Top CDs off the rack (Part 3)

"I want your symphony, singing in all that I am" - Switchfoot

Back from the living dead.

Language. Sex. Violence. Others?
Stereophonics
2005

1. Superman
2. Doorman
3. Brother
4. Devil
5. Dakota
6. Rewind
7. Pedalpusher
8. Girl
9. Lolita
10. Deadhead
11. Feel

I remember them vaguely back when I was still young and I was more interested in good looking boy band members rather than some alternative rock band members I will never remember their names. I would buy expensive foreign magazines for just a poster of said handsome celebrity with no good singing talent but a hell lot of artificial charm to boot. I remember penkniving the posters out from the magazines when I was about to throw them away. Always planning to maybe someday earn money from memories that have come to past, preying on clueless innocent victims to such prettiness just like I once was, but had never gotten to it and ended up throwing them all away instead. I remember seeing Streophonics popping in and out of these lyrics cards. I would remember their name but never give them a listen.

Dakota caught my attention from the very beginning with her dreamy keyboards, yawning guitars and disregarded drums. Kelly Jones has a raspy voice that I will always fall sucker for. Back in the earlier days he had a hairstyle I would not approve of even now. He turns out to be quite a good looking chap nowadays. But it does not matter anymore. Some things have come to past.

Dakota is a love let go. Have to maybe because the time is up. Or have to maybe because each other’s meant to be is not anymore. “Wake up call, coffee and juice / Remembering you / What happened to you / I wonder if we’ll meet again / Talk about life since then / Talk about why did it end” and “You make me feel like the one”. Who has not felt that way from the significant other? Makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world, does it not? Makes you feel like the worthless being lower than dust when it ends, does it not?

What caught my attention next was their album cover. Yes, I am of such peculiarly shallow being. I have a thing for simplicity and stripes just like that. And maybe one-worded song and album titles. You will notice that all the song titles are one words and the album title is a combination of one words. I find this interesting. Flip open the sleeve and you are attacked with feverish kisses of the most amazing illustrations out there. Everything the album title is made of: language, sex, violence and maybe others. The brilliance is Graham Rounthwaite. Meet him. He is please to meet you.

What I love most about UK rock bands are their original and unique riffs. Ash, Oasis, Snow Patrol, The Verve, Muse, Radiohead. To name a few. The re-occurring melody is always unheard of. Never ever familiar at the back of your head, like a skeleton in your closet you almost forget but will never. Stereophonics have the talent like these other bands. I enjoy listening to their album on my way to college. Their album is one of the few I would crank up a little louder because it is more fun that way. Hitting forcefully on the steering wheel. Tapping my feet on the accelerator. (Somehow, I manage to do that). Singing on the top of the world in my mom’s banged up car.

The album sounds high to me. Every word penned down when not sober. Wasted from too much cheap alcohol. Stoned from messy rolled up joints. Who would write Doorman when they are sane? “You look like a monkey scowling at me / Well suck my banana suck it with cream”. The song makes you want to drive three times over the speed limit and going round and round in the empty parking lot with the windows rolled down screaming your head off.

Devil sounds drunk. A series of slurs of an unconscious mind too intelligent. “Stop the car now baby / You can’t handle the truth / So what’s the point now lady / If you can’t stand to play and lose”. You can picture the chorus repeating with their eyelids half-closed. Javier at the jazz set his head lolling drunkenly on his head with his eyes never watching the crowd. Kelly’s whining solos pulling the song through with lazy repetitions. “So be my Devil, Angel / Be my shooting star” and “Bye bye Angel / Bye bye Angel / Be my Devil”. Such juxtaposition in itself.

Feel sounds ultimately stoned. Everything you see is in actual fact an illusion. But our minds will never believe things that will not make us happy. We would rather believe in lies when we know better. “It makes you a cheat / It makes you a liar / Step out of the fire / It gives you a spring in the step / Smile on the face / Sing like a bird / You’re running the race again / What makes you bad / Makes you feel much better / Than you ever can” and “It makes the world go round / It makes you homeward bound / It makes you want it more / You look around every corner / To see if there’s even more”. Like drugs. Sometimes, our significant other is our drug, our addiction. He leaves you coming back for more, even though you know he is not one you will bring home to your parents. Spouses commit adultery for a reason. Lovers opt for infidelity for a reason. Lonely girls choose drug addicts for a reason.

Other magnificent lyrics: “Superman on an aeroplane / Sitting next to Lois Lane / You got the woman but you want her gone / So you can fuck a teenage blonde” in Superman. “We used to meet at the waterfall / Pink heather on the falling wall / Nothing to prove / Drink beer from a stolen can / Smoke cigarettes when we can / Because we like to” and “I left you at the gold motel / Selling junk at the carousel / That bound you down / Can’t find you now” in Lolita. “Inside, outside, upside, downside / See my face wanna take me home / I miss ya sister, shake your pistol / Hear my voice on the telephone” and “Cigarette burning, got an opal ring / Dirty magazine turning, you’re a bird who sings / Sleeping on a shag pile, sleeping on me / Sleeping like an angel watching over me” in Deadhead.

Especially Rewind: “If Jesus rode on a camel today / With your cross on his shoulder time to take you away / Have you done all you wanted / Are you happy and warm / Do you miss someone special you don’t see anymore / Have you blood on your hands / Do you dream of white sands / Can you sleep well at night / Have you done all you can / The place I was born in stays crooked and straight / I see innocent blue eyes go blind everyday”. A checklist before you move on with life.

Long Way Round is a darling. The theme song for Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman’s travel series with the same title. Some source said Ewan asked Kelly to write a song about it. Other source told me Ewan was the one who wrote it for his wife Eva and Kelly arranged the music for it. Either way, it was a sweet attempt. “Remember me my love / I’m the one you’re dreaming of / Got sun in my face / Sleeping rough up the road / I’ll tell you all about it when I get home / Gonna roll up the sidewalk / I’m gonna tear up the ground / I’m coming round to meet you the long way round”.

Maybe Tomorrow is a popular one. It was the opening for Wicker Park and the closing for Crash. Everyone loves that song and I am everyone. It is the usual optimistic kind of song. It brings a little more sunshine to the dim cruel world.

 

(What's the Story) Morning Glory?
Oasis
1995

1. Hello
2. Roll With it
3. Wonderwall
4. Don't Look Back in Anger
5. Hey Now!
6. (Untitled)
7. Some Might Say
8. Cast No Shadow
9. She's Electric
10. Morning Glory
11. (Untitled)
12. Champagne Supernova

Oasis is once upon a time when music is life. They are doing simple Mathematics homework known back then as the hardest arithmetic. They are a broken down stereo listening to the World Chart Show with sandy receptions. They are sitting at the back of my head as I went around the world ignoring them and remembering them.

The cool kids. They are the world in the English Isles. They are the alternatives with easygoing yet catchy tunes and words that will keep you singing when there are no more words to sing. They have the undeniable brotherly rivalry but it does matter anymore when Liam puts on shades and preaches with his hands on his back to a microphone stand set in an inappropriate height that hurts his posture. Noel pays more attention to his guitar rather than his brother; it is his world coming out to sing.

It is a shame I went away from them. Boybands were the best to me during my pubescent years. They were moving on making more albums as they have the most dramatic lifts and falls, leaving me far behind and hard to catch up. When I finally came to my senses, they were nothing but a memory I wish to resuscitate. Lyla became their new flame.

Wonderwall is one of my favourite 90s rock songs. It was an easy song flowing alongside my easy life. I was a kid who sang along songs I do not really know the meaning to. It felt good at the tip of my tongue. The words orchestrated well on the rhythm. I grew up adoring this song and someday, maybe, someone will sing this wholeheartedly to me just like the darling that I am. One can only wish so hard till the stars fall from the sky. “I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now”. “There are many things that I would like to say to you but I don’t know how”. “Because maybe / You’re gonna be the one that saves me / And after all / You’re my wonderwall”. The cello bellowed against the heartstrings. The nonchalant tambourine. The acoustic guitar. The simplest drums holding it all together. It will be my romanticised doom.

I never bothered to learn the title of Don’t Look Back in Anger. I always thought it to be the Sally song. “And so Sally can wait / She knows it’s too late as we’re walking on by / Her soul slides away / But don’t look back in anger / I heard you say”. But I guess it is about a song about moving on without holding grudges on the past. Because honestly, when all has come to past, it all does not matter anymore. They are merely stepping stones towards the future. Whoever holds the past conquers the future. Once you are in the future, the past is as good as throwing away. The music seems to happen all at once, fighting for the limelight yet steady enough not to push one another off the platform. Noel took over for this song. There is something sincere about his vocal chords as he sings my favourite line: “Please don’t put your life in the hands / Of a rock and roll band / Who’ll throw it all away”.

I may have came upon Champagne Supernova often enough to have it stick to my mind and recognise it when it walks by again. I did not bother to learn its title as well. This is probably about life in general. How everything just takes shape by itself when mysterious hands guide the steering wheel. We, the handicapped driver, can only sit on our empty hands and watch as people come and go. They change till comforting faces become nothing but strangers’. “How many special people change / How many lives are lived in strange / Where were you while we were getting high / Slowly walking down the hall / Faster than a cannonball / Where were you while we were getting high”. Have you ever feel so helpless and worthless in your entire life? “But you and I / We live and die / The world’s still spinning around / We don’t know why”. The riff stays on the loudest pitch. Everything comes in full force. It is their finale; they want to end it with a bang. Keep your mind safe away from things that have to be done. Keep your eyes dry from things that cannot be stopped. “Wake up the dawn and ask her why / A dreamer dreams she never dies / Wipe that tear away now from your eye”. Yet. On the rarest occasions, however, people still meet at the same destination. Going around the world, walking down the straightest line, fighting through the most ferocious jungle. “Someday you will find me / Caught beneath the landslide / In a champagne supernova in the sky”. All road leads to Rome. Do not worry.

