THE3MINUTE BLUEPRINT

There is a thin line between love and hate. On a bare freezing winter’s night I found myself sleepless and tossing about. The cold air seeped through my duvets and after minimal fight, I got up and left. Seemingly careless, I packed my handbag and headed into the what seemed, an endless night. As I allow the winter’s arm grasp onto my waist, I hailed a cab to Tsim Sha Tsui to a place I would never be caught dead in; a bar on the thirteenth floor on Chatham Road.

Filled with intoxicated youth, the smell of cheap beer and cigarettes filled the room accompanied by this era’s overplayed pop songs in the background. The noise of darts echoed in the distance as I sat down and unscrewed a beer, regretting my decision to step so far away from my slumber.

It started as a war. A war between boredom and an activity I prefer not to divulge in. I felt my mind running on overdrive in amongst the four walls of my compound and felt my heart thump. The overthinking is was running a mile a second and I felt my conscious get left behind. Away from normality, away from regularity. This cannot possibly correct. This cannot possibly with happening.

R.I.P – Return if possible.

A preview into a project I have been working on with the influence of a wonderful friend of mine, Huw. The Legend of the Street Sirens. Enjoy.

*****************************************************

The winter breeze trickles against her bare skin as she places one crimson red stiletto ahead of the other. Briskly, she walks with her back straight and her shoulders broad. The smoke from her cigarette twirls white lace into the icy cold air whilst her leather gloved left hand holds a latte. As she consumes the warm liquid, she notices a homeless man busking in the street on her left hand side. Cocking her head, she purses her rouge coloured lips and butts her cigarette on the concrete floor. Lifting her left leg gracefully to stamp the light from it, she opens her handbag to retrieve some excess change. Placing a gold coin in the beggar’s hat, she keeps walking, never looking back and never noticing that with every step she places forward, she leaves a trail of bystanders staring at her. Men filled with grotesque thoughts and women flooded with envy, shoot her with obnoxious and indecent looks.

Her hair is coloured a beautiful shade of mahogany set in soft waves. Her scent is a signature citrus infused with musk. Her limbs are long and tapered and as she hails a cab, she pulls on her Burberry trench coat to tighten the belt and finally looks behind her. A trail of broken hearts, her imminent beauty cannot be denied as they continue spying on her every move. She smiles at them as if to tease and intimidate the crowd and gracefully slips in the taxi without a word.

The Legend of the Street Sirens; purses her rouge coloured lips…

‘Always blinded by the minuscule details and never noticing the major picture. Continuously searching for perfection that doesn’t really exist. Obligated to stand when one’s legs feel like buckling. Standard practice’. The alarm from my Blackberry finally wakes me up…

Chinese New Year celebrations flood the streets of Causeway Bay and as I play duck with a million strangers, my heart skips a beat. The temperature has sorely dropped to ten degrees leaving my fingers and the tips of toes numb and a horrific light shade of blue. The sun dips behind the mountainous terrain and I am left with nothing more than scurrying personalities stampeding on the pavement on this cold Winter’s afternoon. My head is pounding; I love this city so much but I just can’t breathe amongst these people. I clutch onto my groceries for dear life, as if my yoghurt is my only food for survival during this festive holiday and I walk at an extremely fast pace home. Hurdling over children and elderly alike, I finally reach my destination.

I seek refuge in my little cave and look out the window in awe. It’s beautiful here, a fresh winter draft comes in from the window and the smell of green tea infuses my four by four. Here, I can fling my arms about like a helicopter and no one will get in the way. Here, I can hear my conscious finally speak soft tender words which is rather ironic because I haven’t heard this voice in a while until last night.

As I lay lifeless looking at my ceiling at 5:08am in the morning, I cursed myself for having that delicious coffee in the afternoon. It was a stupid idea and not worth this pain. Another sleepless night ahead of me, I toss and turn, only to revisit the same position ten minutes earlier. It was as if that familiar insomniac’s lullaby suddenly decided to revisit my brain again, taunting and singing to me its subtle and intoxicating words. It’s nights like these that I am most fearful of. The repercussions of inadequate sleep mixed with boredom of the day is enough to slowly bring me to imminent death but as I crawled into a ball with my blankets, the day’s happenings started to unfold as if on cue.

