Ramblings: Dreams

I never had a dream. Whenever someone'd ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd laugh. Somehow, the idea of me growing up seemed hilarious. It still is. So I had no clue how to answer that question. With the laugh, I intended to tell whoever was asking that I'm too daft for intellectual grown-up chit-chat. I guess I got that across quite well. 'Cause almost always, the next question would be something about the weather or some TV show. And when even that turned out to be too much for me, the conversation finally stooped to topics of my interest. I'd take great pleasure in telling them about the black cat that loves decorating our lawn with its poop. I'd also throw in some interesting facts about cats, e.g. a cat can tell its waste apart from another's. The perfect dinner conversation. I have them so riveted they forget to eat the food in front of them. My parents don't seem to like it though. I guess it's because then there are too many leftovers to fit in the fridge. 

Frankly, I never believed I'd make it this far. What with the ever increasing crime rate, rise in terrorist attacks, the country riding down the Laffer Curve, shrinking job opportunities... I figured my chances were quite slim. Plus I'd stopped going to this martial arts school, so I half-expected waking up in the middle of the night to find an assassin holding a blade to my throat. In my head, that school was Nanda Parbatt and the League of Assassins was after me. It took me two years to realize they had their hands full with Batman and Green Arrow to be bothered about small fry like me. Still, I sleep with a butter knife under my pillow, just in case. I dunno why I bother at all. It's too blunt to cause major damage and I'm quite sure the assassins' won't let me off if I made them all buttered toast. Though if I made grilled cheese sandwiches.... I could convince them. My grilled cheese sandwiches are phenomenal. A bite is enough to kill anyone stupid or hungry enough to eat it. My dad uses my sandwiches as rat kill. I'm thinking about patenting it.

I guess not having a dream isn't that bad. Infact, I get to make it up as I go along. Plus, I think I'm pretty much done with all I wanted to do in life. Scratch that. I find new stuff to do everyday. Life really is, like Forrest Gump puts it, "a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." I just prefer living it rather than dreaming about it. ;)

dotya.4way.hu

-NH

Among the Firsts

This is a post from my first blog. It was actually supposed to be for the school mag but because of its length, I decided against submitting it. As most of my write-ups back then, it ended up on my blog. Thought I'd post it here too. :)

Something to write about: Doggone: You’ve probably heard of the proverb, “every dog has its day”. Well, I never thought I’d ever use it for a dog . The dog, in qu...

Of Sloths and Good Intentions

Sometimes, a good deed can make you wish you weren’t inherently nice. Like the time I took my 6 year old cousin to the zoo, as a favor for my aunt. It was all perfect until the kid told his mum excitedly about Mr. Eight. “Mum, It was so cool! Mr. Eight even showed us his testicles!”  It took half an hour to explain to his dazed mother that Mr. Eight was an octopus at the zoo and another half to convince her that her son meant ‘tentacles’ and no one had taught him that word. I have a feeling my aunt still doubts that I took her son to the zoo. And if my li’l cousin ever decides to recount what was happening in the baboon pen, I might never be allowed near kids anymore. It’s not my fault the baboons were in heat that day!

During my extended blogging hiatus, I’d been looking for inspiration, something to get me writing again. It was really just an excuse to put it off for a while longer. Annoyingly enough, I found plenty of inspiration. So I stopped looking and accepted the fact that I’d become a sloth. Somehow, being a sloth was even more tiring. Who knew thinking about doing something could be as exhausting as actually doing it? I sprained my wrist just thinking about playing tennis, and I don't even play tennis! It's possible that I'd broken the sloth code by aspiring to do something new and healthy, and my body was making sure it had the perfect excuse to avoid the exercise. Kinda like what my brother did to get out of gym class. I guess it was a blessing in disguise. When I did play tennis for the first time, I smacked myself in the face with the racket's frame. It hurt to even complain. :x

'cause tomorrow never comes. :P
momoryn.blogspot.com

-NH