HELLo tHERE

They say hell is not a place but a form of revenge; for every damn ounce of joy and pleasure you reap without sowing, an ounce of pain and suffering will be added into your account and it will be pay in full in our afterlife. But somehow I feel like my toll is being paid in advance here.



It’s one of those days where you fucking realized that you are actually swimming in the ashes of what you call your life and you feel that your anguish that has been stored in your unconsciousness, slowly slip and slide back into your fucking system again. The pain is raising; the hurt resurfaces; just like pouring salt into an opened wound, the floodgate is opened again and in a matter of minute you’ll be drowning in your sea of sorrows.



Feeling like I am buried alive in a Tibetan Sky burial; every inch of my flesh, every ounce of my entrails are being pecked away by them fucking vultures, even my bones are ground and are feasted upon. Every inch of me is being tormented, breathing is a burden and death is actually is release.



But as I look up the night shattered sky I finally realized something, what is happiness without sadness? What is pleasure without pain? Without one of them, the other really means nothing.

This isn’t My fucking Latte with Extra Foam

I just got home from an unusual breakfast; I am not sure that I should be happy or disgusted but it sure felt downright weird. Me and my dad headed to one of my town's most enduring breakfast stalls that sells bean sprout chicken noodles. This fucking stall has been there for as long as I remember and it was still there and business was still as good if not fucking better. Well, I am kinda embarrassed to say that in all my almost 30 years of existence, I have yet tasted what this motherfucking stall has got to offer. So on this fucking wet Saturday morning, we decided to give it a fucking try, who knows I might fall in love with it. Okie I lied, that didn’t go through my brain at first, the thought that actually went through my head was something like this:

I am sorry but I do get a little horny on cold mornings, it must be the stiffness that I am feeling down under that requires a little “southern comfort”, if you know what I mean. But yeah, I know that would only happen in my dreams, meanwhile back in reality , all I got was a old China man clad only in singlet, boxers and an apron preparing the food behind the counter and a Bangala with extremely hair fingers bringing us our orders.

When I saw what was served, I went like, “OH MY COCK! Did I just land on a fucking star dock? Then why are they fucking serving me my usual Star Buck’s latte? This isn’t my fucking latte with extra foam. I fucking swear to god I ordered some chicken and bean sprout noodles. Why are there foam in it?”


But as I look around me, everyone’s noodles seem to be foamy too and they didn’t seem to mind. I guess the foam must have been part of the breakfast package. So before I embarrassed myself, I try to shut out the thought that the foam was the residual of dish detergent and fucking binge everything down.


It was pretty much a bitter sweet breakfast experience because the food actually tastes pretty good but it is just the fucking foam that is very disturbing. But after paying the bill, I guess I am just going to let it slide. Come on man, where the fuck are you going to get such generous portion of food that tastes pretty good at primary school canteen price - RM3.00 per head that’s less than US1 .



P.S. This isn’t me back blogging, it’s just me trying to kill some time before the Saturday morning cartoons starts.

Do You Feel Love: Man Juice & Moist Vagina

I feel like I’m severed from the Trinity because I’m here, all alone in Cherating and I anticipate two days of body surfing and partying the night away.


House moving business is similar to hard labor; I really need a break but I still got a shit load of boxes to unpack and tons of rearranging work to do, but that can wait. You know, its funny how our bodies tend to react to unfamiliar places. Even when you are dead tired, you still find it hard to sleep; the new house, new room and new surroundings just somehow fucks up the program. Enough of the house moving, talking about it makes me feel tired; that is why I'm in Cherating, 45km away from my current house.


Monsoon time is upon us, it’s raining like there’s no tomorrow; the news has warned the people here to braced themselves for a really wet season but we surfers know what the fuck that really means. The red flag is raised, the current is brutal yet this is the best time to surf. You know, with the red flag raised, the local authorities here wouldn't stop you from going into the sea but they reserved the right to say it straight to your rotting corpse when they fish you outta the sea…

‘We fucking told you so'




But still, surfers waited all year long for this because monsoon season is when the sea awakes, it’s time to step on liquid and ride the Big Kahuna. I'll spare you the surfing stories because I'm saving it when the monsoon is over, so that I can rub it in the other surfer's face for not being here right now.




