So, today was the fifth lesson I had with Fadrick (I have yet to think of a nickname for him, but I was thinking K-Fad or Fad da Man, but, nah). Today was also the day I officially started getting paid- the blood-sucking agent sitting at home just made a couple of calls and he got paid a cool two hundred bucks. Life is seriously unfair- here I am, toiling away, sacrificing my time to improve the poor kid’s education for a minimum pay, while the fat agent sits at home and counts MY hard-earned money.

That said, there are also people like Dirk Kuyt, earning obscene amount of money and all he need to do is impersonate a Golden Retriever doing a marathon. And then there are people like Heather Mills (estranged wife of Paul McCartney). That c*nt got more than 24 million pounds for her divorce- I mean, she has got to be the luckiest b*tch on earth (she even beats Paris Hilton- at least the latter put in her shift of work in THAT video). I tell you, there are all sorts of gold-digger in this world- from my tuition agent to Liverpool’s blond striker (no, not Nando) to Heather (17 thousand pounds a day for her four year marriage) Mills to the next girl you meet. So, be afraid, be very afraid.

Anyway, I noticed today that K-Fad (well, it sounds pretty good in fact, after a couple of times) was actually left-handed. I mean, for the past few lessons, I have been teaching him how to roll weed and everything, so I didn’t really notice which hand he uses to write (though he preferred lighting his joint with his right hand). So, today I printed out a page from asianbookie.com and let him practise some Mathematics using the soccer odds and all. Let me sidetrack a little here, but can you believe that Manchester United gave Liverpool half a ball? Yeah, when I saw the odds, I was like, come on, we are top of the table, those c*nts are fourth, we lead them by a massive 10 points, so we got to give them at least two balls right? F*ck me, but what chance do Liverpool actually have of even managing a draw tomorrow night at Old Trafford? Only blind and stupid punters (read: Liverpool fans) will bet on Liverpool with such ridiculous odds. Half a ball? We’ll comfortably overcome that, no doubt about it. It’s definitely a fixed plate, trust me.

Okay, allow me to sidetrack a little bit more to focus on ‘Super Sunday’ (it happens only twice a year). Well, the referee is Bennett (that sorry piece of excuse for a human being), so I am expecting a penalty for Liverpool after Stevie G tripped on the white line, a red card for Wazza for protesting, Carragher’s rugby tackle on Ronaldo to go unnoticed and an undeserved one nil win for Liverpool in the end. No, I was kidding. Liverpool is so damn strong at the moment, they don’t need a c*nt referee to give them a win, do they? From Risse to Pennant to Kuyt, they have class oozing all over the pitch and I doubt my beloved Red Devils will be able to match them. Nando will bag a hat-trick, Stevie G will be applauded off the field, Benitez will continue his ‘Rafalution’, and they will go on and claim the EPL title, since ‘this is their year’ after all. No, I was kidding again. Frankly, you do not need me to go into the details, but let me just say I do not see how Liverpool can beat us at home tomorrow night or win the EPL title come May.

Well, I don’t know where the lot of you will be watching Liverpool lose, but I will be watching it at Ayu’s place- nothing beats celebrating a Manchester United win at the home of the Kop. After that, he will buy me supper while I console him before we watch Arse draw at Stamford Bridge. I still think that Chelski are too strong at home, and the Gooners looked a tad heavy-legged the last couple of weeks, so I expect the defending champions to be five points clear on Monday morning.

Okay, back to K-Fad (starting to have some sort of a ring to it). He is simply lazy- I mean, he’s not stupid like a Liverpool fan or anything, he’s just plain lazy. All he needs is a knight in shining armour to guide him to the light at the end of the tunnel, and pardon me, but I think I’m definitely the one. He loves me (no, not love like I’m Michael Jackson or something), but there is a sense of respect as well. His parents absolutely love me too. Well, you can ask JT or MM. That day while driving to the airport, his dad called me, and I was as polite as you can imagine- I sounded like I was on radio promoting my latest album or something. At first, I wasn’t really good at this meet-the-parents sh*t, but let’s just say I had my fair share of practice. You see, usually, I will be with the girl at her parents’ place, and I will go something like, “Look, Auntie, I am just twenty, not a single cent in my pocket, and just how do you think I am going to bring up a kid? But don’t worry, I will take care of things- my friend knows a friend who knows this abortion clinic in Woodlands which gives 30% discount for repeat customers. And yes, I am a repeat customer, and the budget surplus money from the Government is only a month away.” With practice, speaking to parents comes naturally to me.

