Spider's End

The skies burned a deep brick red. Smoke bellowed through any structure left standing. What was Brooklyn is nothing more then glass and sand settled on gravel and rock. Blood was splattered on what was once pavements. The wind made a bone gloomy whistling noise as it blasted through debris and one or two trees that still stood...barely.

His vision was blurred. Hunger, he quickly came to realize was more paralyzing then the destruction of an entire city. He needed food. His mind had shut down days ago, he senses as highly tuned as they may be were reduced to flashes and ringing across his mental state. Peter propped himself up against the nearest wall. His boots were shredded. He could see the bruising on his toes and foot. His suit was torn, exposed knee caps were caked in scar tissue and sand, blood speckled across the wounds. His gloves were long gone, right hand sleeve was torn at the forearm. He looked for his mask, it was nowhere to be found. The wind must have carried it away, it could be anywhere now. Peter Parker helped himself to his feet. Hobbling out from under the bridge he squinted at the sunlight, what little of it that came through the smog covering the skyline.

"Well spidey, at least 'yer got 'yer health" he mumbled to himself as he made his way to a fallen cable. He started climbing.

When the bomb ignited, the Avengers were right beside it. The didn't stand a chance. Nobody saw the bomb-truck. Mysterio was too much of a perfectionist to allow a foul-up. The truck was parked right at the exit of the Avengers tower. Nobody was the wiser. Mysterio didn't create a diversion for the Avengers, he was the diversion. The hulk had his hand on the illusionist's dome just as the bomb detonated. 40 megatons, is what answered the age old question of  "what can kill the hulk?"

Wasp and Ant-man were the nearest, poetic that they died together. Tony stark managed to blast the mighty Thor out of the immediate blast range but it was too little to late. The great Iron man could have only seen the almost lifeless body of the Asgardian fall limp to the ground before he was engulfed in the blast. When the Asgardians came for Thor he was barely alive, God or not. The rest of the city soon followed. At least Captain America said his goodbye as he died on the steps of City Hall, lesser can be said for the fate of nearly a hundred or so heroes and more than eight million civilians lost their lives. The Amazing Spider-man was one of the lucky ones. 

Peter was underground when this happened. The lizard had gone mad with rage at the lost of his research during the Civil War. He had been obsessed in restoring his formula and was testing it on high-school kids with special needs. Six had died before Spider-man got to the scene. The battle raged in the sewers beneath Queens when the bomb went off. The next thing he remember, Peter was lying in a pool of sewage and blood, the lizard on top of him. Dr Connor was not so lucky. A huge slab of road had caved in and completely smashed the face of the infamous Lizard. Peter had been protected by the Lizard's body. The irony of it all, Dr Curtis Connors, before his alter-ego the Lizard took over, always told peter that his research was going to save lives like his in the future.

Fifteen days after the incident New York City was a concave valley of death. The last to die was Luke Cage. Though he somehow managed to survive the initial blast the force has caused almost all his bones to break within his body. He was begging Peter to end him. The friendly neighborhood Spider-man had to kill a man for the first time in his life.

Hunger gripped Peter, paralyzing him. He could barely move let alone climb, but he persevered. At the top of what was once a tower of the Brooklyn bridge, peter could see the destruction in all directions. Not a single building stood. Just mountains of dirt and rubble. Smoke and bodies. So many bodies. Hand and legs and heads and even organs. Everywhere. Peter looked at his hands, his web-slingers were destroyed, his hands scabbed and burnt. Peter had no choice, he was going to have to get the the Avengers tower, ground zero. The underground portion of the base was nearly eight hundred feet below the ground, it had to have some supplies. He was weak and he had to eat to get his strength. This was a dangerous environment, his spider sense had been going off like an alarm for the past three days. There was no apparent danger, except the environment. Falling bricks, electric cables and even exploding cars and gaskets. Peter had to move and he had to do it now. 

Jumping from one fallen cable to another Peter made it across the bridge. There were no buildings to crawl on or webbing to sling from. The Amazing Spider-Man felt far from his namesake. Peter walked as fast as his feet could carry him, his spidey sense ringing so loud he had to squint. Peter avoided rubble and exposed cables. He trudged across broken pavements and fallen trees. There was a faint acidity in the air. Fallout? No way to know until he got the the base, Peter thought. The smog burned his lungs and stung at his eyes. Peter pushed on.

Times Square was hollowed. The displays were shattered on the floor, the glass bits glittering against the reddish sunlight. Peter stuck to the walls and large rubble to avoid too many glass edges. The lifeless body of Kitty Pryde's body rested against one of the felled wall segments, her hip half stuck in the wall. Shadow-cat. The X-Men were here. A few feet in front of Kitty, Night-crawler laid squashed. He must have tried teleporting people to safety before finally tiring and losing to the world crumbling around him. Tears rolled down Peter's cheeks. These were his friends, heroes. They did not deserve this. 

Peter made it past Times Square and found himself in the ruins of what was Wall Street. Spidey sense exploding between his ears and hunger clawing at his insides Peter had to take a break. He had been walking for hours on end. Thirst numbed him. Peter crashed to the ground and hung his head low. Hell this was hell. Aunt May, MJ, even J. Jonah, all gone. Everything his life had been built up to be to this point had all been a waste. The Civil War that ravaged the super-hero community. Cap's death. Tony turning to the bottle and crippling the country financially. All a waste, a shame. 