"It happened at night…

…when most of us surfers partied at a local bar. I met this girl along with some of her friends. They were young, wild and daring and I guess horny as well. If you eye them long enough on the dance floor and if they liked the way you looked at them, they would come over and give you a good rub down with their bodies. I know this because that night, I was at the receiving end. But this one girl amongst them; bob style, tanned, bare bone thin yet voluptuous, had this certain charm to her; I don't know why, but every time I look at her, wild thoughts escapes. Then again, it could be the two love scud hanging on her chest, like ripe melon waiting to be pluck.

As the night grew, traces of alcohol slithers inside our veins, she was all over me or was it, I was all over her but to be on the safe side, let's just say we were all over each other. All I know is I was busy checking out the Braille underneath her brassier, trying to twist the knob while she was trying to gain a handle on my night club. I don’t really have to paint you a picture of that moment because I am sure you damn well know what would happen, when you fill up a fucker whose man juice tank is almost overflowing and a walking, talking & dancing moist vagina with alcohol and then put them in a place with minimum lighting…


[to be continue]

Man's Age & Woman's Breast

I'm not really back from my hiatus, but since I have some fucking time to kill, so here are some random thoughts...



Everyone fucking knows that as you grow old, your needs changes in every aspect. From your daily food intake to your religious faith to your sexual needs. Things that once satisfy you doesn't even leave a fucking dent on you right now. I am fucking sure all you drug junkie knows what I'm talking about.


I remember in Sunday school, all it fucking took was the story about Jesus walking on water to make me a believer; but right now, even if Jesus was standing in front of me, I would go, ”I don't dig your salvation plan, so what the deal, bitch? Where's the fucking fine print?”



Remember the time when you started dating? All it took was a bunch of roses and a stroll in the park to make her feel on top of the world. But now, if it is anything less than Tiffany’s & co., it'll be hitting the cold showers or hell to pay later. I guess when we aged, our container gets bigger and it needs a shitload more to fill it up before we are satisfied.



I think you all know where I am getting at but when I started penning this down, I was going to write about changes but not these types of changes. You see, I was having coffee this morning and I happened to be sandwiched in between two groups of guys. On my left, guys about my age and on my right middle aged uncles. They were having their own conversations but both the topics were the same - women.



The younger group of guys was talking about how they wanna fuck slim model-like girls with long legs & perky breast while the older generation said that they couldn't care less about how the girls look as long as they have melon breasts, they'll fuck it; which led me to a conclusion there is a correlation between a man's age and a woman's breast size. The older a guy gets, the bigger the woman's breast they want.



Don't fucking believe me, next time if you see an dirty old man checking out chics, look where their eyes are staring. I m fucking sure it's the breast and I’m sure they the breast that they are checking out is at least rock melon size.

Nothing in this Silence

I m clueless as to what am I even doing these days. I wake up at 6am to find myself pedaling my balls off to almost 70clicks every morning. I rest for which I felt like a little while, and then I get myself ready to run another 5-6 miles in the evening. Even before the day is through, I am already lying horizontally on my bed getting ready to sleep; sometimes without dinner because I'm just too tired to eat. Most nights I slide in a Blu-ray disc hoping to catch a movie but even before the starting credit ends, I’m already sound asleep.




Everything just sorta repeats itself the next day.




No, I am not training for some endurance event; no, I am not trying to lose weight, in fact the last I checked, I should be putting on weight. I don't hang out with my friends much; heck, I don't even interact much with my online friends these days. I’m now a hermit that is turning into a ball of silence; lately, I don't even have much to say here in my blog. It’s not any emotion sickness that I am having but I think it is just probably boredom that the banality of my mundane life provides me.



So should I be sucking God's dick and be thankful that everything in my life is damn peaceful right now? Or should I be worried that this stillness in my life is just the calm before the big shitty storm? Fuck it, this isn't going to well with me at all. I should be out somewhere looking for trouble or stirring some shit up.


But for now, I am just corpse-like tired to my motherfucking bones. You can expect me to go on a hiatus, at least until I get over this fucking silence that is binding me.

Over You

He says it’s so loud here yet it has never been so much quietness inside his hollow and emptied out soul that has just been left so vacant that even any spirit would haunt. He's tried from all the fucked up things in his life that has come undone and now he tries to take refuge under the shadow of this world's scorching sun. Yet he realized that there is just no escape from this tormenting silence inside of him.


He likes writing and watching the sun as it hits her long silky hair; she likes talking and listening to him serenades while it rains outside.


Now they're not talking because of his mistakes.



He lied, lied, lied.




