I am happy

For the past 2 weeks I woke up at 7.00am, went to work, and left the hospital after 5.30pm.It is a new schedule, plus the difficulty of settling down in a new town, remembering every new roads and familiarizing myself with different patient charting system, I didn't have time to sit down and just stay blank (we all know zoning out is a big part of my life).
Teluk Intan is my latest favourite small town.It's so magical everything is within 10 mins driving distance,no matter which direction you are coming from and which direction you are going to. And having one of my best friends as my colleague and housemate is just.. fabulous. Aimee and I enjoy cooking our own dinner everyday after work; while others might still be in the traffic jam on their way home, we have the time to finish our dinner and hang the colourful christmas light bulbs. At the end of the day, we climb to bed at 10pm, in our own bedroom.

I can say this loud and proud, right now I am at this page of my life where I have everything I want.I am genuinely happy for what I have, and what I am.

As I watch my histories unfold

Life sometimes feels like a place of infinity, filled with all sorts of chances and changes. But it surprises me (in a bad way) that when I look at myself, I have not done much at all, and the key is still hanging on the door knob, with the door to Narnia remains locked. Sitting here in front of my laptop, if I could go inside this magical window and peek, I wonder how many people out there are living behind the screens and asking the same question?

We are a generation so spoiled with having choices. If there isn't any options left for us, very likely we will lose the definition that represents us. I am a spoiled kid, yes I am. When my friends are taking advantage of the holidays to earn some pocket money, I wake up every day at 10am to various choices of breakfast, chicken rice or wan tan mee, fresh orange juice or milk, mango or banana. I don't have to worry much about starting my job before December so I will get the bonus or if my initial salary is enough for my monthly expenses, I grew up with choices, lots of them. See, I am spoiled.

When I was 13 I couldn't wait to be 16 because it seems like a number that will make everything less stressful; and when I reached 16 I dreamed of turning 20, the age when you can call yourself young adult, so much sexier. And then one day, like may be right now, 24, I am 24, fuck I am getting old. So instead of embracing my sense of age and wisdom, I start looking for anti-aging products.I don't want to have wrinkles or partial dentures, or have my testicles dropped. I know where they put the papaya, tomato, lemon in tesco, something about being anti-oxidants. I know La Roche Posay because they produce this anti-aging cream which I bought one from Paris for my mum and I end up using it a little.

I seem to be constantly fighting and not just accepting, but somehow I am glad that I am 24, the age when I will fall on the floor and have my face scratched, hopefully I will fight hard enough in someway to stay alive (and young).
How about my door to Narnia? I don't know, I will deal with it later. Now, cake for dessert, or fruits?

Placated with platitudes

"About Me", we human being have to answer to that topic at least once in our life time, either in your first English essay, or on the first page of your hello kitty journal which was bespangled with lots of..stuff.

I thought I didn't have to answer that question anymore when I said bye to primary school, because honestly I didn't know much about myself, I still don't. I always stay blank for a while whenever I see the About Me column on my Facebook profile or my blogspot profile. What do I know about me?

 

24 years old, what exactly do I know about me? Is this uncertainty causing me to rant more than any young adult does? Is it because I am not remotely close to knowing myself, that's why I don't feel as happy as my peers appear to be? So, what is wrong?
Many are surprised when I told them I chose Sabah as one of my job posting options.
Yes I am willing to travel THAT FAR for my job. Yes I am leaving my family for another two years.
Honestly I am quite surprised too, that most of you are going back to where you come from.

At this young age, I am.. i am a sponge, I am ready to absorb everything that life throws at me. I want to go out there, to search for adventure, to discover all the possible ways to live one's life, to write stories that I know I will never regret, to look into the many parts of me that I am not sure of.

Why not? Why not Sabah?

In the age of libertarianism

To be honest I just googled what does "libertarianism" mean. It's a political philosophy that advocates the minimal intervention of someone's life. In my simpler word, it means freedom. It's about your right to put multiple layers of peanut butter on your bread, your right to sneak out at night and make out with stranger, your right to stop at this point of your life and take your time to decide which step to take next.

