I’m going to Blue Mountains in a few hours. Blog and post will resume once I get back on Friday.
For now, find something to entertain yourself, okay?
Edit: The trip has been extended for another day, so I will be back in Sydney on Saturday morning.
I’m going to Blue Mountains in a few hours. Blog and post will resume once I get back on Friday.
For now, find something to entertain yourself, okay?
Edit: The trip has been extended for another day, so I will be back in Sydney on Saturday morning.
I applied to Honi Soit, USyd’s student newspaper as a general reporter more than two weeks ago.
I did not get any replies during the two weeks plus period because of the exams and study vacation. So I waited, studied, sat for my exams and waited.
Since I haven’t checked my Gmail account for more than a week, I logged on today to clear my inbox. In the process, I saw a reply from Honi Soit. I didn’t feel excited or nervous, just a sense of relief that I got a reply from them.
It started off with the usual thing: “Thank you for your application to be a reporter for Honi Soit” and it went on to describe the overwhelming number of talented applications it received. Then I saw the word “unfortunately…”
By now, I was a veteran of rejection letters and emails. So I knew what would come after that unfortunate word.
I got rejected.
I skimmed the rest of the email and in the last paragraph, the editors invited me to flood Honi Soit with contributions of all kinds as they are really big fans of my work.
I think they said that to all the other rejected applicants too.
If it is any consolation, the editors like my post on accepting Facebook friend requests.
There’s a good and bad thing of getting my application rejected.
The bad thing: I was looking forward to explore more of USyd academia and student body through Honi Soit and getting experience of being a reporter, writing under deadlines, working with editors and reporters and probably interview some really interesting people. All in all, it would be a fun and interesting job.
The good thing: I have a friend who studied journalism and he told me that to write under deadlines is no bloody joke. I can write and work well under deadlines, but I know what he means. To have a writer’s block at the wrong time can lead to disastrous writing. As for my writing style, I prefer to write at a leisurely pace, letting my imagination flow and rewriting drafts after drafts. If I did that for Honi Soit, it being a weekly paper, the editors will probably be screaming and pulling their hair out in frustration.
So I think next semester I’ll flood the paper with the most random contributions I can come up with.
If I can even come up with anything in the first place.
As for the song of the day, to keep up my fighting spirit, nothing is better than the soundtrack from Jet Li’s Once Upon a Time In China aka Wong Fei Hung trilogy:
I’ve always wondered how over a hundred guys can carry out the same moves with military precision. And why is Wong Fei Hung the only fully dressed guy while the others are all half naked?
Before you start reading this post. I want you make sure that you are alone. This means that if you are at work, make sure your colleagues does not see this. More importantly, make sure your BOSS does not see this at all.If you are at school, do not let any student or teacher see this. If you are at home, close your bedroom door or bring your laptop to some secluded place. I’m serious.
I went for a paintball game with Sean and his friends on Saturday.
Sean, who was my army buddy, organized this event a month earlier and invited me along. Sean invited another army buddy along who, to use the Hokkien term, “pang seh” us because he couldn’t make it and as usual, he did not give us any reason or excuse why he couldn’t make it.
I think he’s probably doing something really important. Something that starts with the letter “S”.
And that would be…
Surfing.
Why, you thought it was something else? Get your mind out of the gutter, you ass.
Anyway, Sean sent me an invited through Facebook (I just love that place) and of course I marked myself as “Attending”:
It was originally supposed to be a week earlier but majority of the people couldn’t make it so it was pushed back to 21 Nov. Fine by me cause I had exams during that week too.
Since Heartbreak Ridge was located about an hour drive west from Sydney, Sean told me that he was going to pick me up at 6:30am.
So the night before, instead of having a good, restful sleep to prepare myself for some ass-shooting and getting shot at, I stayed up watching Korean comedy shows.
The reason for that stupid decision is because my body clock is completely out of whack by now. I usually go to bed at 5am and wake up at 1 in the afternoon. So I wanted to sleep but I couldn’t and proceeded to waste my life in front of the laptop.
By 5am, I was sleepy but decided against taking a nap cause I know I would sleep through my alarm and will only wake at 1 or 2 in the afternoon, and so missing the paintball game (and wasting $70).
So I made breakfast, took a cold shower to stay awake, packed my stuff and by 6:15am, went out to meet Sean at the designated bus stop.
Sean came along with his friends, four in the first car and three in the second car. I was the fourth guy in the second car. So after introducing myself to Sean’s friends, one who was called Sean too and another was Jackson, we joined the early morning traffic to Heartbreak Ridge. On the way, we made a short detour to Happy Jacks for some breakfast.
