Caught between transition

I listen to the music with no fear,
You can hear it too if you are sincere.
Coz I'm a punk rocker, yes I am.
Well I'm a punk rocker, yes I am.
- Teddybears feat. Iggy Pop, Punk Rocker

I'm moving, I don't have a permanent address now in New York. For the next month or so, I'll be in transition, living off my friends, and being homeless in a sad way. Yes, there are worse things in life, but none as bad as not knowing where you're headed. Try being lost at sea without a compass or directions.

That's my life right now. I'm too tired to share, talk to me for details. You know who you are.

Random Thoughts

She prattled on: Jason, let me tell you a secret about girls. Girls don't like guys who are drunk or loud or popular. They like guys who are genuine. Guys who don't hide stuff and open about what they think and feel. Unless of course, if you're creepy. Then if you're creepy, there's just no hope for you, so you might as well be single for the rest of your life.

Me: Yeah, did I mention that I'm going to a party for the final Harry Potter Book?

She said: You're creepy.

Okay, that's not exactly how the conversation happened, but the first part was true. She didn't call me creepy, but c'mon, think about a guy who wants to go to the party for the final Harry Potter book: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

I am just a forum for ideas, none of which are mine, just inputs from a million minds.

Another conversation, involved the odds of finding the girl. I recall a long time ago, when bidding a friend farewell to the United States, we sat down and calculated the odds of him finding a girlfriend in America. The numbers were pretty bleak, and I guess that's besides what I'm trying to say.

I guess I've sort of found my role in life. I'm not destined to lead great revolutions or command massive armies, though I do not doubt my ability to. I am simply put on this planet to observe, and I guess I am to observe the human condition and its relationships.

I'm sorry, all of you who know me. If you haven't figured out by now, I'm living my life precariously through yours.

You know how in surveys you're asked, are you Single, Dating, Married, Divorce or Widowed? I sort of discovered a new state of relationship while discussing relationships with said person. She told me she was "single and confused". I think this is an interesting classification. I mean, all those states above are sort of determined, and fixed, in mutual accord. You're either married or not, dating or not, divorce or not and widowed or not. Otherwise put single. However what if you think you're single, but this person you're interested in thinks that this person is dating you? Or vice versa that you think you're dating this person, but this person is too casual and nonchalant about it? Hence, there's a new state of relationships, which is Confused.

But today, I was sort of questioned about my stance on traditional relationships. Is it okay for a girl to ask a guy out for a first date? I'm a sucker for traditional courtship, but a wise man once said to me, "You don't go to war with the army you want, but the army you have." So you play the hand you're dealt with, and there doesn't seem to be a good reason to turn down a strong girl. Why shouldn't a girl ask a guy out? It says some things about her, being able to make decisions, being forceful, being decisive. And I kinda like that in a girl, a sense of independence and direction. And it'll definitely be way better than having to play the dating game where you guess each others intentions.

But I digress. Sometimes I ramble. There's a pressing question weighing on my mind. What the hell is a financial services representative? Is it a fancy name for a salesperson? And why do I get two interviews for the position? Am I so retarded as that I have to make calls offering products to clients and sell things like a lowly agent? Look any moron can do that, and despite what I understand about financial instruments and debt instruments, I don't really feel comfortable in a sales position. It feels... that I could always do more. With unemployment at an all time low, the fact that I'm unemployed means something, doesn't it?

So many things happening, and I've been accused of losing it. And sometimes I think I've lost it. Cartharsis. Purge. Purge. Purge. Cartharsis. Focus, there is only the rational part and I find myself sometimes devoid of all feeling.

Today I had an excellent meal of Thai black rice and chicken curry. I thoroughly enjoyed the special grain, never have I tasted something that nice. It had a little bite to it, I could feel the thick grain which wasn't soft or mushy, then there's a good, husky taste and scent that reminds me of highland rice back home, and it looks awesomely black.

There's something wrong with me. There has to be. I write and write, but nothing comes out. I scream and scream, but no one hears me. I grasp for help and I gasp for air, I feel myself overwhelmed and drowning. I feel whatever I let myself feel, and it is best for now, I am devoid of feeling.

