the competition. As it turned out the match was to be held at 2.15pm. At around 12 pm, most of our local Real Madrid(Extra emphasis on the 'Real'. irony: this is the pirated version) team has arrived with the exeption of yours truly. As because he hasn't indulged in the vast multitude of cullinary delights out there in Penang, this leading star player was short of energy and so decided to have lunch. Participants include the ever devious left-front striker Yeoh Kee Chai with his harmless looking 'Chicken Walk' hat-tricks and headers. Not to be left behind is Viknesk Kumarr, known in Chelsea as 'Mutu' (pirated version) the overzealous defender with a reputation for his high 'it's-in-your-face' karate chops. Then there is the former school player, Boon-ho. With his surprisingly mobile yet innacurate (with the exeption of those directed at Kee Chai's face) kicks, he jolts managers and coachers alike into a deep stance of regret and loss. Oh yeah, there was Pok-Ban as well. Finally, the clock stikes 2.15pm Greenwich Mean Time+8. Yet because of the state of the economy as well as the deep poverty our team members are in, we decided to forfeit the game(despite the fact that we are world reknown footballers) and receive kudos from our wallets. We continue on vigilantly to pursue other modes of contest. The free-for-all rag tag St Xavier's courtyard would do just fine for our egalitarian method of doing things. Before you knew it, it was three o-clock and most of us decided to return to their respective houses. P.S:By the way, I met Wen Fong today in Parkson's. For those who do not know who Wen Fong is, he is another of my 'good pals' with a striking resemblance to Thierry Henry

Yes, rest assured. I'm getting lazier these days. Just a few weeks after this blog's official launch, signs of ineptitude has already ran rampant. One of its symptoms is a good ol' friend of mine. Procrastination. Yes, the thought of "Aiya, tommorow lah" has brought this blogger to a standstill. How embarrising. Others might contend with the problems of having "Writer's Block", but me? The lame excuse of giving rest to one more day. That is why I haven't been writing quite profusely. (read the numbers:only 3 entries for 3 months) Hopefully I will pick up the pace and get my ass into the commitment that's needed. With any luck I will be up next morning,my soul burning with desire and passion to start up the computer and compose the next Great Malaysian Blog. With a bit of diligence I may as well ignore breakfast and all those other distractions (such as bathing and brushing your molars to a clear gleaming blush) in the quest to pursue the ultimate expression of free will and creative spirit this side of the earth. As you can read above, blogging is an intensive, time consuming activity. Bloggers are not unlike artists, compounding personal visions and inspirations into public composition, restlessly believing and burdening themselves with presentation and effect. In other words, we do things that excuse us for not getting real jobs. Please be vigilant and stay tuned to this site. For tommorow holds the birth of a new literary Picasso. P.S:My buddy Viks just got himself a cellphone. Finally, the merciless serial SMS messenger had a victim!!

Yeeaaarrrgghhh!! I just love Howard Dean

I'll be frank with you. This is not my idea. It shouldn't have been publicly visible. However, as because I do not have a life ( or a 'meaning' to it) I might as well pour out my innermost monologues of this past month. (This is an advisory given by my friend cum talented pshycoanalyst Viks) I have been thinking. Had most of us thought about that one day,we won't be alive anymore? Well, troughtout this entire period of delusion (which coincided with major festivalities: major exothermic firecrackers going of, pesky mutterings of relatives about your 'future'. Coincidential? No) I have taken such into deep reckoning, and came out frightened, shocked and finally, grieving. It was easy to get over the sudden depth of you not existing anymore. You just go *bampf*. No pain. No terror. However, after realising that it may not be anything more than turning off your computer screen, then it came. The profound sadness. The iminent lost of everything and everyone you love. It is just so heartbreaking. So horrendous. Death, as I may see it at that time, wasn't terrifying or sensational. It was a depressing farewell. However after much contemplation and reading, I had realised that death shoudn't be that. I have had a glance at the writings of those who deal with death at a regular basis (The hospice movement, that is) and I found out that death is a triumph for all of us after having struggled for our ideals and beliefs for so long. With a touch of honesty, I truly do not know the true significance of that view of life as because of the fact that I am still young and naive. Yet, I believe I had found comfort in it. After saying so much, I am still very much clueless at what death is. Like Confucious once said "How to know death when you do not know life?" Perhaps it would be better for me to take my life one step at a time than to rush things further. Or to contemplate in more abstract theories about the meaning, and the nature of life.