I would like to tell you about the beautiful countryside and parks and blah blah blah but I can’t because I slept on the way to the paintball place. I was quite exhausted by then and I haven’t even started playing paintball.
I was rudely awaken by very, very bright sunlight and the irritating crunch of gravel. We had reached Heartbreak Ridge.
By then the temperature was hovering near 28 degrees Celsius. It was getting hot even though it was only 7:30am.
The four of us changed in the open air car park. Coincidentally, Sean, Jackson and I wore our white Air Force shirt while Sean the Organizer (the army buddy) wore a brown Army shirt with Air Force shorts.
So after giving an impromptu stripshow in the public, we made our way to the “Mess Hall” to sign the waiver form and get our equipment and gear.
The place was packed with people looking forward to a game of paintball. We joined the queue and after about half an hour of waiting, handed in our waiver forms and got our overalls, webbings and ammo.
I only got the overalls. I didn’t get any webbings and ammo because we would had to pay $20 extra and at that moment, I left my wallet in the car and couldn’t be bothered to walk back to the carpark under the hot sun. So I decided to forgo the webbings and ammo.
BIG MISTAKE.
Why? Cause without any spare ammo, every time I ran of ammo, I was stuck in the middle of a battlefield with no chance of reloading my rifle and ended up being a sitting duck. Next time, I’ll get webbings and ammo.
So after the staff made sure everyone got their overalls, webbings and ammo, we were given a short pep talk on how to operate a paintball gun, the rules and regulations of paintball games and other important stuff.
As usual, I wasn’t paying attention. I only paid attention to the paintball gun part.
After the short pep talk, a staff got my group (which consisted of about 15 people and shall be call Group 1) and another group (which consisted of 5 other people and shall be call Group 2) and told us to gather near a tank.
Yep, they have a tank too. Very boring. 2 years in Singapore National Service does that to you.
We collected our face goggles. It was this part where we were divided into teams based on the colour of our face googles. There were two colours: black and green. I was on the green team while Sean the Organizer aka The Army Buddy was on the black team. Crap, and we both wanted to be on the same team. Oh well, at least I get to shoot his ass.
Hell, in fact everyone in our group wanted to shoot the shit out of Sean the Organizer.
So after donning our goggles, our group (Group 1) poised in front of the tank as a memento.
I’m still waiting for Sean the Organizer to scan and send me the picture. I quite like the photo, especially my stupid, smirking face.
Anyway, we gathered around near the entrance of paintball area. The guy (we shall call him Screaming Referee) and the boy (we shall call him Screaming Boy) who were leading our group checked our goggles and webbings to ensure they were securely fastened.
The reason why they were screaming because of two reasons:
1) To get our attention as we were constantly talking among ourselves.
2) To get their voices heard over hundred other people voices.
So we went into the paintball area, collected our guns, took some potshots at some targets to test our guns. I must say, I love the sound and recoil of the paintball gun. After that, both groups gathered around Screaming Referee and Screaming Boy before heading to the first paintball competition area.
Another thing to point out, because Sean the Organizer, was, well the organizer of our group, he got to take the cool automatic machine gun. So by just holding on to the trigger, he could unleash a hail of bullets constantly. The rest of us got pitiful, semi-automatic rifles. But I digress.
We were given the rules and the duration of the game before heading off to our respective bases. Since our teams were based on the colour of our face goggles, my green team had a mixture of people from Group 1 and 2. We didn’t formulate any strategies so when Screaming Referee blew his whistle, we all ran helter-skelter and hid behind large balloons that served as barricades and protection.
I’ve always heard from other people that getting shot by paintball bullets hurt like hell.
I got shot in the face, twice.
It didn’t hurt since the goggles protected me but I could feel the force of the exploding pellets. But I then realized that to get shot in the chest, arms or legs hurt.
A LOT. A fucking lot.
We played four rounds before taking a 15 minutes break. After that, we continued for another 4 rounds before ending our paintball games for the day.
I know I’m blabbing a lot here, so I just show you the pictures of my wounds.
First casualty. Sore eye. By the end of the first four rounds, my left eye was completely red. The constant scratching of the googles against my eyes and the sweat from my face irritated my left eye. What worse is that I was wearing contacts, so after 8 rounds of paintball games, I was left with a very, very red left eye.
This is the most painful shot I’ve taken. It happened during the 6th round of paintball games. We were in this makeshift cemetery that consisted mostly of tombstone. Sean the Organizer told me that this was one of the harder rounds and he was right. When you’re stuck behind of tombstone with five people shooting at you, sometimes you feel like you are in the game Left 4 Dead, except the people attacking you are not zombies but people with paintball guns shooting the shit out of you.