Peter felt something wet drip on his head. It must be the ruptured plumbing. He looked around to find the source, thirst driving him almost insane at this point. He felt another drop fall on him, spidey sense tingling. Peter was too weak to be alert, he scanned the darkness beyond him, nothing. Peter tensed. He felt another drip graze his cheek. He touched the liquid. It was dark, cloudy. That was all he could make out from what little light around him. That's when he heard it, the low growl. 

It was not of this earth, that growl, but Peter Parker recognized that grow anywhere. He could recognize it a mile away and that's what he had been doing. His spidey sense was going crazy because spiders are alerted when a predator is near. This was Spiderman's biggest, baddest predator.

"Phhheeeterrrr PPPaaaakkkkaaaa...."

Peter struggled to his feet. This cannot be happening. A "whoosh" and a leathery, slippery black goo pinned his right hand to the wall. Before he could react his left hand and shoulder was covered in that goo, slamming him against the wall. His legs were bound, again with that black goo and Peter was motionless. He struggled, normally almost fifty times as powerful as the average man, Spider-man was but a ghost of his glory days. Ripped by hunger and fatigue, thirst and exhaustion, Peter Parker was all but a fly trapped in a spider's web. The irony. A deep breathing could be heard. Peter stopped moving. His body slacked. 

"Peeter Phaarrkker..." the voice rasped.

A heavy breathing, deep and fast approached Peter. The last thing Peter saw was visions of his uncle Ben. A hero from a lifetime ago. Aunt May, MJ...oh sweet, sweet MJ. How he wished he could see her one last time. But he knew, it was a world of predators he lived in. The strong eat, the weak get eaten. The last thing Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man saw as his vision drifted away was a long wet tongue lashing through silvery needle-like teeth. 

The last this he heard was "WE...ARE...VENOM!"

My dad hates Father's day

My dad hates father's day,

I've been told time and again that I have always been a chip of the old block. The way I speak, the way I make people laugh, the way i behave with people. Everyone, family or friend has always remarked that we're identical. Even his brother remarks how much I seem like a better brother to my father than him (sad, i know). All said and done, I don't believe for a moment that my dad and I are the same. We're two very different people. We're lucky, that's what we are. Not Identical, lucky.

Let me explain, for a healthy relationship to flourish two people don't have to be carbon copies of each other, they just have to be identical enough in certain areas. That's where my father and I lucked out.

We're two different people who, over time have come to love each other for very specific traits that we can find in no one else. 

My dad lost his father when he was 17. My grandfather was a revolutionist (or "communist" depending on what kind of government was around). He was a loud-spoken, intellectual socialist that spoke out for the predominant Indian community in KL in the 1960s, a legend I am still measured up to by wrinkly old neighbors in KL up till this day. He had an affinity for cars and novellas and a very specific blue and gold beer. He loved his kids, all 6 of them, with a fierce passion, that only matched his love for his strong, beautiful wife.

My dad, though every bit an intellectual (smartest man in the world as far as I am concerned) as his father, was a much, much simpler man. No speakers corner, national exile, pen-is-mightier-than-sword mentality, nothing. No vices and no extremism for him. My dad was the go to work and keep the family running man. I love my grandfather, no doubt. I've never met the man but my Dad says that I need only look at a an old picture and a mirror to meet him. I love my grandfather like I love a comic book hero, feverishly and fiercely, but the true hero I stand behind was not the larger than life Vairavanathan. My hero was the simple, routine, mild manned Kalai Maran.

My dad, like I am sure many dads are to their sons, is my hero. Cliche, I know. I don't care though, because that's alot coming from me. As far as I am concerned Ghandi was an elitist and Princess Diana was indulgent. These people were amazing people who had changed the lives of many people in the world but I see a tiny flaw in them that humanizes them to me. Not my father though. He's a flawed man, financially horrible and has a really hard time communicating with people, but he's perfect to me because he told me he was all the above. My dad's single most amazing act of heroism till this very day is his humility. This is why in my eyes, he's solid gold.

My sister is the apple of his eye. His little princess. Since the day she was born till an hour ago and for the rest of her life, she will be his princess. I know this, because I hated my sister when I was young. Which 10 year old would like his sister who he had to share his parents, room, toys and attention with? I surely didn't, but my father taught me about how important sisters are. How he has 5 sisters and how each and every one was so dear to him in their own way. He told me that if he could love 5 sisters so much why should I fight with mine? After all we're the only boys in the family right? We should take extra care of them!

Granted it took me nearly a decade from that day to fully come to terms with that speech but when it hit me, it stuck. Till this day, come hell or high water my love for my one and only sister remains strong even when she doesn't deserve it! That's the effect my dad has on me. I still remember that day and I will for the rest of my life because that memory had my father in it.

We spent many years  making many memories, my old man and I. When I was 7 my dad taught me how to take a picture with a camera. I was sitting in his lap as he guided me through the motions of taking a picture and handling a film role. That struck a match in me that has blown into a full scale passion today. Today, I teach him how to turn the flash off on our digital camera. Whenever my dad looks at my pictures, I always play back that memory and never has it once not brought a smile to my face and a great swelling to my pride.

My dad, always loved to tell me about his life. It is absolute his favorite thing to do. We used to travel from Singapore to KL by train back when I was much younger. It was a 7 hour journey back then (still is, unfortunately) and he would constantly feed me with all the old stories he could remember. Every single one and he'd do it all over again when we travel together till this day and I've sat through every single on of them because he still gets so much fun from telling them. My old man would talk to me about politics at an age where I was barely reading beyond Enid Blyton! On and on he would go on about how the country was going to the dogs. I think he's much more entertained now that I actually join in and argue with him.