They are friends of Richard Ashcroft. The heroic musician from this band The Verve. Bittersweet Symphony would be the bell ringing in your head now. Cast No Shadow is for him. About him. The best explanation has been done so I will not even try:

“The song was dedicated to then-Verve singer, and close friend of the band, Richard Ashcroft. The opening lines of the song - "Here's a thought for every man, who tries to understand what is in his hands" - are similar to those in the refrain of The Verve's song History ("In every man, in every hand, in every kiss, you understand that living is for other men, I hope you do understand"), of which Gallagher is a huge admirer (he also provided handclaps on History during recording). The song's chorus ("As he faced the sun, he cast no shadow") has been interpreted as some as a lament for those whose lives are lived so thinly that they leave no lasting impression or legacy upon their demise. When questioned about this line in a September 2005 interview with San Diego radio station FM94/9, Gallagher replied, "The reason why one would not cast no shadow is because one would be invisible."
- Wikipedia.org

This is why I love this band. “Bound with all the weight of all the words he tried to say / Chained to all the places that he never wished to stay” and “As they took his soul they stole his pride”. This is a rerun.

There are good songs scattered all over the albums they have produced. From the album Be Here Now, All Around the World: “Where you gonna swim with the riches that you found / You’re lost at sea well I hope that your drown”. Stand By Me: “Times are hard when things have got no meaning” and “There is one thing I could never give you / My heart will never be your home”. From Definitely Maybe, Supersonic: “I know a girl call Elsa / She’s into Alka Seltzer / She sniffs it through a cane in a supersonic train”. Nothing thought provoking for this one but just plain drugged. From Heathen Chemistry, Stop Crying Your Heart Out: “May your smile shine on / Don’t be scared / Your destiny may keep you warm” and “Cause all of the stars / Are fading away / Just try not to worry / You’ll see us someday / Take what you need / And be on your way / And stop crying your heart out”. And many more.

Oasis may be the best band to go for if you want to start a CD collection. I have faith that their albums, although some are said to be not as good as the previous or the next, they are all part and parcel of a growing life. Full of ups and downs, bads and goods. The ugly side of the world. The fading sunlight to the dark side of the moon. The pretentious happiness, at least just for the littlest while. It is what is real.

 

Gravity
Our Lady Peace
2002

1. All For You
2. Do You Like It
3. Somewhere Out There
4. Innocent
5. Made of Steel
6. Not Enough
7. Sell My Soul
8. Sorry
9. Bring Back the Sun
10. A Story About a Girl

They were nothing but a peculiar band name. Our Lady Peace. It sounds near celestial. I never knew what they were about until Somewhere Out There. No song could be as beautifully portrayed. Of a lover dying to take flight and leaving him forever looking up at the skies, finding her amongst radio airwaves and scattered God’s salt. He misses her. He would love her to fall back to humanity. Yet he understands. She has to go. Nothing but this mere Heavenly glow. “Down here in the atmosphere / Garbage and city lights / You’ve gone to save your tired soul / You’ve gone to save our lives / I turned on the radio / To find you on satellite / I’m waiting for the sky to fall / I’m waiting for a sign”. “Hope you remember me / When you’re homesick and need a change / I miss your purple hair / I miss the way you taste”. Quoting only a few lines will never be enough. I might as well just serve the entire song up the plate. The myriad introduction easing you into a soft tempo of guitars and light drums. Things pick up a little for the chorus and strengthens with the all powerful strings. It is always the bow and string collision that gets the best. It grows. Level by level. It pulls you up towards the cliff and just hurls you over the edge, making you fly like the lover would. “You’re falling out of reach / Defying gravity”. Fly.

It is because of this song I purchased Gravity. I have this decision I keep to myself. I will not purchase new albums of bands I am not familiar with unless I have heard two or more songs from said album and like them. Rarely I would just go ahead and get an album based on the affection towards a single track. Somewhere Out There was this powerful. I visited the CD store with my dad that day and I picked the album off the shelf. I remember my dad’s uneasy facial expression. There were so many tamer genres to dwell on, oh why did my daughter have to go for this. I remember wincing at the unfamiliar explosion of All For You. Nothing I owned before this was so complex. I bought it anyway. I have the rest of my life to make use of this whole new world.

I love the lead’s name. Raine Maida. Something Microsoft Word will never approve of. When I wrote the stories, I referred to him a lot and used his name when it was appropriate. I had to ignore again and again the times to fix a mistake that was never wrong to begin with. Raine Maida. Lead singer of Our Lady Peace.

Innocent. “I remember feeling low / I remember losing hope / I remember all the feelings and the day they stopped”. The pubescent years were never the easiest days. The first phase of life’s hardship. You wanted to be ever more successful before you decided to lose yourself. You wanted to be perfect before you decided to be forever flawed. You wanted to be everything before you decided to be nothing. You remember the consecutive days you see your innocence being robbed off your skin on bones before you got numb. Welcome to maturity.

There is sadness in Not Enough. It is enough to move me on the wrong days. Our Lady Peace finds it a habit to slide into a song with mellow tunes. Something easy. Something everyone can accept before the harshness thrown at you. Raine was near death in his voice as he complements the simple introduction. Everything builds up. Level by level. There is a formation. You can see. The chorus holds a halfway climb with sincerity in every word, every note. “When they say you’re not that strong / You’re not that weak / It’s not your fault / When you climb up to your hill / Up to your place / I hope you’re well”. By the second round, it is strong enough for the strongest refrain. Your heart should be breaking by now. The fragile cover vibrating against the heavy bass. Raine achieving momentum. “If it’s not enough / It’s not enough / It’s not enough I’m sorry / It’s not enough / It’s not enough / It’s not enough”. Perfectionism is of such. There will always be a finish line we can never run home to. There will always be a hilltop we can never climb up to. There will always be a something we can never make nothingness out of. We will forever starve for a mirage feast.

Most of the album is made up of songs about a lover he is willing to give up everything for and do anything for. Have you not felt that way when you love someone whom you know deserve every second of your body, mind and soul? Gaining insanity is never wrong to him as long as it provides sanity to her. Losing himself is never a matter as long as it completes her. Self-sacrifice is nothing but a delightful offering as long as it conceives the better good for her.

All For You. With a past of consciousness and normalcy. He will forsake it. All for her. “He wants the best for me / An old school philosophy / So I can’t turn my back on him / He’s apart of me / He’d buy me anything / But I just need a friend”. Do You Like It. Even if she is treating him like the lowest scumbag he will never forgive himself for ever. He will endanger his pride and dignity. All for her. “I know why you’re playing these dirty games / They’re killing me and / I know how you love to watch me beg / Well here I am” and “I hate myself for begging / I hate myself for staying / I hate myself for listening to you”. She will turn a man into a slave. Sell My Soul. Make a trade with the devil and bleed for an eternity to win her heart. She will never know the turmoil he is going through. It does not matter. All for her. “I’m losing my heart / I’m losing my pride / I’d burn our initials in the sun if it would shine”.

Yet he will be her hero even though he has not armour to shield her from the dragon. All for her. Made of Steel: “I can be anything / That you want me to be / A punching bag / A piece of string / That reminds you not to think” and “They knock you down / I’ll pick you up / They laugh at you / I’ll shut them up” and “You want a hero tonight / Well I’m not made of steel / But your secret’s safe with me”. A Story About A Girl: “This world it tears you limb from limb / In your world you’re nothing but the best” and “Are you looking for something / I promise you one thing / I promise I’ll always always be there”. And marry her. He will be a wife’s ideal husband. Saying sorry to a fault that is not his and building her a white house surrounded with white picket fences. Bring Back the Sun: “We shouldn’t have to fight / Or worry about the bills tonight” and “Bury this hate / And build it with love” and “I know I know I failed you / I hope I hope we get through / Sunny days again”.

I will admit that I have not explored Our Lady Peace’s musical growth since day one. But from what I have heard so far, I am loving their gist. Something old. Are You Sad. “Your life has been so hard / It’s dried up angels that can’t keep guard”. Something new. Angels Losing Sleep. “Looks like the Holy Ghost is gone / Now you’re afraid of yourself / Over your shoulder you have to watch / Heaven fall into Hell / Even the angels are losing sleep / And the sidewalks are bare” and “And I’ll wait I’ll wait till you fall from grace / It’s the calm before the storm / It’s there then it’s gone”. There is a consistency. They are celestial.

 

The Beautiful Letdown
Switchfoot
2003

1. Meant to Live
2. This is Your Life
3. More Than Fine
4. Ammunition
5. Dare You to Move
6. Redemption
7. The Beautiful Letdown
8. Gone
9. On Fire
10. Adding to the Noise
11. Twenty-Four

I knew Switchfoot from my favourite movie A Walk to Remember. Jonathan Foreman did a duet with Mandy Moore (of all people) in Someday We’ll Know. But seriously, the song was much better in the movie when Jonathan sang the entire piece. Same goes for Only Hope. Mandy Moore did alright; this is already a milestone coming from someone like me. There is just something about her that I do not like and it irks me ever more knowing she has secured roles that I approve of. Jonathan closed the soundtrack well with his rendition of Only Hope. It is just something to fall in love with.

