Sunday, June 19, 2016


I officially turn 24 today. It's probably the most low-key birthday I've ever had. Then again, I've been wanting to be low-key for a long time now. I feel okay though. I hate celebrating myself. What is there to celebrate? If you've seen or known me recently you'll probably know why. Save your "I think you look good" bullshit because you just want to be nice. Thank you, though, if you actually said that to be nice.

I took a selfie and posted in on Instagram just now. I took it under good lighting and all, but I couldn't really make it look good enough. I had to use a BnW filter. I look scruffy, unkempt, tired, pathetic, everything you can think of when you see Chris Pratt in Parks and Recreation. Fucking Chris Pratt. Look at him now. Anyways, I'd imagine a 16-year-old me would not recognise himself if he'd seen me looking like this. He'd probably work harder and did better things with his life so he wouldn't end up like me, but we all know that's not how life works. Life's a bitch. The ultimate bitch who gives you only one fucking chance. You blow it, you don't get another chance, unless you score some miracle from God and get to travel back in time to rectify whatever shit you did. Again, that's not how it works.

I listened to Fun's Some Nights album recently. I bought the CD a couple of years back and rediscovered it stashed in my car. I popped it in the CD player and had the most wonderful time torturing myself to the sappy, kill-yourself, downward-spiral kind of theme the album showcases. It fits my life so much it scares me. I've also got Twenty One Pilots' Ride and Stressed Out stuck in my head for the longest time. I hate how right these songs are in describing the shit I'm facing right now, but that's why I keep listening to them. 

In a way it's pretty good. I'm on more antidepressants after seeing yet another doctor last week, and me rediscovering an attachment to music pairs quite well with that, don't you think? No? Fuck you then because I need to feel good. Music is supposed to make me feel good, feel better. It used to so much. Video games used to do that a lot. Travelling. Hanging out. Watching movies. All these things I've lost in my downward spiral. It's frustrating. In an attempt to free yourself from all the shit that's bringing you down, you let go some of the things that actually is holding you up, because you're a fuck-up. Frustrating. Fucking frustrating.

24 years old. I've lived for 24 years. I'm going to say something cheesy, so please forgive me. I've lived for 24 years, but I've never felt alive in years now. Fucking hell I actually smiled while typing that. There's a reason it's cheesy, the same reason why stereotypes exist and why you're an idiot; it's *generally* true. It fits so well in so many lives. I'm part of the masses now. I'm disappointed in myself. 24 years and I'm part of some cheesy expression. 

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Don't Ask

Alas, here I am, the very embodiment of disappointment, failure, travesty, and guilt. I'm home. I'm currently writing this on my desk, in my room, in Malaysia, The Land of Heat, Bad Traffic, and Cheap Food. To say that the ride has been wild is a severe understatement it's almost criminal. It was a total of 5 and a half fucking years. 5 and a half fucking years washed down the drain. 5 and a half fucking years. In those 5 and a half fucking years I have achieved nothing.

It's truly a tragedy when someone loses 5 and a half fucking years of his/her life. In my case, though, the tragedy has just begun. To be honest, my whole entire existence has been a tragedy. I honestly believe that my family are the only people who don't see my existence as one. And that's stretching it. Anyhow. it may seem very, very attention-seeking that I'm writing the way I am right now, maybe even for as long as I've been writing on this goddamn blog, and you know what? Fuck it. I will chronicle my whole entire grief, misery, depression, tragedy, every bit of sad story I can here on this page until the day I have no more to give. I pray to anything that can listen that that day may soon come. Please fucking come.

Despite all that though, I was told that I'm still very young. Am I young? I feel old. I feel ancient. I feel like I've been carrying a fucking hill on my back and I can't even remember when that hill got there. Hopefully this hill behind my back doesn't evolve into a mountain or something, because my back can't stand much more of this shit. I constantly have back pains nowadays (literally) and I really think I won't be standing straight in a decade or so. I'll have a hunch on my back. I'll be like the guy who rings the bell of the old Notre Dame, just not as hideous. You've seen the Disney movie right? 

I'll be turning 24 in a week or so. If I were a professional football player I'd be peaking right about now. If I were a professional gamer I'd be slowly plateauing. If I were an office worker I'd still be a rookie. Of course there are people out there who are flowing money out of their asses by my age, but hey, I look into the mirror every single day and you know what? I got nothing. Literally nothing. It's like my life hasn't even started yet. I'm an infant. An infant who's all hairy and shit. And I don't know where to start. Where do I start looking when I am where I am right now? What do I do when I am what I am right now? Who do I see when I am who I am right now? 

