When Immortals Die

What scares the shit out of me these days, is the lack of me sketching. I used to sketch all the time, though I really started to enjoy it when I was in my poly days. The long journey from home to school requires entertainment, so at that time, it was the music player and a sketch book. I would feel like a god, drawing new worlds, new people with different personalities and different stories. My sketches were never that good. They were never polished or refined. I never enjoyed refining sketches, turning them into drawings. I enjoyed the speed and pace of how my hands would move to illustrate my thoughts and imagination. I never was the good 'artist', or that person who could draw. I was just the crazy one with that sketch book. At one point of time, I was even ashamed of my sketches.

When I got the wacom tablet, I started sketching on the computer. Thinking that would allow me to refine and perhaps draw better. I never really did manage to do that. Till today, my sketches are haphazards of lines and sguillies. They are never meant to be masterpieces but a mere glimpse of the stories in my head, at that moment of time. The great graphic designer, Milton Glasser, once said that drawing is one the critical skills designers should possess. I am a graphic designer and my drawing skills are negligible. Ironically, before I wanted to be a graphic designer, I wanted to be a concept artist or illustrator.

This blog post was really meant for me to showcase some of my favorite sketches I did so many years ago. Not masterpieces or anything, but I really like them.

When Immortals Die, is a sketch from 2003. This sketch was really meant to be a basis for a bigger painting, but it never really happened, so all that was left was a sketch. The story of this sketch was part of a bigger world – a world of immortals and gods, and it depicts of how immortals dies. Immortals only die when they are betrayed by love, and I wanted to showcase that in a more direct, fantasy whimsical manner.

Pride before the fall, is an accompanying sketch for When Immortals Die, showcasing the prideful faes. I was addicted to drawing flowy ribbons.

Kite, a weird really deep sketch..

Sketches of random twinky boys I saw on magazines. Yup, you guessed it, I draw boys better than I draw girls.

An attempt of a portrait sketch. Reference from an unknown magazine.

Once a upon a time in a quaint little city, Singapore...

If you guessed that I have been watching too much Sex and the City, you probably guessed right. It's funny, how one of the world greatest and bestest (sexiest and not forgetting to mention, gayiest) show fails to capture my attention when it first got screened. All my straight female friends – not that I have any lesbian friends, but in this day and age, apparently your sexuality is more important than your gender – have been talking, pontificating and worshiping the show to the point that I think they are little coo-coo-fa-lu-ka.

Mary Ann, who incidentally her full name goes Mary Ann Joseph (you know Mary AND Joseph? funny eh) loves the show so much, to the point she practically is living the show. She super imposes herself into the show, lives the show and if you draw a direct reference, Mary Ann is practically like Samantha without much of the sex (but with all the glorious sexiness of course). She has been bugging me to watch the show, that on Christmas day, she decided to bless me with her collections of Sex and the City DVD collection, and I have been hooked since then.

It's easy to get hooked on something like Sex and the City, because of the urban city lifestyle that Singapore practically is. It empowers you and make you realize that suddenly you are not that helpless. You can be sexy, promiscuous and a professional all at the same time. It made you realize that if the option of straight, getting married by the time you are 25, own a 5 room HDB apartment by the time you are 26 and have 2 kids by 30 is so remote, you have the other more sexier, Sex in the City option. Clubbing, dining, sex, dating models and more sex, all without the burden of responsibility towards another but yourself. It's the selfish, but just oh-so tempting option.

It is funny, that I am considering all this and that I am still living with my parents, not earning much and still has yet to cross the age 25 barrier - soon but not yet. I think Sex and the City should carry a R30 rating, you know, only for those above the age 30. Being influence by sexy drama shows on the verge of adulthood is not healthy! Of course considering that I have a sexy job (anything with a designer in the title is a sexy job, according to a certain sexy magazine), live in a sexy city (arguably, but i think a select few Singaporeans are sexy, especially those from the arts and media scene), a sexy body (shut up! its sexy to me :P), all I am lacking is of course the random sexy sex. That and the alluring sexy confidence that incidentally will get you more sexy sex. Living the Sex and the City lifestyle suddenly don't seem so remote.

Sunday Ramblings

It is a strange time tonight, as I struggled to type this. I am suffering from a writer's block – not that I am a writer or anything – at the worst possible timing. I have this need, this menacing little voice in my head telling me to write about my day, yet I struggled to fit text into this small little blogger text box. As I continue to struggle through, I know this will eat into my bedtime, which will have repercussions. I will wake up a little late, I will make my cardio a little shorter than it should be, I will not burn the supposed amount of calories I should be burning, then I will skim on breakfast, which would then make me tired and hungry, and then resulting in me having a heavy lunch which of course eventually will lead me to a sleepy afternoon.