..and it is killing him that he can't tell her the truth. So he is writing these bottled up feelings for her on a little piece of paper and hoping someday she might find. For now, he'll hide it behind something, so they won't look behind...


“I painted our room late at midnight, so that I'll know that yesterday was over. I've placed all your books on the top shelf. I took down our pictures from the walls and wrapped it in newspapers. But in all of these, I 'm still feeling caged up inside here, and I'm hoping that maybe one day you would finally come around. I really wish that this could have been any other way than this. But please forgive me for I just don’t know what else I can do.”

Tasty Crap

Alright, this is really going to be a hit and run post because I am still trying to juggle with my current lifestyle. Since I have switched on my rant mode, I'm just gonna briefly rant to y'all about what the fuck happened the fucking day before and yesterday. I'm not proud about my ranting but before I turned my blog permanently into a blog that reeks of emo-ness, I think I should blog about something else besides all the shit storm that is bombarding me.


So as I promise, this is going to be short...


You see the day before, a friend brought over some braised tofu for my dad and me; it was the best tofu we have ever tasted; it even got me and my dad talking about it at night, so we came to an accord that we just gotta have some more of that tasty motherfucker the next day. I gave my friend a call and asked her for the directions. That night both of us went to bed with the widest grin because we knew tomorrow we are going to have some more of that tasty tofu.


After my morning run at the gym, both of us headed to that place. Our first impression was how the fuck such a shit hole like this could ever produce such tasty tofu? Look at the fucking tables, it hasn't been cleared for don't know how long. The black dots on the table weren’t grime, its bloody flies.

When we sat down, the table across us looked like this. Half an hour later after we've done, the table was still looking like that but only with a little more flies on it.


Look at how clean these are; we are supposed to use it. I remember that was the case when I went for Hokkien noodles near Kota Raya(KL), the clean chopsticks came with a pieces of vegetable sticking to it but at least the people there give us a pack of tissue to wipe it. Here, you're fucking on your own.

It was like a fucking safari here but the only species on the loose were flies. The flies here have no fear of human at all. As soon as any food comes, they’ll come too. You can swat them off as many times as you want but they are just gonna come back right at you. So, you just gotta chase them off as you eat and when you get tired, those fuckers will just hang around your plate.

Seriously, the fucker selling this tofu thinks their tofu is really that good that they don't really need to give a shit about food presentation. Well, I can adhere to that but my threshold has been passed when you serve me with crap looking like this.

I don't care if you don't serve it to me in a silver platter but as least have the decency to give me a tofu that is whole, not pieces of crap that looks like someone have just taken a bite from it and on top of it someone’s curry puke.


Fuck you, if you think the taste of the crap you sell can overshadow the way it looks. Even my dog eats better looking crap than that.

And fuck you again, I'm not coming back here for your tasty crap.



*Opppps, this wasn't that short after-all.

Almost Famous?

Today I met a friend…


“To me a blog is a piece of parchment where I can be completely honest and write down all my inner thoughts. “

But today, the people who once said that the net has given them the opportunity to be themselves are using blogs and social network site as a tool to boost their popularity for the sake of their own celebritarian needs. In fact these days, people are more concern about their online reputation more than their real self. They would rather look better on the webcam or pictures uploaded to their blog than being caught without any make up in the real world. Our whole goddamn generation has turned into a blog traffic craving, fame mongering, and picture photoshopping freaks that leeches off the net for the sense of belonging. You know when they say that the internet world is slowly becoming like the real world, I totally agree with it because everyone is starting to put on a mask and everyone is just as superficial on both sides.

So tell me, is it ever safe again just to be your own self in the net or are you just going to be label as a cry for attention for being different. Where is this place where you could be yourself and speak your unpopular thoughts and opinion without being labeled nut job? Whatever happens to the honest person inside of us who just wants others to accept him for who he is? Has the need of being famous and accepted made us forget who we really are inside?


If you ask me...

fuck trying to get famous, fuck trying to get approval, fuck trying to mind what others think about you and fuck anyone who thinks less of you for being who the fuck you are.


Let me rephrase this sentence again, "To me a blog is a piece of parchment, where I can be completely be honest and write about my malicious intents, my scandalous fantasies, my murderous cravings, my blasphemous thoughts, my betraying affections, my indecent proposals, my sinful conducts, my immoral affairs and most of all, me. "



Today I met up with a friend I haven’t seen him for ages but what I gathered from his "famous" blog, everything seems to be heading his way, he is doing super fine and is having the time of his life. Even his friends from his social network pages could bloody flood a stadium 3 times over. But I never really thought that he could be so pathetically low on the downside of his real life. Even an outcast hermit like me has more friends than this "famous" blogger.



