I’ve got four assignment due next week. I’m very nervous. That is an understatement, I am totally, hopelessly nerve wrecked.

I can predict myself being a zombie for this week. No sleep, no rest, just work, work, work, work and more work.

I’ll be happy once this hell week is over.

That being said, I experienced one of the most surreal things last night.

I was reading a novel for one of my assignments when I fell asleep at my desk. I don’t know how long I was asleep but I woke up some time later.

It was around 4am and since I realized that I wasn’t going to get anything done, I thought I might as well go to bed to have a proper sleep.

I got up from my desk and the next moment, I found myself falling to the ground. I just collapsed and laid on the floor for several seconds.

Dazed by the fall and with my mind still fogged by sleep, I was thinking, “what the fuck?” while peering through my sleepy eyes at my bed. 

I tried moving my legs. While I felt movement, I couldn’t feel my legs at all. There was no feeling, just pure numbness. It wasn’t the “pins and needles” feeling or the muscle aches feeling. I could not feel or control the movement of my legs.

That was when, through my sleep foggy brain, I realized I was completely paralyzed from waist down.

I didn’t panicked. In fact, I felt completely calm. Although I was standing at the edge of reality and my mind was still trapped my sleep, I found myself thinking very calmly.

First, I needed to get to my bed. Since my lower body was useless, I dragged myself through the floor like a paraplegic.  It was exhausting, especially when I could not see straight. Although my eyes were half-open, they were completely fogged by sleep, so that slowed my movements down.

Once I reached the edge of my bed, I had to climb on top of it. I decided to test my legs again. I did sense some movement below, but it could be my imagination. I lay at the floor, contemplating whether to spend the night there. Bed sounded better.

With an insurmountable effort, I managed to step up on my right leg, forcing and willing my body to rise. My whole body wobbled on that single leg and I felt like an idiot, like an amateur playing hopscotch. I still could not feel anything below my waist.

Spent, I collapsed onto my bed and managed to lift up my lower body onto my bed with the help of my arms. As I lay there, I was trying to figure out what had happened when sleep took over me again.

I woke up the next morning.

For five minutes, I lay there, trying to think how I ended up on my bed.

I remembered falling asleep at my desk. But I did not remember going to my bed. After five minutes of hard thinking, I gave up and went to my kitchenette to prepare breakfast. Doing the same routine of my everyday life. Pour oatmeal, pour water, microwave it, mix egg with oatmeal, microwave it, mix honey and peanut butter with oatmeal, eat.

As I sat down at my desk, munching through my breakfast, I happened to look down at the floor to my right.

It was when every memory of last night came flooding back.

I now remembered how I ended up at my bed.

At the same time, I remembered how I was paralyzed from the waist below. How I crawled to my bed. How I tried to force feeling to my legs. Yet this morning, I got up as if nothing had happened.

Then, I realized.

When I ‘woke up’ last night from my desk, my brain was effectively still asleep. We all experienced that, being half-awake while still asleep. But what happened last night was that my brain must have been in a deeper sleep. And while my brain made the connection with my upper body, it failed to make the connection with my lower body. That explained the paralysis.

At the same time, because I was actually still asleep, even though I was crawling to my bed, it explained the temporary memory block I had in the morning.

I am not a sleepwalker, never was and never will be. But that was some really interesting stuff I experienced last night. In fact, as I thought about it, I found it quite amusing.

I thank the floor for reminding me.

The whole irony of this incident? The novel I was reading was Raymond Chandler’s “The Big Sleep”.

or rather this afternoon, I woke up.

I had brunch and proceeded to my toilet to brush my teeth and take a shower.

I held my toothbrush in my right hand and unscrewed a cap.

I then proceeded to pour Listerine onto my toothbrush.

All this while the toothpaste was lying on the basin, untouched.

It’s 31 August 2009.

Already?

Where did the rest of the days go?

What happened? Was I stoning?