How I got the bruise on my shoulder was quite epic. My team was winning and the black team only had a few members left, so we were trying to take out the survivors. I was at left end of the field when I saw this guy hiding behind a tombstone at the right end. So trying to act heroic, I rushed towards the other end and hid behind a tombstone. I planned to take the guy by surprise so counting to 3, I jumped out from the tombstone and started firing a hail of bullets
Unfortunately, he saw me jumping from the tombstone and returned fire.
We spent the next 10 seconds raining bullets at each other cowboy style. By some weird luck, neither of us was hit and we continued to dance around and shoot each other.
Then it happened.
I got the first bullet in my shoulder. Because I was standing so close to him, the impact of bullet against me was so strong that I actually staggered backwards.
I felt searing pain.
Then I took another bullet in the chest.
More pain.
Finally I got another in the stomach.
Damn it, will this guy not stop?
Defeated, I raised my gun to indicate I had been shot. Fortunately, the guy saw my signal and stopped shooting at me.
I still have the bruise on my shoulder. FML.
You can see there’s another bruise on my chest. I don’t remember how I got that bruise but all I know that I was always shot in the chest. I don’t know why people like to shoot me in the chest, it’s not like I have some advertising logo like this guy:
I remembered I was standing at my base waiting for someone to be ‘injured’ so I could go back into the game when I took a bullet right in the chest bone. Apparently some asshole thought I would make a nice, easy target.
I don’t remember how I got this bruise. But notice how close it is to my nipple. If that person had aimed a few inches higher and to the right, I’ll probably lose a nipple.
Another bruise on right side. Getting shot in the stomach is one of my favourite past time. I got this during the last round of paintball games. I was hiding behind some oil wells when this guy tried to take a shot at me. We exchange some shots until I got hit in the stomach.
Leg shot. Got this during the cemetery game. When I was running towards a tombstone for cover, I got shot in the leg. It hurts a lot.
Mud/paint splattered shoes.
So after the final round of the “free-for-all” game (I didn’t join in, its too fucking painful) where Sean the Organizer was shot a hundred times from five sides, we went back to the mess hall for lunch.
We had to wait for about an hour and half for the pizzas cause they only arrived at 1pm. So majority of our group decided to leave and went to Ashfield for lunch. Sean the Organizer, Sean, Jackson, Weslan and I decided to stay put to get our pizzas. After all, the pizzas were part of the package.
We did not have anything to do so we spent an hour or more entertaining ourselves by picking up gravel and throwing it into empty bottles or boxes and basically just stoning in the heat wave.
Lunch came at 1pm and I was extremely hungry since my last meal was my 5am breakfast. Boxes and boxes of pizzas came and we all got one each. I can’t remember what pizzas I had but mine had a lot of green peppers and veggies.
I was in pizza heaven.
Since quite a few people left before taking their pizzas, we took the leftovers and I got a box of pepperoni pizza. At last, dinner solved! I don’t have to make dinner. After almost seven hours under the hot sun, I don’t think I would have any energy to cook dinner.
Hmmm, pepperoni pizza for dinner. Just for me.
Finally, the last shot:
You are now looking at my…
… butt cheek.
That is why I warned you to make sure you are completely alone when you are reading this.
You see that red, angry welt on my butt? Well, there’s a story of how I got that. I said earlier that during the last round of paintball games, I was hiding behind some oil wells and got shot in the stomach. After I got shot, I stood up and raise up my rifle in the air, indicating that I was shot and I was leaving the game.
However, that asshole decided that his itchy finger did not have enough and shot me in the ass when I was walking away. It hurt the shit out of me. I almost wanted to turn around and decorate his family jewels with bruise and blood. That guy was lucky I didn’t do it.
If that bruise was a few inches below, I don’t think I can shit or seat for the next three days.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I dropped a lot of subtle hints by using the words ass, shit, and crap.
So after avoiding the barber or hairdresser for six months, this is how I looked like now.
I know I look like crap here. I’m still tired from yesterday paintball games and my face is slightly sunburned. Sydney’s furnace temperature of 34 degrees Celsius is making things worse.
Anyway, here’s the moment of truth:
This is the longest length I’ve kept my hair. I did have long hair before but the length was previously slightly below the ear while it is now touching my shoulders.
I tied up my hair before but I usually tie up the back of my hair because my fringe was not that long enough. So this is the first time tying up my fringe and top part of my hair.