That's the thing I'm the most proud of. As I grew, I has stopped being his son, but instead his best friend. His right hand. His pride.

But he will never know that it is I that have the honor. I've always considered it an honor. My father, the superman, falls back on me. My rock has found a pillar in me. What more can I ask of him? This man, this simple, tiny man has held the world on his shoulder for his family all his life. Nobody, not my mother or my sister or anybody will know my father like I do and that is the biggest gift we give each other.

My dad will expect a call from me tomorrow. Not to wish him, but to ask him about lunch and what time he'd come back from work. I'd tell him that the list of old songs he wanted is done and that I've secretly put a bar of Hershey's in his bag (strictly a NO for that Diabetic!). We'd have a short 5 minute discussion about what my sister was doing for Father's day and laugh about it. Then we'd hang up and smile to ourselves that it had been a great day.

My father hate's father's day because "fathers should be loved everyday what!"
but he'll still be expecting a call from his best friend.

Thank you, my dear father,
For everything you've done, for everything you do. For the only shoulder I cry on and the only man who has seen me do so. Thanks for the support and the lessons. Lessons on life and love and the many many many jokes you and I share. Thanks for your trust and your non-receding hair-line and million dollars in coins I dig out from your pockets. Thanks for not telling mom about my plans to get a tattoo and for telling me that I was a stupid idea. Thanks for helping me with the laundry and the dishes and for keeping the kopi flowing. Thanks for the first bike and the second one after I'd lost that and the one after when I had decided that bitten once was not enough. One day i'd be sitting on the couch with you with my kids playing around and you'd tell me what a lazy father I was and we'd laugh about it. One day I'll be exactly like you and there is nothing else I could want. 

My dad hates father's day but happy Father's day old man,

I love you like only I can and always will.

The funny guy

Hey guys,

A recent conversation with a good buddy of mine had left me thinking...
We shared a few mid-day beers and some laughter and then she hit me square in the face with a... prodigious statement.

"You know funny people are actually really sad or moody. Usually. What's your malfunction Naathan?"

Though the statement was rather cliche and she never really got a real answer, the train ride back home did set me thinking. Its not that her words struck home or anything of that sort. I'm too much of a megalomaniac to align myself with a stereotype like that. It wouldn't do anything to my psyche anyways. But there is a certain truth to what she says. I'm not saying that I go all bi-polar when nobody's around, everyone sets into a particular, neutral mood when their thoughts are alone. Comedians don't laugh 24/7 and I'm quite sure Hitler wasn't eating Jewish babies in-between public appearances. Morbid? Moving on...

See, there isn't a set template that people operate on. Everyone's exposed to a unique set of experiences and to each response there is a reaction. Regardless of how much I lie to myself, my six packs don't exist and though I'd totally beat that Shia LaBeouf guy, I'm a grade average on the looks department. I'll admit. But I've known from a very young age that I was a funny guy. That's something I've always been, almost arrogantly proud of. Its a gift born of intelligence (see what I did there?) and an ever analytical mind.

But there are inherent reasons. I'm going to entertain the cliche for just moment and tell you that it is indeed a defense mechanism. Self esteem was a major issue for me when I was young. I was a geeky, dark skinned, fat kid with asthma. Yes. I know. Sad. I was made fun of, bullied and rushed to the A&E and not always in that order. In those days my dad was the pilot light. He would make a tiny joke about being fat or made fun of himself (being a big guy most of his life) just to make me laugh a little. That started it. My dad was a well loved guy and he made everyone laugh effortlessly. That was what I was going to be.

Though my humor was born out of a cliche, it does not nurture in it. Secondary School was a new playing field. That's when I started being liberal with my humor. I'd make classmates laugh and teachers would pop a nerve. That, as academically destructive as it was, garnered a certain report with my fellow mates and weirdly, my teachers. I made fun of myself and basked in the laughter i'd spread. With each laugh I grew more confident and comfortable. My image (and physique unfortunately) was shielded under a thick wall of confidence. I grew uninterested in accolades like "good looking", "Sexy" or  "ass like a grapefruit" and   instead reveled in the exclusive term of "He's Hilarious" . It became an identity and a stamp that I made on the world around me.

Sure, I'm no stand up comedian and I don't have this long list of jokes memorised (seriously, how do people remember all that shit) but after a while you get a certain confidence. You tend to pick out what's funny and you work your audience and its like a drug. Life has never been smooth for me. Money, peace of mind, love, health. Nothing ever works out. I suppose all of us have similar qualms with the big man up in the sky. Humor is my answer. I find it everywhere. Humor is indeed a way I deal with the shortcomings of life but that's not to say it's the sole function. Humor is apart of me as much as my six pack (its in there somewhere Okay?) my dashing girl-magnet looks and my ridiculously average bank account, but unlike the above mentioned I just think being the funny guy is much more of a mirror into my soul.

That having said,
We need more beer...

My Home

For as long as I could remember, I've always been a child of two worlds.
Fortunate to be born in the pulsating heart of Asia, Singapore yet I was raised for the most of my adolescence in a small street in the heart of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. As such my lifelong romance with Malaysia was born.