Personally, I always believe the carrot and the stick work hand in hand- I promised him more weed if he finish copying his schoolwork from his classmates; or if he doesn’t do that, I will put out my own joint using his cute little left cheek. Well, so far so good, and we seems to be coming along just fine. The two hours I spent with him passes pretty fast I have to say, much faster than watching a Channel 8 production not starring Felicia or Fiona. At times, I am like a counsellor to him- I make him lie on the sofa, and ask him to think he is alone on an island, starring at the clear blue sea, while I am busy replying my SMSes on the phone. I then listen to his problems, such as the chicks in class who have been giving him the eye, or classmates who fail to repay the 20% interest rate on the loan he gave them. Well, I do give him some advice, and if push really comes to shove, I’m always there for him- I could like make a trip to his school to settle his sh*t or something. No worries- I am as adept speaking to teachers and principles as I am to parents.

So, next week’s lesson- Texas Holdem Poker.

Q: What’s worse than having your heart broken?

A: Loving someone who do not/will not/no longer love(s) you (runners-up would be having your photographs taken by some jerk and released by ‘Kira’). You know, at least having love and lost (read: getting dumped) means you do have happy memories (read: some artistic photographs of him/her in your laptop) to keep, no matter what the outcome of your relationship is (breakup, shotgun or abortion). Personally, I feel that unacquainted love is simply the saddest thing that can happen to a human being (other than being a Liverpool fan)- seeing him/her with someone else and having wish him/her happiness? Boy, that got to cut deep. Thank God, this hasn’t happened on me. YET.

It’s raining again. I am alone with my laptop, surrounded by my own thoughts. And yes, this entry has been a long time coming. Where should I start? Okay, I watched ‘The Leap Years’ last week with my two wonderful sisters (brotherly love, Benitez calls it). It was kind of weird, as the two of them were like giggling at every single romantic love scene, and I was like- yeah, been there, done that, tell me about it? I could have slapped them a couple of times to wake them up from their fantasies (this is not love, you dumbasses, this is a bloody movie that cost me 23 bucks), but being the good brother that I am, I chose to let them float around a little in their own little sea of love. Well, it’s not such a bad movie, but I find it rather cheesy. I mean, it’s great if you are in love and everything, especially so if you have her beside you and then afterwards you bring her home and shower her with some of your tender loving care. But for me, as a skeptic and cynic of true love (whatever true love means, Honey), everything in the movie was a reminder of what love used to mean for me (when I was younger).

You know, when you were young (read: naïve), and you watched certain love movies, and they tend to fill your head with beautiful thoughts and stir the emotions of your heart. You started believing that the next girl that comes your way will definitely be your Juliet (Claire Danes, the fish tank scene with Leonardo DiCaprio, my God, I started hanging out at the local fish shop for weeks waiting for ‘her’); or your Rose (the movie that made millions of dollars and romances at the same time, and it made me dream of the ‘I’m flying, Jack’ scene for three straight nights, albeit with three different girls). You know, the type of too-good-to-be-true movies that makes you dream? Yeah, ‘The Leap Years’ fall under that category.

Why are romances in reel life so different from those in real life? Because everything is too perfect on the big screen. It doesn’t show the pain and sorrow and tears, and even if they do, it’s just the prelude so some great make up sex scene later on or something. Films don’t really portray the depth of despair, the hopelessness one usually associate with love. Plus, watching people falling in love and actually falling in love yourself is like chalk and cheese (just ask the countless armchair critics to actually pick up a ball and play a game of soccer, and you should know what I’m talking about). But why do I say hopelessness? Because like a game of soccer, it’s not the amount of effort you put in, or the distance you run or the buckets of sweat you give that counts. End of the day, it’s all luck and timing and some say, fate and destiny. Which is true.

Miss Y didn’t have to do nothing to make me fall for her. All it takes is one look and that’s it- you get sucked in. So, sometimes in love, no matter how much you do, it’s never enough, and it never will be (there are guys who love Liverpool/Ayumi /digital cameras more than their girlfriends). They are certain elements in love that is beyond one’s control. That said, I am not trying to say you can just sit at home all day with your Sony SLR digital camera and the love of your life will come knocking at your door (sorry, but you are no Edison). There was a saying in ‘The Leap Years’ by William Shakespeare, that goes, ‘It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves’. And I kind of agree with it- as you all know by now, I am not one to leave things to chance. Fate is for those too weak to determine their own destiny, and yes, I make my own fate, and I choose my own destiny. Not the stars, not the fortunetellers, not some little black book.