When I was traveling around Europe, I woke up everyday thinking "it's a brand new day, who am I gonna be today?". That's the magic, I think, everyday smells like a new piece of couture. And you have the right to get lost in a new city completely, without the small voice screaming "read the map properly you stupid you shouldn't have done the same mistake twice" in your head. When I travel, everyday is a clean slate. And at night, I sat alone in the kitchen at 2am, noted down my stupid thoughts on the new city.

Traveling is a state of mind, it is not about getting the right train to your destination in the shortest time or capture every corner of the city in less than 24 hours. It's more than that! Don't drag your body around the city in a hurry, don't go back to your room at the end of the day and fall asleep right after you posted a photo of yourself on FB, don't wake up the next morning and try to complete your "task" on your itinerary.
They said I trust people easily, too naive, that I shouldn't randomly make conversation with the 27 years old French I just met in sauna, or offer Chocolate to the 22 years old German who sat next to me on the train, that I should be more cautious.

Humanity is beautiful, that's what I think.

Just one drifter, off to see the world

July is here, somewhere in between preparing for my final exam and finding love, the weather's changed. I didn't manage to walk away from campus with a great love, but I found the library instead, right before my graduation.

Liking the idea of library didn't make me a regular student who visits the library as frequent as I would love to. Once a month, I dare say, alright may be not even that often. Losing something important before the grand final has made my room a depressing place to stay or to do anything else, very much haunted, I picked up my books and went to library.

Walking around the library just to search for my perfect spot, I was the Alice who found the wonderland. It's the tranquility, but also the brisk whisper; it's the unorganized shades of book covers, but it's also the silent agreement on not invading each other's personal sphere; I was alone, but not lonely.

I have been living between my room and library for the past 3 weeks. Sometimes I just go there to rest, write letters, and watch movies. I would love to make new friends in library, may be go out for coffee and share stories, that will be great. (Easier said than done, how often do you say hello to strangers sitting next to you, without freaking them out)

Somewhere in between indulging myself in library and chasing after the wind, I am myself again, the better version of course.

I am a writer

Ok fine, may be not yet. But it sounds more intelligent than "I am a dentist", don't you think so? I have been thinking of taking a writing class, or go to a community college where I only need to pay 2 dollars for school fee, sounds good to me.

When I was in primary school, every year the teacher asked us what do you want to be when you grow up? Everyone wanted to be teacher and the top 3 students wanted to be lawyer. If you weren't in the top 3 and if you said you want to be a lawyer, (scoff) be careful kid! I wanted to be a painter, not that you asked.

I was 14, after the unpleasant incident with my dad regarding his son getting too involved with colour papers, I decided, I want to be a writer. My primary school teacher used to ask me to read my essay in front of the whole class, to humiliate me I guess, because it was too "whimsical".

"I like your imagination dear but why can't you just write normally like how I taught you to? Tell the class how did you describe your kite in the essay."
Sigh.
"The wind roared like a fearless lion, and the sky has never been this colourful. I can see my kite up there, dancing like a lady ghost with full head of lengthy white hair."
Everyone laughed, till today.

Sometimes your dreams don't just vanish because you chose a 5 years relationship with dentistry. Some people don't do well with goodbye, they simply never let go. They are the braver dreamers, or the stupid one if you take your view from the other side.
I wait. It has been too long I am not even sure if my sentences are still coherent; I wait, probably there is just another endless tunnel at the other end and I am dancing my way into a complete darkness. I wait, because I don't say goodbye, I never let go.

And they say, giving up is the easy way out?

Today. Yes today.

I completed the last written paper of my final exam for Bachelor of Dental Surgeon (yes I have to write the full title, after 5 years of study it is mandatory to write the whole thing), but that's if I pass the exam.

Surprisingly the preparation was not as torturing as I thought it would be.See, my friend and I decided to start preparing for final paper once we finished celebrating New Year, and there was Dental Dinner, and then there was clinical quota war. I ended up preparing for my exam.. 3 weeks ago.
And if I don't pass my exam, we all know the reason, pretty clear.

Back to study break, it was fun. Jeannette and I had fun pretending we were in Paris; and there was my daily coffee with Sex and The City time (boy I ended up finishing 30 plus episodes in 2 weeks, don't you dare holding this against me);every day I dressed up nicely to library, just to see how neanderthal other people were, with the facial hair and sad faces. People, I cannot stress this enough, looking good on the outside will definitely helps you build up better study spirit and confidence, you only need 10 minutes in the morning to feel better for the rest of the day, it is a good investment in critical time like this. Don't look all pathetic and miserable when you study, your textbooks will never like you, the feeling is mutual.