I wish I could make more out of myself right now. Erratic behavior. Plus, maybe I've been hypnotized. I've told people my mind's extremely fragile right now, and I guess they never knew what I meant. It just means I'm vulnerable to suggestions right now. Very vulnerable. Offer me the right words and motivation and watch me do stuff I would never do.

So Sam bought a new DSLR camera today, a Nikon D40X. It was a sweet thing, it brings a new appreciation to your eyes, because I've been disappointed with my inability to capture the night Manhattan skyline with the camera. I just can't do it. The technology won't let me capture with clarity or detail, and I feel a new appreciation for my eyes as my eyesight seems to be getting worse. I don't know what it means, I've been suffering from blurry, double vision when I stare at close objects. The words on the monitor jump around. I try to reassure myself it's a tumor pressing on my optic nerve, and slowly claiming my sight and life. But I know it's just sheer exhaustion that I don't even feel. I don't even allow myself to feel exhaustion. Hence, this is how much I appreciate my eyesight now, knowing that we are still far from replicating said technology.

There are no mistakes, no randomness, and everything is said with a meaning. I always wondered why I could understand people more through emails or IMs. It feels that with so little information from generic words, I can see understand people through their choice of words. Say you're sad, means you want comfort. Say you're depressed, means you want attention. Say you're lonely, means you want a hug. Say you're fine, means you don't want to talk about it. Say you're okay, means you're not okay.

I'm okay.

Sometimes mere words convey a lot more of information than the whole human body language and subtle intonations. Maybe it's information overload, from me having to process this huge amount of information of trying to study a person visually, aurally and linguistically. Try it, it drives me insane, trying to watch for body language, hear the subtle changes in the tone and pronunciation of words used, and finally the choice of words. Choice of words is most important. We never just use the words we use, we choose and become the words we use. And perhaps that's why I can never bring myself to look anyone in the eye when they talk to me. Information overload.

I guess that's why I operate best behind a computer, where I can slowly take my time to process said information and adjust for best response.

Today, I had a cab driver who was from Guinea. If anyone has every contributed to some poverty fund for Africa, I guess this is the cue for you to feel like a sucker. Shantytowns built around mansions guarded by personal militia. Millions of dollars of investment going in to develop oil fields, yet high school graduates have to peddle cigarettes by the roadside. Even nice people are corrupt, because if you don't take the money given to you, someone else would take it. There is no law there, only corrupt governments supported by Western countries in the loose guise of economic interest. I got out of the cab feeling a bit more hopeless than I've ever been. I tipped him a dollar more.

You told me that people should be treated differently. Treat different people differently. Wow, it just crossed my mind that this is a form of discrimination. You kiss the ass of people in power, you scorn those below you and you treat your equals like sh*t. There are big fish and small fish, and not everyone knows what you know. I heard that there are big fish in the company that do not understand the fundamentals of running an investment bank and it is your job to convey these fundamentals to them. How did these people become big fish in the first place to not understand the difference between EAR (Effective Annual Rate) and APR (Annual Percentage Rate)? Simple and compounding. I guess the only basic of investment anyone needs to learn is that money naturally grows, and everything else is just fertilizer. Treat people differently, because not everyone is the same. No such thing as equality. I must be naive.

I want a motorbike. Not because of the wind running her fingers through my hair, or the roar of the beast beneath me as it leaps forward. I want it because it's dangerous. I want it because all I have to do is twist my wrist and jerk my hand and I go flying, forty feet, into hard asphalt. You ask why have such suicidal thoughts. It's not suicide, it's not about ending life, it's not about being depressed. It's about having control over my life, knowing very well, then and there, I could just end it all, in that one split second, and I would finally spread my wings and fly.

I am Jason's Left Hand

Tyler Durden: Self improvement is masturbation. Now self destruction.

Pain is a sign of being alive. We had this conversation before. And we were looking for the meaning of life. Death is what gives life meaning, so said the Endless. Things only matter to us because we die.