So, yes, if there is this guy (tall, dark and handsome, has a fantastic blog and plays a decent game of soccer) whom you really want to know, well I say, go for it. You got to fight for your love- nothing comes easy in life, not unless you are Edison. But you know what the sad thing is? Sometimes, you are not your love of your life’s love of his/her life (okay, for those half-wits, read it a couple more times and you should get it). You can love the person with your life, yet it does not mean he/she has to return the favour. You simply cannot force love, and there comes a time to accept your best is simply not enough. For me, the greatest achievement in love has got to be able to love unconditionally- you can love enough to let him/her be with someone else. That has to take the cake, I tell you. Because frankly, yours truly over here can’t even do that. Well, actually I didn’t really have the opportunity to test myself yet. So, yeah, try me. Please.

I have always been one to let go easily. No girl has ever (and hopefully, no girl ever will) touched my heart enough for me make me want to kill myself over the breakup. Personally, I have always believed that my next love will definitely be better. No, trust me- it’s a fact. It’s definitely her loss I dumped her / she dumped me. It doesn’t really matter now, does it? I am not one to dig up the dirt, and all I can say is, I will love my next girl more than the previous one. Once again, you can try me if you like. So, I was the airport (Terminal 3, The Coffee Club) with JT and Honey (JT and I were there for like three times in a week- don’t ask), and we started talking about this. I looked around me, and I always wonder- why do I have no problems letting go? Why do others struggle so much just to get on with their lives?

Inevitably, it leads me to ask myself- do I not love the girl enough? Is being unable to move on a benchmark for how much I loved her? I mean, I don’t know. When I am in a relationship, yeah, I would go to the end of the world for her. I would do absolutely anything just to put a smile on her face- no gift is too expensive, no surprises too hard to plan. I have always talked the talk, and walked the walk. My actions always speak for themselves, and for all my relationships, I can put my hand up and say- yes, I have certainly tried my best, but it just didn’t work out, and it just wasn’t meant to be. After a couple of cigarettes and a cold beer, I would be fine, and looking for my next love already. Most probably at Phuture or something.

So, why is it that I can do so much for her in the relationship, yet when we break up, she would not hurt me more than, say, a Manchester United defeat? Well, I think a part of me wants to make her feel that I am the best boyfriend she can ever have in her entire life, so that is probably why I try to do everything she asked of me. Plus, I hate to live with regrets, so I have always given my all in everything (from love to my family to friendships to simple things like a game of soccer), and maybe I want her to be the one to live with the regrets, not me. I would certainly like to believe that this ‘no regrets’ mindset has helped to set me free by removing all the ‘what ifs’, and in the process, allow me to move on with my life effortlessly.

You may ask, why am I so silly as to give so much in a relationship and still end up with a breakup (read: a breakup, NOT a broken heart). Look, certain things are beyond me really, like say, after a period of time, she slowly morphed into a total b*tch, what can I do, man? Maybe I pampered her too much, or she took me for granted, I don’t know. All I know is, there is a threshold to everything. I am only willingly to give this much, and beyond that, even if you beg, I wouldn’t budge. And what I don’t want to give, you can never force me to. When the day comes, and I wake up and ask myself, why do I put myself through this endless torture of  hurt and pain just to be with you, when I know I can lead a much happier life without you, yes, that will be the day I leave everything behind and walk away. And no, I don’t look back, ever. Nonchalance is my middle name.

Which kind of explains the predicament I find myself in, or rather, I put myself in. You see, for me, love is long dead. I used to believe in those movies and all, that love conquers all and love gives you wings to fly, and that there was a special someone out there for each of us. But not anymore. I don’t know how or why I got into the state I am in right now, but really, love no longer holds much importance in my heart. The hope I used to have of meeting my very own special one has been replaced by this indifferent, cold heartlessness that tells me there is much more to life than just love. Perhaps the ‘ignorance is bliss’ part is long gone, and with it, the capacity to share my life with another girl.