A replay of Damien Hirst’s exhibition at the Gagosian Gallery on Pedder Street. The Complete Spot Paintings from 1986 to 2011 all came rushing back. Every spot, every colour, every canvas and it amused me in the sense that I cannot understand how any soul can produce such perfection on a white                canvas board. Regardless of the size or number of circles intended for that said picture, he produced such perfection with every stroke he placed on the canvas. Perfection that is not realistically possible when combined with absolute symmetry.

I envy his attention to detail and reflected on my shortcomings, why do I have the tendency to always find perfection in such an imperfect world? Can perfection be replicated once actually created? It all seemed too much, too overwhelming especially at such an ungodly hour of the night but my mind kept running around in circles until it finally stopped at a roadblock; perfection is in the eye of the beholder.

Damien Hirst; The Complete Spot Paintings 1986-2011

Damien Hirst; perfection on canvas

Damien Hirst; no two colours are ever identical

Damien Hirst; a million spots

I pray that you all have a good night’s rest.

Bless.

Nippy winter nights call for thick blankets and comfort food. The way one huddles under the blankets is a clear indication that winter has indeed replayed itself. For me, this means twice in a year. Throughout the three hundred and sixty five days that have passed, I have only endured fourteen days of summer. Lucky me.

I feel like I am back in high school again; curled up in bed with my laptop on my lap, listening to my favourite slow jams and looking out the window. Bitter sweet in the thought that after so many years, I still cross one leg on top of the other and  I still listen to same old love songs. Around and around they go; on repeat and regardless of how many times I listen to them, I can and never will get bored of them.

The mornings are beautiful here; streets empty and clean without any knowledge of last night’s traffic. The air is as crisp as Hong Kong air can possibly be and at times, I catch a glance at an old granny doing her daily grocery shopping. It’s somewhat picturesque and encompasses as much calm as any Asian metropolis can possibly get.

Come night, the roads are screaming and beeping. The traffic is a mess and seven million people suddenly awake to step out of their abodes to play. Desperate bodies avoiding collision and fast paced service entwined with the lack of empathy is common. The occurrence unfolds so often that it becomes second nature as if without, would diminish the definition of Hong Kong altogether.

Somewhere between the night and day, I find myself gently curling into the foetal position as I dig deeper within my dreams. My slumber flies beyond these four walls that surround and I find myself sitting on the beach at Brighton Le Sands, just watching the airport and listening to the waves crash as a million stars shine bright above me.

I open my eyes to sneak a peek at my surroundings and place two feet on the ground, one foot at a time. Shxt, I’m running late again but good morning Hong Kong!

Good morning Hong Kong; one foot at a time

Bless.

He once told me that I was nothing. He spat every syllable out with such venom that the toxicity could be felt before the words were even voiced out of his mouth. Standing in front of me, he would look at me through his squinted eyes as if my intentions were disgustingly impossible and that I lacked the decency, persistence and intelligence to carry them through.

Perhaps at that certain point, he was correct. He was a lanky boy with an addictive personality accompanied by a sweet smile but deep, down within his soul, lived a man that was extremely angry and violent. Often attacking others for his own sake, he would say many mean words to his close friends and family only to sheepishly pretend to have forgotten them the night after.

This was a common scene. I had endured this moment many times before, all played out by different people I had crossed paths with. Lovers, friends and family scolded my unwillingness to commit to normality but for some reason, this memory has never been forgotten. Every movement, every facial expression, the amount of light in the room, everything possible can be described as if I could rewind back time and relive that moment. Not saying I would want to.

That day, I glanced at him and foolishly looked down at my feet. Feeling hopeless and jaded, I peered out the window overlooking the water. The sunshine reflected the wharf and the surrounding whitewash. Beautiful sparkles appeared like fireflies in the day. I stared, trying to find the definitive line that would separate the water from the sky and as I finally found that sketched out line, I told myself I never want to be in this position ever again.

That was three years ago.

Today; I’ll be fine, I’ll be good.

Crush a bit, little bit, roll it up, take a hit
Feelin’ lit feelin’ light, 2 am summer night.
I don’t care, hand on the wheel, drivin drunk, I’m doin’ my thang
Rollin the Midwest side and out livin’ my life getting’ out dreams
People told me slow my roll I’m screaming out fuck that
Imma do just what I want lookin’ ahead no turnin’ back
If I fall if I die know I lived it till the fullest
If I fall if I die know I lived and missed some bullets

I’m on the pursuit of happiness and I know everything that shine ain’t always gonna be gold
I’ll be fine once I get it, I’ll be good.