Switchfoot is what I am left with my Christianity. I would love to brag about how I found out about them before the country did. I saw Meant to Live on the Billboards and loved the song. I did not know when the album is going to drop bomb in my country, thus I went ahead and did my first ever online purchase in Tower.com for the album. I had to pay probably RM30 more but I would like to believe it is worth it. Maybe six months later, the album came. It was sort of a bummer for me because now everyone has a chance to be nuts over Switchfoot. But at least I have a different album cover.

Switchfoot’s music is contagious. Just when I thought I have had enough of them, the CD will still be spinning in the car stereo. It was in the stereo for a very, very long time. Probably longer than any albums I have. I would switch CDs, scared that I have grown bored of it but whenever I have it back in the player, it just plays like another new song. I believe the CD is scratched a little. The rhythms are familiarly catchy and the lyrics are learned eventually with a tone that is easy to sing along to. This CD got me through half of January 2005. It was an evil month.

Switchfoot questions conscience and conscious a lot. On the surface, they deal with the obstacles with life constantly. But if you are willing to delve a little deeper, they function like every Christian band out there – the journey towards building a relationship with God. Some songs can be easily mistaken to be a love song. But every song to God is already a love song. It is like an underlying subtext, a message in between the lines. It is amazing how it can appeal to anyone in general yet not coming out strong and creepy like some staunch born-agains.

I loved The Beautiful Letdown first not because of its intimacy with God. I loved it because of its disastrous beauty. The title itself says it all. This ruin. This fallout. Probably why I connected well with this song because I am a fallout myself heading towards a beautiful letdown. Or maybe just a letdown. Period. Because there will come a time in your life when you feel like the soil you are standing upon does not feel appropriate. Everything is foreign and you suspect a better world – your world – waiting for you just around the corner. The song speaks of the Kingdom. I perceive it solely in the embodiment of a girl. Her mystery. Her silence. One where when someone comes in contact with her will be blown away it springs tears in his eyes. Because it is this powerful. Her kingdom. He will not want to go home ever again. “In a world full of bitter pain and bitter doubts / I was trying so hard to fit in / Until I found out / I don’t belong here”.

On Fire. “Everything inside you know there’s more than what you’ve heard / So much more than empty conversations filled with empty words” and “You are the hope I have for change / You are the only chance I’ll take” and “I’m on fire when You’re near me / I’m on fire when You speak / I’m on fire burning up these mysteries”. The song can be easily made for a mortal loved one. Sometimes, the significant other is of such godly personification. She can mean the world to him.

Twenty-Four. “I am the second man” and “I wanna see miracles / See the world change / Wrestled the angel / For more than a name”. These words were the only inspiration I used loosely once upon a time. It is weird that what I wrote has nothing relevant to the song. In fact, it may even contradict. But the words shine through. I will tell you this is a very beautiful song. There are no misunderstandings. It is straightforward. It is about a man’s conversation with the Higher superiors. “Still I’m singing / ‘Spirit take me up in arms with you’”.

The rest of the time, it is about motivating life. Or maybe singing about what a fucked up life we are living in. In a polite way. Because Christian bands do not just use the F-word sloppily. The word is overrated anyway. Meant to Live: “Maybe we’ve been living with our eyes half open / Maybe we’re bent and broken” and “We want more than this world’s got to offer / We want more than the wars of our fathers”. This is Your Life: “This is your life / Is it everything you’ve dreamed it would be / When the world was younger / And you had everything to lose”. Dare You to Move: “Maybe redemption has stories to tell / Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell / Where can you run to escape from yourself / Where you gonna go / Salvation is here”. And my favourite with a catchy tune and cute lyrics, Gone: “Where’s your treasure / Where’s your hope / If you get the world and lose your soul / She pretends like she’s immortal” and “We are not infinite / We are not permanent / Nothing is immediate / We are so confident / In our accomplishments / Look at our decadence”.

 

Nothing is Sound
Switchfoot
2005

1. Lonely Nation
2. Stars
3. Happy is a Yuppie Word
4. The Shadow Proves the Sunshine
5. Easier Than Love
6. The Blues
7. The Setting Sun
8. Politicians
9. Golden
10. The Fatal Wound
11. We Are One Tonight
12. Daisy

A suitor got me this album for all the wrong reasons. I found myself to love it more and more but I can never like the guy one bit.

There is a difference. Switchfoot has improved a notch with this album. The bass are more angtsy. The lyrics are more powerful. The sadness is sadder. The motivation is stronger. As they grow closer to God, their animosity towards humanity thickens. Everything is more personal. Everything means business.

As I go through the album once again, I can see my route to and back from Dell. This album accompanied me a lot during those days. Mainly because it was new in the rack and all new CDs are to be played a lot of times in the car stereo no matter where I am heading to. Back then, I was heading to work everyday. The loose traffic around the corner and the ridiculous queue flowing into the only entrance and exit at the area. The empty parking lots. I saw a rainbow a couple of times. I would catch a quick shuteye if I accidentally arrived earlier. The Shadow Proves The Sunshine reminds me of the rainy days. Half of the time I could not be fucked to bring an umbrella into the office. It was a long walk to my car after work. Sometimes I was drenched. Once I was definitely wet. It was the hugest rainstorm ever. I had to tread through the lot to get home in time because my mom needed the car. I might as well just jump into the ditch.

Of course Stars has everything to do with this album’s popularity. The world fucking loves it. The radio stations were playing the song like a cheap whore. Selling it short. Keep the change. However, I will not deny I like it. The percussion riffs are contagious – there is a sense of militarism – as is the guitar’s. A song about the realisation of companionship living under the same sky. Fairly optimistic. This is what the band is built upon. Favourite line: “Stars looking at a planet, watching entropy and pain / And maybe start to wonder how the chaos in our lives could pass as sane”.

My favourite song is definitely The Blues. Whenever I listen to this song, I will always be reminded of Cedric Diggory. (Don't laugh). The movie Cedric Diggory because I do not read the Harry Potter books and Goblet of Fire was the only Harry Potter movie I watched. Twice. (Don't laugh). I can just see his dead stunned eyes haunting my head right after Lord Voldermort Avada Kedavra-ed his ass. Do not ask my why. It just happens. “Discontented fame” portrays the character, in my opinion. Besides that, it is quite a sad song weave with confusion. “Is this the New Year or just another night / Is this the new fear or just another fright / Is this the new tear or just another desperation / Is this the finger or just another fist / Is this the kingdom or just a hit-and-miss / A misdirection, most in all this desperation”. How we can be blinded so badly with desperation anything can seem right just because we wanted that one ray of sunlight so terribly? Desperate times come desperate measures. Yet. These desperate decisions, most of the time, are not the right decisions.

The backing cameo of strings comes in during all the appropriate times. The clapping is a big dodgy but well, Jonathan’s heartfelt lyrics can divert you from that. What is captivating is the unique choice of words. Simple words gathering together for a more special phrase. I might as well quote the entire lyrics here. I shall catch a few fireflies and shine them in your darkness. Basically, there are two and a half riffs available for this song and they take turns to hold hands with these special phrases. Or stanzas. If you want to be poetic. My favourite one is Riff #2. The one before Riff #and-a-half (a.k.a the chorus) breaks in. “Is this what you call freedom / Is this what they call pain / Is this what they call discontended fame” and “You push until you’re shoving / You bend until you break / Do you stand on the broken fields where your fathers lay” and “It’ll be a day like this one / When the sky falls down / And the hungry and poor and deserted are found”. Also from Riff #1: “I’m singing this one like a broken piece of glass / From broken arms and broken noses in the back”.

Daisy. This is their most personal song I have ever stumbled upon. The acoustic guitar brings us into the song. It is not the most perfect pitch a guitar can come up with but that is the beauty of it. And when Jonathan sings, his voice comes straight from his heart. He knows her. He is her. She is every single one of us. If you want to view this in a spiritual light, it will make the most sense. Submission to a better life. The Christian life. The new life. And letting go of the life you once knew and are familiar with. When it comes to familiarity, no matter how awful it has been, there will always be a sense of reluctance in letting go. Like leaving a craphole island and sailing off into the vast ocean. The island would seem like a resort compared to the seas of nothingness. “Let it go / Daisy, let it go / Open up your fist / This fallen world / It doesn’t hold your interest / It doesn’t hold your soul / Daisy, let it go”. It is not as easy as it seems. It takes more than a confession to cross over. Do not blame the backsliders. Or curse. This gnawing fear is enough to send us crashing.

Let us scheme through the rest. Lonely Nation: “We are the target market / We set the corporate target / We are slaves of what we want” and “Singing without tongues / Screaming without lungs”. I think Happy is A Yuppie Word is a peculiar song title. The Shadow Proves The Sunshine: “We are crooked souls trying to stay up straight / Dry eyes in the pouring rain”. Easier Than Love: “Everyone’s a lost romantic / Since when love became a kissing show / Everyone’s a cassanova / Come and pass me the mistletoe” and “Everyone’s been scared to death of dying here alone”. Politicians: “I pledge allegiance to a country without borders, without politicians / Watching for my sky get torn apart / We are broken, we are bitter / We’re the problem, we’re the politicians / Watching for our sky get torn apart”. The Fatal Wound: “Son of sorrow / Staring down forever / With an aching view / Disenchanted / Let’s go down together / With the fatal wound”.