I look around me, and all I see is pain and tears- it only serves to remind me that love sucks. People hurt us, we hurt others, and the whole thing just goes round and round in a great big circle of pain. I am no longer looking for the one, and even if she was standing right next to me now, my head will tell my heart- you are better off loving yourself, GuangHui. Miss Y is no more than an artefact displayed in the museum  called 'Me and the countless other Her', which is buried at the bottom of my emotionless heart, and I wonder how much longer I will continue to feel this way about love. I don’t know, maybe until the day my parents start pestering me for a grandson or when the next girl I sleep with ends up pregnant?

For me, life is no longer all about love.

*Keeley Hazell,

  (she was also wearing a Red Devilz thong)

So, I just got back from the gymnasium at Choa Chu Kang. I went alone as Les overslept for the third time in a row. My mum was pretty pissed, as it was absolutely pouring when I left at four in the afternoon. And before I walked out the door, she was like asking me if I am seeing someone from the gym. Seeing a guy, to be more specific. F*ck me- my own mother thinks I’m f*cking gay. For the record, no, I am NOT gay. The thumb ring I wear symbolises my singlehood, not my homosexuality (according to Yahoo! Answers, it can mean either or both meaning). You see, I have been almost single for a year (read: no sex for a year, yes, life sucks), and I have not been romantically linked to anyone (read: I have not brought any girl home) for the same period of time. Coupled with the fact that a fortuneteller (bloody liar) once told my mum there is a high possibility that her only son will not get married, that pretty much explains my mum’s assumptions. Well, I reassured her that even if I didn’t get married, I will make sure she would have tons of grandchildren, so she had absolutely nothing to worry about. And no, I am not seeing any guy. Or girl, for the matter.

The gym is an interesting place. You get to see all sorts of people there, mainly guys who are obsessed with being the next Hulk Hogan. It is crazy, I tell you, the weights they lift. I have to say I am one of the thinnest around, but I do not feel inferior in anyway. You may be bigger than me, but so what? With enough dedication and determination, I could very well one day be bigger than you. All I know is you will never be as tall and good-looking as me, no matter how many trillion tons of iron you pump.

Okay, so there’s this type of guys I term the “chicken legs”. They only work their upper body and therefore in the long run, their arms become much bigger than their thighs. It is absolutely disgusting, I tell you. And these guys tend to have bigger boobies than the average Singaporean girls (the ones I have managed to see so far). And that is disgusting and scary. Imagine this guy you pick up in a club and then you two are alone in his car, then he takes off his shirt and he has like this D-cup thing going on. I don’t know about you, but if I were a women, that will definitely makes me feel totally inferior to be one.

And then there are these guys who love looking at themselves in the mirror every five seconds. They most probably love their bodies more than their other halves, and I can picture them jerking off while admiring their own biceps in the mirror. And then there are the gays. Guys who smile/wink/lick their lips at me in the gym are definitely gays. I have only encountered one such specimen so far, and frankly, it’s enough to turn me off from going to the gym again. I mean, when I am trying to lift fifty, sixty kilograms of sh*t off the ground, the last thing I want to see is a guy’s face smiling at me. So, please, leave me alone- I am straight, thank you very much.

And lastly, there’s the female species who go to the gym just to run on the treadmill, and to ogle at all the types of guys I have mentioned above. Personally, I don’t really enjoy running on the treadmill. It’s like you keep running, but you get nowhere. Plus running around my neighbourhood give me the opportunities to check out the sights (read: sporty babes in tight pants). That said, girls don’t really matter much to me anymore these days- more on that some other time, okay. I know I have been blogging so much lately, but I am yet to have my emotional entry. Well, good things come to those who wait. So, yeah, maybe tomorrow, when I have the time and when I am in the mood. And when the night’s cold, rainy and most importantly, lonely.

Anyway, that will be all for tonight. I am really tired from the workout I had earlier on.

Goodnight, sweethearts.

The Sunday Times published the results of a Social Development Service survey on dating traits a couple of weeks back (24^th February). Before I tell you the reactions of the public and my own thoughts, let me give you the statistics first:

-          80 per cent of women expect their boyfriends to pay on dates and 92 per cent of men will do so.

-          50 per cent of women expect men to open the doors to cars and restaurants and 88 per cent of men will do so.

-          90 per cent of women expect men to send their girlfriends home after a date and 94 per cent of them will do so.

-          96 per cent of women expect their boyfriends to initiate the celebration of special occasions (such as anniversaries, Valentine’s Day and birthdays) and 92 per cent of men will do so.

-          88 per cent of women expect their boyfriends to dress up for special occasions while 78 per cent of men will do so.