Kid Cudi – Pursuit of Happiness

I have a love/hate relationship with Sundays. I often grimace at the fact that Sunday normally denotes that  the following day is a Monday which is a work day. It sounds rather bland but over the course of a couple of months, I have grown to slowly appreciate Sundays.

Sundays are normally my perfect days to lounge around by my windowsill, watching the sunlight slowly diminish into the darkness whilst I sip on my Agnes B hazelnut latte. Sundays have transformed me in the sense that I often catch up on my forsaken books and get lost in the characters and adventures within.

Ever since I was young, I had always had a fascination with physical paper books. How each word allows one’s self to alter into absolutely anything still never ceases to amaze me. There is a bitter sweet satisfaction as I turn each page; the texture of the paper between my fingertips and the smell of words entwined with off-white paper is soothing. Combined with the light intoxicating smell of caffeine and hazelnut liquor, I honestly do not believe there is a better way to spend Sunday.

In a city where the majority of its inhabitants only sleep five hours a night, I find myself listening to the gentle patter of the rain that falls gently on the surrounding roofs. The water hits against my window leaving a thin trail of liquid that slowly descends south until one’s human eye can no longer witness it. It’s feels serene, safe and secure. It seems as though every person in the city is running in the street, trying to avoid the sky’s tears yet I am somewhat protected by my humble abode as if I am an outsider, peering into a fishbowl.

Always on the outside, looking in and lost in the mysteries that only exist on paper. That seems about right.

This Sunday’s fix; One Day by David Nicholls & an Agnes B hazelnut latte

Bless.

If someone asked me how much fun my life is right now, I think I’d give a refined smile and say 85% right this moment. This goes to show the improvement one’s life can experience once you finally admit that you’re a tad insane and you just want to follow your heart regardless of the consequences.

It’s been almost three months now; ten weeks to be exact. I find it rather comforting that I can count up the amount of time I’ve been here and know that I made the right decision whereas in Sydney, I was always counting down until I left the city. I figured that’s the main difference between the glass being half empty or half full. I wish I could explain what has actually happened in the ten weeks I have been here. I really wish there was some way to draw this crazy journey on paper and pinpoint where things actually started looking up.

There has been numerous amount of times where I fret for the sake of actually fretting. Sitting and wondering how things could possibly be better because there was a deep desire for things to actually feel like my own. Regardless of day or night, this alluring sensation would tease my soul and rip my brain into threads because it seems like whatever I was physically doing which seemed ‘oh so right’ actually didn’t feel that way.

My beautiful girlfriend asked me a month ago this very strange question as we spoke words of frustration and optimism over the phone, she asked me if we, as people have grown up too quickly for our age. I was quick to reply that I don’t believe so but in fact we just know too much for our years however somewhere during the course of four weeks, I started to slowly agree with her. Perhaps it’s my over analytical personality but it suddenly dawned on me that there are many things that I can officially say, ‘been there, done that’. Not to say that I know everything, it would be a complete impossibility but I think over the years, my experience has created a wisdom that has infused me and tailored me to the self I am today.

Age only defines one’s living, it does not denote nor describe the events involved. At the very least, I can officially say I know what 85% of fun in life actually feels like. I’m just cruising, what are you doing?

85% means surrounding yourself with things you love and adore.

Bless.

This whole moving to Hong Kong adventure really takes its toll on you after a while. On a refreshing Sunday, I found myself sitting on my rooftop, filming a surprise birthday video to one of my besties in Sydney, only to realise that I have no idea what’s going on in this world. Ever since I made the grand move, I’ve gotten myself lost in this whirlwind and have literally stopped reading on the internet, namely the news and everyone else’s business. Shame on me!

I decided to dig deep into my forsaken past time whilst catching up on emails which stretch back as far as a week ago and came across an email from WordPress. In 2011, this blog was viewed 8500 times from people from all over the world spanning as far as the United States and South America. That is seriously some crazy movement right there for a personal blog! So I just wanted to say a big thank you to all my supporters and readers out there! I know I may not always be very consistent with my posts but I will definitely try harder this year and fill you in with my journey!

Bless!