It took me 30 minutes to get it right. Even then, it looks very, very haphazardly done.
My fringe is a lot shorter than the back and sides so I’m planning to get the back and sides shorten to even it out.
When I get back to Singapore, I know the reactions I am going to get:
Twin Brother: “Wow, that’s a damn cool hairstyle”
Sister: “You look weird.” or “Wow, long hair.” or “Hey you can tie your hair!”
Parents: “Can you please cut your hair? I’ll pay for your haircut.”
Grandma: “It is very untidy, go get it cut.”
Relatives: “AIYOH! Long hair! You look Japanese.”
Friends: “Wow, cool hairstyle.” or “Funky style.” or “How long did you not cut your hair?” or “You look Japanese.”
Army Buddies: “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS???? WHY KEEP LONG HAIR?? CUT YOUR HAIR!” or “You look Japanese.”
I’m used to these reactions by now. I got them when I kept my hair long previously, but this is the longest my hair has been. So the reactions will probably be multiplied ten-fold.
My answers to all the negative reactions?
Ignore them.
For my parents, I have a tactic. You see, my Dad kept his hair long when he was my age. So I can use that against him. Hehehehe. I can tell him that Singapore does not ban long hair anymore and guys with long hair are quite common nowadays.
It is very ironic that my Dad kept long hair back when the Singapore government banned long hair and was cracking down on youth who had long hair during the 1970s. The reason for this ban and crack down was because the Singapore government associate long hair with drugs, hooliganism and social disorder.
Guys with long hair = Rock and roll, sex, drugs, hooliganism and social disorder = BAD Western influences.
Yes, it is a very draconic and foolish law. In fact, my Dad told me that all bands/performers/singers with long hair had to cut their hair short before coming to Singapore to perform. Of course, no bands wanted that and most band avoided Singapore. The Bee Gees were the last long-haired band to perform in Singapore.
Not only that, the police would go around catching guys with long hair because it was assumed that these people were drug addicts. These guys would then get a haircut from the police force weather they liked it or not.
Just imagine, policeman going around catching long-haired guys and giving them haircuts. And this was the period when triads, gangs and the criminal underworld had a very strong presence in Singapore. Instead of catching these guys, the police went around hunting civilians with long hair.
Anyway, sometime during the late 1970s or early 1980s, I can’t remember when, the Singapore government finally lifted the ban on long hair and long-haired band/performer/singer could perform in Singapore.
But all guys, including me, still have to endure being bald and keep short hair for two years in our life.
We call that National Service.
Well, so that’s a short snippet of the history of Singaporean guys’ long hair.
Anyway, I am going to get my hair cut when I return to Singapore but only to even out the length. I’m planning to keep my hair long, probably shoulder length. After all, who knows how long I can keep my hair long? Life is short, so we should make the most of it.
As you can see, I have facial hair too. I know, I know, it doesn’t suits me and my facial hair is not thick enough to grow a proper mustache and beard. In fact, my army buddy, H, said I looked like a hobo with my facial hair and long hair.
I actually like that. I’ve always wanted to look like a hobo for some apparent reason.
He also said I looked like a Japanese. I get that comments many times and a lot of people always mistake me as a Japanese. How exactly do I look like a Japanese? HOW?
As much as I want to, I can’t shave my facial hair. I am in this competition called “Movember” and in this competition, participants are not allowed to shave or trim their facial hair. It started on 1st November and it is now 23rd November. So basically I have not shaved from the past 23 days. I am looking forward to 30th November when this competition ends.
Here’s a snapshot of the competition:
I know I am going to lose, so wish me luck and curse my competitors. I hope my competitors loose their facial hair overnight in some freak miracle. Seven more days of facial hair!
I’ve just watched Wedding Crashers and I found it hilarious. It was my first time watching it, well, not exactly first time, I did watched bits and parts of it on HBO but it was my first time watching the full length of the movie.
I must say, Owen Wilson and Vince Vaungh are great in the movie. Their acting and jokes really complement each other.
And I have a new crush on Rachel McAdams. I did watch her movies Mean Girls, The Hot Chick and Red Eye but never really gave a second thought about her. I did find her hot but didn’t really take notice of her until I watched Wedding Crashers. The three previous movies I mentioned, I watched it because of the other actresses/actors. For example, The Hot Chick was a Rob Schneider’s movie and it provided me some entertaining laughs during a boring afternoon. Besides, the pirated DVD was cheap.