My parents got married in Malaysia, a small temple situated a short distance from the Kampong they had lived in. Mom was a blushing bride plucked from Singapore and chugged across the western railways to Kuala Lumpur. She had been in love with my father for a decade or so by then so I presume the ten hours (you can do it in a little more than 5 hours nowadays) or so that she spent looking through the glass was rather exciting...an excitement that still sparkles in her eyes till this day. The happy couple were married and the first days of the three years that they would enjoy before me had stumbled to a start. Now every king and queen, for that is what I will always see my parents as, need a castle and that is the jewel of this walk down memory lane.

My parents lived with my paternal grandmother in her Kampong house, as was the Indian custom. It was a large single storied wonder. Wooden walls, bronze attap roof, a sandy front yard flanked by two enormous coconut trees. This weathered home, not the most picturesque I will admit, was the crown jewel in my childhood. My great, great grandfather had built the house, more or less with his own hands with the help of some neighbors, who by the time I was born, had become family both by blood and ties. My parents got a room to themselves, quaint little space with a bed fit for the newlyweds and a small dresser. The wooden walls and high ceiling coupled with some gaps along the walls that sent sunlight streaming in gave the room a cabin feel. My parents lived with my dad's siblings and a few of my older cousins in that house for three years. Then I came into the picture. 

That kampong house, was probably one of the most impressionable environments in my life to this day. I learnt to walk there. I remember screaming through the hallway, running into my grandmother, who no matter what I did at that age (and now) was always smiles and "are you hungry?". My grandmother's house was the gateway to my obsession with Malaysia. When I turned one, my tiny family moved to Singapore permanently to welcome a new life along with an addition to our family: my sister.. Moving to Singapore was never a deterring factor between me and Malaysia, My heart yearned for that wooden wonderland i had come to label as my grandmother's house and truth be told I spent as much time as I can there. Ten years, I grew and nurtured in that house before it was forever taken from me.

My earliest memories are from that house. I remember the time I fell from the top of the gate that stood at the entrance of the house. I was four and I hurt really badly. I remember intricate, intimate details of that house. The colour of the paint in every room and every wall. I remember the design on the carpet in the living room and the floor mats that covered the long hallway linking the living room to the kitchen. This hallway served as the spine of the house, with rooms on either side all the way down. I remember the oaken dining table that my father used to eat at. He always made it a point to eat there. My father would chaperon me to my grandmother's house whenever he could. Holidays, short breaks, festivals. Any chance we got we flew to out kampong sanctuary, often leaving my mother and sister behind. The women of my family were creatures of comfort. A detached toilet and non-heated water did not sit well with them. My dad, a child of that world thrived on these tiny flaws and always made it clear that he was proud that the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree when it came to me. I loved that house. 

The house was not the only drug I was addicted to. It was the people that stole my heart. I was alone, with my sister when we were in Singapore. My parents worked long hours and I felt often lonely. When I'm in Malaysia, I was thrown into a beehive of activity and people. On my father's side I was the only boy amongst ten girls (eleven now!) including my sister. Half of them were older than me and all of them, I'm quite sure, were fascinated with me. We were of a different species and we spoke different languages. My English was a little more advanced and their Malay was white noise to me at that age, but yet we were family and I loved them with a passion. My grandmother and my father's sisters adored me, spoilt me. My eldest cousin sister, Gayathiri was my salvation. Until now she remains one of the most important people in my life. Tharani, her sister is now as she was then, my pillar of strength. Nisha and Kasthuri, my younger cousins will until this day pinch me to remind me of the bully I was then. Be that may, we chased each other around that house, talked to squirrels, plucked feathers from chickens and harassed lizards with tennis balls. We still remain hundreds of kilometers apart and even though we're all grown up now, nothing has changed.

Malaysia sparks an insatiable passion in me to this day. My family and friends here will never understand completely my affliction for Kuala Lumpur. If only they could see my kampong paradise as I had. Two decades on the quaint little kampong has materialized into a sprawling condominium complex, mirroring the metropolitan image of Singapore. My grandmother, upon much insistence and sheer willpower, had bought an apartment in that condominium, overlooking that which once was her kampong paradise. Everytime I pass that street, Two and a half mile Cheras, Jalan Shelly, I can still picture in my mind a young me playing in the sandy front yard against the backdrop of that warm, cosy wooden home. My home.

The Best things in life

The Best things in life

The Sunrise

Waking in a room full of your friends

Breakfast buffets

That pretty girl that you like walks into the room

The little flower tucked behind her ears

The scent of a woman's hair

GST Bonus

A good book

Rainy nights

Random text messages from your girlfriend

That first kiss

Holding hands for the first time

High Fives from that best buddy

Passing Out Parade

Booking out early from Camp

The morning after your ORD

The last cigarette that you share

Beers after Beers

Looking at girls when they sleep peacefully

Empty Busses

MRT Trains with the lights turned off at night

Long Weekends

Ramly Burgers

Stumbling upon old pictures

Friendships that you know won't end

The First time

BBQs

Drinking sessions

Mom's cooking

Video Games

That smell that hits you when you enter Starbucks

Mutton Briyani

The invention of streaming porn

That smile you share with your partner-in-crime

Proposing to a girl for the first time

Fireworks

Birthday Wishes

Free Ice Cream

Acoustic Music

Covering the dinner tab for the group

Mini Getaways with the gang

Bro-hugs

Malaysian Cigarettes

Road Trips

Taxi rides home after a long day at work

Waking up without a hangover

Movies

When that pretty girl leans into your for support

Top frag

Linking park 

Alone at home

Friends crash

Food Network

That moment you know you're right

Chalets

Free Wifi

Finding money in your pocket/wallet

Alcohol

Dad thinks you're his best friend

Long MC

Digging your ears

Gadgets

Winning a debate

Punching someone who deserves it

Free Cable Channels

Comic Books

Milkshakes

Cookies

Fresh Pizzas

Family

Friends

In the end..

and it all has to end

Reassurance

Hey guys,

When 2011 started, i had this mentality set in mind.
Come. What. May.
Its been six month in and honestly, its been the one tether to my sanity I'm having left.

