How Few Remain

Just got back from work. Thought of what had happened to this blog. Skimmed through list of followed blogs. Most are infested with..bots?, taken over, deleted, mutated, migrated or just plain gone. Only a tiny few remain. It saddens me. It has been a while after all.

Oh cicero, i hate it when you are right.

This blog has seen me through lawschool, singlehood, married-hood and now, abah-hood. Barring a worldwide catastrophe in which all electronics are rendered no better than bricks, or me having a quarter life crisis and decided to (foolishly) delete this blog, i hope blogger servers keep this one running and archived, hopefully..

Unless the machines rose first.

I Ate the Sun. Now shitting comets and other fiery celestial bodies/thing/stuff. (or maybe its the coffee talking)

Lets go back to the day when i met the Masters (circa few days ago). The De Jure Master asked about my 'other' calling. I told him. Got burned twice now. Then he told me this (more or less); as is law so is the other calling. Lose enough cases and you will inevitably win some (unless. unless, you are truly a moronic piece of turd to not have learned anything from the previous losses). Heard and/or read many variations of it before. But, this, coming from a highly respected individual to me gave that shot in the arm i need.

I lost count how many fleshing out of ideas, paragraphs and such that i lost with my old S3. Not that i lost the phone. It was the device itself, the memory card (which i suspect to be faulty) which sent me countless signals of its intention to retire from active service. Ideas, lost. Probably forever. Had it not been for the Missus, i probably would have curled up into fetal position and wept. 

I am a forgetful person. Back when i was still using a dumb phone, i used to walk around with a small notebook in my back pocket. I jot down almost everything but mostly ideas. Ideas which later in the late evening, whenever i am free (which was almost all the time), magic hour. Just me and the keyboard. The feat which i am keen to repeat now, albeit in a new different set of circumstances (wife, boy and business). God, i miss those days.   

Beans, dreams and stuff

I am having a bad case of the shits. Could be the enchilada, could be the beans or it could even be the donuts i downed on my way back from Kuantan. One heck of a way to celebrate.

Won my case in Kuantan, partially. Until final bills are paid all wins are incomplete. Got to think of a trophy wall of sorts.

I am attempting minimalistic writing. Discovered that time travel is possible just now when was drafting/compiling documents for cause paper for Industrial Court. Tired, like a worn out tire. Ready to be recycled into sandals. One scene came to mind, some years ago was asked during interview: dream job or work life balance? Answered work life balance. Didn't get the job. Boring desk job anyway. Probably wont give stuff to write about.

Got together with mentors from old pupillage firm. About four days ago. De Jure Master and De Facto included. Talked shop. Exchanged professional complaints. Asked for free legal advice. Kept talking in low voice and looking over to me when talking politics, as if i am of questonable loyalties. Told them am a card carrying member of PSM. Shut them up good. Let them make out the meaning of it if they will. Not sure if PSM has membership cards. Not going to join PSM. Not sure will join. Not until that Khalid guy leave for Iran or get himself shot in the balls.

Political affiliation difficult to explain. Wish could pull a one liner like H. Bogart in Casablanca. Nationality? I'm a drunkard. Not a drinker. But, something like that. Too ill disciplined to toe party lines. Too lazy to entertain neo feudal lords.

Got tons to do tomorrow but still not sleeping. Too stressed to sleep. Probably need sleeping pills, or something. Hope wont spawn a Tyler in my head. Life is weird as it is. Already planning to blow up banks and corporation (metaphorically).

Probably should sleep now. Correction. Must sleep now. Hell can come collect tomorrow morning. If boy didnt wake me up first.

Danegeld

Sorry Chong Wei. We all are. No gold for you. No gold for us. Your honourary Bumiputra status is now revoked. We can all go back to calling each other cina babi, melayu bangsat and keling mabuk.

Better luck next time Malaysia.

China Babi!

Do you carry the fire?

Thought shot faster than my fingers are able to type them. Thoughts, multiple strands of them, often unrelated to one another found themselves intertwined with one another and again faster than my poor fingers can ever keep up with. The price to pay for living in this day and age. I wonder how it will be for the Son later on. Micro milli parsecs, faster than thought flight. Will our physiology be able to keep up? Will our muscles, our limbs then athrophy for want of use? Might we be then just mere head in a jar with shriveled body? Homo Craniumus? My God, the possibilities are never ending. Then there are also the possibility of a planet-wide catastrophy, global pandemic, nuclear holocaust, accidental black hole at CERN, or whatever. Mankind have excellent record of shooting itself in the foot.

Forgive me. Forgive me.

The arrival of the Son some two months ago amped up the paranoia in me. The slightest negative progression of events be it local or world in scope warrants a nervous reaction in me. Brexit, Daesh, Donald fuckin Trump or whatever. All i see the need to be prepared for the worse. The primeval instinct in me now switched on and it said this: Protect the tribe. The female and the offspring must survive. I now truly know the meaning of the heart skipping a beat. I worry. I worry far too much. Over too many things.

Happy, of course i am happy. God willing i have a boy who i hope will grow up to be a better person than in i am now or ever will be. Someone to carry on the blood and legacy of my ancestors and someone i pray, to be the one who would keep my grave perpetually lit when all else is dark.

God knows the things i want to teach him, all that i know, to show, to discover together. All the hopes of the world, all the optimism and all that is good and well in the world lies inside a farting/perpetually pooping little guy. There was this scene that Cormac Mccarthy wrote in The Road. When the Man had died on the beach and the Son asked the man who had been following them, do you carry the fire? I wish that for the Son, for my son. To carry the fire, to be the light in an increasingly dark world, to know compassion when none are shown, to know the meaning of honour and to strive to live with it always.

Carry the fire my son.

So much hope in so small a package. May you be a better Man than i am or ever will be.

Sleep now my son. Tomorrow is another day, another nappy change, another bath, another feeding, another bout of hiccups. Loads and loads of things for you, and me to learn fromand adventures to be had.

Sleep well, my son.