Today was the day my family decided to celebrate my dad's birthday. And it was no big fun fare or anything – we didn't even get him a gift yet. But I know we would give him something this Wednesday – his real birthday, December the Thirteen. What a freaky date to be born in, I must say. We decided to have a dinner of Ayam Penyet (Smashed Fried Chicken for the uninitiated dumb foreigner) which we of course throughly enjoyed. Ayam Penyet has become my new unhealthy obsession. While other cool people obsessed with Marijuana, cigarettes and oats, I am contend with my five dollars odd wooden plate of fats and calorie laden smashed fried chicken.

Dinner was a really quick affair. Sometimes dinner is over so fast, I thought we haven't even started yet. My family do not believe in eating slowly or chewing. Chewing to them is a strange concept which offers nothing but waste time. So our dinner rarely go beyond twenty minutes. Hell our dinner average time is fifteen minutes. Yes we are that fast. Depending on the number of dishes, we might, on occasion go beyond thirty minutes. We are civilized fast eaters. Time is precious, so chewing is optional we say.

After the quick twenty minutes dinner, we decided to walk around Orchard Road, and gaze at the gaudy Christmas lights and decorations. And since I brought my camera, we also posed for some pictures. And after walking about for what seems like an eternity – it was just five minutes really – mummy decided that we should go to Swensons and have gigantic Earthquakes and fries. Note that we just had fried chicken for dinner, steak and chocolate pudding for lunch and other fatty stuff in between. Calories watching and portion control apparently don't exist on the weekends.

And true to my family's traditions, we polished off all eight scoops of ice-cream in 15 minutes flat. And mind you this is not the normal size earthquake, but the giant earthquake. The one with bigger scoops of ice-creams. If I am looking a little chunky this week, I have only my family to blame. The fries, we took our time to consume. No we did not suddenly decide to chew, but we were too full. So we ate slowly.

To quickly end this entry, it's fair to say that we all enjoyed ourselves. My siblings, my parents and especially my dad. It's rather unfortunate that we can't do this daily. We do not have our dinner together on weekdays. We are a fully working family, and all of us busy with our own busy lives. So I appreciate moments like this, when we all could be together, sit down and just eat and chat.

And in the unfortunate event that if you did find this blog and read this entry Dad, Happy Birthday!

Pretty legs and great big knockers

One of the many problems that I face when trying to update this blog is my incessant need to ensure what I write is neither self-depreciating, insulting to anyone or embarrassing to any party involved. So whatever I write, I would read and reread and then read again to ensure things are alright. Sometimes I would even not post the entries that I have spent hours writing. It's like safe sex I suppose - I wouldn't really know, for reasons obvious enough. So whenever this blog appears like it is neglected, be sure that I tried to write. Well in spirit of adventure and risk taking, I will attempt what I have rarely attempted – write, read once then post. It's like sex without a condom, but you withdraw before doing the shooting deed. The Pope would be proud of me.

While I was drinking my caramel Starbucks drink, munching on cheesecakes and chocolate delights with my feasting buddy, Farhan, I noted to him that the how different we all have become. Ever since knowing each other in army, we all dream of power lunches in Swiss Hotel, glamorous jobs and lifestyles of traveling yuppies. But here we are, sitting in Starbucks, stuffing our faces with food that we shouldn't even be in the same room with and contemplating about our rather, at this point of time, shaky future, non-existence love lives and a rather non-happening social circle. We are like broken socialites with bankrupt fathers.

I have chosen the path of a graphic designer and now I am beginning to feel that I cannot do this forever. It's scary when you wanted to be in the creative field your whole life, you manage to get into it and then figured that you might not actually want to be in it forever. I always prided myself in that I always knew what I wanted to do, but now everything seems to be in shambles. Job happiness and satisfaction is only for the lucky few I suppose. I need to stop reading Tommy's tale.

After a few cubes of swiss chocolates with raisins and nuts and iced-milo, I got into a rather interesting discussion with Kristen. It's funny how all the interesting and smart things in my life happened while I am eating sinful things. Kristen highlighted that I am no longer drawing as much as I use to. During my polytechnic and army times, I draw and painted whenever I have some bits of free time. I love drawing that much. Kristen herself too noted that she is no longer drawing and painting as much as she would love to. "We grew out of it together," she said. Growing out of art and the love of art is sad. I hope to stay young and amazed by art forever.

As I approach 23, I realize there are so many things that I have yet to do. Learn the piano. Get a degree. Rent and live in my own apartment. Get nicer jeans. Work out, and get a leaner and meaner butt. Have more friends. Learn photography. Read the Holy Koran, and the Bible. Read more books. Find a partner who loves me for what I am, and I can love back for what she is. My boss once told me that I should do all the mistakes when I'm young. What a wise women. I am young, yet I feel that I am not allowing myself to make all the fun mistakes I should be making.

In closing, I have to explain and if you were paying careful attention to my entry, you too would notice that my title have no relation to this entry what so ever. The only reason is that pretty legs and great big knockers sounds so nice and would make a really great title either to a book, and essay or for lame people like me, a blog entry. So since I am a little strange and retarded, I decided to just use said title, even though I have neither pretty legs (I have really long legs though, if you care) or great big knockers. For the gay men out there, knockers are breast. And big knockers means big breast – the only kind of breast that matters.