The pursuit of happiness.

Sometimes, I just let my mind wandered around my living room, thinking of what will I write next. Homosexual is something I never against. Hypocrisy is a certain in one's life. And how good people left with mess done by other.

As I kicked a pillow away, I cuddled another.

"Oh god."

No. I don't dare talk about god. Because I really am not a good believer.

Lame.

Masked Warrior : Because shit happens when we least expect it.

Instead of going to class, I spend my supposedly-not-a-free-time watching two of the world greatest person document-stories. How Che Guevara freed Cuba from the Batista regime and the making of Mr. Adolf in Hitler: The Rise of Evil. Eight hours of bloodshed revolutionaries.

With an add on, off course.

So what have I learned from a capitalist minded people nature is their eagerness to make us feel guilty when we failed to follow what they ask us to. Guilty for not accepting the rules set by them.

Fuck.

And when my beloved lecturer threatened to send my name to the HEP, I drew a minimalist smile with 'Sorry, I won't cut class again' writing all over it.

That's when I decided to call myself a masked warrior.

Relationship : That's a job we talking about.

Since both my brother and my sister were getting married this coming October and November, I was left fighting with the likes of "kau bile pulak?" and "so, when is your turn?" questions. Similarly different, nope?

And my answer is darn simple;

"Aku belum puas enjoy."

See. That was my and your fucking problem.

Mine is taking relationship as one hell of enjoying-life-limitation-program. Because I do (stupidly) believed when I start a relationship, I will and at any how should committed my life to it. Saying 'morning' on what obviously an afternoon and 'I miss you' just ten minutes back from our goddamn lovebird dinner.

Yours is too busy watching other's butt.

Now if you'll excuse me, I got some text-ing to do. Oh fuck.

Gear up. It's a book writing season.

I just finished reading a malay independent journal/book, written by some musician whom I think doing quite well in blaming girls for all the love-pain he suffered. Ok. Kidding. He travels and talks about the life a lot. Beauty at some points.

Reading his, I was thinking of doing mine.

A small triple-five-size-book, covered some of the destination I've been for the last ten years. From the future-less-life in Kampung Sungai Ramal to a week-of-stuck-and-lost-hope in Johor Bahru to the high-and-low-class-night as a Pavilion's part timer, I bet I got lots to share.

Hell, I'm a goddamn seasonal. I just hate to admit it.

Football stuff. Girls wouldn't want to read this eh?

In Pat Rice we trust and Rafael Van Der Who?

It is 2 a.m on a dull Wednesday morning and I was the only one awake of all my housemates. I text a few friends asking them for a taste of League Cup match but none of them reply.

So no mamak for today. Just a free and a-bit-late live broadcast brought to me by this gambling site called bet365.com. I once used this software known as Sopcast. A free p2p online television channel. Still not a good one but fair enough for me to write off my teh tarik and roti telur cost.

Watching football here, at home was never the same feeling as watching football at the mamak stalls. The passions and the thrills weren't here. So was the screaming thingy. And of course, no hot chicks.

Yeah. Watching a football match is a bit like watching some hot chicks passing by with their don't deserved boyfriends. You tend to love the beautiful one. Sexy is a plus. And in watching the beautiful one, you would always want to be on the winning side. The beautiful-hot-sexy chick's side. The win, if they do happen, undeniably came with thriller, lots of excessive words and sometimes dramas.

Ask the Kopites, they learnt that last weekend. Oh. I mean here the drama, not the 'beautiful' game. And no they didn't win that.

Back to the supposedly discuss game. Mr. Wenger was on the stand, banned for his rage against the official on last weekend draw. Yeah. That was another drama. Without le' professor next to his young side, the match started pretty well for the Arsenal. It took only sixteen minute when Lansbury opened the scoring before the game went pretty un-beautiful.

Spurs then took only three minutes in the second half to come back into the game, thanks to an offside goal by Robbie Keane which I'm sure gonna be well handled by Mr. Rice during the post match conference. So the game goes pretty balance with both teams created their chances only to be spurred by their forward lines.

The match went into an extra time with Arsenal, as always, controlled most of the possession. Nasri, at last put his side in front from the spot kick before regretting himself for not taking it on the weekend when he added another in the space of five minutes. Also resulted from a spot kick. Arshavin completed the win with a nice strike late in the first half of extra time.

So the match ended 4-1 with Mr. Rice look calm in his boss seat.

