A-ramble A ramble and away we go

A few weeks ago, while driving to my on-site project, amidst a heavy downpour, I saw this man who looked like he collected discarded stuff to recycle, pushing his heavy bike. He was covered in a plastic sheet, and so was his stuff. I was so touched I went down and offered him RM5 for his breakfast, which he gratefully took. Since I was holding my bottle of Livita, I also decided to give that to him. But it made me think.



Life's not fair. I think we are all mature enough to realize that. When I think about it, I feel grossly pissed off that I have been very unfaired to in many circumstances. But at moments like that when I am ready to explode, I think back to these downtrodden members of society, and during these moments of reflection, I realize, hey its not too bad. At least I got a job, a car, and need not do what he does. Ah...lifes tough. Whoever said it was easy anyway?

Like now. I just wrapped up an intense day at work which started at 8 30am and it is now 2am. Decided to blog a bit to vent b4 heading home. At the rate things are going...the amount of unfairness stacked against me is stupendously astounding I tell you. But you know, decided not to vent. Ultimately, we live in a free world, where we always have a choice. No one forces me to stay on here. I can leave anytime I want. So, either I quit, or I quit moaning. So decided not to moan. Its a policy not to moan anyway..when I do whinge a bit.. its like..I really can't hold it in..or.. its a momentary loss of control...or..hey, I'm human. I try not to whinge coz hey after I talk talk talk, I get back to the same point anyway, you still got to face the situation. And I don't like unloading my troubles on others. Don't know how to react.

In my prev jobs, I guess I knew all along it was a temp thing, or a stepping stone thing, so I had the luxury of knowing that anytime I wanted to quit, I could. Now, since this is a career thing, I realize I cannot do that anymore. V immature. Responsibilities, responsibilities...No fun at all. Life just sucks the juice out of ya sometimes u know? Like, trapped. If I could, I would just... just...selfishly heck care what my family thinks, be totally hedonistic, take my $ and flee around the world. But I can't...got to think of 'building ur career la' 'building ur savings' la..but it makes sense to do it. So I will.

But really, I'm a dreamer at heart. Always dreamed of going to Club Med and meeting this..this...different looking sort of girl, all tanned and toned...and we'd make fantastic love together and then decide to run away and have hedonistic fun. Travel the world and such. Even I, the hardy gross unrefined Operations guy have my soft spots and dreams. Maybe normally I make guttural sounds and refuse much interaction with people, and might even be socially retarded, poor me. Maybe she can't speak English very well, and we communicate by simple yet romantic gestures. Maybe her smile is so nice I forever want to make her laugh just to see that smile. Maybe a simple brush of skin on skin yields electric jolts up and down me spine. And we'd go for long walks on the beach amidst the setting sun, we'd go skinny dipping and leap off the jetty into the water at night, we'd lie in bed holding each other listening to each other's heartbeats. We'd travel to the UK and visit all those places I've studied/read/heard so much about. We'd go to the woods and climb trees, build hammocks and fall asleep, climb tree houses, swing off ropes into streams..We'd go to Chicago and visit the United Center. We'd go back to Australia, and camp outdoors in Central Aus while deciphering the constellations at night. We'd go to Japan and wander around Tokyo at night, visiting pubs, drinking sake and getting lost in wonderful places with names like Kobayashi, Mitzusoka...and she'd poke me and glare when I smile too long at a passing babe. And I'd wake to the smell of her wonderful smells, her hair, her soft skin, every morning, and then we'd climb out of the boudoir of satin sheets and walk to the windows and throw it open (this would be Italy or France) and peer down the window at the little lane below, where pigeons coo, men in caps cycle straight-backed while transporting loaves of freshly baked bread, with smells that waft up into our noses and make us hungry, and horses trot clitter clatter on the cobblestones, just like in Melb, while buskers start up their merry music.

But til I find such a being, who is able to inspire me to drop it all off and run, I guess I better remain practical.