I don't know why I gave myself a second-degree burn. It still hurts, but the pain's numbing. I poke it every now and then to remind myself that is real. That sometimes, even a horrible abomination of a blister, is a part of me. It looks vaguely familiar, it reminds me of Fight Club, when Tyler Durden gave the narrator a scar on his left hand, burnt by lye. And I look at the ugly blister on my hand, and I think, "This is a sign, that I'm alive." And I proceeded to mutilate my left hand.

Reaching for the stars

I wonder what sort of education I am receiving when I look at my school's career listings, and I find this position for a Suite Attendant. I see that after spending 40k a year for 4 years at a prestigious university situated right in New York City, that my fellow peers who have graduated are qualified to be a Suite Attendant at Hyatt.

Here's the posting:

Title: Suite Attendant - Hyatt - Full Time

Description: The Suite Attendant is responsible for maintaining the cleanliness of the guest rooms assigned.

Position Type: Full-Time
Desired State Date: August 11, 2007
Number of Openings: 1

Qualifications: This person must have the ability to lift, pull and push a moderate weight. This is a fast paced position. Previous cleaning experience as well as the ability to communicate to guests preferred.

Qualifications? Ability to lift, pull and push a moderate weight? C'mon, I see how my education has greatly contributed to that position and I feel all the more satisfied with my degree that as least I can be a hotel cleaner.

Choked full of good ol' cholestrol

The discovery of a new dish does more for human happiness than the discovery of a new star.

- Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (1755 - 1826), Physiologie du Gout, 1825

As some of the people who judge me based on my appearance can attest, I love food. I mean, ask not what your country can do for you, ask what's for lunch.

And so I think this week has been exceptionally rewarding on my stomach. Previously I've written about paying a visit to Daniel Boulud's restaurant, and well, on Wednesday, 4th of July, I decided to celebrate it by eating perhaps the most American thing one could eat. I went to Peter Luger's Steakhouse.

Peter Luger's is one of those places where New Yorkers instinctively know to go for a good steak. And bad service. And strangely enough, people go there for both. It's a haut couture thing, but me being just me, I went there, blissfully ignorant of the service, and intent on sinking my teeth into a good-sized lamb chop. Yes, I don't eat beef.

And so there I was, sitting down there, browsing the menu. The prices were exorbitant, which was to be expected, $40 bucks for a piece of steak? It was expected because we decided to call in first for reservations on the grandest of all American holidays, the 4th of July and true enough, we were told they were fully booked. However, we had thought about that earlier, and instead decided to have breakfast, lunch and dinner altogether at 3:45pm and thus they managed to squeeze us into their busy schedule.

Now, back to prices, $40 bucks for a steak seems whacked, and so is $3.00 for a bottle of coke. Somehow, at Peter Luger's they had miniaturized Coke bottles. Remember those good ol' days when Coke bottles were made out of glass? It seems like Peter Luger's went back in time, got those bottles in bulk, then went to the future, and miniaturized those bottles and now serving it expensively to clueless New Yorkers who could easily get a liter of coke for half that price easily. Here, I have a picture of the Coke bottle with my cellphone next to it for comparison.

But I digress from the main reason I went to Peter Luger's. While sitting around waiting for our glorious food to be served, I stared around the decor, and it was done in an old fashion way, kinda like how when houses were all made completely out of wood, and the tables were reminiscent of an age gone by. And suddenly the waiter walked by carrying something that caught my eye. He was holding the largest, most ridiculous steak ever. Imagine a plate 14" in diameter. Now imagine a piece of steak 1" thick, and larger than that plate. And the waiter set it down in front of this elderly woman who instantly gasped in shock (she's a tourist of course) and exclaimed, "I can't eat all of that!"

And that, my friends, is a steak for one. I was left wondering how much meat would be served on my plate. We were not to be kept waiting for much longer, when our food finally came. Okay, granted, this is a picture of a "small" steak, and this picture doesn't really do it justice, but something to note was that it was really well prepared, and the steak was juicy and red in the center. And we smacked our chops (pun intended) and got down to stuffing our arteries with fat and cholesterol. It was one of the best lamb chops I've ever had, and to everyone who has ever ordered your steaks or red meats well-done, I pity the fool. Seriously, all meat was meant to be done like this, seared quickly on both sides, with all the juicy tenderness trapped inside, and then you actually taste cow, or lamb in my case. No one ever wants to eat a stinking burnt piece of meat, so from today onwards, if there's no red in my red meat, it's overcooked.