I felt sorry for him, I really do.

ag.o.ra.pho.bi.a

Today, I decided to take a leap of faith, so I drove myself 3 miles to the famous Sunday street market where you can get all sort of mouth watery treats in one place. It’s been years since I’ve been here. Mainly because it’s crowded, secondly it’s crowded and finally it’s crowded. Ever since I moved from the city to come back here, I have been trying to avoid places with large congregation of people, so much so that I think I have developed this phobia of being in places with large amount of people especially in open spaces.


It just got worse lately, every time I find myself in the middle of a crowd, I begin to feel that I am getting smaller and smaller; then everything around me starts to move in super speed that I can’t seem to catch up. My heart would pound so fast, I 'll hyperventilate; all I know is that I gotta get outta that crowd to a place where there are less people, then everything would just go back to normal. I really don’t know what is happening to me but it could be that I have started to resent all humans in general.


But somehow I manage to find a way of dealing with crowded places; I find that if I jack into my iPod to shut out all the noises around me, I am able to regain more control of myself. So that was what I did today, with Robert Plant and Alison Krauss playing in my ears, I walked the street market like a scavenger preying for something that would fill my stomach tonight. My tactic was proven effective but only for the first few moments; but when throngs and throngs of motherfuckers started to flock that street market, I couldn’t but to feel my anxiety started to take my wheels. It was just too much for me to bear, even with my iPod playing over 5 decibel. Without going any further, I turn back to where my car was parked and I bullet outta there like a bat from hell.


But I guess it was a good effort because I manage to grab some grill chicken before I flew out of my living nightmare.

The fucking Malays here like to grill their chicken to perfection and when I say perfection in term of the Malays, it means almost turning the chicken into charcoal. So my dinner was the charred chicken which probably would increase the risk of me developing cancer . It was suppose to taste sweet because I saw the fucker spread generous amount of honey on it. But I think I am finally feeling the side effect of taking too many Paracetamol in the last few days, now my tongue can only handle the bitter taste.


Goddammit! Even Pepsi taste bitter to me.

The Break

Scarred by the violence of change; charred by this sentimental break. I hear her start the engine but I looked the other way. Suddenly I feel the weight of the world rest upon my breaking back. Is this what I really want? Am I going to regret this? I twist and turn to try to catch a final glimpse of her but it was too late.



She’s gone.


Moments ago, she pulled over and waited at my porch.


You know, there was a time where I would have given up a limp just to have her here but today… today her black compact was like a funeral hearse waiting to give the one last ride to the deceased. Right now, this ride was meant for me. Walking towards her car almost felt like I was doing my death march because I knew that things wasn’t going to be pretty when I get in that car.


She unlocked the door and I found myself stepping into her office. How appropriate, Black Eyed Pea was singing 'I got a feeling…' on the car stereo; she reached down, muted the stereo, looked at me and demanded an answer. But all I could give her was the same old reasons that I gave her the first time and the second time we broke up - “It’s everything.” She wasn't buying it and she was not backing down. I had to put an end to this, no matter how fucking ugly this is going to get or else there will be chorus of these uncalled for visits and confrontations.


So I decided to lie; I turned into a fork tongue and I lied as hard as I could. Ruthless sentences that starts with “I don’t …“& “I’ve never…” joined in the foray. Words once spoken can't be taken back. I knew this and I was ready to accept whatever consequences. Right now to her, I’m the worst person in this world, I was the ultimate asshole. But it’s alright, if it means that her child now has a full time mother and if she doesn't have to divert her attention and affection on a fucking low life adulterer like me, I would gladly bear her loathe and disgust.


As much as my words and actions would hurt her, she will never comprehend the pain that I bear inside; it hurts even more when you have to lie and hurt the one you love. Every part of me says that it was the right thing to do but somehow there’s just this lingering aching pain inside of me that is slowly eating me up like cancer. I feel like I’m breaking from the inside.


I loathe myself so much right now I can’t even bear looking at myself at the mirror anymore.