Know that feeling?
That feeling that the best is over?
Its like going on a tour across the world with your first stop being Paris and the subsequent stops being random rural villages in west Malaysia.

My best this year was Peter Pan.
The brightest star in the endless dark night that is 2011 for me.
I'm not saying life is bleak, no, its just that I've entered a desolate tunnel and the light at the other end seems ever so elusive. I'm not saying that there's nothing to look forward to either, just that my hopes of coming across another bright star is slightly diminished.

I'm looking at many major decisions this year.
Work. Studies. Family. Friends.
Even romance.
None of which, at this point of time seem very optimistic.
I'm not in any emo mood, in fact this entire entry is to explain why I'm all sadness and sorrow this past few days. Its just that even the mightiest of heroes feel the weight of the world on their shoulders at times.

Another..err.. declaration I have wanted to scream out for many many years is this.

I. Am. Smoke. Free.

Yes, that would mean I used to smoke.
Yes, most of you probably didn't know.
No, I'm not bothered to hide it anymore simply because the important people in my life, Namely my two best friends Saras and Serena as well as my Sister know about it already. Their opinions were pretty much the only ones i cared for and since its out in the open no more worries.

I started in 2008, Army, (no surprises there) and have become pretty reliant on it.
Over the years I've just been going on and on until someone special kindly requested I quit.
So I was like "fuck it, stop la"

Easier said than done.
Its been a month and a half and what with all the stress from.. well life, its been hard.
But I'm kicking it, that's for sure.

Apart from that, there's one other matter.
Probably the one that's weighing me down the most.
I can't talk about it in detail here.. not nice la..
so I'm gonna go with cheesy metaphors.

The thin red line between the heart and the mind is riddled with ever so much confusion.
I have been treading on it all this while.
I need to lean over, for my sake.
Problem is which side?


Ok enough of sounding like a hormonal little girl.
I'll have updates soon.

Remember,
Come. What. May.



Falling back

Again I find myself down this haggard dusty road.

Strewn with the memories of what once was.

I see her smiling through broken moments in time 

like a million glass tiles forming a mosaic of our misgivings.

Smiling she taunts me

Lies to me

smiles at me

A misty grey swirling around me wiping the color from my eyes.

Walk a mile in my shoes, my friend and you will learn to love the way I do.

The candle still flickers in my mind

Cider and wine sparkling in the faint glow

the hardest part to understand was the ever present familiarity of loneliness

she was so near yet in all matters so very, very far

Needless to say the tears ran down my cheeks

glistening trails of sorrow as they fell upon the satin

velvet red satin

The color of my heart

bled through your desires and pinched through your thoughts

velvet red satin

The color of my heart

The road leads on

never a turn

never a stop

The color returns now

Slowly

Her image dances in my eye

taunting

titillating

Repression, i feel in the dream for a better future

built on the vestiges of yesterday's sweetest memories

and the bitter, bitter taste of a love lost.

and i miss her.

Falling back

Again I find myself down this haggard dusty road.

Strewn with the memories of what once was.

I see her smiling through broken moments in time 

like a million glass tiles forming a mosaic of our misgivings.

Smiling she taunts me

Lies to me

smiles at me

A misty grey swirling around me wiping the color from my eyes.

Walk a mile in my shoes, my friend and you will learn to love the way I do.

The candle still flickers in my mind

Cider and wine sparkling in the faint glow

the hardest part to understand was the ever present familiarity of loneliness

she was so near yet in all matters so very, very far

Needless to say the tears ran down my cheeks

glistening trails of sorrow as they fell upon the satin

velvet red satin

The color of my heart

bled through your desires and pinched through your thoughts

velvet red satin

The color of my heart

The road leads on

never a turn

never a stop

The color returns now

Slowly

Her image dances in my eye

taunting

titillating

Repression, i feel in the dream for a better future

built on the vestiges of yesterday's sweetest memories

and the bitter, bitter taste of a love lost.

and i miss her.

Rant, overdue

Hey guys,
Right, It that time again,
You know when I use this blog to actually do what it was originally intended for: ranting.

Its been a conflicted few months for me this 2011.
New Job, new opportunities.
The stress level at work is obscenely high.
Too many things on my plate and I'm about to tip over anytime.

Peter Pan is over, has been over for a few months now and the void in my heart is still not filled.
Carrot Cake Carol, my next original script attempt is coming along fine.
I was a little discouraged about the script till i got a call from Saras.
She said she'd loved the first two scenes i sent her.
Nothing like your best friend giving you that extra push for your second wind to kick in.
I'm inspired and motivated now.
I'm targeting the first week of June for the completion of the script.

Then its vetting, amendments, planning and finally auditions.

Thats a journey i can't wait to take.

I have been feeling this residual pain in my heart on another matter.
Matter of.. well, matter of the heart.
Its.. complicated.
Logic and Love do not mix.
Both choices.
I am smart enough to know that.
However, I hope i'm strong enough to choose the more...painful option.