Ok I am going to enjoy my week before preparing for practical exam and case presentation. Have fun!

We grow up

This is the best part, all the things that you dreamed of becoming, they came true. After surviving/or halfway through this impossible journey of turning into youth, tell yourself you deserve it, all of it. It may not be glorious, but we have tried our best to take whatever we were given, and slowly figured things out. Some people are being extraordinary slow in the process and but it's alright, you'll get there.

Painful? Yes.
Joy? May be.

But a love without pain is the kind of love that doesn't worth having. Hold your courage and expand it, walk out from the cliche, bring yourself back to the origin, the most exciting and challenging of all, the love for yourself.

I only had one post in April

Damn it. But there was so many things to talk about, like my circumcision, or my new bunny, or even my car accident.
Will I get into all those things that I just mentioned? May be, may be not.

In the beginning of my final year I made a decision to change things a little, not because I need material to talk about over reunion dinner with high school friends and steal all the attention to myself, I need to simply change a little.
A good change or a bad change? Honestly I don't think one can justify it.

We change, your breakfast or underwear or facebook profile picture, because we think the new one will suit us more, although it's bound to meet colourful comments from the audience.
Who says it has to be brighter? May be changing into a worse shape will help you tremendously in finding whatever you are looking for in many unexpected ways. Self-improvement is not the only bitch who wants to help alright.

Be arrogant, be an ass, go talk behind people back, bitch slap your bf's ex, it's acceptable.
Be caring, be a helpful person, offer your face when somebody needs to scratch something.

And when we're all done with that, find a stronger direction to morph into, the neutral zone. Because at some point we have to believe the beauty of our flaws, we will always be a partially-broken-not-quite-formed person. And there is nothing wrong with that.

Love is a scar.

Permanent.
Crippling.
ugly.

Almost like a truth that everyone likes to hear, or pretends they want to know, holding a part of it will calm down your ego, reassuring your exhausted soul that you're not left behind.
Now you have whatever everyone has in their fists, you ask yourself, are you happy now?

I always over fabricated my connection with everything, and that depresses me a hell lot more than eating my dinner alone or going to Tesco by myself or waking up at 5am.
Because those are choices, you expect it, or even enjoy it a little. It's the other people that I worry about, it's always the other people that make you question yourself over almost everything.

Oh you stupid boy. You thought you want the same as everyone else.
Think again.

I'm doing fine.

Not really. It’s a little more complicated. But you don't need to be sorry for that. Don't ask me question, continue your stuff, throw your paint on a canvas and call it "art".

Chocolates used to be my pain killer for everything, even when I was not in pain, it calmed me down. We go way back, like when I watched the part where Izzie Stevens had metastatic melanoma, or when Merlin couldn't tell Arthur how helpful he has been, and everytime Doctor Who regenerated. I always get too emotionally involved and chocolate always saved me, like a Brazilian hero, sort of.

But thing has changed, I don't buy chocolate anymore. The last time I was in pain, I pushed myself so hard and got a tattoo.
Now, I've made an appointment for a surgery in Pantai Hospital.
Something about the needle and blood, something about them.

Is it the amount of root canal treatments or extraction that I've done? Or is it the anesthetic effect of that magical needle that always ease my patients and makes me grow fonder of them?

Last week a medical doctor was teaching us how to withdraw blood from vein and he needed a volunteer, I jumped on the chair immediately. I watched closely, not willing to miss any second of it, it's the moment when the needle poked into my skin and then my muscle contracted a little, and finally the sight of my own blood, it was a pleasure. I smiled a little.

Don't worry I'm doing fine, because I offered my other arm when my friend wanted to practise.
(Let me guess, you're thinking I've gone cuckoo and probably in a few years I'll turn into a drug addict, aren't you?)

You know, you don't have to go anywhere you don't feel safe. It doesn't mean you're not a strong person, it doesn't say you're a coward. You are just a person, trying to feel safe.