I'm embarrassed, yet I'm still writing this. It's one of the very few things I have for myself at this point. I'm trying to force myself to like video games again, because I have a half-decent computer that can run decent games. Other than that, I don't have much anymore. I've cut ties, I've given up so many things, all in the name of keeping whatever sanity I have left. It's tempting to lose everything and just give up my sanity at this point, trust me. Just think of all the perks I'd get; I won't need to care for shit, I'd get easier parking, discounts everywhere, I'd even get a nice, comfortable place to stay where I can do literally anything I want. But without sanity I'd be without the only thing that wants me to keep going. Now that's a contradiction, I know, but it is what it is, and I can be very cryptic and confusing. Hell even I don't understand it. Or maybe I still have enough pride in me to not want to admit it. Either way, sanity and ego can go a long way, and I'll take what I can get. Something something beggars something choosers or some shit.

Someone told me, "you'll bounce back."

Never have I not believed anyone as much as the person who said that. I honestly don't know what's next. I'm hoping to use my need for adrenaline to keep me from fainting at the thought of "what's next." I'm hoping it will be enough to keep me well enough to see "what's next." What's next. What is next. 3 words that can shut down a fully functioning brain of any person, given the right circumstances. Well my brain hasn't stopped yet, and I fully intend to find out what the fuck is next for dear little old me. And all of you are welcome to know. 

Just don't ask because I'm just gonna say I'm okay.

p/s I know what time of year it is so save your preaching for someone who actually cares. I'll say what I want.

Saturday, April 30, 2016

Ego and shit

I'm in a rut. I can't really write much, I don't really go out much, and my sleep pattern is all but fucked. It's like seriously fucked. I haven't seen the light of day for, I think, 3 days now. It feels so bad. It feels like I've ran a marathon, only no calories were burnt in the process, only my sanity. Yeah, I still have my sanity, if that's what you're thinking.

I miss a few things in my life. I really hate admitting it. I'm stubborn. I blame my dad for that. He has an ego the size of a mountain, and I'm closely following behind him like a parasite. Nevertheless here I am, admitting my shortcomings to anyone who gives a shit. Thanks though, for giving a shit. If you don't, then I don't give a shit. 

It's hard for me to tell people what I think. You see, I have this irrational fear of people hating me. For that, I credit the bastards at an old school of mine. Maybe some of you know who they are, maybe some of you are the very bastards that have made my life miserable for the last 10 years or so, or maybe you don't know shit, and that's okay. I rarely tell anyone anything anyways. I mean, how do people do it? How do people say what they think to other people? How are people not afraid of other people's opinions? I don't understand.

There are alarming things about me, I can admit to that. But don't give me bullshit like "thank God I don't have issues like this guy" because guess what? You're fucked in your own way. Everyone is. We are all fucked one way or another. Sometimes we just don't realise it, or sometimes we don't wanna admit to it. Look into a mirror and just ask yourself, are you fucked? If you take even a split second to second guess yourself, then there's something. If not, hey! You don't exist. Or you're delusional. Take a pick.

Anyways, all I think about nowadays is how the fuck did I get into this situation. I saw Deadpool the other day (finally) and he said something along the lines of when you find yourself in a downward spiral, you can trace it down to one giant fuck-up that started it all. Wade's was his voluntary participation to be a guinea pig for Ajax/Francis. I'm still figuring out mine. Maybe we all are still figuring out the fuck-up that started it all.

Or maybe all of you just don't, can't, and won't understand. I've had people do those to me.

Now that I think of it, I've said enough. If I say more, all you fuckers do is just shake your heads and feel bad about me. I don't want nor do I need pity. Or maybe you fuckers will laugh at how pathetic I'm being, writing all these dark and weird stuff about myself. Or maybe you fuckers are gonna use whatever I've said against me one day or some shit. All I've longed for, all I've ever wanted, all I ask for is....

Ha! Got you. 


Thursday, April 21, 2016


It's been a bad week. I mean, nothing bad actually happened, it's just that it's been a bad week. It's like that for me. One day I can feel all sunshine and butterflies then the next it can turn into thunderstorm and flies. There's no middle ground, no cloud building up, no dying butterflies, no nothing. I used to say "fuck my life" but now I just say "here we go again."

