Addiction

Do you know the game Snood?

I can't figure out why this game is so addictive. Is it the weird faces and their peculiar names? Jake, Zod, Mildred, Sunny, Midoribe, Geji, and Spike - they grind their teeth, stick out their tongues, and make faces that push your button just a little.

Could it be the mischievous satisfaction of playing it for free till the limited rounds are used up? The vicious poems at the end of each level and the "pleeease" that is sung by a chorus of snoods surely do make you feel guilty, though there still will not be payments - ever. Apology to Dave Dobson - the creator of Snood!

Whatever it is, I find myself spending hours and hours on the game in trying to break my own record. The curiosity of what the highest score that ever existed aggravates my obsession.

So I dragged it into "trash" - numerous times, since it somehow always got dragged Out of "trash". Then I decided to delete it permanently.

The latest news is that, Snood is "re-born" once again on my computer - it's material for this blog entry! On a second thought, did I choose to write about Snood only because it was a perfect excuse for me to download it again?

"Hello everyone, I am a snood-addict..."

Dream Sequence 1

There she was, more beautiful than I feared her to be, standing closely by your side and quietly completed you. I wanted to be her so badly so that you would look into my eyes with the same warmness and tenderness. What had once belonged to me was now gone and I could only watch it with envy from far. The truth was, she was perfect. Even though I could not gather enough courage to tell you, but I had told myself so over and over in my head. And I finally understood: you and her belonged together.

So I left the scene alone. Yet the dream went on: you came to me in tears and you said that you were sorry. Watching you cry only hurt me more. I put my arms around you, wanting to cry but unable to shed any tear, wanting to speak but nothing sounded. I was exhausted and consumed. There was nothing left of me except a wounded heart and an aching soul.

Postlude to A History of Violence

What a hypocrite that you are! You have talked and talked about your dislikes, yet turning around to praise highly of what you hated. Don't you see, you are becoming one of those people while I am cherishing you as a dear friend.

Yes, I have always treated you with much care despite all of your mishaps toward me. You are blind, for you speak much of friendship though never once have looked around you. I could care for you more and I have always wanted to care for you more. Why wouldn't you let me enter your world and allow me to ease your pain?

You never understood me, never even tried to. But why would you? I should curse myself for always quietly being there and letting you know that you could count on me no matter what happens. This vulnerability is the ultimate stupidity on my behalf. How naive I am as I offer you everything that I can give, but expect only your honesty in return. Yet you still manage to fail this smallest request.

Please do not speak of your hurtful experiences, for you have also hurt others.

Back to Uncivilization

Sometimes I wish we are not civilized and educated so we can't over-analyze our feelings and emotions. Sometimes I wish we had the IQ of below normal, so we wouldn’t pity ourselves even when others do.

It's dangerous to dig in deeper and deeper - how can one possibly save him/herself when the conscience of struggle is lost for good? Any surfacing changes are only temporary relieves and cures. But when those are gone, you fall back into the routine and being sucked into that quicksand even faster than ever.

Why do we torture ourselves this way? It's abusive and it has got to stop. IT HAS TO STOP IT HAS TO STOP IT HAS TO STOP!!! And we all know that the only person who can save us is the person you see in the mirror.

Blank out, space out, think nothing, be un-intelligent for a change - you might actually find it refreshing. Most importantly, love yourself so others can love you.

The Death of A Centipede

I just committed murder...

It appeared from nowhere and crawled quickly with its 60-some legs toward a hiding spot - the dark space behind my bulletin board.

This centipede was by far the largest I had ever seen. It was over 2 1/2 inches long, and its legs looked like fake eyelashes in extended-length. The three-seconds glimpse of this creature terrified me and I knew that it had to be killed in exchange for a peaceful night out of my own selfishness. As I lifted up the bulletin board, I couldn't help but to scream and scream. I hated the fact that I had to do it and I hated myself for being the weakling who feared this long-legged intruder. Four sheets of paper-towels in my hand, I pressed as hard as I could onto the wall, crushing its little body. Instantly, a wave of sadness hit me and I felt an urge to cry.

I wish that someone else was there besides me, someone who was brave enough to save this creature from being killed under my bare hands.

The Unfortunate Specie

Why do mosquitoes exist?

They do not benefit the world or the nature in any way that I can think of (for example, bees produce honey and some others help to spread flower seeds); unlike some insects who do not cause any harm but only to live in their own terms, vicious bites and transmitting disease are what they are famous for.

Mosquitoes are what I call the "mini-vampires". In order to generate batches of eggs, the female ones have to seek for blood meal. We the humans obviously are a good blood source for them. Of course, the poor little species are doing what they are made to do, and have absolutely no control over their own habitual. Just like the humans and any other type of living species, they do anything to live regardless how short their life cycle is.

Nevertheless, the "millions" of bites that I get from them are unforgivable. They sting you before you realize it; they get away with a full stomach and leave you a swollen bump that itches for days; above all, if any of them unfortunately dies under my palm, the dead little body always manages to make me feeling a second of guilt for killing such a small, helpless creature.

If Noah's Ark was a true story, he shouldn't have let the mosquitoes to sneak into the boat. It was a mistake... indeed...

