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Created on 2004-01-16 03:40:25 (#1904175), last updated 2007-12-09

1,058 comments received, 1,387 comments posted

Basic Account [Gift]

87 Journal Entries, 2 Tags, 37 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 4 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	Kenny Mah
Website:	Life for Beginners

Bio

(In Lieu of An Actual Biography) Confessions of An Accomplished Failure Wishing to Seek An Alternative Career

I believe less is more. I do not practise what I preach.

Usually, I employ British English because that's what grammar taught me. However, American English has a way of seeping in sometimes. (So I may use "practice" for the verb form in addition to my usual "practise"; let's just say I harbour AC/DC linguistic tendencies.) No, I do not think an extra "u" in words like "neighbour" qualifies as snottiness. I do envy the brevity though; I just can't help adding it in. You may be surprised to know that I am not pedantic, just anal retentive. (Yes, there is a difference.)

Winters (when I happen to reside in a land with winters) are double-edged swords for me. I like the snow but not snow falling. (It gets in my eyes.) Train rides would be especially cool during winter, except when the train doesn't come in at all because of excessive snowfall or a tree fallen on the tracks. I get SAD (seasonal affective disorder) during winter; fortunately, the company of friends and a warm beverage seems to be the solution.

LUNAR NEW YEAR

I am largely apolitical but I do vote. Opinions matter, and we are making our choices, whether by action or abstinence. I believe most politicians didn't start out that way. I believe most people are good; I just fail to like most of them. That doesn't make them any less good. The fault lies with me: whether I choose to be sociable or reclusive, I make the decision not to like. My oldest buddy Wern says I lack a postive mental attitude. (He actually said it with a straight face, for which I give him much credit.) When I do make friends though, I am a friend for life; fiercely, dangerously, foolishly loyal. (It's like falling in love.)

It's not like falling in love. I've come to understand that romantic notions do not last. I would swear that the next time I fall in love, I would fall in love with the bad stuff first. That way I can't break up saying, "You're too good for me." (I used that with my last girlfriend; looking back, I realise I did not mean it.) Breaking up is hard on me because I want it to be clean and swift; often that makes me brutal, which I suppose is what I am. Mostly to myself.

Being able to fall in and out of relationships with other people while still in love with the same person for the past five years should be a comfort; instead, I am reminded of who I truly wish to be with all the time; the only difference, it's less painful when you are with somebody. (Nobody likes being alone.)

I do like being alone. I read about some guy trying to set a record by isolating himself from the outside world for a year with the internet as his only connection and I wonder what the big deal is. I have books, CDs and comics in my room. It's hard to be bored wondering if Magneto will tear the adamantium out of Wolverine's body while Thom Yorke is chanting "I'm a creep." (It's easy to get real depressed though.) It's not about getting bored. Being alone is a choice, it's solitude. It's when I don't have to think.

When I am in a crowd, it's easy to be lonely. And that's when I think the most. About stuff: good stuff, bad stuff. Mostly bad stuff. Everyone tells me I think too much. This is true. But when I am alone and do not think at all, it's really avoidance. Either reality seems unacceptable by some standard I am only vaguely aware of. This much I am certain: I do not often allow myself to be happy.

I have a bachelor's degree in telecommunications engineering. I have a master's degree in business administration. Neither means much to me. I realise I did them for reasons such as "I was expected to" or "I could do it" or "it seemed an option at the time", which, really, is alright, because I've been given so many opportunities in return. I would not have spent an entire year in Munich otherwise, or met such great people either. My life would have been different.

FRIENDS WARM YOU UP IN WINTER

For all I have experienced, I have learned nothing. I repeat my actions, and mistakes recur. This pisses me off like nothing else does, but I do not do anything about it. Procrastination is my most frequent excuse. I know it's fear really. I'm simply scared. If you do not dream, you cannot fall. If I lived to be a hundred years old, my long, safe life could not compare to fifteen minutes of Icarus's flight. How beautiful, to be honestly free!

The greatest freedom is to be able to talk till one is content, if that were possible. The world around us melts away when we banter and listen to each other's thoughts and ideas; the hours mean nothing when there is so much to agree and disagree with - the recognition of a soulmate or nemesis could be ecstasy itself. I can be a drama queen sometimes.

Ich kann nicht so gut Deutsch sprechen. Why can't I be satisfied with the four languages I already speak instead of being dismayed with my atrocious lack with others? An infant could swear better than me in Italian. (Provided the infant in question is Italian to begin with, of course.) It is enough if you try. People do appreciate your abysmal attempts, even if you're practically assaulting their mother tongues.

I enjoy looking at beautiful people and being in beautiful places. I've finally accepted this as natural and resigned myself to not feeling too shallow or guilty. I bear terrible grudges. I don't write letters often, real ones, but when I do, they are invariably long and composed during even longer train rides. Sometimes they are just an excuse for me to flirt with a pretty barrista who recommends bad coffee and reminds me that refills are free. I can only remember sending one postcard ever; I was in Dublin and having a miserable time, so I sent one to Sarah grumbling about the rain. (It must be a disability of mine, not sending postcards when travelling.)

RAISED ON THE FUNNY PAGES

I don't look towards the sky enough, particularly at night; I miss the stars twinkling. I don't smile as often as I can or should. I am pretty sure I will develop some strain of abdominal cancer. I do not smoke unless I am really happy or if you are. Chianti drunk in Tuscany is heaven. One day I will travel to Tibet. (I've already missed one opportunity.) It will be the closest thing to a pilgrimage for me. Afterwards, I will get a tattoo, as permanent a reminder as possible that this life will go; all is impermanence.

They don't make cartoons like they used to in the 80's. Nothing good lasts. Happiness is just a brief moment of pure bliss; to expect more, to expect a lifetime of it, is to court misery.

I don't remember much, but when I do, the memories haunt me. They are always there, one or two hovering closely, and when I least expect it, I succumb to the past - what was and what might have been. Wearing Doc Marts and white jeans (they were beige, I swear!), debating and clubbing in Melbourne, having Justin over and then him bunking with me permanently. We were going to build our own business and earn millions! Yeah... I have spent too much of my time on other people's dreams, sweet as they were at the time. They still are, actually. I should only remember the good times.

I want to believe that my fucking around with my life since I was sixteen is a necessary step to get where I want to be. I really hope so, because I am still fucking around with my life. And I still don't know what I want. It scares me that I know people who have very clear ideas about what they want. They do not claim to be wiser or luckier, but they seem happier to me. At least they have direction. I don't even have a script.

~ * ~

So here's my script. For now. (Now is all I've got anyway.) I will write. I will write badly, sure, and about things that do not matter. I have to learn these things, structure and style and all that stuff writers know by heart. The hard way, the only way. I cannot learn flair or imagination or a real sense of humour. I shan't force myself. I will make do with what I have. One day, when I am able to write, when I have all the essential skills, I may find that I have something to say, and finally, the words to write it down with.

-- Kenny, 25.02.2004

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