Oh and fuck you if you say "just chill out man blablabla..."

It's nothing I can control. It just comes. One day it's rapture and the next apocalypse. Sometimes they happen in the same day, more than once. It's violent, the change. It's also exhausting, frustrating, and full of consequence. When you're somewhere very high, it hurts more when you come crashing down like a sack of potatoes. 

We always whine about how our life is not perfect and how we don't have money and how we have to work or study and how shit things happen to us all the fucking time. What's a perfect life anyway? Has anyone ever stopped and thought about what a perfect life is? Okay so you want a lot of money doing as little work as possible, you want to be happily married with kids (or no kids, whatever), you want a big house, a big car, yadayadayada. Have you ever thought that having all that is not as perfect as it seems?

In life there is a primal need for things to be balanced. Think about it. Without balance, shit just falls over. If you think achieving all those "perfect" things is like crossing the finish line, you're fucked. I'm not gonna explain further because it's not actually my place to talk about shit I don't have, but I'm sure all of you have the ability to think about consequences of all your actions. If not, why are you able to read the shit I'm writing?

I'm feeling so bitter today. I've been wanting to write something but nothing seems to be coming out, then I saw something on the internet that made me feel so bitter. I'm not saying what it is because I don't think that person wants to know how I'm actually feeling. Besides, people only like it if we're happy for them right? No one wants people coming up to their faces saying "fuck you and your happiness" or "may you crash and burn" or whatever. Fuck whoever coined the saying honesty is the best policy because most of the time, it's not. 

Anyways I might be quitting anytime soon. What am I quitting? I won't tell. It's probably gonna be publicly known when I quit it anyways so why bother? You fuckers just love talking about what people are doing am I right? All you fuckers want to know what is it I'm quitting, and most of you shits don't even have the fucking balls to even ask me decently. That's just how we are, and I don't blame you. We're all idiots. We're all pussies. We prefer the easier way of assuming instead of the harder way which is finding out. Well, in that case, good fucking luck having that perfect life.

Okay so for clarification purposes, quitting here doesn't mean I'm going to kill myself. It sounds perfectly plausible, I know, but no, it's not suicide. I haven't thought of suicide for a long time and I want to keep it that way. Sure I'm falling down right now, but I've not hit rock bottom just yet. Yes, once I hit rock bottom I will be thinking of suicide. It won't be the first time. 

Monday, April 11, 2016

Contradicting contradictions

I struggle sometimes to think what things I actually love and enjoy. Some days it's video games, some days I love travelling, sometimes it's reading, writing, or whatever. It's a painful way to live, because something you genuinely enjoyed yesterday might not give the same satisfaction today, or tomorrow, or the day after it, and so on.

I'm no planner. I wing things almost every day. What I decide to do tomorrow cannot be said before I go to sleep tonight. I've always been that person. I'm a huge pile of mess, and I know it, and I'm living it, and I don't give two shits about what people think of it. Then again, here I am at the age of 23-something, still breathing, while I'm not too sure about living. 

Sometimes I wonder, is all this worth it? I have a huge planner in front of my desk in my bedroom here in Wellington. There are some jottings on it, but I haven't updated them in like a week or so. I have a large collection of video games in my Steam library, and there are games that I haven't even started playing yet, and then there are some that I don't even plan to play ever. I have mementos of the places that I traveled scattered everywhere. I have books lying around, pieces of paper that have writings on them, but most days nothing seem to matter.

Fuck this is depressing. I'm much calmer now than I was a few months ago though. In fact, I don't even think I've felt this calm in fucking years. I quit the world. It's as though one day I was looking down at all the bullshit that's around everywhere and I just went "fuck all of you", gave a middle finger, and just dug a cave at a side of a mountain, living off the teats of nature and all of its greenery. It's like my whole existence just looked in a mirror and said "fuck it" and enjoyed the ride instead. 

So what's the price of all this, I wonder? Because if I know something about what the fuck life is, it's that everything comes with a price. Truthfully, I don't care. If I die a horrible death, I die. Who even dies gracefully anyway? It's death. There is absolutely nothing graceful about it. For now though, I can be certain about something; I'm having the best time since I can even remember.


While I was writing this, I suddenly had the urge of looking through my Facebook photo gallery. I saw an old photo of me, and I looked happy. Then I saw some more. Then I decided to write this little bit after the three asterisks above because why not? 