I'm having the worst headache; I need more pills right now.

of Dying Alone

It doesn't really take a fucking soothsayer or a clairvoyance to figure out that at this rate that I am going, I can pretty much predict I am going to grow old and die alone, alright maybe not old but definitely die alone. Seriously, I don't know whether I have it in me anymore to be in a fucking relationship because I am already so used to living this life as it is now. I fucking do whatever I feel like doing, when I like fucking doing it and in whatever fucking amount I like doing it in. I answer to no fucking one except me and the last thing I ever need is someone to come and fuck it up for me. You know I seriously doubt anyone would want to share my unpredictable and ad hoc way of living. If there is, I pity the ones who’s willing to take a chance on me because it would mean a massive lifestyle restructuring and a whole lot of insanity to even consider being with me.



I saw this in today’s news:

Overdose of sex stimulants kills man

BANGKOK: A Malaysian man was found dead in a hotel room in the border town of Sadao, in what is suspected to have been caused by an overdose of sex stimulants. On Tuesday night, the 52-year-old victim and his Thai girlfriend (most likley a hooker if you ask me) checked into the hotel in Soi Thaijungloan after patronising a bar. “When she woke up in the morning, the man was already dead. She told us the man liked to take sex stimulants”



You know, I have always wondered how it is like to be dead and in the news; some people just has all the luck in the world. But seeing that I am pretty much on my way of dying a lonesome death, I could pretty much be that guy in the news, above, maybe 20-30 years from now. The ecstasy of overdosing on sex stimulant and having my cadaver discovered by my “girlfriend” (most likely a whore) the next morning is one way of leaving this world in style. So keep a look out, you might see my face in the news, somewhere down the road.

On another note, I’ve think I have just made a best friend. Since I came back, I have been relying on my friend for relieve, moral support and clarity in my head. This friend of mine doesn’t ask questions, it just does what it does best and that is keeping me intact. I’ve been living on these motherfuckers since the day I got back and so far they are doing a great job.

500mg per pop and I take two of these fuckers every four hours daily when I am awake. Seriously, I don’t know what am I gonna do without them.


Who the fuck says that you can't be friends with your drugs?

Female Body Builder Maid Wanted

Like a preacher man stealing money from the church's coffer, here I am sitting in the waiting room, waiting for my dad who is having his stitches taken off. I'm trying to hijack as much time to myself as I possibly can; I am trying to catch a breather, just enough for me to get my fucking thoughts together as I try to journalize it.



It’s been a little more than a week since my dad was hospitalize for having breathing difficulties and this is also the same amount of time which I have been back from an almost 5 months travel around India. But instead of trying to revert back to my usual routine, I find myself rather in a whole different situation. With my dad sick and my mum nowhere around, I'm trying to fill my parents shoes in keeping this house together. From cooking to cleaning, doing the laundry to taking out the trash...etc etc. You fucking get the picture; it’s all hands on for me. Once again I am re-living my clockwork days and my biological clock has been reset to waking up and going to bed early. It may seem like a good thing because it is normal and being normal is what normal people do but the thing is I have never been comfortable with being normal. Living a mundane life has never gone well with me. Every single cell and chromosome in me is trying to reject this.



I long to stay awake for days and finally pass out on the third or fourth day; I long for the early whiskey session that would get me pissed drunk in the morning and sober in the afternoon; I long for the endless hours spent on my game console; not eating, not sleeping or not bathing until I finish the game; I long for the freedom of being a beach bum, hanging out at the beach and productively doing something that really amounts to nothing all day.



But I guess all of these have just gotta be put on hold while I carry out my duty as a son and the caretaker of my house. Am I too fucking whinny? Cause it’s only been slightly more than a week of this; but seriously I'm looking for a maid to help us out. I've never had a full time maid before but somehow, I think I'm going to be disappointed when the maid arrives because I've always told myself that if I am ever gonna get a maid, I'm gonna get a female body builder as one. i.e. Chyna (former WWE superstar /amateur porn star). Imagine watching her flex her muscles while she does her daily work, wouldn’t that be money well spent? Too bad there isn't one that fit the description here.



P.S. I wonder if it is okay if I train my maid to be one once she's here.

P.S.S. Compared to the last time I got my stitches removed, the work on dad was done in a jiffy.

P.S.S.S. Afterward, we walked across the road from to hospital to have Bak Kut Teh for breakfast which was one of the most unhealthy dish you can probably have especially after your stitches comes off. Fuck yeah, I am such a great son and I know T. Rose is gonna be so disappointed in me;, even after she gave me that book on being a vegetarian, I choose to have fatty pork for breakfast.

