The Sky's the Limit...

Had a most interesting talk with Berd da Anaconda this evening.
The verdict was brutal. But honest.
My weaknesses, my flaws.
Exposed. Laid bare. Straight up.
This time, I had to plead guilty for all charges.

The questions flooded the emptiness in my car on the way back.
"Am I that lousy a player?"
"Do the rest of them expect a lower standard from me?"
"I'm in the team because I'm committed to come down for the matches, not because I can do something for the team?"
"Do I have any more room for improvements?"

I find myself unable to answer myself.
I thought that passion was enough.
I thought that hunger was enough.
I thought that effort was enough.
I thought that this pass was enough, that tackle was enough, the clearance, though fall short of the target, was enough.
I thought....

You think I thought who confirm?

"I'll learn."
I told Berd.
But I'll go one up.
Like I told you, I won't take this lying down.
I promise.
Not to anyone else but myself.
I will become a better player.

Like what the lot stated, if I want to do it, the Sky's the Limit.

Let's do it.

PS: Thanks Berd, for being so brutally honest. I did think alot about what you said on the way back...

The Fantastic 4...

Dinner tonight was something in the making.
Reasons being:

1. I missed home-cooked BLACK PEPPER CRABS by my mummy to see these guys.
2. We've been planning to meet for the longest time but just can't seem to find an auspicious date to accomodate all of us.
3. It's the first time all of us are meeting after we started working.

Without further ado, let me present to you.... the FANTASTIC 4!

From left:
Timmy aka Human Torch: He's always burning up ciggys. Nuff' said.
Hongyi aka The Thing: He's not orangey nor covered in stone skin but he does possess a natural resistance to technology. (not anymore though...)
Jem aka Mr Fantastic: Being a lawyer by occupation, he has the inherent ability to stretch loopholes in contracts/arguments/what-nots into unbelievable proportions.
Yz aka Mr Invisible: Disappears during class outings but turn up for dinner/kopi sessions when you least expect him to.

We had dinner at some quaint dim sum place in Chinatown, upon Wong's recommendation.
And here's some pictures I took while waiting for Jem...

Yz with his "I-think-the-guy-is-trying-to-lao-gan-me" look.

Wong with a "my-last-picture-wasn't-a-good-picture-so-I'll-pose-for-this-picture" look.

Did I mention that we started eating while 'waiting' for Jem?
(To be fair, he did call and tell us to go ahead. Plus we were all hungry.)

Here comes the man.
Who wasted no time in devouring what's available. In this case, I would venture a guess that it was fried carrot cake.
At this point of time, I would like to point out that I have absolutely no idea what the heck Yz was looking at.
The last piece of har gao perhaps?

f the night.
Was supposed to be more, but the hardworking waiter cleared the first round.
Plus we had no more space. (Dammit yz, you were right. We should've taken the LARGE table...)

It's good to finally meet up again, after such a long long time.
But it's funny ain't it?
The last time we 4 met up(if my memory serves me right), it was at the Starbucks, in Holland V.
Us in shorts, tshirts, some in jeans.
Fast forward. Stop. To now.
Shirt, pants, shoes.
The typical working attire.
We were young once(not to say we're terribly old now...), and we were carefree.
Work, more work, salary, bonus(or the lack of it), prospects, route of advancement, aims, goals, decisions to stay or to go.
We don't just gossip anymore, about the whowhatwhenwherehow.

Tick tick boom.
Time's up.
We Cinderellas have to make a move, the (self-imposed) curfew becokons, quick, we must go. Now!
Such is the harsh realities of the working life.

I wish I could ramble on.
But the hands of time have moved on, past the singular vertical line denoting 0030.

Bed-time.
Goodnight world. And till the 4 of us meet again...

Missing Muse...

The man picks up his pen,
and put it down again.
The man powers up his laptop,
but stares at the screen.

The man is me.
And I seem to have lost my muse.
I.
Just.
Cannot.
Think of how to write anymore.

Strangely enough, it was ever since that day.
That day when that happened.
I want to speak but I can't find the words.
Things pressing on my mind but the only escape is the alcohol and the smoke and the games and the books and the movies and the everything.
Everything except the solution to the problem.

And I have a feeling it might be: you.