Well, overall the experience was 3.5 stars out of 5. It was honestly kinda pricey, and I don't see the point of having that much steak that a normal person could finish. Of course if you're an abnormal person, then by all means, this could be meat heaven for you. Although I think I did swear off meat for the entire week. Food is excellent, atmosphere is only a little honest, as I feel that every restaurant that is famous in New York City, has an aura of pretentiousness around it. Their onion rings definitely could have done some homework, but hey, you're only there for the meat.

And while I thought I would swear of all unhealthy food for the rest of the month, my friend and partner-in-gourmet-crime brought up this restaurant called the Chip Shop. Sounds unflattering and unpretentious, it is like a little piece of England tucked away in downtown Brooklyn among the pizzerias and fast food eateries. Any moron could have guessed that this is a fish and chips eatery, and yes, to Americans it's called fries. So we journeyed down to downtown Brooklyn, via a couple of bus stops and the place seems a little out of the way from any subways and kinda makes me wonder whether this was worth the trouble.

The shop has a nice quaint atmosphere, and it has Beatles on the wall, which I give complete props to and I salute the decor. Of course there was your regular British flags hanging around and pictures of Queen Elizabeth, but nothing says British as much as the Beatles, or until I turned my head to see a poster of Ian Flemming's James Bond, 007 in "In Service of Her Majesty". Okay, maybe this is taking it over the top with the British decor, I sort of got the hint already from the shop name. Now, why did I venture out this far for just fish and chips? I mean, is excellent fish and chips enough to make me go that far? Apparently, this place is known for deep-frying everything.

A brief glance at the menu showed stuff from deep-fried pizza to deep-fried ice-cream to deep-fried macaroni and cheese, to deep-fried deep-fried fries. Okay, the last one I made up, but you get the picture. So we sat down and basically had a sampler of everything we thought was interesting. You know how Americans only know about fish, chicken and beef? I was happily surprised to see that I got a choice of deep-fried cod, deep-fried haddock and deep-fried plaise. Wow. Real fish! And so we settled for the haddock, and now it was time to peruse the bizzare menu. We decided on deep-fried macaroni and cheese, deep-fried pizza and something that just caught my eye, deep-fried Reese's. Now, seeing as there were so many deep-fried stuff already, I ordered coleslaw, but not before making sure that it wasn't also deep-fried.

Now, let me explain to you the magic of Reese's. Imagine all the goodness of chocolate and all the goodness of peanut butter, and all the goodness of all that is chocolatey, sweet and peanut-buttery, all wrapped in a single package of lovable happiness in a bright orange bag. And that is what Reese's is. At this point, in my life, just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Chip Shop did one thing no one would ever do; they deep-fried it.

What does deep-fried Reese's look like? It looks like this. However, as unappealing as it looks, remember, if you ever go to the Chip Shop, start with the desserts. You want to start with the desserts because it is worth starting with the desserts, otherwise, you'd be too stuffed to actually enjoy them. Deep-fried Reese's adds the nice crunchy texture to an already excellent tasting candy, and it cannot be any more perfect than it already is right now. I may be over-hyping it, but that was a piece of heaven I just put in my mouth and felt it go straight to my tummy, and as fat as I felt, I felt even happier and any food that brings a smile to my face, is worth eating. Within seconds the Reese's was gone, and the smile still on my face as I gorged myself on all that deep-fried food.

The fish was excellent and fresh, though I found the mac-and-cheese lacking in cheese. And the coleslaw was good for getting rid of that fatty taste in my mouth, though the English lemonade in a can helped a lot too. I believe though, they should serve freshly made lemonade, though, this place could try to be a little healthier. The deep-fried pizza was excellent, and at the end of it all, I was feeling really stuffed. That's a lot of batter. I think I give this place props solely for the deep-fried Reese's and the excellent fish, the shepherd's pie looks tempting but I've already eaten my fill here. Awesome, just when you think something can't get any better, they come out with deep-fried Reese's... what will people think of next?