No good at saying sorry

"You will get over this, you have a bigger heart than you ever give yourself credit for." I replied my bff's text, while still in the line waiting for my turn to order meal.

There are certain types of people in my class, one of them is the "very-(EWWWWWW)-nice person". Parents love them, because this type of people glue fake diamond to their words, everything about them is presentable. They are the main dish in reunion dinner, everybody gets a piece of them before they go home.
These people, their chief characteristic is..nice.

How boring is that.

I thought we outgrew that shit when high school ended. In college, the social hierarchy fades, the old definition of friendship no longer exists, you only become friends with people who are awesome. I don't call everyone in my class "friend", some people simply just stay "classmate" forever (pal,don't take it too personally).

We aren't the happy bubbly kind of person, my bff and I. We are mean, and we love surgery. We are the skinny plate of bloody red chilli on the dining table that only certain people (awesome people) in the restaurant would touch.

But then again, individuality is my thing, what do I know about the other side of the world.

We are not broken.

This morning I woke up to a sullen sky, looking at the clock with my eyes half opened, "I am early. The sky is going to pour anytime". I couldn't help thinking when was the last time I cried.

With my cold fingers I pulled the other curtain and over the foggy window, I can hardly make out the shape of anything. I assumed it is the early birds walking to their classes, they moved in a ball of blur.
As much as I love to sit on my bed and stalk all the people in my campus, this is only my second time doing so, I secretly counted. The first time I indulged myself in this creepy laziness was in a drizzling evening, I had a cup of hot milo in my hands, after I gave up on my sketch book and decided to watch strangers instead, the way they move their hands when they walk, the way they walk when it rains, the way it rains when I have nothing to rush.

Seeing a group of boys in white shirt and black tie reminded me of my first day in this university, April, 5 years ago. I had never seen so many Indians before,and I used to wear uniform everyday now I get to wear whatever I want? Everything was as unnatural as the sex sounds you make in bed.

You enter your twenties with all of these convictions that one day you're gonna achieve great things in your life but lose them all by the time you’re 23. It's not that you don't dream anymore, but question is do you have what it takes to dream? Can you afford the dreams-never-come-true? This is not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it feels good to surprise yourself. Sometimes it doesn't matter to feel all the hurt. I can take it.

I'm young enough to take it.

That magic is not here no more

We didn't learn enough about growing up in school, because all the adult just assumes that it's something that we have to kind of pick up along the way, just like how they did it in their time.

We are a bunch of science-man generation, isn't it only logical if we learn all the influential opposing factors as well? I think it's a terrible shame that we weren't taught about things like orgasm, letting go, or a broken heart.

I collect things, like shoes box, plastic spoon, toilet roll, sponge. Not that I am a recycle-environmental-friendly person, I just keep them in a container and hide it at the top drawer of my wardrobe and probably never going to see them again.
Why don't I throw them away?
I..I..don't know, really.

Probably it is because I was taught to never give up, but is never give up same as never let go?
Never give up gives you the ohmmm of perseverance and even if you fail, people will still give you credit; but not letting go will just makes you a stupid and obstinate person even cats will meaaw at you non stop.
But do they carry equal pounds of grandiose expectation or pathetic hope that we still have in us despite all the disapproval or ignorance that was bashed on us?

Like a loose underwear, when it doesn't hold your butt and make it ten times more perky, why am I still keeping it?

BECAUSE, that so called underwear knows what I have been through, I wore it while I made my first denture. It knows where is my comfortable margin on my butt cheek so I don't have to keep scratching my butt in the middle of the road. Yes it shows my original flat ass but I can live with that!
* And then I strike my victory walk.

I know, something keeps me holding on to nothing. I don’t want to be this person. No one does. No one wants to admit that they are unable to move past something which happened so long ago.

It’s not your fault. But I want to let go. I want to walk away.

Throw the empty words my way

A few weeks ago I secretly made a decision to not play mind game anymore, I promised myself that I will try to be as honest as the afternoon sex. I guess that's how I offended a few people in my class.

Or is it because we are so used to hiding ourselves behind the inter-groups bitching so when things are put out front we don't know how to react to the absence of back stabbing?

I chose the F word as my shield; some held on tight to their victim cards; some advocated world peace; some simply enjoy the little bit of drama. But we all walk carefully under the various shades of haze, everyone takes a step back unwillingly or not.