Switchfoot may have probably gone full blown Christianity on us. As I go through the album along with the lyrics, there are a lot of elements on the religion when it is broken down to pieces. They see the living world as a temporary life and life itself is not worth living for anymore. Cure stands in succumbing to God. For a better life. For a better person. I would not put forth my stance here but I am sure you may have gotten my opinion on this. Or not. But. Switchfoot has good musical talents as well as lyrical talents. And they have succeeded in breaking into the commercial scene and everyone is listening to their songs. We might as well be fooled.

 

Photo credit: Amazon.com

Lesson #6

The Hanging Garden (Excerpt)
Sally Breen

In the Twenty First Century I learned my own way that paradise was just one of our oldest lies.

The interior decorator had a penchant for poetry – not mine – but the metaphysical poets, the masters of the seventeenth century. He liked to read to me. The purveyor of grand narratives. I could have told him that shacking up with an interior decorator in a high rise was as close as I would get to God on the Gold Coast but a comment like that wouldn’t suit me. I listened instead, to Milton talking of great falls and of a great paradise long lost. I pressed my hands up against the plate glass windows of the tower six inches of it between me and the rest of the world and wondered why it was always so cool. Either the sun burnt down on the water or the moon did and nothing changed. The touch of invisibility was always the same. The interior decorator read on. Speaking in tongues. Sometimes I looked out at the perfect blue or endless black of the sea, and wished for a tsunami. By the time we got through Milton’s Book 2 I surmised that Eve had probably felt a similar longing for catastrophe.

I would have thought it more instructive to know what Eve was thinking. If only she had left a note. She never had a voice. We all have a looking glass for seeing.

‘We’re all just creatures of the sky up here.’ He said, gesturing around.

I shivered because it was true. The next morning I coaxed Missy with titbits and what I thought was a shared affinity for exile. I gathered him out of the kitchen cupboard and into my arms, crossed the threshold with my back to the sea and started the descent to the outside. I could feel Missy’s heart begin to throttle hard against my skin as the elevator plunged lower and lower. We hit ground. The doors slid open. He squirmed furiously away from all the bright cut surfaces. There was no one in sight. I held on – sure in the sanctity of my pilgrimage. But Missy did not calm. Once outside his reaction grew worse. He went completely limp – his heart still beating very fast. He was playing dead. We needed dirt. I headed for the pool area in search of grass. As soon as my hands left Missy’s body he went rigid with fear. His back arched as if he was trying to pull all his weight away from his paws, his white fur erect and electrified but what disturbed me most was his eyes: all that horror. I realised, Missy, like his owner, was convinced he was divine.

I picked Missy up and ascended the Tower for the last time. It did not take me long to collect my things. I had always been a gypsy. I recalled a small stanza not from Milton but from someone alive. ‘Eve wasn’t kicked out of Eden. She walked out’. It made me happy. I hit the button to exit, stronger now, and willing to concede that perhaps paradise wasn’t a lie. Maybe it was just a damn good story.

Converse v.2

Same shit.

Different day.

A review: The All-American Rejects concert

Date: August 18, 2006
Time: 8pm
Venue: The Arena

It all started with an almost missed poster in Chinatown. It was a dark lime green but the prints were clear enough. Normally there would not be posters of musicians hanging around if they were not to perform locally. I went home that day and went online immediately to google on The All-American Rejects’ tour dates. My heart was caught in my throat when I found out they were heading down south in a week’s time.

Questions sprouted in a nanosecond. Are there still tickets available? Where can I get them? How much will they be? Who will I go with? Should I go? Is this even for fucking real?

Ah the goodness that is the Internet. Everyone should make a best friend out of the Net dude. I was able to hunt down three outlets selling tickets at different prices. I have found a new friend: Rocking Horse. They sold the cheapest tickets at a mere $41.80. However, if I were to go I would not have any company as my friends are not fans of the rock genre. Besides, most of us are poor students. But the heck with it. I guess six months is long enough waiting for a band I want to see live. I have listened to their album often enough to wish would it not be nice to see them live. Here it is. A dream waiting to come true. The next morning, I headed down to the city and bought a ticket for myself. I would have the whole crowd to be my company.

Figuring out my way to get and come back from the venue was already half the fun. (I may be sarcastic here.) I did not even know the venue’s exact location. Gawd, I was so new to all of this it was kind of creepy.

There was already a line forming when I arrived. Everyone was in groups or at least in pairs. I think I was the only singular entity tonight. I felt like an idiot; people were looking at poor little me. I think I looked lost sometimes. Poor poor little Asian girl.

The crowd was the usual suspects. Punks dressed in all black with their favourite bands’ names emblazoned across their chest. Blink 182. Taking Back Sunday. Atticus (OK, so this is not a band.). And the likes. Chuck Taylor’s Converse. Vans’ checkers. Skinny jeans. Everyone almost looked the same.

The gate opened at 7pm. Suddenly, the crowd just grew rude and started shoving. Everyone wanted the front stage. I was almost at the front. Probably three or four rows away from the railing. Sweet. Fans made a quick pit-stop to buy T-shirts. Others went to buy drinks. Now that we were already in the venue, all we had to do was wait.

Avalon Drive was one of the two supporting acts to perform. I do not know who the heck they are. But there were fans amongst the crowd and they were extremely insane. They were shoving around and the girls in front of me was not pleased. Who would be pleased being shoved around anyway? Alas, it is after all a rock concert. It is no fun if nobody shoves around and pissed people off. The band was one of those punk bands. Screamos and good percussion riffs. It did not matter if you do not know the band. As long as you get the drift, it is all good. The reminded me a lot of Story of the Year and sometimes Angels and Airwaves. Those dreamy guitar whines. Some of their rhythms were heard of before. They were nothing spectacular.

By the time they were done, my curiosity of the people standing upstairs was getting the best of me. It looked so cosy up there. Thus, I gave up my almost decent spot in search of some alcohol. There is a reason why they sell 18+ and All Ages tickets. There is bound to be booze. And said booze is indeed upstairs. Oh, silly me for cramming amongst the All Ages people when I have the privilege of watching the concert upstairs without being shoved around. So I switched position. The security guard looked at me funny even after I showed him my ID.

The poison: Vodka and lime.

Suddenly, I felt sleepy as my ears and cheeks heat up from the alcohol. It was only a little past 8pm and it already felt like I had been there for two hours. My feet were killing me. And it turned out the upstairs was not as cosy as it seemed. Not that it was crowded. The railings were hogged. Everyone was fucking taller than me. I had no clear view but to peek past bobbing heads and shoulders. Lady at the front, please do not move around too much. A girl with bigger proportion totally blocked my somewhat decent view and I had to shift around. I looked like a bigger idiot upstairs. And there was something grown up about these 18+ people. (Well duh.) Yet more laidback. Like attending a performance in a mellow and intimate venue. Later, as the concert progressed I could see the crowd swaying left and right and was kind of glad I was not one of them. Some of them tried to surf but they were carried off the minute they got up atop the crowd by the security guards upfront.

Hellogoodbye came on. They were something toned down a little. The lead had a distinctive voice and I like that about him. If he mingled with the technical, I would believe he is the person singing the Chicken Little song. The crowd liked him. He looked peculiar. You know, those people walking around dressing a tad bit different from the majority and looked like he has so much unique musical soul in him it just radiates out of him. Their songs were near quirky. But yet so much fun. I thought about buying their CD to have a go at them. I did not know why I changed my mind.

When the lights dimmed and The All-American Rejects came on, I lost my somewhat decent view to no view at all. As they were performing Dirty Little Secret, I could not even find a gap that overlooked the lead’s mic onstage. Did I just pay almost $42 to just listen to them live? This blows. Fortunately, some holes came through. Beggars could not be choosers. I had to settle for second last best. It was not much. Probably none at all. But at least I could see them. Tiny tiny them.

They played most of the songs from their second album. The sequence was a little vague to me because I had no mind to memorise the playlist so do forgive me. Dirty Little Secret, Stab My Back, Top of the World, Dance Inside (I fucking love this song.), I’m Waiting and maybe, just maybe, 11:11PM. The only mellow song they performed was It Ends Tonight. They sang some silly impromptu song about water while distributing water bottles smacked with their saliva. There were also some songs from their first album. The annoying electric guitar stung the room. It vibrated the wooden floor I was standing on. It deafened my ears. The all-famous Swing Swing; even the 18+ crowd perked up when they started performing. Some B-sides: Paper Heart and Eyelash Wishes. And to end all songs, The Last Song. Of course we all knew it was not the last song. The crowd demanded an encore. They came back, performed Move Along, Tyler made up some song about not forgiving the fans if they threw water bottle at him, and they were gone.

They did not perform Night Drive. That song could have rocked the venue so fucking hard. And not even my favourite ballad Straitjacket Feeling. They ran out of expensive T-shirts. They took away my ticket prior to my entrance. My view was never the best being a midget. The pictures I took sucked big time asses. However, it was a good de-stress weekend for me after being burdened with a heavy assignment for the week. I would love to do it all over again. Maybe this time, sneak backstage, get wasted and fuck a band member. But merely doing it all over again is enough.