Yeah, now after all that unhealthy food, I would hit the gym if I had a gym membership, but instead I think I shall just not eat for a couple of months to purge all that oil and fat from my body.

7 days to go

Someone asked me why do I want to stay in America. And he mentioned, "Don't say freedom."

Maybe it isn't America that I like, but rather New York. It's the sort of city that isn't stifling, that people don't really care who you are, and it's the sort of city that's old and fresh at the same time. Till today, I'm still discovering sights and tastes in New York City. Just now, I walked by a place called "One If By Land Two If By Sea". It's a seafood restaurant tucked somewhere in the niche of West Village and I think that's the sort of appeal.

New York City always has something to offer, it ranges from the exorbitantly expensive to the downright dirt-cheap. There's classy restaurants that'll kill your wallet for $500 a meal, and it's always an experience to be in one. Just the other day, my friends and I went out for dinner at Daniel, which is a great French restaurant, all-authentic-none-of-the-pretentiousness, until the main course was served. The food's good, without a doubt, fresh fish, soft succulent meat and the quail foie gras was excellent. And it was really an experience, which would have been better, if we weren't in a rush. But yeah, it was a great place. The drinks were good too and I guess the best part was dessert, where we got a couple of complimentary dishes from the chef. Now, it was interesting that we actually got to meet the owner himself, Daniel Boulud. He just came out, spent a little time talking with us and got to know us a little better. And when he found out I was leaving the country soon, he sent out a nice little extra for me, passion fruit sorbet and mango, with the words "Bon Voyage" written in excellent chocolate calligraphy.

After that experience, we went to a cigar lounge, and each of us had a cigar. It was one of the three or four cigar lounges left in the city, due to some mandated law about no more smoking in public places. In a way, it's about protecting the health of people, but then again, there's something about a bunch of guys dressed in suits sitting around a table on couches and sipping on cognac and smoking a cigar. Yeah, it's one of those experience things.

I suppose these are the sorts of things that I would miss. There are so many things to do at every hour of the day, and I enjoy wading through the crowds on days when there are flea markets as well as walking into a high-class establishment which only sells a small selection of trinkets that pays for the entire 4000-sq ft floorspace. It's as far as you want to go, as impossible as you want to be. Take for example the humble burger. Slap a patty of beef in between two slices of bread and you got a burger. And burgers in NYC go from anywhere between $3.95 to $41 at Old Homestead. You have to ask what makes a burger worth $41. Apparently, it's made of Kobe beef, and it's a couple of pounds of meat packed in between two buns. And from the looks of things, people who eat it, will go vegan for the rest of their lives. But that's the sort of decadence that comes with living in New York City. There's always something to try, and there's just always something. While I personally don't eat beef, it's the sort of thing that one can expect. Routine isn't routine here in New York City, and it's the sort of adventurous city that only those who dare to try (or rich enough to try) would really appreciate.

I guess I'm leaving pretty soon, well, I think I'm pretty much kicked out or evicted. Not wanted. Denied. Rejected. Look, it hurts a little to not be wanted, it denounces your self-worth. It also means I'm not good enough, and truth be told, now that I look at myself, my own resume, I don't think it's that hard to say that I'm not good enough. Since I failed to impress even myself, I don't think I can impress any one else. I wonder what marketable skills I need to pick up right now, apparently, nothing I do is good enough. Sure I can study, sit down, and ace an exam, but that isn't even good enough. So what is?

I have to go soon.

I don't know what I want to do with my life now. Seriously, I want to work, I want to be employed even if the pay is crap. For those who've never been unemployed, it's this lack of self-worth and not contributing to the society that's getting to me. I feel undervalued and unappreciated, and that's why I really want to work. I really want to be doing something with my time and I don't think I should be judged solely on the basis of my visa.

But that's over now, and I'm about to go, not kicking and screaming, dragged off into the night, but my head hanging in shame, and probably from a sudden drop and a short stop.