Many things are tipping out of balance all around me.
I'm not hard up on the whole "who moved my cheese" issue, but I DO prefer changes at a much slower pace than now.

I need to survive May, and June will be another adventure.

In any case,
Tomorrow will be a better day, i trust.

My hero

Hey guys,
I'm gonna tell you a story. 
A story about this man I know, the BEST man I know.


His story started in 1973. 15th of  May. A day after his father died.
Suddenly he had 6 mouths to feed. All hopes of a college education dashed away.
Sacrifice. Something, if not the best thing I learnt from this man.
He toiled, worked hard, day and night. Put his brother and 4 sisters through school. Reclaimed the house his father built for him.

This man.. this man was a romantic. A hopeless one. He met the love of his life that very year. 23rd September 1973. She was 15. Dark, beautiful soft hearted. Now I can't tell you if it was love at first sight, I don't know..but it was love. I know. He lived in a tiny rural area of Malaya and she lived in a rural, tiny area in a small island known as Singapore. Thus begun the courtship of this man and his beautiful lady. Letters were written, plenty, in the sweetest of languages, the softest of intentions. Our hero saved up every other month to take a 11 hour (back in those days) trip down to Singapore to see his beautiful lady for a weekend.. this went on for 13 years.

13 years. On the 20th of October 19 1986. This brave man, left his family, his friends, his job, his life to move down to Singapore to marry the girl of his dreams...and that he did. Whatever money he made he made it a point to send some back to his mother and siblings. He was living in a tiny 2 room apartment in Hougang with just enough money to support himself and his wife. Till this day, this very day he smiles whenever he thinks about that house. "Best time of my life" he says.

When the time was right he started a family with his wife. Two children. A son to carry on the name and a beautiful little girl to spoil rotten. He's sang to them, played with them, disciplined them, when necessary. He learnt how to be a father, a father he never had, overnight. Everything, every opportunity he got to make them happy he took it. He was not a wealthy man, no that was never the case, but his wife and children, he treated like royalty.

This is a story of a simple man.
A humble, quiet and respectful man.
This is the story of the best man I will ever come to know.

My father


I write this simply because I want everyone of you to know that my dad is the best dad in the world.
I write this not because it his birthday or father's day or any significant event..
I write this simply because on a random monday evening, I want to tell the whole world that I have the best dad in the world.

Love you Dad,
You're my Hero.


and i'm sorry about drinking your coke last night.

The Killing Joke

He was fear, personified.

Sweat, grime and blood splattered all over the threaded fibers of his suit.

He was boiling, almost overcome with hate, blind fury emanating from the pits of his soul when he stared at his captive. The deranged green eyes of a madman in every sense of the word. A perfect, almost poetic balance to his world. Where there is no evil the good shall not shine and with out the good the evil shall not prevail. Poetic.The clown, limp as a slug was sprawled on the floor battered and bruised, tired from the running and the ragging. 

"you're all out of jokes, clown." he growled, his right arm coiled, ready to deliver the final, crunching blow.

"Hey..*cough* .. hey you know how it is, even i have to read up sometimes..*cough*. but I have one more story to tell, furball"

The caped crusader raised the clown of hiss feet, hand around his throat. 

"Ok get this..*cough* three thugs..and they're locked up in this jail cell right.. so they decide "hey lets break out!' i mean its only natural right? *cough)"

The grip tightened.

"Okay! Okay! so anyways, they break out and its dark, like really dark, like you.. and they've got like one torch-light right.. and so they run. They make it out to the city and like they're jumping on the rooftops and runnin' and they're runnin'...so then they come to like this *cough* like this gap between two rooftops yeah and they're like "ok.. lets use this here plank to like cross over" and so they did. See the first guy when over and then the second, and this was the guy with the torch. Right, so when the third guy is like about to corss over the lights *cough* the lights go out. Like pfffboom! hahahah! So..So like the third guy freaks out. and he's like where's the plank i can't see it! where? where? where? and the second guy goes like dude.. hahaha i'll shine the light on the plank and you can cross over. how about that? So like.. so the third guy like stares really hard and *cough* goes like. Screw you man! what if like you turn off the light when i'm crossing huh? i bet you want the plank to disappear when I'm crossing you bastards! hahahahahaha!" the Joker gurgled a laughter to his own joke.

Silence.

For a moment all that could be heard was the deep breathing of the predator and the ragged wheezing of the prey. 

Then for the first time.

The first time ever...

The Batman smiled.

..because all children grow up, all except one.

... to his surprise, that last step he had to take before he bounded into the night sky was...painful. Peter Pan had never known pain like this. He could still feel Wendy's thimble on his cheek. The slow waltz that they had shared was a final goodbye to Wendy and the Darlings. Never will they see him again. Never will they remember the Neverland and its wonders. Peter stopped in mid air.

The cool city breeze washed over him. He could see a faint glow speeding towards him from above. Tinkerbell. Beyond the fairy, now within ear shot, Peter could see the silhouette of the Jolly Roger, his newly acquired ship after defeating the dastardly Hook and his band of Pirate fiends, floating amidst the clouds against a starry backdrop.

Tinkerbell hovered in-front of Peter Pan's eyes... She could see the pain in his leaving the Darlings. She know what he intended to do. Peter smiled as he saw the look of approval on Tinkerbell's face.Without another breath Peter turned and raced to the Darling Children's windowsill, now but a speck drowned in the lights of the city. Tinkerbell smiled after him. Wendy had made Peter do something that had never been done before. Wendy had made Peter Pan of Neverland miss her.