In five hours and ten minutes it’ll be September 1st.

Dude… I haven’t even started my reading list.

2 months in Sydney, approaching 6 weeks in school.

Crap…. reading list man. My reading list.

Wow, I can’t really believe that.

4 assignments due on Week 9! How fucked am I?

Was it that long since I left Singapore?

I lead a fucking, crappy, pathetic life.

Where did the days go?

Up yours.

The only thing keeping my head above is the timetable plans that took me five hours to create. So far, I have not procrastinate on it yet. That is quite a major achievement. I’ll probably last for the next 4 days before going back to my lazy routine. Or will I?

I think I can do it.

I think I can.

I think I can.

Power of the mind…

It’s already 31 August, 2009.

Fuck.

My Internet is screwing me up. Since Thursday, it decided to go on strike and slow my connection down to the speed of a dial-up connection. I feel like I’m back in 1998 where I had to dial and patiently listen to the dial tone before getting connected to cyberspace.

This is not good for me as I rely heavily on the Internet for work, entertainment and more mind-wasting entertainment. In fact, the Internet is my sole entertainment outlet at home. I don’t even watch TV. Fuck, I haven’t even switched on my TV for 5 weeks.

Since I was bored, I decided to wash my dirty dishes. While washing the dishes, I realized that beside my weekly laundry, I haven’t done any house-cleaning for more than a month. While my room is still quite neat as I have little possessions with me, layers of grime and dust and other stuffs I don’t even want to think about (food particles, pubes, snorts) have started to build up and collect in places.

Furthermore, winter is about to end (holy crap, its 27 degrees currently!) and this means spring is coming. And when spring is around the corner, it means that the insects are probably waking up from the long hibernation.

So it means that the house pests will be back again.

I’ve been relatively lucky so far. The two months I’ve been staying here, I have not encountered any house pests like cockroaches, geckos or even ants. In Singapore, ants were a common sight everywhere, especially in my grandma’s kitchen. But here, if I leave my honey out on the kitchen counter overnight, no ants will launch a major assault on the honey container.

So while washing the dishes, I made a mathematical formulae:

Dusty, grimy room + end of winter + insects waking up = house pest invasion (x 3)

And out of all the house pests, the ones I really, really hate are cockroaches and lizards.

I remembered when I was young toddler, my grandmother used to babysit my brother and I. At that time, my grandparents were still living in those old shophouses in Beach Road. Of course, a few years later the Singapore government tore it down (and a whole row of other historical shophouses) and now its an empty plot of land facing Bugis Junction Shopping Centre.

The whole neighbourhood is gone.

Apparently this is economic progress that the Singapore government like to talk about.

Anyway, my grandparents had two shophouses. Both were combined together, so just imagine a semi-detached home, but the shophouse version. The neighbourhood where my grandparents stayed was slightly run-downed but it certainly did had the “old, rustic charm” even though it was just 10 minutes away from Singapore’s CBD. Of course, with a very old neighbourhood, you get a lot of cockroaches, geckos (lizards) and rats. Especially when there’s a lot of open drains around.

One of my most distinct memory was playing with a cockroach with my brother and grandmother. I know it sounds downright creepy but its true. I think my brother and I found a large, adult cockroach in the living room and started playing with it. At that time, the concept of cockroaches were not instill in us. Neither was the concept of fear.

So we treated the cockroach like some toy car. Moving it along the floor while making vrooming noises, laughing while its feelers and legs tickled us. Up till now, I’m surprised that neither my brother nor I shoved the roach in our mouth as food. I think we got a lot of common sense at that time, though I can’t say for now.

My grandmother saw us playing with the roach. Now, if I remembered correctly, instead of spanking our bottoms and ‘confiscating’ our insect playmate, she joined us.

Yeah, she actually played with the roach with us. At one point, she took the cockroach and stuff it into her mouth. Both my brother and I were agog with amazement at her daring. And she actually started chewing on the roach, making crunching sounds.