Back to school (Part 2)

"Polaroids of classrooms unattended. These relics of remembrance are just like shipwrecks. Only they're gone faster than the smell after it rains." - The Ataris

 

Form 3: The outcast
First year in the morning session. Oh the fun of heading home in the afternoon and have lunch sitting with my high school PE shorts on in front of the TV watching reruns. Homework can wait till night falls. And definitely I enjoy the spontaneous naps under the cool fan spinning rapidly, chasing away the heat devils. The whole day is there for my disposal. The whole world is there for me to waste.

I can barely recall this year because I have spent the good first half of it selling my soul to my extra co-curriculum activities. This was the year SUKMA was held in Penang and my school band was one of the five being selected to join the ultimate band formation managed by Penang’s most sought after conductors and teacher advisors. And I was one of the few lucky new band members to join with the seniors in this once in a lifetime phenomenon. This became my calling to greater things in the band. This is what life will be in high school for the rest of my life. Or at least for the next three years.

I was sieved from my original class to assemble with the other band members from the same year in one class. It was the last class in the bunch but everyone did not mind because the bracketed ‘P’ – for Pancaragam, meaning school band – behind the class position was enough to satisfy all curiosity. Most of the time, we were not even in said class. Probably two days per week, three buses of us would be shipped off to our practice venue just as classes were about to begin in the morning. The remaining three days, we had our own band practices to go to. But I was not one to complain. I had the best days of my life there. Going to practices at the break of dawn bleary eyed and coming back sweat soaked and so bloody exhausted the bed felt like cotton marshmallow for a deep dreamless sleep.

I had to adapt back to my original class once the performance was over and I had earned my very first incentive. I doubt I had ever been in any class with my classmates. I barely knew any of them. I felt detached from them. However, things slowly fell into place as I stuck close with some friends I knew better.

Academics were the last thing on my mind that year. But alas, Form 3 was the second most important year in a girl’s high school life. PMR was the governmental examination that will seal our fate on whether or not we are up for the fourth year of high school. Before the examination period was around we already had assignments for Living Skills, building plank woods, sewing pieced cloths and wiring chunks of electronics. Mine turned out awesome, partly because half of them were done by better classmates. I loved my masterpiece I still had the junk stored at the top shelf, the useless wooden shelf its surface still glistening from yesteryear but the battery for the self-made music box had died and rot. It became a memory. An evidence to my once upon a life long gone.

The teachers. They did not give a damn about me. They did not know me well because of my absence for the first half. The Science teacher did not like me much because I was quite a brat. I would not bring her textbook to class and would love to move my seat towards Yi Shu beside me to share the book while having chitchats with her and Lynn sitting in front of her. She hated us. She would definitely stare me down and make me go back to my seat. I would always pray she would not walk over to my place when I did not bring my textbook. Fortunately, I had an interest in the subject since the beginning so it did not hinder good grades for this particular subject. Hey, we get to learn about sperms and sexual intercourses. What could be any better for a girl hitting in the middle of her puberty?

The Moral Education teacher was a nuisance. Words had been going around the year before of his strictness. To have him as one of our teachers bellowed out groans of dissatisfaction all year round. You know how it is. You would not know your teachers on the first days of school until they step through the door and oh gawd you wish so hard and pray so sincerely hoping they are just substitutes and will not be here for long. Most – if not all – of the time never answered. He was one of the teachers every class would like to not have. He gave you rattan whips if you failed to complete his homework in time, probably send you to the Principal’s office. Or force a demerit mark on you for not doing the corrections properly. He would leave fortune cookie-like note strips in between the pages. Always stating your mistakes and demanding a correction if not. Rarely there to praise you for an exercise well done. You would not want to see your exercise books – or even the pages – folded too drastically. He yelled at a few students and threw their books out of the classroom, over the balcony whenever he was in a worse mood. He was a nightmare.

I harboured an immediate animosity towards the English teacher. She was a newbie, you know, one of those fresh graduates hired mostly temporarily. I guess we got off on quite a good foot but she was not one to give me a sweet smile all the time, even if I did well for her classes. So, there was this test and we were to write about a trip to the Cameron Highlands. It is common for such essays to come with keywords dropped down on you like cats and dogs do on rainy days. It was fine by me. I just merely added a few descriptions, which were totally out of the books. See, I so coincidentally happened to have gone on a trip to the Highlands myself during the school break that year. I loved the place. I had a photographic memory of it in my head and blurted it all out in the essay in hope that what I saw would gain me some benefits. Mind you, I was not out to ass-kiss anyone. I felt accomplished being able to express myself. I was crossed when my paper came back and the teacher had left the entire essay cleaned and approved, save for that particular self-expression. The grade was dragged down a little because of that. Of course I was a tad bit pissed; I wanted to be a writer for the rest of my life. I remember myself arguing, “But that’s what I saw with my very own eyes!” I remember her sweating internally and thinking of a good excuse to rid of me as her red pen tracing the underline already there until the paper almost tore a hole. “I will discuss this with the other teachers.” That was her solution. Think about what? It was not a salvation. It was an insult.

PMR was a blur. What I remember vividly was burning the midnight oil memorising of all subjects, Geography. I was an ass with this so I need to save myself a little here. I did not score for that subject but merely gotten a decent grade. However, I earned myself a helluva migraine that will from time to time re-emerge if ever I think too much. Academically. I know it is a sad excuse but what do you know? I remember doing a lot of photocopied past year questions. Mathematics and Science mostly because those were the only subjects I could see myself completing with good marks that will motivate me to do better. Besides, those were the only subjects (including English) I aimed for and succeeded in scoring.

Despite its significance, it is nothing but a quick shuffle of blurry flash cards whenever I look back. I scored good enough for myself, a constant self-comfort for an average high school student. In fact, good enough to allow me a good seat in the Science stream for the next two years of high school. However, I forwent it and decided for something simpler. Because in high school, it was not about being in the best classes in the better stream. It was all about survival of the fittest. Make it out of high school alive and you will have the whole world to waste in your own sweet time.

 

Form 4: The bitter honeymoon year
The classmates for this year would be the same up until the next and final year. We were the fourth class in the Commerce stream. But it did not matter because we were of one unique crowd. We were the only class in the stream to replace Accounts for Information Technology. We had Additional Mathematics and Economics while the classes after us had to do Geography and Arts. The competition for class placings was just amongst ourselves. We were special.

Our classes were the furthest away from civilisation. There was a new wing for our high school that year and the Form 4 Commerce stream was lucky enough to be situated in the classrooms there. It sucked only because we had to walk practically the entire campus to get out of school. It sucked for some students too because the windows overlooked the gory cemetery in the backyard. When teachers decided to have meetings or not come to class at all – another perk – classmates would gather around in even numbers because of some superstitious belief. And they would tell ghost stories just for the heck of it. I sometimes would join them and watch some girls squealed over stories that were not even scary to begin with. Sheesh.

I would never be in class for the first half of the session. Suddenly, the school band took a passionate interest in annual state-level band formations. We would come to school early in the morning to attend long band practices standing under the hot sun in announced positions while leaders walked around trying to figure out how to get from one artwork to another. Practices would have ended just as the afternoon begins. Goodies would rush to go to class. Band members like me would drag our feet up to the band room and sit around till our sweats were nothing but another layer of skin on our hands. By the time we were done lazing around, the recess bell had rung its finale. Rarely the teacher advisors would pay surprise visits and force us to flee back to our classrooms.

It was around this year I was exempted from PE classes and house practices because of my well behaviour in band practices. Which was a perk for me because I was not one to love running four laps around the bigass school field and nearing blackout at the first lap. House practices were compulsory but yet a bore. I was a happy girl.

The form-cum-Chinese teacher was never a favourite for us. She built a sturdy bad connection with half of the students in class. They would always curse her back and wish she would not come to class tomorrow. Yet she meant good. Probably because I was not one to offend her. I remember something wise she once told us. Unfortunately, I have forgotten about it. Chinese had never been my strength or my favourite. I could not be bothered to memorise all those Chinese idioms. This might be the year we had to read The Three Kingdoms. I could barely keep my interest past the first line.

The Malay teacher was not my favourite. Her classes were such bores but I had to pay attention because she would randomly pick students to continue reading the literature passages. Student who failed to pick up from where their fellow classmates left off would be punished standing for the rest of the period. I was seated at the first row. Always exhausted from the band practices earlier, I would catch half-catnaps by looking away from her. I was never there spiritually in her classes. Out of the ten times I fell asleep, I was caught maybe just once. We paid hard attention especially for the literature section. There was a story about a second race between the hare and the tortoise (Perlumbaan Kedua) I never finished reading. We would find out about the ending anyway via the exercises we did. However, the poems would be fun if we had not to mind more of the technicalities.

The English teacher was such a darling everyone was shitting over her head for being too nice. The Science teacher was a darling as well but she had her own principles for us to walk along. I loved her classes. So maybe I had such interest in Science because of these lovely teachers. She once dubbed me ‘an angel in disguise’. I never knew what prompt her to give me such complimentary in the middle of the class. I hated Economics. I still hated History. I hated Moral Education as well but once you get the hang of things, it was not that hard to score anyway. But I was never one to get As for this subject.

Around September, things started to pick up for the next year to come. I was promoted a senior leader in the school band and earned myself finally a two-stripe pangkat I can be proud of. It was my ultimate dream to have more badges on my uniform. Around October, recruitment for our graduates committee commenced. And I thought to myself hey, why not make the most of this year and go help out in this committee. I would only be in high school once. Alas. My dear friends had to be in the recruitment committee as well and I was oh so easily nominated to be the Vice President of the graduates magazine. Oh what had I gotten myself into? I only wanted to play a little part as a representative not the whole fucking pie.