Within moments Peter was floating outside the Darling's house. The lights to the nursery were turned off. The window, peculiarly, was ajar and very much inviting to Peter Pan. He know it would never be, he know that no matter what, Wendy will have to grow up and eventually become a mother of her own children. Peter Pan was not here to whisk Wendy away but rather the contrary, he was here for a last glance at Wendy before he becomes nothing more than a beloved fairytale to her and her lot. Silent as a cat, Peter, once again, crept into the Darling Children's bedroom.

Michael was sound asleep, John and Wendy were no different. The silent breathing of the children were all that could be heard save for the midnight breeze blowing in through the window. Peter crept past John, brave and charming John. He would have made an excellent Lostboy. Not knowing what came over him, Peter untied his dagger from his belt and placed it below John's pillow. "Johnny boy" was not to remember Peter Pan when he woke up, but the dagger, till this day, would give John an inexplicable urge to set off on adventures small and big alike. Peter smiled, satisfied with himself . He bounded over to Wendy. Peter Marvelled at her beauty. Brushing her hair away from her face gently, Peter Pan drew closer to her. Ever so softly he whispered "I'll think of you, Wendy.. ." and turned to fly away forever. Peter was barely an inch away from the windowsill when he stopped dead in his tracks. There was still one last thing to be done...

Peter Pan, for the very last time turned and entered the Darling Bedroom. He went over to Michael, the youngest Darling child and hovered over him. Still very much a child, Michael was curled up in his blankets and slept with the tiniest of a smiles on his face. Peter reached for his feather, tethered to his cap. This feather was what had started them all on the adventure that lead Peter Pan to the Darling children. Michael was adamant about having this feather for his own until very end. Peter laughed a silent laugh. Plucking the feather from his cap, Peter Pan placed it in one of Michael's tiny palms. This was the last thing Peter Pan had to do for the Darlings before he faded away into their wildest dreams. 

Peter, with a running start, flew away from the Darling Household. He rocketed through the night sky leaving the city lights behind. After a short while, Peter caught a glimpse of the Jolly Roger and five eager heads perched on the deck. Tinkerbell was flying in circles around the ship giving the ship a magical green glow. With a soft thud, Peter Pan landed on the deck of the Jolly Roger, eagerly greeted by his Lostboys.

" I'm back boys. Now lets go home! Riddles! man the rudder!, Nosey plot a course!, Fuzzy and Wuzzy... hmmm.. get the oars ready!! and Chubby.. well Chubby, here's another apple! TO NEVERLAND BOYS" Peter shot out his orders.

"AYE! AYE! CAPTAIN! TO NEVERLAND! " the Lostboys screamed after him.

Slowly the ship set sail. Gathering speed it raced towards its destination. The full moon hung low in the night sky shining a magical glow on one and all fast asleep far below. The Jolly Roger headed towards the velvet horizon. The wind carried the glee of the Lostboys as they sailed, inching closer and closer to that mysterious island where dreams come true.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Peter Pan Revamped.

The Last Lap

Exhausted.
We are exhausted.
Cast and Crew of Peter Pan Revamped! is exhausted.


This would probably sum it all up.


After a marathon of work and rehearsals this weekend, we are reduced to heaps.
However, regardless of which, the fire burn bright in us. On Saturday, we did a full run, songs and choreography and all.. the result?


Peter Pan Revamped is READY TO SET THE STAGE ON   F I R E!!!!


Bravo.
Bravo, my beloved cast.

Everyone of you, every single, loud, restless, freaking one of you made me swell up (beyond the usual) with pride. I felt like I was holding a tidal wave back this past year and that now, I can finally release it. Acting, choreography, timing, songs, fights and emotions. BRAVO.


Not forgetting my crew. 
My Sets and Props guys who have religiously given life to my visions.
My Music Director who pulled awesome notes and beats out of NOTHING.
My Costumes Mistress and her team for adding color and life to my characters.
My Dance Director and his dancers for the magic they bring with their movements.
Yoga and his minions for the graphic design and publicity.
Ghau Kaka for technical direction and his camera.


Most Importantly my two Secret Weapons..

Gold Leader: Saras, who's settling, my sets, Technics, ticketing and everything else
Green Leader: Serena, who's settling my music, costumes, dance and everything else..


Notice I say everything else because they literally DO EVERYTHING. 
I would be a lost soul without my two BEST FRIENDS. (There i said it.)


Guys, all of you, cast and crew alike.. 
This is OUR production.


Thank you for taking ownership.


Its been a long ride.
We're all exhausted. We're all tired.
Some of us have lost time, energy, money.
We've all made so many countless sacrifices.


Some of us have lost some loved ones...


My dear Kanages and Melissa, 
It has been such a hard year for the both of you.
Your loss is incomparable but I hope AFT and I have been in any way a support for you.
Our journey does not, and will not end after Peter Pan.


No
.
We'll be here for you no matter what, and Peter Pan Revamped is going to be in dedication to the ones we love, regardless of whether they are with us or not. 
This much I promise you. ..


One more week guys, 
One last week and we're done.
We need to stay strong for one another.
Take care of each other.


I love all of you very, very, very much.
I'm very honored to have been your Director.
There has never been a dull moment and I'm pretty sure there will be chaos this week.

and I simply can't wait.