Not the best photo; I live in Hong Kong bxtch!

A quick shout to James, The Hyperactive Gay Boy: after catching up on my reading on your blog, I still find you extremely humorous and witty! I just love it! Check it: http://jamesgannaban.blogspot.com/

The first post for twenty twelve; ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. That was how I let twenty twelve enter my heart.

Amongst a crowd of expats, standing on the thirty fourth floor of the Excelsior Hotel in Causeway Bay. As the fireworks erupted with cheers of everyone that surrounded me, I couldn’t help but notice a bright floating balloon floating in the sky. Within seconds, the sky wasn’t just filled with splashes of colours from the fireworks but in fact was shared with thirty or so beautiful helium balloons. As they floated freely above the city, it suddenly dawned on me that another year had just past. I laughed at myself and thought of the year that just closed its doors; the sadness, the tears, the lost friends, the gained friends, the courage, the opportunities and the laughters. It all became so blatantly clear at that moment.

Like with every year, I say my thanks to the lord above and whisper sweet words to those that have moved to the heavens above. I looked at my feet only to realise I am wearing the same shoes as last year but these Tony Bianco heels have taken me across many places, many kilometres and many adventures. The pain doesn’t phase me to buy a new pair of black high heels in fact I don’t think I can part with these shoes; not just yet, not now.

I find it ironic how many resolutions are often made on New Years Day. It is as if making a promise to one’s self on this particular day will actually validate that flimsy promise and perhaps it will come true. I’ve made many resolutions over the years but this year, I found myself wishing my loved ones well and praying that they can experience what I am experiencing now; living life to the fullest with an underlying truth. No longer am I searching, no longer am I wandering the streets naked, stressed and confused. When looking back on the three hundred and sixty five days that have just passed, I can’t recall anything before September and I think it may be because I have finally learnt the art of only remembering the best and happiest times on my life.

I spent the first six hours of twenty twelve reminiscing and hoping, revealing my many aspirations amongst well wishers and good friends. As the alcohol starting pouring and the bass thumping, I found a moment to stand still and linger on how sweet this life actually tastes. Although my circumstances are not the utmost best, there is a certain satisfaction and relief enveloped within this moment because for the first time, I’m actually actively participating in a world I created and I’m doing this for my own sake and no one else’s.

So to all my lovers, friends and family for twenty twelve, I wish you all the best in succeeding and finding what you’re looking for because once you do, it’s one of the most beautiful things on this Earth and that’s when you know your reality is better than your dreams.

Sometimes I wanna be your lover,
Sometimes I wanna be your friend,
Sometimes I wanna hug ya,
Hold hands, slow-dance while the record spins.

Usher, Lil Jon & Ludacris – Lovers & Friends

Magnum Club; me & Joey

Happy 2012; JC & me

Howdy from 2012; YK, Joey & JC

Bless.

I woke up with a heavy heart today. A day filled with spectacular sunlight peeped through my blinds and awoke me to today. Through all the many obstacles one had to endure over the past year, today sure felt like the right day to reflect and reminisce. Thinking about all the laughter, tears, happiness and sorrow this year has given me, I feel as though I endured a whole lot of growing up. The endless parties, the wonderful friends, the renewed and rekindled family relationships and the passion suddenly calling my name; it’s been a wonderful year.

Reading one of my best girlfriend’s words of wisdom, I contemplated on where this road is taking me and for a moment, my head and heart felt grey. As though a storm has suddenly settled between the peaks of the valleys, I felt stranded on an island I couldn’t depart. The search for perfection and self satisfaction never ends and one, on many occasions may find themselves caught up in a whirlwind. I figured the most important part is to know when to say enough is enough, pick yourself up and walk away. This doesn’t necessary mean you are admitting defeat but it means you have finally matured to a stage where some things are just better off not fixing because they are not or are no longer worth it.

I won’t cry in the car
I won’t cry in the bathroom stall
I won’t cry when I’m home alone
I won’t cry at all
I won’t cry cause them days are gone
Ohhh, child, oooo ooh baby don’t
But when them stars shine too beautiful at night
I shed two tears
And when the good word hits home I shed two more tears
Now that’s four tears
Got enough. No more tears
You’ve had enough
That’s four tears

Frank Ocean – 4 Tears

Return of the Nerd; sometimes it’s better to look at things through spectacles

Bless.