Why, you ask? 

Thursday, January 7, 2016

A Simple Story

Why do we live?

The simplest explanation, or answer, to this astutely philosophical question is

We live to die.

Isn't it? A baby is born today in South London. That same baby will grow up to be, say, a doctor. That doctor will treat patients, cure diseases, make hundreds of thousands of Pounds, then that doctor will die. Why is that? Why do we die? It is, simply put, because we have done enough.

Throughout our lives we do stupid shit. We curse, hit people, talk smack behind people's backs, steal some food or money, laugh at disabled people, kill cats (and/or humans), and so many other stuff. Bad stuff. Not because we are bad people, but because we are merely, people. It's our nature to do stupid shit. It's our nature to sin. Fuck those who say they won't sin anymore after repenting. Aside from prophets handpicked by God Himself, no one is sin-proof.

Speaking of God, why is it that He lets us run around in His world doing all these stupid shit? A friend of mine once said, that is why He is the Most Merciful and Most Loving. The fact that we, His slaves, still run free and are able to do as we so please is a sign that He is Merciful to all of us. He's our Master, and we are slaves. It's a simple dynamic. He creates us, tells us what to do, then leaves us be. He watches though. He knows. He intervenes when He deems fit. Why? 

I've been watching The Mentalist a lot lately. Patrick Jane, the protagonist, said, "most of the time, the simplest explanations are the correct ones," and this is almost always the case in the series when it comes to solving murders. However, that's murder. This is about life altogether. So why does God let us do what we want in this world? Why does He just let us be? The simplest explanation is, He already knows all of our purpose. Once we have served our purpose, He takes us back; we have done enough.

It explains so much. How come [insert name of evil man] is still alive? Well, because he still hasn't done enough. Enough of what, you may ask. Now, that's up to God. Fair enough, though, He did create us. The fact that we can do so much and question so many things is already so much freedom. What slave gets this much freedom? 

Nevertheless, being a Master, He must punish His slaves if they did wrong. It's that simple dynamic again. Why does He punish us? Because He is our Master, and we disobeyed Him. Fair enough, right? You'd get frustrated if a robot you created suddenly says "fuck you Imma do what I want" one day and just does shit. Again, simple dynamic.

He is, again, the Most Merciful. He punishes His slaves just enough. Never too much. If you're a tad lucky, He may forgive you. He is, after all, the Most Forgiving. Another fascinating thing about this relationship is that no matter how hard you've sinned, no matter how many orders you've disobeyed, no matter how bad of a person you think you are, if, and only if, you believe in God and His messenger, He will put you in heaven. Well, after you've done your time of course. That's just amazing isn't it? How much love is that? What kind of a Master does that? Very intriguing isn't it?

Speaking of punishments, we all know the story of Adam and Eve. God created Adam, and then Eve. He put them in heaven and only gave one order. One. They both disobeyed. We have so much to obey nowadays. Adam and Eve? They had ONE order. So don't feel bad that you've done a few stuff. You may not be a bad person after all, you know, unless you kill a cat out of spite. That's pure evil. Anyways, Adam and Eve. Eve committed the so-called Original Sin. What else about the Original Sin that is interesting?

You see, when we die, get resurrected, tried, and eventually get sent to heaven (assuming you believe), that's it. For all eternity. That's it. We don't really have to care about anything else ever. Adam and Eve, they were the first humans. Adam is a prophet, which means he is of very high prestige among human beings. He is our forefather. Our very DNA comes from him. Now, he may have died and gone to heaven, and is looking at us from up above, yes? What do you think he feels?

The Original Sin deserves a punishment harder than any other sin. It's only fair. Adam and Eve were brought down to Earth as a punishment, and they were separated so that Adam would learn his lesson. He did learn his lesson. He repented. He cried and created oceans from his tears. Still he is being punished. Still he sees all the shit we do every day, all the wars we fought, all the killings and mass murders and genocides and raping of this Earth. He must have been devastated about Abel and Cain, yet to this day, we, his children, continue to disappoint him.

We don't realise that do we? Of course not. Why would we? But for countless years we have been called the Children of Adam. We men even have his name stuck in our throats. Imagine all the heartbreak we have caused him. My dad almost killed me because I once failed an exam paper. Adam had to watch for thousands of years his children murdering each other. The saddest thing is, he can't do shit.