My ex roommate is the biggest fan of mind games. He played it and he won most of it. He told me his tricks but sometimes when I'm sitting on my bed feeling so lonely, wishing my inner words will somehow be found, all I have is three little notes playing in circle.
just freaking hold hands and kiss already I don't wanna play games no more

If I have to play with your brain to get what I want, where is this lie leading us to? You will never get the best of me, and this is not what I wish for.
We gravitate unwittingly to what works in the short term, in terms of what to do for work and what crowd to run with.

So go ahead and say the thing you want to say, what is there to lose?

I steer for stronger winds

Waking up early (I mean reeeaaaally early) especially when the sun wasn't even ready to sprinkle its golden spike and steal the mysterious lust of the moon from,well..I don't know where the sentence is going due to my chronic lack of rest, but my point is, if it's not exam day, then dragging your body out of the warm bed is completely poisonous.
It's destructive to your immune system, I think.

We had to meet up with Standard one kids at 8am, to educate them a little something about teeth.
Yes that's what we do, not only do we need knowledge to analyze the severity and progression of your carious teeth, flawless skill to correct whatever problem it is with your smile, it's mandatory that we need to be able to control challenging kids, not to mention a whole new level of pretentious high EQ because God forbid us, dental service providers to show any other emotions except happiness.

We have to exude the charm and integrity of a bubbly angel like we freaking won the title of Mr/Miss Universe and smile to a whole crowd of imaginary fans. We are the definition of "whole package".
Wait a minute, this entry is going into a wrong direction, it wasn't supposed to be whiny. Damn it where is my pretentious high EQ!

1,2,3.-smile-

I wore my pink shirt, to warm up my cold deadpan face and got my Burberry Brit on, because I left my charm in my unfinished dream, have to borrow some from external accessory.

In the school, I saw him, right at the back of the Standard one classroom, all by himself, completely separated from the rest of his classmates. I walked slowly towards him and sat next to him quietly, because this small boy was me many years ago, the socially awkward, out cast boy.
We didn't make any conversation, because back in the old days, I wouldn't exchange a word if some guy just randomly sat beside me and tried to be friendly.

I used to combine 3 chairs together when 2 of my classmates who sat beside me happened to go to the toilet at the same time, I dumped their bags on the floor and slept on my new "bed" in the middle of the lecture, and refused to return their chairs when they came back, "because I'm tired I need to sleep", this was my answer when the teacher interfered with my little crisis.

Sometimes I just picked up my bag and somehow escaped the security guards and walked back home during lunch time. Under the big red sun, my puffy cheek was so blushed but I still carefully folded my hanky behind my neck because I didn't want the sweats to stain the collar. It was a half an hour journey but I was fearless.

Over the years, I've changed, a little bit more sociable. But deep down I know the same old me is still alive somewhere, nobody can eradicate that awkward part completely.
I wonder, have I really changed? Or am I simply getting used to the pretending and finally join the game?

And that’s the problem: We get so caught up in the rules of the game and conforming to other people’s expectations of how we should behave.
We forget to let ourselves just be. We forget to kick back and enjoy the little things about growing that make it great.

Every now and then I cogitate about the way I turn out to be, probably a little too judgmental and cynical, but it's the fact that how I read the world in my own word makes me feel like a balloon that was cut free and floating, skimming against the ceiling of a closed-in room, I could only feel loneliness in an abstract and detached way.

YESSSSSS I managed to put the tiny him on my lap without him struggling off or roll on the floor, and taught him how to brush his teeth the correct way. Kid, you will turn out just fine, you will reach the destination just like the others, may be a different route, but you will surely be there.

When Samantha falls in love

Do you still remember when you were small, all you ever wanted is to grow up?

We thought that we'd grow up one day and be something. Just one thing. That you grew and grew and grew and then you got there, wherever that was, and you were all done. You lived for a long time but just like that. A dentist or a cab driver.

It was 3 am, I wondered what I can do after completing this 5 years of dentistry course. It wasn't easy sometimes I was so tired I could cry.
And then it was 5 am, when I couldn't sleep, is a career or a family all I will get after trying so damn hard to grow for so many years?