 

Form 5: The never ending finish line
The transition from Form 4 to Form 5 was not a broken gap but a well-engineered bridge. During the yearend holidays, tasks for the graduates magazines had kicked off well enough we had to be back in school almost everyday. Blame it on the President. She was a fucking perfectionist. She wanted everything to go her way and no other. Gosh, the entire committee had a huge problem with her. I knew it. She knew it. She did not care. She was one of those Ms Perfect who would embrace everything to her bosom if the others could not get it done the way she wanted. Thus, more pressure. I was the one to unwind her. This was in my job description, calming down the insane leader.

I had two reasons to skip classes altogether for this year. Like, from beginning till the end. Teachers would not even know I was even in school ground because if I was not in the school field screaming my head off at my juniors, I was in the meetings room getting things done for the magazine. If ever there were a chance I could go back to class for a few classes, I would be summoned back to the usual spots for meetings or more tasks. Everyone needed a piece of me. (Very vain indeed.) The only chance you might catch me was when I happened to pass by my classroom to the band room, or when I was chairing meetings for the committee. I was on a fucking roll. I wanted to make the best out of my high school year. And here it was. Being made the best of.

But it was fun, not going to classes and keeping yourself busy from idling. Yet it was not a year to dismiss as another mundane high school year. Because this year was it. The big year. The year of all years. If Form 3 were the second most important year, Form 5 would be the Big Daddy O. SPM would commence at the very end of the year and this, my dear, would be the governmental examination to decide whether or not you are cut out for the world beyond high school. Without an SPM certificate, you would be a drop out. Literally a failure. SPM would be your ticket to the rest of your life. It was so important that you would not even believe five years down the line the examination would not matter anymore. But back then, it was the only ticket to more forward. Without it, you would be done for.

Of the five years in high school, my parents had chosen this year to move to Sungai Ara. It would take practically half an hour to get to school, maybe up to an hour if the traffic was a bastard. I would always catch short naps on the way to school, my mom being the ever dedicated chauffeur. My backpack would be heavy carrying change of clothes for tuition classes after school. I would accommodate myself to a friend or two’s houses nearby and clean up for two-hour tuition classes. Additional Mathematics and Mathematics at Anthony Tan’s. Malay at Aziz’s. English at Ace’s. Form 5 was all about overhearing the best tuition teachers out there and getting yourself a spot in their forever fully booked classes. I would not be home until night falls.

My high school teachers were quite a drag for this year. My tuition teachers were abundant and pwned harder. I bet I could just not go to school altogether and I would still do well in SPM. Alas. Being the disciplined high school till the end, we would not be awarded our graduates certificate if our attendance were to show poor results nearing the end of the year.

There was a constant switch of teachers for Additional Mathematics I hated every single one of them. Especially the very first one: the infamous discipline teacher. She came to classes dependant on the power vested in her to distribute demerit marks at us like giving babies for free. This lady would cruise the canteen during recess hunting for students with inappropriate hairstyle. Not come upon them by chance but literally set out and hunt them down. Those poor souls. I was not one to hang around the canteen during recess. She could not teach to save her life. She would copy examples from our textbooks and walk us through the steps we would have figured out anyway without listening to her teach. I wanted to hurl the textbook at her every time she stood out there chalking up another example from the book. I learned peanuts from her. Without seeking salvation from my tuition teacher, I would have failed badly for this subject. Fortunately, she was repositioned a few months after that. I had Anthony and he was all I needed. I managed to save this subject just in time. From a mere E8 for the SPM mock exam, to a C5 for the real deal. I would have loved to score an A1 for this subject; I loved Mathematics to bits. Alas.

The IT teacher had a problem with me. It was because of her I question my decision in deciding IT as a subject. Then again, IT was an easy score. Granted it was not an A1 but at least it was a decent grade that did not pull down my GPA. The classes were boring. I have never found computer-related classes entertaining or ever exciting. It was always about a bunch of things I have learned or I cannot give a damn learning. So of course I would find never ending reasons to skip her classes. And of course she was not pleased with it. She did not have patience talking to me and I had to reduce to consulting my friend who was a better student in class instead. She said we could email her if ever we had problems with C++ Programming. I emailed her and did not get a fucking reply from her. Sheesh. That was the first computer-related class I disliked. There were more to come, which I always hated. Henceforth, I shall avoid enrolling in classes like such whenever I can.

The English teacher was spaz. One of her classes was the first period of the day. Thursday maybe. She would still be in a blur. Once she was reading through John Steinbeck’s The Pearl and accidentally skipping through two pages. I doubt anybody noticed. Half of the class was in their happy place. The other half sleeping and dreaming of their happy place. The handful of us noted the slip off but decided not to raise warning bells. It was way early in the morning to take heed anyway. It did not matter anyway, we just wanted the class to be over and done with as soon as possible. Honestly, she did not help me along with my perfect scores for my English papers in SPM. She was just there. I thanked her anyway when I bumped into her the day I received my results.

I still hated Economics. But like Geography in PMR, I forced myself to understand and did not get a very decent grade anyway. I could see the disappointment dripping out of my teacher when I bumped into her during result day. As long as I did not fail, it was already a blessing for me. I still hated History. The teacher could have been the best thing in my life, being ever so motivating and patient on us. However, History was never a favourite and I had given up on the subject even before I stepped into the examination hall. I aced Mathematics, doing my love for numbers justice after my boo-boo with Additional Mathematics. I aced Malay. Quite a surprise for someone like me. We had to do well in Malay. Any grade would be acceptable just as long as you do not fail. I guess I did my part well.

My high school years probably ended pretty. I held my end of the bargain being a senior leader for the school band. I did the same for the graduates magazine and gotten Repetition published at the contribution section. My grades were not the best but it was good enough for me. I was a girl easily pleased.

Back to school (Part 1)

"Let us die young or let us live forever. We don't have the power but we never say never." - Alphaville

Those were the days. Teachers or appointed students with neat handwritings copied notes or questions on the blackboard as we scurried to jot everything down on our exercise books before the first half had to be erased for more notes and questions. We would always run out of space to write on the blackboard – quite a mystery since our blackboards are green. Students from the back seats would shift to the front and share desks, sometimes chairs, with the ones at the front for a better view of the blackboard. Others did not bothered; half of them would borrow notes from the ones who did while the others continued to not care at all. It was brainless, half of the time we need not comprehend what we just copied. Those were the days of chalk-stained fingers and dust-filled air. We did not the whole world on our shoulders. We just need to do good in class and dodge the prefects. And all we had to worry about was our pens running out of ink and fuss over our ever changing handwriting.

I studied in an all famous high school*. Boys from other schools would love to fuck half of the virgins from my school. The other half would love to be fucked by the boys from other schools. We were the higher society. The public always referred us to be the best damn all-girls’ school to put their daughters in for five years. Or seven. Parents would kill any animal to shove their daughters through the guarded gates. I am sure parents without daughters have thought of crossdressing their sons just to pretend their children have gone to such prestige. OK, maybe not. They have their own all-boys’ school for that. Pick anyone who comes from Penang and ask them to name the top five schools, my school will be in one of the spots, if not the first.

However, five years – or seven – in high school was not exactly rainbows and butterflies either. The disciplinary board was cut throat business. Literally. Although no blood was gruesomely shed during my time, kids were this close to killing someone off the board. My high school was all about its strictness and discipline. Hair length not exceeding three fingers away from your earlobes. Nails no longer than the tip of your fingers. School shoes with more than 5% canvas material were forbidden. Banned liquid paper. Banned red bras during PE classes or any classes. No tweezing the eyebrows. No ear piercings more than one on each side. Of course the pierces have to be on the lobes and nowhere else. I refuse to get started on the shapes and sizes of the earrings we were permitted to wear. Yes, I am sure they have a chart. No other Chinese dialects other than Mandarin is allowed to be conversed in school grounds. The list goes on. The board even came up with a lame ass booklet we had to memorise for our Moral Education tests. The discipline teacher even had the funniest sense of humour: “Oh you don’t need to study the entire booklet. You can leave out the cover pages at the front and back.” Yes. I brought it home, shared it with my family and we laughed for one fucking week. Come on.

The rules were ridiculous. But I was not one to land on hot waters with the board. I was one of those students who believed that if you stay out of trouble, trouble will not come find you. I had no intention to rebel anyway. It is not the end of the world if I am not allowed to wear a red bra to school. My demerit card – yes, we have one – stayed clean for five years, save a warning for being caught communicating in bad Hokkien. My incentive card – yes, we have that too – grew immensely when my activity picked up in the school band so I was pretty much on the safe side. I cannot really say I was an ass-kissing teacher’s pet or one who did all her homework on time. But I was not one to frequent the discipline room to get my hair poorly chopped off either. I was one of those who stayed below the radar. Who came as quietly as the midnight ghost and went as swiftly as the haunting breeze.

Form 1: Dorks R'Us
We have all been there so I might as well get over admitting it.

