Monthly Archives: April 2008

Breath of Life

Time makes fools of us all.

We take risks, we floun­der and we fail, we fall and won­der if it’s worth try­ing to get up again.

Life can be a series of bad deci­sions, each new one adding fresh salt to old wounds, and every turn of the screw com­pound­ing the hurt, the shame, the embar­rass­ment we feel we won’t be able to out­run or out­live, even. But we will, we sur­vive, not at the end of it all, but along the way, while we have our breath still in us, while we still have life to live.

Meet The Floggers

The Appe­tiz­ers
Flog­gers.
It’s a term that will strike whole­some fear into the hearts of com­pe­tent crim­i­nals and invoke lusty desire in the loins of the more sex­u­ally adven­tur­ous among us. For those unsure of what flog­gers are, allow me to sum­ma­rize a cou­ple of def­i­n­i­tions, via Wikipedia:

A dis­ci­pli­nar­ian who flogs, i.e. admin­is­ters a flog­ging as a

The Perfect Track

Clouds” by Bjorn de Leeuw
Road trips are a sign of rest­less­ness some­times in itself. I remem­ber when I was still liv­ing in Ger­many — how I would take the SchönesWoch­enende train ticket on a ran­dom week­end free from any plans or promises and just carry myself across dif­fer­ent paths, across the Con­ti­nent, with no clear aim

The Sunday Husband

Sun­days used to mean get­ting up at the break of dawn, for run­ning up the steps at Batu Caves or hik­ing in the green-canopied hills of Bukit Gas­ing, and then the won­der­fully greasy roti pisang and a cup or two of the most fra­grant teh halia tarik in the world, which we lucky fel­lows can

Airports, Actually

I. Arrivals

I love air­ports.
They are the nexus between worlds, the cen­tres where ley-lines of travel and com­merce meet. (Why­fore then do we have ‘busi­ness’ class and ‘econ­omy’ class if not for this? Money trav­els excep­tion­ally well.)
Air­ports are also a wait­ing place, for us to renew friend­ships and fam­ily ties. Remem­ber the air­port scenes that book­end the

Lines of Beauty

After­noon Tea” by Lao Kuang (remixed by Kenny M.)
I.
I am ter­ri­ble at remem­ber­ing lines of poetry. They are like rays of light on a winter’s day. Here one moment, gone the next. You can’t ever cap­ture them, not for long. They escape, always. But beau­ti­ful nonethe­less.
(I have expe­ri­enced Beauty even if I am unable to hold

Fresh Strawberries & Vanilla Häagen-Dazs®