[...and yesterday's post is continued]

[The Serial Loser]
by YBLalat

Now then, what does all this come down to? What does a government shutdown has to do with this foreign student who whines incessantly on being jobless and broke? Well, it is not much. (Or is it?) Let me put my logic noodles to labor here for a moment. If the state government undergo an actual shutdown, then all which are state-funded are going to be flushed down the drain. Okay, the list would include every public services and buildings. The libraries, the University and the state parks are to name a few. Wait a minute there. Hold that thought. Hey, I don’t give a damn about the state parks. If the U is closed, then what will happen to this crappy writing course I am taking right now? Down the drain too? All of my effort, toiling under the heat of a summer, writing a lavishly contrived essay on a topic so dear to me, all down the drain also? No! No! Ventura, you son of a bitch!

Forgive me for the sudden outburst of emotion there and forgive me again for talking about such a matter, which do not concern the slightest of the majority of you, my dear readers. I just have to share with you what I think on issues that bug me at night and during my mealtime. I am unfortunate for not having a loyal member of the opposite sex to pretend to listen to my ramblings about issues other than that which praises her beauty or new clothes. I couldn’t be burdened to discuss such matters with my roommates or my fellow countrymen here at Minnesota because it seems to me that they are more interested in going to fruit orchards to pick apples and oranges. To them, the world of politics is a place for bored senior citizens and dying old men. News of any degree of importance or relevance is not worthy of taking notice. Life is to be exhausted at roller-blading late at night and breaking your arm while having the fun of your life. Youth is to be consumed by the lust for travelling to faraway places in sardine-packed rented car with friends of both sexes. There is no sound reason for a young person to watch informative documentaries or follow the world news. Those who do are weirdoes and nerds and freaks and need to be shunned from their cool existence and hip lives. There is no place for serious faces in our environment, just happy and drunken faces. That is the reality of the majority.

Have I stabbed you with sarcasm far enough? Can I twist the knife a little? Do I need to end today’s post with a humorous and self-loathing joke to send you packing back home with a grin on your face? You don’t look like you need a joke to cheer you up. Maybe cursing me in my guest book would be best for you. Maybe you got issues to settle with or a grudge to smear on my face? Please, help yourself.

Leaving so soon? Be careful now. Don’t let the door slams you in the ass. Haha.

[The author reclines back into his chair and read the above paragraph with an evil smile across his face. He rubs his wrist and laughs at the last few words that he wrote. "I feel like that white rapper dude, Eminem, who jeers at his loyal fans", he uttered under his weak breath. "He is so cool like that. Now I know why he does that shit. I feel the same surging coolness too", he continued again. He flaps his arms like a wild bird of Africa, to ease up the accumulating warmth under his armpits, before reaching down on his corduroy pants to scratch and tickle and caress his shins (Ha, got you there, you perverts!) He twisted his neck in the hopes of receiving an inspiration from the Heavens on what else to say on his post for today. Nothing was received. He cursed the lab attendant’s mom silently and went on with the show.]

On a perfectly different note, I wish to tell you another story (Oh, come on now. Stay for a while longer. It’s just a short one. I promise, okay?) Talking about moving to a new home, this is my true story of the same thing. When I was ten and a half years old, my family and I moved to a place that was very near to Desaru. Have you heard of such place? No? At first, all of us thought that we were going to move to that place with the exotic name but then, we were actually slightly misinformed. Just as we were ignorant about its people, the southern state of Johore was a truly alien state. The truth is my dad was transferred to a place near Desaru; a place called Pengerang. (Yes, the spelling is correct.) This place was at the tip of the country. The whole land road network in Malaysia actually ends to a dead stop half a kilometer from the gate of my new home. My dad once worked as the head commandant on drug rehab facilities (part prison, part hospital) in several states and now he takes care of abandoned orphans and flood victims until he reaches his optional retirement age ("Unfortunate people are so whiny; I can’t stand it anymore, honey!").

So close was that place to the end of land of the nation that every morning I woke up to the sight of one of Singapore’s busiest city, Changi. The commandant’s official residence was located on the shoulder of a small hill by the sea, overlooking the drug rehab compound to the east and the Selat Tebrau to the west. From my bedroom window, I could see the New Year’s fireworks in the city-state nation. Taking an evening walk along the beach in front of my home, I could always find some unfamiliar merchandise on shore because the tides would bring in floating garbage and dead animals from Singapore. Nevertheless I still had the appetite to bathe in the seawater. A child’s brain is so not appropriate at making decision.

I had a lot of fond memories while living there for five years. I had my bloody circumcision and my glorious UPSR and my first bike and my first bike accident. My two youngest brothers were the several products that my parents managed to pull out of that dreaded nowhere-land. My dad got his AMN and PJK titles when he was serving there because he endured wasting his precious life curing drug addicts (instead of butchering them). My mom bought her own car for the first time over there because the high school that the Education Department wanted her to teach in was 30 kilometers away from my dad’s office. I had a lot of good friends (weird, right?) and almost all of them had a fisherman for a father. I even joined the boy scouts club at school and became the head scout the next month after joining. Leading 20 plus boy scouts on bicycles, we ventured into the depth of the rubber estates in that area searching for wood supply so that we could host a local jamboree with other neighboring schools. At the age of eleven, I was elected the head student and the head librarian and the head prefect and the contingent leader. Why? Beats me. I guess they had this odd fascination with city folks who talk perfect Malay. They were all of Bugis and Banjar descendents.

The gist of this experience while at this wretched place is my first kiss with a girl. I did not know the concept of sin then; so, I might as well as tell you the whole ordeal. You know I would come to this point from the beginning, right? Being the small kid that I was, trying to understand the way the world works and why girls have boobs and all that. Hey, I see that you are excited to read more on this. Too bad I am not telling you the gossip-worthy story today. Come back tomorrow. I am out of space already. Have a pleasent government shutdown everybody!