And there's no way better to end the feverish night than hearing the fans singing "There's only one team in London" out loud. Err... Ok. North London. Fine.

So Mr. Van Der Vaart, which team is BIGGER and better now, huh?

Lesson of the day : Breaking up!

"I don't get jealous when I see my 'EX' with someone else coz (because) my grandma always told me to give my old toys to the less Fortunate!!!"

Adeep Nahar hit my bluey Monday morning. Hard.

Harsh but fuck! I like this.

Four letters word. Or less : Go grab yours!

One of my former lecturer always remind my class not to complain when people decided to pick anything based on cronies-ism. Or favoritism.

I imagined myself with a bag of money to give away. Again? As to make sure I won't facing any financial difficulties in the future, I kept some for myself. As enough as I don't have to move my ass, the next time I wanna go shopping in Dubai. Being a responsible child and a generous brother, I gave some to my beloved mom and a portion each to all my siblings.

Well, that's the family-first spirit peoples talk about. Right there.

I gave another portion to all my cousin, uncle, aunt, grandma and those who has a good relationship with either me or my family. Blooded or not. The rest which I'm pretty sure with such a small amount left, I would let the others to grab. With a considerate efforts, yes.

Oh. You might have yours too if you do try. Fuck eh?

Where can I stab myself in the ears?

It was back in July when I have to accompany my mom to a small ex-army meeting. My late father was an ex-army before he decided to take off and joined the community-project inspired by our second prime minister, which now I think proved to be a success. Since my sister won't give up her sewing routine, I have no option but to sacrify my world cup game.

Mak Andak, my mom was one hell of a talkative lady. Especially when my family members do the driving. Worried that the driver fall asleep, she says.

There in the car was another ex army, Pak Usop. He used to be an ambulance driver at our so-called-clinic before appeal to live here, in the same community as us. He even got an already furnished house on a one acre land for a minimum hundred and fifty ringgit. Per month. Lucky he is.

So the drive was a bit thunderous I could say. Much of the talking, rounding back to the head of the ex-army association, Hussin. Pak Usop seems to enjoy himself disputing the wealthiness of this Hussin guy. All because he's formerly just an unknown chef in the army who turns out to be one of the influential guy in our community. Just.

"Tak payah la Mak Andak, saya kenal sangat Hussin tu. Kalau betul usaha dia, takde nak dapat rumah macam banglo tu. Hussin tu kalau tidak menipu, memang tak sah. Kita same melayu ni Mak Andak, kita boleh pikir la benda benda macam tu."

So that's how Malay suppose to think, huh? Well done then, comrade.

Or maybe he's right since the meeting was nothing but another political instrument with the theme of "See Mr. YB, we weren't just talking, we do our work" well placed on it oversized banner. Yeah. The YB was there and so were the other ex-army. And the food. But the meeting, wasn't.

They, at least right about the food thingy. Nasi beriyani gam and satay kambing. No, I don't give that a fuckin chance.

Heh.

Take a vacation. And wish a wish.

I typed this entry using both my lousy phone and a free illegal internet connection. So expect no justifying neither a clean long entry.

One thing that bother me about being in the community is that they always treat me on where I came from. Not of what I am. There, they tend to forget the basic of human being. An A for an A.

Let's just think, if I am a bad guy, that's purely because I choose to be bad. Not because of my friend, my race or my skin color. Or even some desperate situation which forcedly put me in the action I had myself in. Vice-versa.

Karma; aside from being a bitch, is what I consider a friend I rather not have a handshake with. God didn't list that pair of Q for nothing.

Because after all, I'm just a happy-sadistic young lad. Not cool. And open to interpretation.

Selamat Hari Raya. Maaf Zahir dan Batin.

Letters to Shakespeare : Jumping rooftops?

Fear is one of the reason how we, human surrender our life to the community.

Fear of living jobless sometimes in the future, you keep on study something that you hate and sacrifice the greatest talent that once you own. Fear of living alone in the next twelve months is what motivates you to go and pick a random chicks whom at the very moment you think you will spend your whole life with.

One thing I fear of becoming one's friend is I can't, or even if I can, it is hard for me to tell them that they just made a stupid decisions.

Born in a flock doesn't mean you can't go out living like a wolf. Unless you don't mind eating fresh green grass for your whole life, waiting for the butcher to cut you up into pieces. Put a fang, wear a mask or even straighten your tail and held your head high up while walking into the jungle .

No. It's not hypocrisy. It's me telling you how fuck your life can be when you choose to live it other's way.