Solitude sometimes is.

Over the way the world is run. You’d think, after two world wars and countless other conflicts of varying scales, after it has dawned upon mankind that people have fought and drew blood over every possible issue to be contested (be it religion, political views, national aggrandizement, self-preservation, nuclear arms, ethnicity, colour of skin, brand of clothes, type of car driven, dogs or cats, favourite American sitcom…), after all the international organizations created for the purpose of promoting harmonious living, after realizing the effects of inadequate environmental protection and the barrel lords of that infamous cartel, after all the investors’ speculation and financial instability, after all that, you’d think that the world could be run at a better degree of efficiency.

But, no. Everybody has somebody to blame. It’s the inhumane capitalists, the bungling politicians, the lower-class trash of society, the religious leaders who incite extremism, it’s -horrors- terrorism!, it’s the cruelty of fate, it’s the useless diplomats, it’s Bernanke, Bush and bin Laden. Maybe Obama. Could’ve been Sarkozy too.

It’s the nature of humankind - selfishness. It’s all of us, living on one miserable earth, destroying it every minute so that I can type this post and then drive out later for supper. It’s all of us, hoping to rip the shirt off someone else’s back (hopefully someone you don’t actually know or perhaps someone you merely don’t like) so as to exchange it for a few hundred dollars. It’s our jealousy and envy and lack of concern for anybody else but ourselves.

This week’s cover of the Economist puts it succinctly, our world, makes babel look able.

Beware of Dogs… Ahead.

… This is Hershe when we first brought her back, whatever possessed us to do so…

And then, she began to reveal the unfavourable side to her… The Destructive Border Collie, Hershe Monster Pee-Paws Woo-Teng…

… Occasionally revealing her irresistibly adorable and heart-melting personality… which unfortunately doesn’t last too long.

Then, she gets the serious look, not quite unlike her brother Mocha Drooly Poo-Paws Woo-Teng…

But ultimately, she’s just this happy bubbly puppy who loves to step on her own pee and consume all the plastics in the world… This is what she looks like now, one month older and definitely bigger in size, with her favourite toy, the orange cat also known as Fetch.

Whereas, back down in his favourite yard where he takes his meals and siesta with much enthusiasm, lies the perpetually bothered border collie, the aforementioned Mocha…

Yet, when strangers venture too near, they have much to fear… For a loyal handsome boy will assume his highly bothered persona and stand guard…

Saves me the effort to write a full entry.

This is going to be a post against the arrogant, complacent and infuriating monopolists of this COCONUT COUNTRY. I am about to blow my top. So as to feed my two big fat-ass border collies and to not burn too big a hole in my pocket, I order my food in bulk. Usually, I feed them Avoderm: lamb and rice for the big boy, chicken and brown rice for the baby. Right. They come in 35lbs packaging and I usually request them to re-pack the food into smaller packets for me. Fine and dandy. Today, I opened one of the small packets of Hershe’s food and lo behold, what do I see? Not homogeneous dry food for dogs but an obvious mixture of food, that is so obvious that it couldn’t be any more obvious. The usual Avoderm consists of small-sized granules of a dark brown shade, but the packet I ripped open today consists of the usual and also larger, lighter brown food.

The first thing that came to my mind was, “Bloooooody hell! That’s not Avoderm. Are they trying to cheat my money bloody hell???!??!?!“

The plan is, I’m going to bring a sample to the store tomorrow and demand to know if that is the norm (I’m pretty sure it’s not). After which, I will probably lodge a complain and insist on better service and express my utter disappointment at their QC. My god, I’m sure some goofus from the company must’ve spilled half the package and tried to replace with some other food, hoping that I won’t notice. Either that, or it was a deliberate attempt to earn bloody unethical money.

It might always be imprinted in my mind, the day we went to see the border collie puppies at the breeder’s - the same day we fell in love with the little devil we now call Hershe. 6 puppies running amok, blue merle, red merle or black and white. When we arrived, the breeder brought out Hershe, except that she wasn’t known by that name initially. He claimed that the girl was his favourite, because she looked so fair with blue eyes and red patches (although I still can not quite distinguish her supposed redness). Then came the female black and white, who was supposed to be put to sleep due to some leg defect at birth. Fortunately, she survived and was gleefully bounding all about. After that, a pack of border collies came swarming out. It was a circus. The best part of it all? Discovering the ultimate immature one among them all… Hershe’s border collie mommy. This HUGE black and white female that is about the size of a German Shepherd. Her daddy is a gorgeous, whiny and royal blue merle - I see where Hershe inherited her regal manners from. Anyway, the mommy fell in love with me and I received a free shower. Swarmed by border collies. What a memorable day, indeed. Most importantly, we decided to bring Hershe back in a few days’ time. I cannot deny how she has changed my life.