To: T. Rose,
Thank you so much for the book, I really appreciate it.

Schools, Mondays & Hot Hoochie Mommas

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Writings 10.09.2009

Just a year ago, my night reeks of intoxication and fornication; but now it’s quiet; it’s cold; It is like a place beyond an angel’s warmth and I am still on my sick bed and I am sitting here talking to myself. I am here trying to figure out why and how can I be talking to myself when I am only one person? Is there another me inside of me? If the other person inside of me is still me, then tell me why is the other me is constantly in disagreement with me?


I think that every human is a schizoid with multiple personality because we have a heart and a mind that always contradicts each other. Why do something that feels so right can be so wrong when you think about it. I am sure that many of you have experience the pain of wanting something so bad but your mind tells you that you shouldn’t have it or you think you should do something but you feel you should not do it. Especially when it comes to relationship, loving someone can seems so right but after putting much thought and logic in it, instead of being together the answer that you are left with is a goodbye. Why are we made with this huge flaw in us that always gives us the two extremes of something? Why are we are not spare of the decision maelstrom? Many times when we acted on one of them, but it will leave us questioning ourselves of what that could have been and it will end up as an item on out grievance’s list.


Is this what they call Free Will or is it just a constant battle between the heart and mind?


I call this madness. I call it Schizophrenia. I call this God’s greatest creation that comes with a manufacturing flaw.


Fuck, why do we always have to decide which voice inside of us that we want to keep alive?

Disk Space is Low

Where does the pain go when it is gone? Forgotten like ancient history? Does it disappear into thin air? Or does it slip into our unconscious mind and lay dormant inside of us, waiting to resurface again. Most of the time, I think pain has a sick sense of humor and it likes to fuck with you; it’ll pick the worst time to make its grand re-entrance; it loves to get you when you're off guard, snap you in the ass and kick you while you're still down on the floor.



Or maybe our unconscious mind is like a hard disk with limited capacity. As more and more pain gets written and stored in it, eventually it would run outta space. Ever tried forgetting one pain but all you get is the reminder of another? May it be in the form of a dream or just a déjà vu or maybe a song that hasn't been sung for a long time? When your hard disk space is running out, your pain will raise again. Three decades of storing and now I think my hard disk space is finally running on low. It’s all coming back to me in the most peculiar way.



So what the fuck should I fucking do now? Sometimes I wish it was as easy as going for a disk upgrade…

So here’s another new portable terabyte of hard disk that I got today to replace the hard disk that was stolen while I was in Lhasa, Tibet.

But we know it ain't that easy, don't we?

Breakfast at KowLoon (Retro 09/16/09)

Man steps through the doorway, he is greeted and seated at the corner; his thoughts momentarily focused on what he wants and then his desires are then transferred to a pre-printed leaflet by a series of ticks and later converted into milk tea and a scramble eggs cheese sandwich. As the ration makes its way to his table, he couldn’t but to smile because for now, at least some of his wishes has come true. He picks up the teaspoon set beside the cup of Milk tea and stirred it not more and not less but 29 times. No, he doesn’t have OCB but it is just one of his habits that he never wants to break because someone close to him used to say that it would build up his patience as it would make him slow down and ponder.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7…


“I knew her for months but we never really talked at the beginning. The only things I know about her are from her blog and her social network pages. Stalking her? I wouldn’t believe it to be so because I was just going through readily available information. We talked a fair amount of times but still I don’t seem to be able to get through to the side of her world. Sometime we could talk and talk and talk but in the end, we only have more questions than answers. But sometimes, our conversations are short but it leaves me feeling connected. At times I would be thinking about her all day, wondering what she is doing and just thinking about the what and could have might have been if she was right here, right now. But on days like these, I find myself feeling distanced and indifferent. I would rather lift up all my draw bridge, braced my gates, thicken the walls and build a moat around me then try get to her on the other side. You know things could be worse but for now…”


…25, 26,27,28,29


He knew that in less than four months, he will not be doing it 29 times anymore but 30 times. He lifts up his milk tea and finished its lukewarm content in an instant, leaving the cheesy egg sandwich half undone. And like a man who had just have his daily shot of a hundred dollar hooker or maybe a guy who just has just felt his girlfriend’s silicon humps- "satisfied but empty," he walks up to the counter to pay the exact change of $HK29 and then leaves through the same doorway he came in and vanishes into the busy street of Kow Loon and finding his way back to his service apartment in Sai Kung.