That is the pattern right? You graduate from college and work on your career and get married, you name your first born son and you start saving money for their education and wait for them to buy you a coffin made of white gold.
Do we really want these things? Or, are we just programmed?

How lack of surprises this growing up thing can offer.
I am not asking for firework shooting out of my ass everytime I achieve something, am I?

But I dream big, may be this is what you can afford when you're still a student; may be if I continue to grow, things will be completely different, like how Samantha Jones fell in love with her perfect Richard, with this song playing at the background.

For a very long time

I couldn't stay alone with myself. Haunted, very much haunted, by the memory.

Saturday night used to be my favourite moment of the week, so much till it basically invented its own version of neuron. They only came out at saturday night, never on wednesday or any other days, I name them "Saturnight".

Never thought that I would see it, but I avoided my "Saturnight" for a few weeks, stored them away, because it exuded a certain sense of familiarity, like how the Earth spins around the sun in a constant rhythm, like how the breakfast on Monday taste like, like how I know I would spend it with you.

Never thought we'd have a last kiss, and end like this.

Part of me know how ridiculous it is. Part of me believes that the moment I truly let go will be the moment I get me back. I want to be brave in a way I always used to be, but haven’t been for some time.

One day, I’ll have forgotten this brief interlude of sorrow, and I'll be me again.

Between a Lady and a Geisha

I spent huge amount of time on Thought Catalogue everyfreakingday; I read it before clinic, after lunch, and before bed. Sometimes I get so addicted, dinner and shower somehow become overrated.
"Oh come on I have this article about the first 3 penises she saw and I need to laugh at how hard nico is trying to be funny, it helps to digest the chicken I had last week!"

It feels like I am having a lion as pet, or a Geisha, at least this is what I think it is.

Reading article online is very much different with holding a book in your hands; a book always has its way to build a intimate connection with you,you will finish it(or try many many times,many many) no matter how boring it is, like a failed marriage with a good wife.

Online articles are good,sometimes better than good, it makes you laugh so loud you fart your brain out, but it's like watching an exotic stripper sliding down the pole, you know where the beginning and ending are, you know the duration of the whole show you allow yourself a 15 minutes to enjoy it but at the same time you know that there are thousand eyes all around you, stealing your precious moment but you can't blame them because your happiness is pretty naked, unlike a book which has a cover all the time.

I have a few books that I leave them on the shelves after reading just a few chapters because I didn't get the story, but I always know I will get back to them one day when my brain finally grows into the range of maturity, or I simply run out of books to read. For TC, I can just close the article if I don't like the first word that the writer chose. But deep down, is it really because of the word? Or because of the font that demean its quality of presence?

Like a Geisha, a person with so much more stories to tell and moves to dance; but we always choose the lady.



*Memoirs of A Geisha is one of my favourite movies, let me know if you have the book.

Repulsion.

Like a bad hair day when everything you do just never turn out right and you are absolutely clueless what could possibly be so wrong with your hair that you feel like you're constantly isolated from the car full of people who love you, whether the love comes from reality or your imaginary roommate. Errr hello?? I am right here in my yellow poncho shining brighter than Rihanna's diamond, come love me!

Or like those happy people who have crappy day but decide to listen to happy songs and be happy, except that trick doesn't work on everyone, because I'm a freaking Adele song. Not able to move on so quickly, I always sit down and analyze every single crap that I get until they have absolutely no meaning left, until I grieve the shit out of it until the time lord decides to spare my pain and erase the memory slowly and I would scream," Stop, there is still a little portion I haven't mourned yet!"

I would say, so raw, like a new born nerve. Your senses have become more sensitive, you think ALLLLL Taylor Swift's songs are about you, "I'm all cool, I don't give a shit if you think we are never getting back together, like ever!"

But still, when the sun shines through your window early in the morning no matter how unwilling you are to leave your bed which happen to love you reciprocally,the minute you walk out of your room in your new blue jeans, inhaling the cold morning air, you can feel it, the ambition of wanting to be perfect is back, regardless the sweaty desperation to write a good morning text with combination of humour, confidence, intelligence, charm, after your 73 attempts.

Until something break you down again..

Oh damn.you bad ass.

On my birthday, I got myself a tattoo. To me there’s something very organic and alive about this kind of art. But shhhhhhh, nobody has to know, this is between you and me.