Yesterday, my good friend and gossip-monger sister decided to meet me out for coffee and gossips - mostly about some scandalous people we knew in junior college and what not. I was, as usual, far too lazy to leave the house at 8 in the evening for a few hours, only to rush back at 11 via the last train… so I asked her to take the train down to the East and we drove out for drinks, non-alcoholic please. The moment she hopped into the car she shrieked at me,

“My god I couldn’t recognize you! And you’re damn lazy!!”

So we went to everyone’s favourite Starbucks, which was too crowded and didn’t have any non-creamy tasty drinks (my fussy sister), so it had to be another coffee joint that’s meant for the Innuits or the thick-skinned scandalous bastards because the air-conditioning was frightfully cold. I suppose that puts us in the leagues of the thick-skinned scandalous bastards because we sat around for a couple of hours talking about this scandalous Don Juan wanna-be from junior college and his one night stands, and another scandalous ex-colleague who landed himself in jail.

It was a pleasant and enjoyable time but I have a feeling it’s because the evening was short and the weather didn’t put me in a foul mood. Besides, with all the anxieties and pessimism swirling about, it was good to meet up with the sister and relax for a while. Well, at least until we reached the highway… En route to her place, I realized that we were running dangerously low on petrol and she shrieked at me once more,

“Hey! I don’t want to be stuck in the middle of the highway on my first ride with you!!!”

Oh well, I did make it home. While driving, I was thinking, Shouldn’t have had the darn carrot cake.

I haven’t seen Kit in a while, because the poor man of mine had to pluck his wisdom tooth (hope it doesn’t make him any less wise) and had to subsist on beancurd and cold porridge. The babies miss him, for sure. Busy week ahead, alas.

Shouldn’t have had the darn bagel either.

and that is roaming the heartlands. Today we hopped on a bus to some faraway land in the north east and walked around the mall, after which we took the train down to another mall and once we’ve determined that it is almost a replica of the one before, we went down, yet again, to another mall, which is essentially a smaller version of the other two. I would’ve loved to explore the living areas of the different districts we were at, but the sun was scorching hot and besides, I’ve long concluded that people here live the same way, regardless of districts. Yes, we’re that small a country that it doesn’t matter where you live, except for the value of your property - which isn’t much to majority of the people, since it’s flats, flats and nothing but flats all around. Unlike Shanghai, there are no cute little boutiques or street corner stores smack in the middle of the city, or quaint derelicts, worn down tenements and estates filled with life and reek of death at the same time. Neither is there a suburb culture, just rows of houses or flats with the occasional provision store, 7-11 or food centre. Downtown is swarmed by teenagers and the place bores me to distraction, despite the fact that we’ve plans to go there tomorrow.

Now I understand why the University doesn’t offer Anthropology as a major.

On a lighter note, heartlands are great places to find the occasional bargain items - perfect for a cheapskate like yours truly. My sweet charmer bought me a Cranberries album (best of) and it was a lovely nostalgic trip back to the good old 90s. I knew it that with the turn of the millennium, everything went awry. Music became jarring, people became intellectually dull and addicted to consumerism, films were insipid, psychosis was on the rise. We had 9/11, a whole list of natural disasters, Thai military coup, Elliott Smith supposedly stabbed himself to death (it is a tragedy), the assassination of Benazir Bhutto, and well, George Bush. Personally, my own life took a drastic downturn with the new millennium and like the world, I took 6 years to recover from it. Somewhat recover, I meant. Come to think of it, the world never recovered, and maybe I never did either. Who knows?

Anyway, I think I’ve to work towards eating less and working out more, because starving is irrational - I dislike irrationality - and the healthy, effective way to not shudder everytime I wave my flab around is to eat healthy and exercise.

And it’s true, what mama says. Perhaps I was looking for a way out when I embarked on the first step towards the career of Cancer Man. A distorted reality is now a necessity to be free, and too much X-Files provided the appropriate stimulus. Well, not quite. If I have to end up like Cancer Man, I’d rather not light up ever again. Whatever the case, it is not the answer to the turmoils in my mind. It is not the answer to gain back whatever peace of mind that I’ve lost. It only made me sick to the stomach and robbed me of 10 dollars. A pack is only worth the amount of bile and stomach acid needed to make one throw up. Perhaps I should do an AD Walter Skinner and go to the bar to hook up with some prostitute/gigolo only to find him/her strangled to death in bed when I wake up (Season 3). Or perhaps I should find another obsession, since collecting golden, albeit not so shiny, one dollar coins will not suffice, even though I have at least a hundred and fifty of them. It’s only a 150 dollars, don’t start sketching plans to break in and rob me blind.

Of all my vices, cigarettes are out of the question. I believe alcohol should be solely reserved for those social functions whereby one claims pretensions to the social butterfly prerogative that emanates the essence of nonchalence and carelessness. Rock n Roll is out of the question, since Jazz is my rock’n'roll and the clubs give me a headache which not unlike Virginia Woolfe’s experiences, evolves into an autonomous entity. Maybe a trip to the jazz bar deems fit.

That leaves us with … sex. Kit, this is your avenue.

