I was toast under this weather. Everytime I looked at my limbs,which were a golden brown, I thought of King Midas and saw him in the sun. It burned when he touched my skin, and each time he did I glowed and melted a liltle more. It was hot. The sky was a deep blue and the afternoon shine was a bright white and the shadows procreated were as black as night. I knew I had to get out fast before I was charred a black that black, but all I could do was sit thight and wait for the aircond to start. I stabbed the key in,the engine choked and choked till it eventually wheezed a smooth whirl that was followed by a loud static roar from the ducts and I thought I was safe at last. But, alas, I was wrong. I was wrong because this was a Proton, a Malaysian car with Malaysian components with Malaysian quality stamped all over them, and so instead of a soft, cool hush all I got was a scalding jet of air punched onto my face.It was a Malaysian aircond built with a Malaysian weather in it, which made me mad because it made me remember I am a Malaysian, the only nationality which comes with a gurantee that things will fuck up all around you.Things fuck up all around me,and it was exasperating when the door locks shut irregularly, when,from a whisper of air,the alarm beeped loudly, when the windows dont whine shut prefectly, when the seat belts ate into my tummy and when my tummy ate up my body and when my brain didnt snap synapses when it mattered and when my synapses snapped, in a different way, when it mattered. Things fucked up all around me not because I am Malaysian but because I fuck up, because I was a boob and a fool, a fool who only knew the art of eating and sleeping, a boob who only secretes sweat and plaque and saliva and not work when he was working and play when he was playing, who kept on thinking of work during play and play during work till all that were left were guilt and shame and shame and guilt.I stared at this truth, a truth so bare it drenched the crimson flush,coloured by the fumes from the ducts, off my face,till what was left in the rear mirror was a mask so white it shoud be snow.It was a fascade of snow white's after she ate the poison apple and before she kissed the curing lips, a peal so pale it could not bear life. I knew what I am and what I was were guilt and shame and shame and guilt. I ran and ran from the problems admist till I was crippled by them in the end. From there I glared and glared at the rear mirror, till all that were there were a fool and a boob,their crust boiled from a golden brown to a crimson flush by the air cond ducts.