Domestic Warfare

It all started when ants decided to invade my apartment over the weekend. Everything was carefully planned. First, they sent in a few "pawns" to investigate the apartment. I spotted one of them in the bathroom and terminated it without a question. There must be others that escaped my eyes. But they were there, perhaps hiding somewhere in the corners, watching the giant human being walking around in the room, and praying not to be spotted like their lost ones.

They waited and waited... Then, I left for the weekend. They knew it was the perfect time for the invasion. It could not be missed.

I returned from my trip two days later. Exhausted from the train ride, I was more than glad to be home. As I sat down and flipped open my laptop, a black shadow passed in front of my eyes so fast that it disappeared within the blink of eyes. "Shit.." I quickly grabbed some tissue paper, lifted up my laptop to hunt whatever that shadow was. What I found, was not one, but fifteen of them, hiding under my laptop!

Angry and disgusted, I was determined to kill every single ant on my desk. However, I underestimated them: they were Not easy to kill. Somehow, they managed to come back to life even though I used many ways to "finger-press" them with tissue papers! The "army" of ants... they put up such a good fight.

My desk was clear after 10 minutes. How did they get onto my desk...? And where were they coming from? All of the sudden, I gasped as my eyes starred at my bed: "What are those moving things...?!"

For the next hour, I stood by my bed, killing every ant I saw, one after another. There was no end to it - they just kept coming.

Unable to handle this all by myself, I called for rescue. Raf came in and quickly found the ant's entrance to my apartment. It was the window near the bed. They came in through cracks, slide down to my bed from the cord of my alarm clock, then got to my desk. Raf lifted up the alarm clock... there were too many underneath that I couldn't bring myself to take a second glance.

"This is gonna be a massacre!" Raf declared. He covered the "creatures" with some paper towel, followed by a series of heavy poundings. The rest, is not appropriate for me to describe.

We sealed the crack on the window, sprayed some Raid and set ant traps. That was the end of the war. It was brutal... indeed.

I had to terminate them. When I was young, the movie "Killer Ants" traumatized me; therefore, it was Not acceptable for a massive amount of them to intrude my apartment. I spent my night at my cousin's. Now that I'm back here, writing this post in my bed, I keep being alert to any moving objects in the room and terrified that they might crawl all over me. Ants, they might return for revenge. But for the time being, Raid will keep them out; and the possible return of the ants will haunt me during my sleeps.

Memory Elapse

The recurring nightmare came to me last night. In my dream, my cat died all over again. She held in her last deep breath, then her little body hopelessly collapsed on the floor. I woke up feeling disoriented.

My friend tried to comfort me: "You will forget it soon." I fell into silence.

I can't forget, and I don't want to forget. I am terrified that one day I would wake up, and not remembering what she was like and what she meant to me. The thought of losing her eternally in my memory tears me apart.

The flashbacks of her last days are so vivid as if it was yesterday. It causes me tremendous pain each time I allow myself to bring back the memory. Yet I'd rather miss her terribly much than not remembering her.

So then, let be the nightmare. It can come and go as it wishes.

The Perfect Break-Up

It just occurs to me that Meg Ryan makes break-up seem like a breeze. Have you noticed in Sleepless In Seattle, her break-up with Walter (the allergic-to-everything-guy) is exactly the same as her break-up with Frank (the typewriter-obsessive-guy) in You've Got Mail? In both movies, she sits down in a fancy restaurant with her boyfriend. At certain point, someone awkwardly brings up the fact that he or she doesn't love the other person. The other person coincidently feels the same and then happily accepts the break-up. They continue their conversation as if they are old friends with no hard feelings or-so-ever. The "magic" of romantic comedy makes Meg Ryan one lucky woman: she either flees away to meet Sam, or she claims that she has the "dream of someone else" and meets her 'dream" soon after.

I wonder what the purpose of romantic comedy is. Is it a hopeful reminder of the existence of romance or is it a sarcastic laughter towards real-life relationships?

After each break-up, we often tell ourselves and each other that "there's no easy break-ups", "no better ways to do it", or "no good time to do it". The pain level depends on how much the other person means to you, and it varies from 1 day up to 5 years. Regardless how long it takes one person to be okay with the break-up, there is still a process that everyone goes through.

Apparently, Meg Ryan doesn't need to go through anything!!! At the end of her movies, when "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" comes up in the background, I find myself unable to control the "water-works". I wipe off the tears on my face, resentfully: "This is bullshit..."

Pulper versus Non-Pulper

I was approached by a friend one day: "Pulp or no pulp?" It was referring to orange juice, of course. "Pulp. Lots of pulp." I answered confidently.

"Pulp, lots of pulp" sounds like "Bond, James Bond". The way it is phrased puts an extra emphasis on the statement that makes it sounds more determined and convincing. There is absolutely no alternative for me. "Pulp, some pulp" or "no pulp, no pulp" simply do not work nearly as effective.

Just like many other things, we are divided into Pulpers and Non-pulpers based on our personal choices. Personally, I like the chewy-ness of pulps. It re-assures me that the drink is made out of real oranges. The pulp is such an important feature that distinguishes orange juice from other (for example, Fanta) orange-flavored drinks. Therefore, "no pulp" to me is not acceptable. Although, the worst has to be "some pulp." What is the point of having a few of them swimming around in your mouth?? They say there is no such thing as black and white. But in the case of orange juice, you are either Pulper or Non-pulper, there is no in between.

And I am proud of being a Pulper!