If you think the above was true, then you’ve just been fooled by my grandma.

It was actually a magic trick. A few seconds later, she opened her mouth to show us that the roach disappeared, only to have it ‘appear’ magically in her right palm. Of course, both my brother and I were downright impressed and we made her do it again and again.

I can’t exactly remember what happened next and what happened to the roach. But I think the roach finally managed to escape from us, suffering from severe psychological trauma:

Roach-that-was-toyed-with: “GUYS, DO NOT EVER GO INTO THAT SHOPHOUSE! A WITCH AND HER GRANDCHILDREN LIVE THERE!”

Roach colony: “Are you fucking with us?”

Roach-that-was-toyed-with: “NO! I’m not! THEY WILL FUCK WITH YOU!!!!!!!!!!”

Yeah, it probably went down like that.

So at that point of time, I wasn’t scared of roaches. But then, some time during my life, I became afraid of roaches. I don’t know how or why, but I just became afraid of them. No, I don’t have a phobia of roaches, I just get very, very squeamish around them.

I learned something new during psychology lecture (I do pay attention sometimes) that if a lab monkey, who is not afraid of snakes at all, sees a wild monkey jumping nervously around when it sees a snake, the lab monkey will ‘learn’ from the wild monkey that snake = bad and thereby the lab monkey will ‘learn’ the fear of snake. Something like that.

So I can say that I probably learn the behaviour from someone. Who? I’m not sure.

All I knew was that one incident happened when I was a kid. At that point, my dad was still living overseas so my mom raised three kids with the help of a maid. One night, a cockroach decided to invade our house and my mom, worried that the cockroach might go after my younger sister while she slept, decided to launch a full scale war on the lone roach.

So insecticide in one hand, newspaper and toilet paper in another, my mom, maid and my brother went after the cockroach. With my usual bo-chap attitude (couldn’t give a fuck), I volunteered to ‘protect’ my younger sis and sat at one corner watching the war effort.

I was a bit scared because it was midnight by then and with my mom waging an all-out war, I thought that the cockroach must be one of those ghosts hellbent on destruction. An overactive imagination from watching too many Hong Kong ghost movies.

So at one point, my mom, maid and my brother cornered the roach behind the TV. I was sitting on the stairs with my sister watching the whole process. Just when I thought it was over, my mom/maid/brother said they couldn’t find it. Somehow, the cockroach managed to perform a ninja move and disappear in front of their us. I was still in my bo-chap mode, so I told my mom just to leave the front door open and the cockroach will find its way out.

As soon as I said that, I felt a “thung” on my head, as if something dropped down on me. I reached up and felt some squirreling feelers and legs and then the ugly realization dawned on me.

Mr. Nightcrawler-Cockroach decided to teleport onto my cranium.

The next second, I think I almost screamed the house down. I started jumping like a crazed boy and tried to sweep the roach away from my head. My mom, maid and brother rushed to me and started smacking me on the head with newspapers.

As if that helped.

The roach finally managed to dislodge itself from my hair and fell onto the ground. Knocked senseless by the impact from the ground, it wobbled around, a bit punch-drunk before it was gassed to death by a ton of insecticide, sprayed by my maid.

That incident left me a bit traumatized for a few hours and probably contributed to my squeamishness around roaches.

I thought that as I grew older, I would outgrow the squeamishness. But no, a recent incident proved that I still have the squeamishness.

It happened in Singapore and I was sitting beside my bedroom window using the computer. As it just rained a few hours ago, the night air was quite cooling so I left the window open. One thing I like about the after effects of rain in Singapore is that it can be very cooling. But the other after effects I hate is that it brings out ALL the insects.

Insect 1: “Fuck, my house is completely drenched. I feel so drenched. I hate being drenched.”

Insect 2: “Same here. Hey I got a BRILLIANT idea!”

Insect 1: “What? What is it? What? WHAT?”