I was 13. Bad haircut. Uncomfortable uniform. Not much lost on the first day of school because most of them were friends from primary school. I was pretty much up in my own world until I was at my first band practice and was yelled at by one of the seniors when at ease. That was when I realised how serious high school was going to be from now on. I remember my first form teacher pouring water on the floor at the front of the class to prove water turns to steam in eventual time. I was considered one of the tall students in class so I was kicked to the back rows. That year was World Cup year. Of course a few of my classmates had their own bouts of gambling, keeping it lowkey to avoid being caught with the heaviest penalty of suspension, possibly expelled.

The English teacher was kind of daft. He once brought in a comic strip and tried to explain the humour behind it. Imagine how entertained we were. The History teacher was nicknamed Nenek Moyang because she and the subject just fit so well. Once she caught a student calling her that and boy was she pissed. Of course that girl was severely punished. All I remember of my Moral Education teacher was him pulling his loose pants higher because he was such a skinny fellow.

Failed subjects began to become common in my books. I had a few failed subjects even in the first year. I remember my one-man protest against my Art teacher. She set forth the due date for a homework without a reason I find worthy of accepting, therefore I refused to hand in that artwork and earned myself my very first zero grade. I remember sneaking the report card for my dad to sign well after he was in bed, hoping that he would not notice it or sign it in the dark, which was not the case. It caused quite a stir in the family and I was left enduring my sister lecturing me about the world’s suckiest protest ever.

Spot-checks were introduced to us. It was like my high school’s renowned drill other than the fire drill. It was serious business. The prefects would fly in swarms – if you were not from my high school, you would not get this inside joke – and take over the classroom while we were locked outside looking in. The trick was to take heed of them while they were doing their rounds on other floors. The news would spread like wild fire downstairs and students would scurry around like headless chickens finding the most suitable hideout for the forbidden knickknacks. All of these while the teacher was at the front teaching. Headless and fried chickens. Most of the time the secret spots would be revealed. Under the desk. In the cupboards at the back of the class. Your pockets. Liquid papers. Celebrity magazines and pictures. CDs. Whatever. They would find it. They would always find something. Picking up anything vaguely suspicious and questioning the owner until she bends and repents. You would feel like a sinner of six counts even if you have done nothing wrong. Fucking birds – again, inside joke. Like vultures swept down from the scorching sun flipping every nook and cranny for a sin while we watched from the outside with batted breaths and hammering heartbeats.

They recruit fresh meat from the first year to join their cult. I was one of them fresh meat they hunted for. My interview for a position in the prefect’s room was an awkwardly funny one. Back then I still had a problem finding my tongue when talking to strangers so imagine how uneasy and freaked out I was in an interview with two seniors staring me down, waiting for me to trip over my words. Only the problem was, I was so speechless I had no words to trip over. Suffice to say I was not recruited for bird zone, but it was for the best. Some of my friends who became prefects had a hard time dealing with the majority while on duty. Even off. The prefects were just people we loved to hate and brought new meanings to our lives every day in school.

Form 2: Family matters
Suddenly, we just decided we were one big happy dysfunctional family.

I was a nutcase. I actually squeed at the thought of being a sophomore in high school. I remember Grace giving me the awkward eye when I told her that. Clearly high school was still the best thing that had ever happened to me then. Obviously I had been reading too many Sweet Valley High books. There was even this under the radar reading competition, which I think only me, Ames and Grace participated. Because all three of us snagged the top three spots available. There was not a breath of readership from other classes. There was also this writing competition I saw in the newspaper. I remember skipping classes legally with Ames while hogging the only computer in the Principal’s office amending our individual stories. I wrote something along the line of rebellious teenagers breaking curfew and stealing the parent’s car and getting into an accident. We submitted our stories. We never heard from the competition ever again. I doubt they even announced the winners. So somewhere out there, someone has my crappy manuscript. If I am lucky, I might see it turned into an episode of the OC. At least I know my muse finally made it to the shores of California.

Grace, Ames and I. We were the perfect threesome. We spoke perfect English and I am sure there were people in class who hated us because we did. I sat in front of Grace and Ames sat next to me. We would chatter away in class and get on the teachers’ nerves. We would always have something to talk about. The celebrity world outside. The rumourmonger inside. Anything. Because of the complaints from other teachers, our form teacher decided to split us up, keeping us a row away from one another. Alas. I have two healthy feet. I would move around the class to have short chitchats in between period exchanges.

Our form-cum-English teacher was barely in class because she was the teacher advisor for the school band. Conveniently, the worn down band room was just next to my classroom. On specific Tuesdays, we would have band members huddling nearby minding their own business. I was appointed to be the welfare warden for the class. It was not a heavy task. My job consisted of tending to classmates with severe stomach cramps, overdosing them with pink Panadols and making them hot Milo to tame the pain. There was a welfare room next to the prefect’s room, where the heavily laboured were laid for temporary rest. Half of them faked their cramps just so they get to nap in their during classes they hated.

Who could forget the History teacher? She was nicknamed Buffalo. Probably because of her physique. She was quite a plump person yet she dressed like she did not care. Everyone hated the very core of her. And she hated us just as much. She was very plastic and put on makeup two inches thick and talked like a bitch. Rumour had it that she was a second wife for some rich bastard. I never paid attention in her class. I would hide a Sweet Valley High or an R.L Stine in between my History textbook or in my drawer while pretending I was paying attention. Other times when I so unfortunately had see through drawers for my desk, I would just find my happy place. I never listened to any of her class because I thought she was a bunch of crap. She made us put together some sort of a scrapbook but I never got to doing that. She did not notice anyway. She would reward good students with Hello Kitty stamps on their exercise books. Of course I was not one of those with such privilege. I never did well for her class. I never did well for classes with teachers I loathed. All grades for History that year were marked with a red pen, indicating failure. I never liked History to begin with anyway.

Form 2 was a year of bitches for teachers, really. The Living Skills teacher was just as bad. We were all a bunch of idiots to her just because we could not answer her questions. “Bodoh! Bodoh!” (“Stupid! Stupid!”) She would berate us. Maybe I dread her class. Because she would point and pick randomly for someone to answer her questions and would punish you by standing for the rest of the period if you failed to answer correctly. Most – if not all – of her classes were two periods long. We would spend the period before hers browsing through our textbooks in the quickest way. We might have picked up speed-reading there. We would cram in as many information as possible before she steps through the door. However, such task grew weary on us and we found ourselves hiding the textbook in our drawers and peeking for answers while she preyed on other students. I found myself avoiding eye contact with her just to tone down my chances of being picked. I did not think that worked. And I came to realise standing during her classes as punishment was not really a severe one anyway. I have stood longer during my band practices. What was hers but a warm up?

There were fresh graduates hired to become temporary teachers during this year. One of them came and taught us Science. His name would go down in history. So would his thick caterpillar-like eyebrows. Half of the population in high school fawned over him. Some of them jealous of us having him as our Science teacher. Truth be told, he was not really a good teacher. I could barely remember the things he taught. He knew he was good looking to the pubescent girls and it was all that matter. He was to leave when half of the year finishes. The groupies from my class got together and bought him an Adidas football.

Pre-prefects were promoted in this year. See, there were like levels in becoming a full fledge gagak – inside joke. In the earlier days, there were only two levels. First was once you have passed the interview I so shamefully flopped, you would be awarded a dark blue tie to state your trial period. Probably one year to let you come to your senses whether or not this is the life you want for the next four years of your life. Some caved from the peer pressure. Others grew up to be beautiful prefects of maroon ties and black skirts. Because of their black skirts they would forever be nicknamed gagak in Malay, aw-ah in Hokkien and wu ya in Mandarin. Which is crow in English.

I remember their promotion day. It was during one of our assembly and they were dressed up in their brand spanking new uniforms. Shu Wen was one of them. We were snickering on the floor at their rigidness on stage and their infamous oath. “Tali leher melambangkan…” before the principal handed them their maroon ties, their high school responsibility, their lifelong humiliation. Oh it was a happy day.

* I shall disclose the school name for I know what wrath the school may be capable of after being there for five years. However, all will get the picture as I progress with the entry.

Skyline drive

"I think I saw your airplane in the sky tonight, through my window lying on the kitchen floor." - Stars

 

June 22, 2004
Penang, Malaysia - Singapore

June 2, 2005
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - Taiwan

June 17, 2006
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - Penang, Malaysia

July 12, 2006
Brisbane, Australia - Melbourne, Australia

Lesson #5

Archangel
John Updike

Onyx and split cedar and bronze vessels lowered into still waters: these things I offer. Porphyry, teakwood, jasmine and myrrh: these gifts I bring. The sheen of my sandals is dulled by the dust of cloves. My wings are waxed with nectar. My eyes are diamonds in whose facets red gold is mirrored. My face is a mask of ivory: Love me. Listen to my promises:

Cold water will drip from the intricately chased designs of the bronze vessels. Thick-lipped urns will sweat in the fragnant cellars. The orchards never weary of bearing on my islands. The very leaves give nourishment. The banked branches never crowd the paths. The grape vines will grow unattended. The very seeds of the berries are sweet nuts. Why do you smile? Have you never been hungry?

The workmanship of the bowers will be immaculate. Where the elements are joined, the sword of the thinnest whisper will find its point excluded. Where the beams have been tapered, each swipe of the plane is continuous. Where the wood needed locking, pegs of a counter-grain have been driven. The ceilings are high, for coolness, and the spaced shingles seal at the first breath of mist. Though the windows are open, the eaves of the roof are so wide that nothing of the rain comes into the rooms but its scent. Mats of perfect cleanness cover the floor. The fire is cupped in black rock and sustained on a smooth breast of ash. Have you never lacked shelter?