Why do I write this thing? It's probably borderline blasphemous. It's just, that line, what Patrick said about explanations, that got me to think about a lot of things. My mind wandered around explaining so many things, et voila. I was thinking about Adam and Eve.

Offended? Please. 

I don't care.

Thursday, December 31, 2015

Bang, Thud, Pop. Happy New Year.

Let's see. 

Wow what's not to see. Glaring mistakes, obvious mishaps, avoidable problems, and all in all, heartbreaking attitude. What else happened, I wonder if you wonder. What else happened in the miserable life of this fat, ugly fuck who writes horrible things about himself on the internet? 

Not much, I'd say, but let me tell you a story. A story about New Year's Day. An unconventional one.


My dad has cancer.

These words are dreaded by everyone in the entire fucking planet, no matter your social position, no matter your wealth. Yet these words have been ringing inside my head for the last few weeks, and there's nothing I can do about it. This year has been a fucking disastrous clusterfuck of a shitshow, and this is, I guess, the proverbial cherry on top.

It's raining outside. My hands are on the keyboard that I just bought, typing away whatever the fuck that goes on in my head. I need an outlet. A place where I can pour everything and then just forget about it, at least for a while. Yes, this year has been terrible, and there's nothing more terrible than someone you love having cancer. 

Oh don't worry, I'm sure he'll be fine. There are lots of cancer survivors out there who can testify. Your dad is a very strong man, I'm sure. He'll pull through.

Yeah, fuck that.

I didn't say a terrible week, or a terrible month. I said a terrible year. You know what that means? It means the whole fucking year has been absolutely vicious to me. It tore me apart both physically and mentally. This year marks the year where I gave in, where I lost the battle, where I succeeded in failing. This year was the year I lost hope, lost faith, and lost all understanding. This year, I was fucked. Hard.

I'm not going back it seems. I'm stuck here for now. You might say it's okay, I can take care of my dad. Fuck that. My dad is an egotistical motherfucker. He'd rather die than bowing down to others. That's the kind of man he is. That's the kind of man he wants me to be. He doesn't accept failure. Guess what I am? A fucking failure is the answer. You think he wants me near him? You think I want to be near him? You think I want to stay and bear all the fucking burden of being the failure of my father's life? I'm his son. I have an ego as well. He taught me well. Fuck everyone else and suck your ego's dick. 

Maybe he's gonna die. Maybe he'll live. One day he's gonna go anyways. That one day, I have been thinking of all my life. I don't want him seeing me as a failure as he goes. It's one of my biggest fears. Yet here I sit on this terrible chair, a fucking failure, and my dad has cancer.

People around me are beginning to lose hope in me. Some lost hope a long time ago, they're just putting on a charade because it's their duty to give a shit. People around me are starting to lose trust in my bullshit. Some lost trust in me completely long ago, they're just saying shit in hopes I stop saying all these stuff. Maybe a few people still care. Maybe a few. Too few. And these people don't say enough. I don't believe them. Why do people who care don't say enough? Are they stupid? Why do those who don't care say the most?

I'm sitting in front of the screen right now, and I'm getting a strange feeling. I feel like....a spent bullet that missed its target. Yeah, that's kinda accurate.

I was among my peers. I was readied for use. 


I was triggered and went off with a loud, cracking noise. My exterior fell off as I flew.


I missed and now I'm stuck in a wall. I leave behind a crack and a small hole.

To get me out, they had to use a pair of pliers or whatever. They had to pull me with force. They grunted. 


I came out, battered and different than before.

Now I'm only good as a piece of writing on a ballistics report.

That crack and hole that I left behind? Some would look at it and think, 

"What a waste of a bullet."

"What a shit shooter."

"I'll get that plastered."

"Who's gonna pay for that?"

And such. Yes, that mark will soon be forgotten, and I'll still be just a piece of writing on a ballistics report.

So excuse me when I say fuck this year. I've had a terrible year. Let me be and one day I'll be off not disturbing any of you fucks anymore, or just come kill me and be done with it. Either way's fine. If not, just fuck off.


Sad story huh. For everyone who announces to the fucking world how wonderful their year has been and how they're looking forward to the next, there will be some poor bastard who is in the same boat as the dude in the story. We rarely hear from them though, because who wants to hear a bum story from a bum dude? We all want to hear happy stories. That's how fucked up everyone is, and yet they scream for humanity every fucking day.

Fuck 2015. 

Fuck 2016 as well.

And fuck all of you.