Insect 2: “You see that window with the BRIGHT LIGHT on? Let’s fly towards it!!!”

Insect 1: “Great IDEA!”

So with a “THUNK” at the side of my head, a flying cockroach tried to do a kamikaze on me. I think the other couldn’t make it.

The brave, stupid cockroach landed onto my desk, stunned. And me? I stood up and screamed the whole house down and dashed out of my bedroom. My grandma (the same one who played cockroach with us) and my brother were in the living room and looked at me in surprise, wondering what the hell happened.

“Co…cock…cock….cockroachess…” I slowly croaked out to them. After my brother managed to translate my garbled information to my grandma, she went to the kitchen, grabbed a wad of paper towels and calmly strolled to my bedroom while I cautiously followed her from behind.

And there, in all its big, shiny glory, the cockroach crawled around on the wall. My brother offered to do the dirty deed but my grandma just waved him off and went after the roach. She missed on the first try and the cockroach scuttled away. But on the second try, she SCOOPED that thing off the wall and wrapped it up in paper towels.

Having done that, she turned towards me and pointed at me with the hand that was holding onto the cockroach (I was inching away from her). She then proceeded to lecture me about being a man and that I should not be scared of an INSECT and that I was not a kid anymore. With an exasperated sigh, she went off to flush the roach down the sewage via the toilet bowl. All this while, my brother pissed himself laughing.

My brother is not squeamish about roaches. In fact, he’s the one who always goes after the roaches or house pests. Sometimes, if there are no insecticides or papers around, he’ll go after roaches with his bare hands. After he catches the roach, he and I would always have this conversation:

Me: “Quick, flush it down the toilet bowl (I love toilet bowls, they are like my saviour).”

Him: “Dude, its just a roach. Its only an insect. We should not harm it.”

Me: “This is no time to discuss Buddhism or karma. For fuck’s sake, just flush it down now!”

Him: “(Observing roach very closely) I think I just throw it outside the window.”

Me: “Then it’ll just come back.”

Him: “No, it won’t.”

Me: LOOK, roaches have been around for 300 million years. They are hardy survivors. One less of them will not harm their population. This roach can blame its bad luck for being caught. Now, can you please flush it down the toilet bowl?

Him: “Heck, no.” (Proceeds to throw roach out of the window).

Me: “Great, fucking great. Now the roach will come after me when I’m sleeping because I’m the bad guy who wanted to flush it down the toilet bowl.”

This conversation happens frequently during our younger days. But now, my brother will usually catch it with a wad of toilet paper and squeeze the life out of it. And when he squeeze it, he’ll squeeze it really hard because he wants the roach to die a painless and humane death and doesn’t want to flush it down the toilet when its still alive.

Sometimes, I think my brother has more quirks than I have. And my parents says I’m eccentric.

For me, the roach is going to get the toilet, dead or alive.

P.S. I’ll talk about lizards some other time.

I know I said that I won’t update my blog until the weekend. But I’m seriously in no mood to study and just witnessed something quite, quite amusing.

I came back from a rooftop BBQ that ended a few hours ago. It was organized by my hostel management to help us get to know our neighbours and hopefully, make a few friends, even though we (tenants) all know that we’re probably never see each other again after our six months contract end and we move out to better lodgings.

Unless we go to the same school. Even then, we’ll probably not see each other unless we are in the same faculty. Even if we were in the same faculty, we will probably be doing different courses. Even if we were doing the same course, we will probably have different class schedules.

So the chances of maintaining friendships are quite slim. Unless we become very chummy during the next six months. If we even bother to meet up.

During the BBQ in the cold, crisp night air where I enjoyed piping hot Aussie BBQ and music from a live band and generally, just soaking in the atmosphere and enjoying myself, there were quite a few rowdy people. No alcohol was provided and it was strictly BYO (Bring Your Own alcohol, for those uninitiated). So a number of people bought their own beers and liquors.