Baby Steps

Okay, Right, I suppose an update is rather over due.
My computer which on many occasions i have mentioned to be nothing more than a calculator with a big screen had spasmed and died on the eve of the new year: a testament to how much 2010 sucked balls. Now this unfortunate turn of events was a blessing in disguise i suppose. As a result i had to replace the RAM and re-install a new OS. So now i'm running on a Windows Xp service pack 3 which translates to "slightly bigger penis" in human speech. For those laughing at this through your shiny Windows 7 Os platforms. 


Fuck you.




In any case my recovery from the Computer Tragedy is literally my take on 2011. 
I have a few private resolutions, of course, (public ones never work) but my basis for 2011, and mind you its working so far, is made up of three words.


"come.what.may"


2010 was a bad year. Loss, damage, heartbreak, lack of women, lack of money, the list goes on. However 2010 had given me two positive things. GLEE and the ability to look up from the bottom of the pit. In the 21 years of my life I've seen many lows. 2010 simply arranged all these in alphabetical order and evenly spread over the entire year. No point in over-reacting to how much 2010 sucked except for accepting that it did.


2011 bears a few promises.
Our Musical, Financial Stability, more GLEE and the General Elections. I'm not so much as an optimist as I am a realist, i would like to think. However, If the first five days of 2011 are any Indication, regardless of the fact that they're often not, then 2011 looks like its going to shape up to be pretty good. 




So with that I end the first post of 2011.
Cheers guys, God bless us all this year. 












Unless you own a PS3. Fuck you guys. God hates you guys.

Comic book Colours

Spider-man taught me to face my problems.

Iron-man taught me to adapt to changes.

The Hulk taught me that nothing good ever comes from being angry..

Spider-woman taught me to stand on my own two feet no matter what.. .

The Fantastic Four taught me that family should always come first..

Dr. Strange taught me about sacrifice.

Captain America taught me t love my country..

Thor taught me that Gods are only as strong as their belivers..

The Black Panther taught me to be kind to the weak and poor..

The War-Machine taught me the value of friendship.

Professor Xavier taught me that violence solves nothing.

Storm taught me that royalty is in character and not blood.

Wolverine taught me the importance of friendship..

Iceman taught me choose my battles..

Nightcrawler taught me that God loves all regardless of size or shape.. .

Rogue taught my the value of love.

Beast taught me not to judge a book by its cover..

Cyclops taught me that Leaders lead by example...

All in all the X-Men taught me that family is not how we are birthed but instead how we bond.

Superman taught me that no man is invincible.. 

Batman taught me that anyone can be a hero.. .

The Green Lanern taught me the strength of hope and willpower.

The Flash taught me that a man can't outrun his heart.

Wonder-woman taught me to respect women.. .

Aquaman taught me to never look down on anybody..

War-Hawk taught me that Pride is a man's falling.

The Martian-man hunter taught me that no man is an island.

I may not have had a very linear childhood like most kids, but i think the best thing that happened to me as a child to to fall into an endless world of Heros and Villians, rich with colours and characters. I guess at some point i've never actually come out of that world..

..and my be will never..

Observations

IDIOTS GUIDE TO UNDERSTANDING IF YOU'RE AN IDIOT

By Padmaanaathan Kalai Maran.

1. If you board the MRT at any time of the day and stand right next to the exit without moving in, you're an idiot.
2. If you have hair that covers half your face and at the same time you have a penis, you're an idiot.
3. If you call yourself a "gleek" just because you watch glee, you're an idiot.
4. If you read vampire literature that was published in this millennium, you're an idiot.
5. If you have memorized more than 3 "magic spells" from the Harry Potter universe, you're an idiot.
6. If you think "blackshot" and "combat arms" are better than Counter Strike, you are an idiot.
7. If you wear leggings with anything, you are an idiot. If you're also a guy, you are gay.
8. If you think video games are for kids, you are an idiot.
9. If you use "lol" in a conversation, you are an idiot.
10. If you TyPe LiKe ThiS, you are an idiot.
11. If you use "kekekekek" or "wakakakakak" to express laugher textual laughter, you are an idiot.
12. If you think you're "going through pain no one would understand" you're an idiot.
13. If you wear a key pendant on your necklace for more than a day after your 21st birthday, you're an idiot.
14. If you proposed to your girl/boyfriend through SMS, you're an idiot.
15. If you assume the attributes of the opposite sex, you're an idiot.
16. If you insists that you don't drink beer "because its fattening" you're an idiot.
17. If you fall off a moving vehicle, you're an idiot.
18. If you're vegetarian, you're an idiot.
19. If you think you're a photographer because you have a DSLR, you're an idiot.
20. If you think purple and pink are "only for girls, you're an idiot.
21. If you think of manga when you hear the word "japan", you're an idiot.
22. If you use the words "diss" or "hood" in a sentance, you're an idiot.
23. If you think having chest hair is "poor grooming" you're an idiot.
24. If you think National Service is a waste of time, you're an idiot.
25. If you think being fit equates to looking good, you're an idiot.
26. If you think women are inferior, you're an idiot.
27. If you go all the way to Jalan Kayu in the name of eating prata, you're an idiot.
28. If you watch Oprah at 2pm in the afternoon, you're an idiot.
29. If you bought a phone "because its cute" you're an idiot.
30. If you let people judge you for what you do or who you are, you're an idiot.


For more pointers on Life, do tune in to The Naathan Show, Weekdays 9pm onwards.

The Naathan show would like to assure its readers that the above 

stated observations are aimed at no particular individual for any reason whatsoever.

If any persons involved are offended and think this is about you then you're an Idiot