Perhaps if I could stop Hershe from trying to consume my foot, I could try to figure out something. Ni l’un, ni l’autre. Perhaps finding something important to do will allow me to rise to the occasion once more.

Shostakovich’s Piano Trio No.2 in E Minor. One of the Cds I’ve been dying to get my hands on. This one features Yo Yo Ma (Cello), Emmanuel Ax (Piano) and Isaac Stern (Violin). Incidentally, I’m going to see Ax live in concert next Friday playing Chopin Piano Concerto No. 2.

Same Shostakovich song but this one features Margaret Argerich (Piano), Gidon Kremer (Violin) and Mischa Maisky (Cello) and also includes a lovely Piano Trio in A Minor by Tchaikovsky that I’m currently listening to and trying to appreciate with a full passion.

Another album I’ve been thinking about. I’ll be honest; I’ve only heard the Jazz Suite No. 1 Waltz 1, which put me in a quasi trance and now I’m intrigued. This is one album I’d be delighted to experiment.

Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 2, The Resurrection Symphony. This version features the City of Birmingham Symphony Chorus and Orchestra, Dame Janet Baker, Arleen Auger and Sir Simon Rattle. This song caught my attention from the book Requiem for a Dream which was adapted for film.

I’ll post more in time to come.

Extremely upset by things that have happened. Whatever happened to the theory of social exchange? According to Marcel Mauss, a gift is not just a gift, even in Casablanca. It is a social exchange, an obligation, a means to form social ties - an informal acquiescence to the social norm of networks and relationship. Of building alliances and maintaining cordial relations. A key to strengthening oneself with the power of unity, if you so believe the Darwinian perspective - Survival.

I can’t deny that it hurts me so to have received such a response to a gift that I genuinely offered to another.

Maniacal drivers trying to force me off the road, causing me to take a detour on my way to Kit’s. Dog acting crazy by overturning her water dish. Haven’t slept much. Worst of all, I feel at an all-time low, on the verge of a relapse. Without a doubt, the incessant need to not eat.

Hershe is panting really heavily and licking everything she can lick, she keeps heaving as though she’s trying to puke but she can’t. It’s 1.45am in the morning, the car is out with my happy go lucky brother and the only 24hr vet I can get across to charges 300 bucks per consultation. Everyone else important is out of it.

This god-forsaken country.

If anything happens to my dog, I think I might just die.

Hershe was supposed to go for a jab today, but fortunately for her (unfortunately for us) the vet recommended the third vaccination to be done in 2 weeks’ time. Eventually, the vet who gave Kit bad vibes and gave me gay vibes did a check-up on the girl and she is certified healthy, except for dry skin, a ear infection and potential food allergies. Why? It’s the price to pay for a pedigree dog. Especially one that starts eating plastic bags. Nevertheless, the amount spent left a hole in my pocket, and it’s amazing how my dog requires higher maintenance fees than I do. She gives me the greatest possible happiness (next to Kit of course), together with Mocha the other baby who refuses to pee into his pee tray, so I’m not complaining. My dogs have taught me responsibility, they are living proof that I can feel and that I’m actually capable to love and care for somebody other than myself. They have persuaded me to embark on full recovery and to not succumb once more.

Regardless, I’ve been feeling a little disoriented and discouraged lately, perhaps due to the melodramatic encounters with my parents and the emptiness that ensues, seeping in the days as hours, after hours. Michael Cunningham puts it succinctly,

“But there are still the hours, aren’t there? One and then another, and you get through that one and then, my god, there’s another.”

Sometimes, it feels as though I’ve lost myself within this battle. Last night, I thought to myself, Why do I bother to eat dinner? Nobody cares, and honestly, I couldn’t be bothered about it anymore. It was ill-defined, that moment of my life. Then everything starting unraveling. I know I’m not anorexic, although the behaviour strongly suggests so. I do eat, and I love good, healthy and nutritious food. Not unlike the way I live my life, I live it, to the best that I can, in a bid to achieve self-fulfillment, to actualize myself. Yet, when the negativity enshrouds me, doubts of my competence surfaces and my demons posit a challenge so demanding, and oh so harsh. I start to think, Am I worthy? To take care of the dogs? Am I worthy of Kit? Then I start to feel the torture - the post-food, post-indulgence torture. It’s almost puritanical, this bestial urgency that calls for penitence. No food, no indulgence, because you are not worthy.

Undeniably, not many can empathize with me because my situation is unique in the sense that I’ve been taking charge of my well-being ever since I was 15, yet supposedly, I have a family - how strange that noun appears to me right now. Yes, and the authoritative figure who claims to care about me yet has hitherto failed to provide for me adequately for the past 5 years and has caused deep psychological damage that I have been struggling to rectify. It has been a long while since I’ve woken up to breakfast on the table, clean laundry in the closet, a decent dinner and amiable company to pass the hours… It wears me out.

Self - I need to preserve the hard-earned peace of mind. I need to save it for myself. And nobody, is going to take it away from me. Not anymore.