And it was a lot.

I decided to abstain because frankly, I rarely drink on weekdays and I hate Wednesdays (another topic). So I got myself a Pepsi and just waited in the long line for my hot dogs. A few Australians came up to me and joked with me that about the no alcohol, no hot dogs policy. I joked back that I had one Heineken in my fridge (I do) but didn’t want to lose my place in the line. It was just some bantering around to get to know each other. They were very friendly guys and they offered me beer. Of course I accepted their offer (even though I decided to abstain) but they later forgot about their offer.

I didn’t want to bother them about it because after all, its their beer and they were the ones offering me it. Anyway, after I got my hot dogs and stood in one corner devouring it, two girls from my floor, whom I knew, came up to join the party. They didn’t want any hot dogs so we stood that chatting. To be more accurate, they chatted while I was watching this girl.

This girl had a beer and was talking and giggling with a group of people near us. Let’s call her girl A. Now, Girl A was a little boisterous and was being a social butterfly, flittering here and there with her friends. As I was at the BBQ earlier, I knew she had a Heineken previously and so just assumed that she was high.

Well, I was wrong.

The two girls whom I was with decided to head back to their rooms and so I followed them. But after a few minutes of moping around in my room and acknowledging the fact that I was in no mood to study, I headed back to the BBQ alone to just enjoy the festive mood.

I recognized one of the Indian dudes and started chatting with him. When he remembered I was Singaporean, he started to look around for another Singaporean guy he met as he wanted to introduce us. Thankfully he didn’t (See “Secret Societies and NDP” for reason).

Meanwhile, Girl A was now very boisterous. She was staggering around, laughing and talking loudly to every person she met. One of the guys who was subjected to her constant laughing told us that she just had one beer.

One beer? Really? I thought it was two or three?

Girl A generally made a fool of herself. She grabbed and pawed at this French guy (I assume, because of his angular face) who did not look please and told her to stop it.

The rest of us just grinned and laughed at her antics.

Someone mentioned that she was Malaysian. But I could be wrong. She could be Singaporean, Thai, Filipino or something else. Anyway, her nationality is not of great importance.

Her friend was trying to calm Girl A down and at times, had to drag her away. This farce continued for the the next 10 minutes or so, Girl A talking to people, being very chummy and friendly, laughing and hopping around and her friend following her, desperately trying to calm her down.

Then for some unknown reasons to me, Girl A broke down and cried.

Girl A started shaking her head violently every time her friend tried to talk to her and later, Girl A sat on a bench and continued sobbing.

Oh, has the beer haze lifted?

Girl A’s friend bought her water and after a few minutes, Girl A calmed down sufficiently. I think the reason why Girl A broke down was because she realized she just embarrassed herself  in front of half the hostel tenants, not to mention the staff too. I can’t confirmed this because I was just standing at one side watching the whole drama. So its just an assumption.

That was one reason why I abstained from any alcohol. If you ever want to impress anyone and give a great first impression, the first rule is: DON’T GET DRUNK. DON’T GET DRUNK. Have one beer to loosen up, if you must. But DON’T GET DRUNK.

Especially when you are in front of a group of people who will bump into you in the lobby for the next six months. It’s okay to get drunk with your group at a pub or club. Because it is a pub/club and they’ll be 50-100 other people drinking their heads in. But at a get-together BBQ? Sure, it’ll be fine if there was a group of males (and females) playing beer pong and having a drinking competition.

Unfortunately the rest of us were sober.

Note to Girl A (If she ever reads my blog and identifies herself): Its okay to get drunk. I get drunk. Sometimes really, really shit-faced drunk. And those times are not the times you would want to be around me. Unfortunately, you were the only one drunk/high/tipsy and the rest of us were not. But don’t take it to heart, take it as lesson learned, ok?

P.S. Damn, Aussies can really drink! I saw a lot of empty beer bottles but no one seemed out of control (except Girl A).