Where, then, has your life been touched? My pleasures are as specific as they are everlasting. The sliced edges of a fresh ream of laid paper, cream, stiff, rag-rich. The freckles of the closed eyelids of a woman attentive in the first white blush of morning. The ball diminishing well down the broad green throat of the first at Cape Ann. The good catch, a candy sun slatting the bleachers. The fair at the vanished poorhouse. The white arms of girls dancing, taffeta, white arms violet in the hollows music its ecstasies praise the white wrists of priase the white arms and the white paper trimmed the Euclidean proof of Phythagoras' theorem its tightening beauty the iridescence of an old copper found in the salt sand. The microscopic glitter in the ink of the letters of words that are your own. Certain moments, remembered or imagined, of childhood. Three-handed pinochle by the brown glow of the stained-glass lampshade, your parents out of their godliness silently wishing you to win. The Brancusi room, silent. Pines and Rocks, by Cezanne; and The Lace-Maker in the Louvre hardly bigger than your spread hand.

Such glimmers I shall widen to rivers; nothing will be lost, not the least grain of remembered dust, and the multiplication shall be a thousand thousand fold; Love me. Embrace me; come, touch my side, where honey flows. Do not be afraid. Why should my promises be vain? Jade and cinnamon: do you deny that such things exist? Why do you turn away? Is not my song a stream of balm? My arms are heaped with apples and ancient books; there is no harm in me; no. Stay. Praise me. Your praise of me is praise of yourself; wait. Listen. I will begin again.

Mr Brightside

"Jealousy - turning saints into the seas. Swimming throught sick lullabies. Choking on your alibis." - The Killers

 

Meet Mr Brightside. But before that, let me get it off my chest that I think the name per se reminds me sometimes of someone's dick. Nobody I know in particular. It just sounds like a name some queer - no pun intended, maybe - guy would give to his manhood.

However, I did not name my laptop in honour of someone's cock. I name my gadgets like every other way I would name my pets. I named my first mutt Nickie because I could not get enough of Nick Carter. I named my first hamster Freddie because Freddoe Prinze Jr was a charming guy. I wanted to name my current Maltese-Poodle dog Charlie in honour of Charlie Pace from Lost but my sister was not pleased with such common name we eventually settled for Benji, which was kind of brought to my attention because of one of the Madden twins from Good Charlotte. I named my PC back home Stinky because Justin Timberlake was some guilty dessert when he hit solo and he has been nicknamed Stinky. Also because my computer broke down a year later thus leaving me in total panic mode because out of all the assignments I had to keep track of, they were graphic designing assignments. that I named my laptop - yeah, the act itself sounds queer enough - Mr Brightside because prior to purchasing the laptop, it was one of my favourite song at the moment. Mr Brightside by The Killers. Other than that, I also named my iPod Lyla because Lyla by Oasis was a kickass song when I got the iPod.

Mr Brightside was a birthday gift from my parents, given to me two days before my 20th birthday. Back in June 2005, it has been forseen that I will be pursuing my tertiary studies come February 2006 and thus, a laptop is much needed for a nomad student like me. I did mention to my dad that I am going to save up for an iBook and get it by the end of the year. Simultaneously, there was a fair going on in the premises of Gurney Plaza, which prompted me to bring my dad to meet the future Mr Brightside. My dad is not really a tech enthusiast. When I first mentioned I wanted an iBook, he thought I was referring to the crappy local brand I. With that, he is not familiar with the grounds of Mac. Apple. Steve Jobs. Mr Oh-and-one-more-thing annually. Despite that, he decided to cash in. Here, I would like to say my intention to bring him to meet Mr Brightside for the first time was not to have him pay for my laptop. Honest.

See. The Apple Guy - just because I fail to remember his name. Well, I can remember his name because I have his name card lying somewhere in this house but I am a lazy bastard and I would rather just say I cannot remember his name to save my life - told me that the iBooks are running low in stock and in due's time, it will be discontinued. According to him, they will not know when the new batch will come in. Of course I panicked. I am an ignorant little brat hoping to transfer into the Mac world after being cooped up behind Bill Gate's teeny weeny window. My dad, as usual, was standing at the sideline adding fuel to fire, telling me why was it a good idea to make a purchase quick. I succumbed under pressure and gave the greenlight. RM4409 maxed. With six months for me to get used to the new interface.

Probably a couple of months later, the Apple Guy came forth with a practised apologetic look informing me that not only has the price dropped to a mere RM4000, the iBooks were given better specs too. I got the news before he told me because I have been surfing the website. Part of me was fuming. I wanted to disconfigure his apologetic face. Discontinued, my ass. Discontinued because new versions are coming out and I have purchased one of the last stocks of the older version. Do not even get me started on the PR tactic he laid on me about the iPod. In a nutshell, my dad bought one for me while he was in Singapore about a month prior to Mr Brightside's purchase in fear of, once again, discontinuation. I was not half as mad because Lyla is coloured screen and a healthy 20GB with an intact figure of the original version.

With that, I have learned an important lesson to pay constant visits to tech-related sites and listen to my guy friends currently fawning over Apple products for the most up to date Mac news. But I doubt I will see myself making another Mac purchase anytime soon. Sure the Macbook Pros are tempting and the iPod Nanos with bigger memory spaces are enough to send my teeth gritting in force tolerance, but well, it is hard to keep up with the ever-changing tech world. Just get what is enough to satisfy you. Because it is an unnecessary rat race with shadows you will never see the figure of. If you do not end up killing yourself, you might as well do yourself that honour because by then poverty is so fucking jarring your lips will be so tired of cursing Steve Jobs. Whom does not know what is going on with you as he goes on every year having his oh-and-one-more-thing speech while you just sat there and go "Nooooooooo! But can I have that one too?"

Things were not exactly rainbows and butterflies when Mr Brightside first met Stinky.

It was a headache networking the two of them. Stinky - OK, maybe I should not tell the story as if they are human beings. So. My PC would always find ways to deny the laptop's access and Mr Brightside (OK, maybe just once in a while for variation purposes) seems to be speaking French altogether. There were times when I just wanted to give up on my laptop. Yes. Already. I had not even set out of the country in another five months. However, things just slowly worked out. Stinky eventually accepted the fact that I will be mulling over Mr Brightside come next year when I part thus, he might as well make peace with the laptop so I can have a better life in Australia. I am so full of crap. Sheesh. Somebody slap me.

Let's see. Mr Brightside is an iBook G4, if you have not known by now. 12-inch screen. 512MB, which I have to upgrade from a 128MB. A totally limited 20GB HDD space. With my overwhelming music collection - standing proud at 1638 songs till date, thank you very much - I have only approximately 4GB left to utilise. Geez. I think an external harddrive is a good idea right about now. What else. The speaker kind of sucks but I have gotten used to its distant tone and plus earphones work better as always. There is a wireless device. There is no bluetooth.

There was this one time when I so miraculously hanged my laptop in Siberia. I used the infamous backdoor emergency escape I abuse too often while using my PC. Ctrl+Alt+Del. In Apple's case, Ctrl+AnAppleSign+Del. No, it does not work that way. I could still remember myself staring at the frozen screen going, "Now what?" You know sometimes when even the Ctrl+Alt+Del method fails, as I would often like to put it, when all else fails, reset. For a PC's reset, it is to press the reset button. An Apple does not have a reset nub. A reset also equals the unplug of the cable. So. I unplugged the adapter for my laptop. Exactly! This is a laptop for fuck's sake. Of course it is going to keep on running even without the adapter if the battery is fully charged! Now what? Now. I took out the battery. Reset done. Do not try this at home though. It may not be Apple's motto to "when all else fails, disengage your battery to reset". Who knows what kind of consequences will come haunt you once it is powered up again.

As you can see, I am not really pleased. A Windows-based laptop can do better than what Apple has put on the interior plate. Those "I'm a Mac. I'm a PC" commercials lied. My laptop fucking crashed too. Although I have to admit whatever-his-name-is is a goodlooking Mac metaphor himself. And they are funny.

I kind of expected such problems to surface even before I purchased the laptop. It is not as if I came into this absolutely pro-Mac. I am not one to believe that whatever problems I find in Windows I can definitely solve in Mac. They each have their own pros and cons. Macs are less likely to be infected by viruses; Windows are growing viral molds in their assholes. Windows can Ctrl+Alt+Del; Macs do not do that. I am having troubles seeing eye to eye with my parents while you are arguing with your boyfriend whether to have tofu or beef for dinner. We all have our own problems to face.

I would not recommend someone to use a Mac. I am the least enthusiastic Mac user you can ever find. Sure, the external designing is something and the interface is fucking fantastic. Oh, look at the taskbar. Look how the icons just maximise in your face. Shiny. Yeah. However, you are paying more with half of your money going to the design or say the brand name. You have seen the specs. Yeah it has gotten better since then. But it still has not defeated the opponent yet. They all say designers are better off using a Mac. I have yet to see the difference and betterment but I shall believe it in the meantime. Do not expect to DOTA in a Mac lah. (Excuse my Manglish). Or maybe you can. Forgive me, I am never an expert in computer gaming.

So yes. Mr Brightside. Not really a dick. But definitely my laptop I am using during my stay in Australia. Honestly, I am already tired of it. Who knows what will happen once I am done with my studies here. Or what will happen come the end of the year. But in the meantime. Mr Brightside is my laptop, my dick. At least not per se.