-          24 per cent of women expect their boyfriends to carry their handbags and 70 per cent of men will do so.

F*ck me, and now you know why my last girlfriend wasn’t a local and why I am currently single. I mean, come on, give me a break. Carry your bright pink bag? What? You broke your f*cking wrist putting on that thick-ass makeup on your face? Or was giving me a hand-job that exhausting on your biceps? Alright, let’s analyse the survey point by point instead of jumping to premature conclusions.

I’m fine paying for dates, but it’s definitely not a long-term thing. Look, we are not related by blood, and you are neither my kid nor my parent; you are just someone whom I met and was conned into believing is my true love, so don’t expect me to pay for everything. Plus I am not Bill Gates. And if I am, I wouldn’t be blogging and you wouldn’t be reading this sh*t. But honestly, if we are both getting the same pocket money/income, then going Dutch is definitely the way to go. Unless of course, you are Britney and I am K-Fed, then I absolutely don’t mind living off you. Opening doors and little things like that I am okay- hey, I always the one opening the door to my house while that chick is hugging me from behind and licking the sh*t out of my ears. It’s no big deal actually. And I will definitely send you home, provided there’s no one home and you’d invite me up for some coffee. But seriously, it’s not like Singapore is really that unsafe (even with Mas Selamat on the loose), but I feel sending the girl safe and sound to her doorstep is the least a guy should do. Plus it provides an opportunity to have that eternally magical goodbye kiss. And more.

Now, the next point really gets me. I mean, you expect me to plan surprises for our anniversary while you just sit there and wait for things to happen? What do you want? Fireworks with your name on it? Joining the mile high club on my private jet? Or a romantic getaway on my yacht? It’s OUR anniversary for crying out loud, not mine alone. Get it in your thick skull, b*tch, and do something about it. Okay, as for point number 5, dressing up for such occasions is pretty subjective- it depends how you interpret the term ‘dressing up’. Maybe you could do a Britney and go commando- that constitutes dressing up for me too. But I feel that when we are out in the public together, we should look good for each other. I don’t want to run into my friends on the streets with you looking like a cheap whore or something, you know what I mean?

And finally, the last point- the 24 per cent of ladies can burn in hell, seriously. And the 70 per cent of guys can join them too. With their handbags. I mean, in this day and age, you have c*nts complaining about sexism and glass ceilings and all, and then you read about these c*nts who want their boyfriends to carry their bags for them. It’s like me saying sleeping around is morally wrong, but I wouldn’t mind jumping into bed with that sweet little thing I just picked up at Zouk. So, ladies, please, get a grip. You are neither Felicia nor Fiona, okay. Go to the gym or something, build up some muscles, carry that big-ass bag of yours.

Perhaps I can be more objective here. I know these type of surveys has the ‘interviewer effect’, so maybe the ladies just want to give the impression that they are not easily impressed (trust me, that’s a lie) and they have high expectations (another lie). And the guys maybe wants to give you the idea that they are the best boyfriends in the world (yeah, right, and they worship Edison Chen) and they will go all the way to win the girl’s heart (yeah, that is before he introduce his girlfriend to his latest Sony SLR digital camera). So I can just put it this way- Singaporean ladies have pretty low expectations and Singaporean men are not that great actually. And both species are liars. Really. I know.

It’s the weekend of many firsts. First, I spent a night at MM’s fish farm in JB. Alone. Just me and him. But contrary to popular beliefs, there weren’t no ‘Brokeback Mountain’ sh*t going on between us (sorry to disappoint you, you c*nts). I had my first taste of authentic Korean cuisine. Another first was I got my very first tuition assignment (while I was in JB). I mean, you all know I am no Michael Jackson, but somehow I always have trouble finding the kids I want (to teach). And lastly, I got a new MSN pal from China. Chongqing, to be more precise, and she’s a lovely lady. No, it’s not what you think. Please.

Let me elaborate. I don’t know how she come to know of my e-mail address (no, I have no other friends from China), but it’s most probably through my world-renown blog or something I guess. Anyway, she’s the same age as me and she’s studying cultural exchange at a local university in her province. Hey, you know what they say- you can never have too many friends, can you? Plus her English was pretty decent- we understood each other pretty well. I mean, if you tell me MSN only works in Chinese, I’ll uninstall it first thing. And no, I am not looking to ‘Edison’ her or anything- I am a nice little boy next door, okay.

