just a note.

How much more boring can this blog be? There is no substance to the majority of the posts. A few posts detail nothing but the progress of my growing music collection, and one is simply an extract from a book that I found interesting at the time.

Trite, banal, uninspired, and overdone. How come I can’t live out a life like what I see on TV, full of loops and whorls, unexpected twists and deceit? This severe lack of drama bores me. I want to fight crime, dodge bullets, uncover spies. Destroy a meth lab, expose a conspiracy, order the carpet bombing of a humble village, save the President, compose a symphony, paint a masterpiece, escape a burning building, save a child from certain death, successfully apprehend one of America’s Most Wanted, become UN Secretary General, single-handedly win a war.

Preferably all in one day. I do have work to attend to, of course, and all of this daydreaming is proving to be quite tiring.

‘spring’ cleaning.

As per the request of a number of faculty members (with whom I had a delightful chat this afternoon), I have removed one blog entry on account of theft. I have also set a couple of older entries as Drafts such that they are not accessible to prying eyes – mine, all mine. Maybe now is a good time to return back to the age-old pen and paper.

I’m thinking practical for Christmas this year. Toys are for little boys. I ordered the Classic Century 10 Karat Gold Filled/Rolled Gold Pen and Pencil Set from Cross, a beautiful set of writing instruments, along with a Casio EXILIM EX-S770 in silver. Perhaps I’ll dabble in photography over the winter break during my off time, or whenever I’m not busy sifting through the remnants of schoolwork or working on strength training.

A lot to look forward to, a lot to get done in the present.

semi, regrets, angst.

Nightclubs have lost all of the allure that they once possessed in my eyes. My first time entering one was just over the summer, a foray into Shanghai’s sea & sky: infinity or something to that effect. I thought it was absolutely grand – bright lights, music that convinces the body into movement, most attractive decor, and girls in skimpy outfits dancing about in center stage. I was quite content throwing back glass after glass of alcohol while watching the proceedings. It was a very compelling show and it made me question why I hadn’t experienced the joys of clubbing before.

Semi was held at the Espanda Lounge, right across the street from Nuovo, a club that I had entered one night, somehow managed to spend RM30 on water in, and forgot about the next morning. We’re told to dress for success, so I did. I think I did a good job of dressing up, actually. I’m quite comfortable in a suit. Went in with a friend at 7PM or so, right when the semi started. I was immediately taken aback by the blare of the club’s speakers. Not what I was expecting for a semi-formal. Dance music throbbing in my ears, I ambled about aimlessly for a while, scanning the club. I concluded that she wasn’t there after an hour and a half and stuck to leaning against the rails, trying to look relaxed. I think I ended up looking lost and depressed, which probably wasn’t too far off from how I was feeling.

She walked in close to nine. The instant high passed and apprehension set in shortly thereafter – it didn’t leave me until I got a cab for my ride back home. I wallowed away for an hour and a half in pure discontent with myself. Glancing at my phone over and over again for the time, trying to pluck up enough courage to go and dance with her, falling back each time and slumping over with something of both anger and sadness on my every retreat. Mesmerizing. I plodded back to the bar a number of times for water in false hopes that the barkeep may have swapped out my drink for a shot of vodka straight. The illusion of confidence itself would have been a godsend.

I kept watching her walk away. Walking away from the dancefloor to the bar up top. Walking out of the club in front of me, out on the street and into a cab, out of my sight. All the while I thought about what I should have done. Should have, could have, would have again.

Left Espanda, thirsting for a drink. Something with which to forget or with which to shrug off the events of the night. Anything for it to have turned out how I had pictured it in my dreams. Lying in bed, I conjure up ideals. An ideal setting, knowing all the right things to say, expressing myself with complete fluidity, being able to think lucidly, able to speak without choking back on my frantic heart working its way up into my throat.

Now to wait until Monday to tell her that she looked gorgeous.