If you are planning to get a tattoo, I suggest you to do your research extensively because it is gonna be embedded on your skin till the day you step into dental clinic and request a full mouth complete dentures.
For example:
- pain (AHAHAHAHA)
- potential infectious diseases (yes, scary but you gotta prepare for the worst)
- search for a few tattoo parlours and compare their works and the most important part, INFECTION CONTROL!
- start stalking the tattoo artists on googlefacebookwhatever, not letting any single detail leak through your fingers.
- google tattoo designs, it's much cooler and meaningful if you design it yourself (like duh).
- contact your artist and start discussing about the design because they know the best, and of course the price. And once again, ask about their infection control.
- post-op care, you need to know this before getting it done, so that you'll know what to expect and be able to handle any abrupt situation.

I had mine done by Jenn from Skin Nation(Penang) and honestly she did such amazing job, I see a second one coming. They are using new needle and new ink tube for every customers so it's much more hygienic, and their shop is sparkling clean, which is very assuring. Before starting the procedure they clean-wrap the "bay", for infection control( I cannot stress this enough).
So, is it painful to get inked on chest? Well, when the needle started poking on my skin, I was expecting lorry-run-through-my-body-pain but magically, it was just vibration, with mild discomfort, and that's it, less painful than acute pulpitis. While I was still dreaming and imagining my graduation trip, "it's done", she told me.

Here it is. I am not going to show the whole thing, because it's very personal and I didn't do it just to show off, sorry.still working on my excuses if friends want me to strip.

You and I, walk a fragile line

Back to the late 90s, when I was just a small boy with messy black hair and round-framed glasses, I only had one sort of blank but still with a tinge of emotion yet not so expressive face, wtf; whether waking up to a floor stained with shiny red blood dripping down from my younger sister's chopped off tiny finger, or coming back from school seeing my grandma sleeping in a coffin right in the middle of my house, with her lipstick on, which I thought was weird that time.

My mum said I enjoyed my own bubble a little too much, I think that's true.
While my sisters were fighting for a stupid dress for their Barbie, which happened all the time, the 4 years old me just sat there, carefully leaning my square chalkboard against the wall, arranging all my colourful chalks on a piece of newspaper and started doodling.
Sometimes I wondered why are my sisters talking to a piece of plastic, then I turned to the other side looking at my mum cutting and sewing different shades of clothes, I was happy to continue playing with my chalks.

Until one day when I successfully drew a rabbit, and the next day a cinderella, my parent's friends suggested them to register their little boy to painting class, but my parent never did. They had a bigger plan for me, their boy shouldn't be spending time with colour.

In high school, I wrote beautiful essay and lyrics. On the graduation day, my teacher told me that I could have a bright future in literature. Words were my best friend, they understand me so well they can translate my invisible thoughts into something I can read, a history, and so I wanted to be a journalist and learn music.
But my parents had a bigger plan for me, and I wasn't strong enough to say what I wanted to say. THAT, will always be a shame that I'll never be able to wash off.

Today, I can officially say this out loud, there is only one more exam standing in between being a dentist and a dream, my parent's dream.
But the time is here, two days away from 24 years old, I should really spend more time penning my life from here. The line should be drawn, not to fence them outside, but to include myself in.

For starter, a tattoo would be nice.

(Probably some of you may say, getting a tattoo doesn't mean you're a grown up. Well silly, do me a favour, hold your fist right in front of you, parallel to your Frankfurt horizontal plane, and stick out your glorious middle finger,and tell me you feel much better now)

On a Tuesday. Another New Year.

After closing down my blog impulsively in a lonely night, I spent the last few months discovering and reorganizing the visceral regeneration of my...forces.
(from Thought Catalogue mostly,like this piece of mind blowing artice :
http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/you-need-to-go-after-the-things-you-want/)

Because I needed that.
Because I am a dramatic person.
Because when my life began to take shape in some ways, when people saw me as someone who was “doing great,” I felt the need to go off script for a moment.


Take a deep breath, look into the mirror, I see a shy relationship, an unceremonious break up, unscathed emotional arsonist, and colourful mistakes.

They are stories worth telling, it's just that I am not brave enough to go through the excision and risk it all.