Alright, next up, I saw the kid for the first time on Saturday afternoon. I dressed up all decent, gelled my hair, wore my thick-ass, black-rimmed spectacles, trying my best to look like an Asian version of Clark Kent. I also wore long pants to cover up my tattoo- I guess I have not much of a choice, do I? No disrespect to my fellow inked comrades out there, but just who the hell has a tuition teacher with a (visible) tattoo? Even if the parents don’t mind (that’s a pretty big if, by the way), it’s be kind of tough explaining it to the little boy. I reckon it’ll be like telling him that Edison’s a born photographer and Cecilia was just itchy down south for no apparent reason that fateful night. Anyway, the boy seems rather intimidated by me- ha, why am I not surprised? I know, I have the ‘don’t you dare f*ck with me’ face. But I was rather gentle with him (no, not in the Wacko Jacko manner) and slowly he took to me and we become cool. I taught him that alcohol helps him solve his algebra faster, and cigarettes give him inspiration to write better English compositions. No, I was kidding. REALLY kidding. He’s only Secondary One and his examinations are in two months- which means I have only two months left to teach him how to cheat so that he can do well enough and hence save my job. Anyway, I will be seeing him again on Wednesday evening. More updates after our second date then.

So, I met up with MM at City Square at midnight on Thursday. Thanks to the Malay fellow who totally out-shone Michael Scofield (and he didn’t even need a tattoo of the toilet’s layout), the Causeway turned into Asia’s biggest carpark. Sh*t you not, but my bus moved a total of three car’s length in fifteen minutes. So, I ended up walking to the Woodlands checkpoint, and I overtook approximately two thousand vehicles along the way. (Anyway, there’s a conspiracy theory going on that Mas Selamat bin Kastari actually died in the detention centre and all these false escape thing was only a cover up in order to prevent his fellow Jemaah Islamiah fruitcakes from taking revenge on the Republic. If you ask me, this sounds a lot more convincing than the horse sh*t speculations that has been doing the rounds in the local papers.) Anyway, MM has just built a basketball court on his farm, and I was thinking we could like drink beer and shoot hoops and talk sh*t late into the night. It turned out he had to wake up early tomorrow for work, so nothing much happened and we went to bed before two. Separate beds. Separate rooms. End of story.

The next morning I followed him around, taking stock and delivering fish and stuff. Seeing all those workers toiling under the hot sun for more than twelve hours daily on minimum wages seriously made me realise that I had it all good over here in rosy Singapore. I have everything I need (save for a Sony SLR digital camera and a couple of hot chicks), and I really should appreciate what I have. Life is simply a bed of roses for us all here, and we should never take anything for granted (am I starting to sound like our very own Minister Mentor or what?). So, you should stop wasting your life away in front of your laptop and move your fat ass from the chair and start doing something meaningful with your life. Like say, helping to improve the education of the less privileged. Like me. Teach tuition. The money’s easy and the money’s good.

Anyway, one of MM’s business partners treated us to this authentic Korean cuisine before I left for Singapore. How did I know it was authentic? Because I don’t know how the hell the fish/chicken/pork/vegetable I just put in my mouth taste so much like sh*t. That has got to mean it’s authentic, no? If I ate it and it taste like it’s something I ate before, it’s most probably some Korean-Singapore style hybrid food from the Kopitiam food court or something. Well, although the food was different, it was still edible (and bloody expensive). Plus I had some Korean rice wine- okay, the great has fallen, now, even Lindsey Lohan and her overworked liver can out drink me any time of the day. It could have helped made the food taste better than it actually was. It doesn’t really matter now- the food has already left my ass and should by now be in the sewers, and it will be treated and turned into NEWater which you and I will drinking in the not too distant future.

Yesterday was also the first time (in a bloody long time) that I had two great soccer games in a row (the first was from last week). Well, we absolutely played our opponents off the park with our quick passing and intelligent running. Pardon me for my nosebleed, but we had pace, we had flair, we had determination, we simply had it all. In fact, we were so good that our opponents actually applauded some of the goals we scored- trust me, we were THAT good. Any of you guys out there who want to have your ass kicked can always contact me. You know the number. Just bring it.

Okay, Jay just autographed and sent me a couple of his latest concert DVD ‘Jay 2007 The World Tours’. Unsurprisingly, his lack of memory space (he only has twenty Gigabytes, if I remember correctly) meant he mumbled (note: mumbled, not sang) half the lyrics to his songs wrongly. That’s his third concert and we should all be getting used to it. Well, now that my examinations are over, below is a list of movies I am going to watch online (I have done my research and all of them come highly recommended from the critics):

4 Months 3 Weeks 2 Days

American Gangster

3:10 to Yuma

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

Gone Baby Gone

We Own The Night

The Darjeeling Limited

No Country for Old Men

The Great Debaters

Persepolis

Charlie Wilson's War

Cassandra’s Dream

Vantage Point

The Other Boleyn Girl

Definitely, Maybe

So, this shall be the end of the weekend of many firsts. I will be back blogging about some emotional stuff shortly. Until then, take care.

So, the preliminary examinations are finally over and I can blog in earnest. These pass few nights have been pretty quiet- studying alone in my room till no later than midnight, with the “Muttons at Midnight” to accompany me, no laptop, no supper, no distractions. Waking up before nine and making my own breakfast, visited the gym a couple of times, well, I am beginning to enjoy keeping myself company with myself. You know what, I think God created prelims to strike fear into those lazy asses (like me) who think they are too smart to fail (read: “too good to go down” Newcastle United Football Club). Anyway, now that all my papers are over, well, this is when the fun begins. The next few days are going to be pretty busy for me, and I just hope I have enough time for all my friends (if the statistics on the number of people who read my blog are to be believed, then I have at least a few hundred friends).

Anyway, some updates on the current affairs of the world today. Hillary Clinton’s campaign to win the Democratic nomination is back on track after she won in Texas and Ohio on Tuesday over her rival Barack Obama. I am sure a lot of you read my blog more often than you read Reuters, so this must be some (boring) news for you. Anyway, John McCain has already won the vote to be the Republican nominee for the presidential election, and there is a high chance that the Democratic nominee race will stretch till August, so, now you know. It’s not like it will affect us (over here in tiny Singapore) in any way, but the fact that there could be a first black president or a first female president in the United States should be reason enough to make any one sit up and notice.

Now, for some movie reviews (all watched before my prelims started). I shall start with the one that’s released earliest, and that has to be ‘Enchanted’. I know it’s kind of late for a review, but it’s just in case any of you losers (like me) are thinking about watching it on DVD or web-stream. It’s not a bad movie, and the themes explored are pretty interesting too for a ‘cartoon’ type of movie. That said, it totally dispelled in me the notion of falling in love at first sight (that includes Miss Y, I suppose), and made me realise you got to fight for what you want in life, including love (then again, I once fought with Nicholas and Edison over Cecilia, look where that got me). Love conquers all, my ass.

Next up, ‘Kung Fu Dunk’. A cheesy show which will definitely appeal to the typical Singaporean girl with all the sweat and muscles going on in there. The type of film couples watch and then go make out in the park or something. Anyway for me, it’s watchable for one reason and one reason alone- my close pal Jay Chou is the leading actor. Opening the same week was ‘Jumper’. It has got to be one of the better films I have caught out of the lot, and it simply reignites the kid in me. Who doesn’t want to be a Jumper? I mean, life’s great and you get to hump girls from all over the world. It’s definitely made with a sequel in mind as none of the major characters is killed off. I cannot wait for the next instalment of Jumping with Hayden “take a deep breath” Christensen.

The next (and last three) movies opened two weeks ago, and let’s start with the best of the three. Number one has to be ‘There Will Be Blood’. A retro type of movie with a great plot and superb acting by Daniel “I drink your milkshake!” Day-Lewis. Highly recommended to all of you with some time to spare. Second on the list goes to the lame movie ‘Fool’s Gold’. Okay, so Kate Hudson looked great in a bikini, but she definitely struggled to keep my attention for the full two hours of the film. It’s a love comedy, and like all love comedies, it’s meant for couples, and hence, it’s not for me. Lastly, the worst movie (even worse than that Jay movie), ‘L: Change the World’. It’s a film for couples to practise their French-kissing skills in the cinemas, because the acting, plot, directing, every single element of it is sh*t. You and your other half can lock lips for a good half an hour and you would not have missed a single thing, I promise you. How do I know? Well, I speak from experience. And I was in the cinema with Ayu. Draw your own conclusions.

Anyway, I got to run- the ‘fun’ starts now for me. If everything goes to plan, I will be blogging about more emotional stuff tonight in another country. Catch me if you can!

* Me, top row, first from the right