Same reason for Mean Girls, I watched it because of Lindsay Lohan and Lacey Chabert and as for Red Eye, I was a fan of Cillian Murphy at that time, after seeing him as Scarecrow on Batman Begins. Yet during these movies, I’ve never took notice of Rachel McAdams until now.
For the record, I have not seen The Notebook.
I like this song that was played at the end of the movie:
That is going into my iPod, if I can get my iPod fixed.
The title above says it all.
I have the fortunate (or unfortunate, depending on how you look at it) honour of having an unusual name.
See “The Day Daer Born and Died at the Debates” for the unfortunate honour of having an unusual name.
And apparently, it’s a unisex name. I’ve just found out about that unisex thing.
How?
Through the wonderful social networking site we called Facebook.
If you’re wondering what my name is, it’s already screaming at you on my blog’s site name. Yes, that’s my real name, its not some nom de plume I randomly came up with (ooo… ending a sentence with a preposition. So flame me, grammarians.)
Here’s the story of how I found out my name was a unisex name.
One day, deciding to waste my time and life instead of doing something productive, I logged onto my Facebook account. In the Request box at the top right corner of my screen, it showed me that I have 22 requests from my friends to do either of the following:
1) Join some group.
2) Join them in Mafia Wars and help them kick some ass, or get my ass kicked.
3) Join them in poker games. (Dude, let’s just meet up and play face-to-face).
4) Join Mouse Hunt.
5) Accept a gift from them. (Thanks, but I prefer to accept something real from you, in person).
6) Do an IQ test. (Just face it, I’m MUCH SMARTER than you).
7) Do/Join/Accept something so random and obscure that I don’t even know it exist on Facebook.
So I ignored all these requests, and when I mean by ignore, I don’t bother clicking on the “Ignore” button, I just leave it as it is. I don’t know why I do that, maybe it’s because I like to look at all those requests from time to time. Weird habit.
So beside those 22 requests, I saw that I had a friend request. Finally, I have an another friend! I must be getting popular in some way, even though my social circle expands at the rate of a sloth crawling for its dear life.
But a friend is better than nothing, right?
So I clicked on the “Friend Request” link, and…
Found myself staring at a picture of a girl who I’ve never, ever, in my entire life, seen/met/spoken before.
Not only I did not know her, she share the same name as me.
Her name was Zareth. So that’s how I found out my name is unisex.

This is her. She’s cute and she’s from Venezuela. So that mean’s she speaks Spanish. I just malign her profile picture to protect her identity.
So, she’s cute, she’s from an South American country and she speaks Spanish. So, accept her request! I would have accepted it on a whim if I knew her, but I didn’t.
I’m quite anal about accepting friend requests on Facebook. When I first started out on Facebook (3 years ago, good old days), majority of my friends were high school classmates. Yet, at the same time, I would get requests from people I have no idea who they were and why they would want to be my friend.
Because I’m good-looking?
No that can’t be it.
Or cause I’m fun? I look fun?
No that can’t be right either. It sounds wrong too.
So I’ll take a look at their friend list and their wall to get some clue whether I’ve met them somewhere. I remember looking at another girl’s profile because she sent me a friend request and I read about 26 wall comments on her profile, all of them repeating the same thing:
“Hi, thanks for the add, do I know you?”
“Hi, do I know you from somewhere? Thanks for the add btw.”
“You’re cute. Do I know you? 😀 😛 :DDDDD”
“Hey there, thanks for the add! Do I know you?”
Well, you get the gist.
This girl was basically going around collecting friends. Why would she want to do that? I know Facebook is a social networking site but it’s awkward going around and asking people to be your friend just because you want to have a lot of friends. I know some of you may say “But Zareth, that’s how friendships began! People start off as strangers and end up as friends! Someone has to make the first move!”
Well, hear me out first. So I accept the girl’s request (not the Zareth girl, in case you’re confused) and wrote on her wall:
“Hey, do I know you?”
And she replied:
“Haha, no, but I just wanna be friends.”
Me:
“Uh, ok.”
This was our first and last wall conversation, which took place more than two years ago. Yes, two years. Since then we have not spoken to each other and I still do not know who the heck she is. Yet everyday, when I log onto Facebook, I see her activities, her friends and her photos on my homepage. I bet she sees mine too. And she doesn’t bother keeping in touch. What a friend.
So this girl was the last random friend request I accepted on Facebook. Then came alone this Zareth girl. Unfortunately for her, I learned my lesson and by then, have set down a few ground rules about friend requests. In order starting from most important to least important:
1) I know you personally or I have met you in person at least once.
2) I know you through a mutual friend and have at least spoken to you in person once.
3) I don’t know you personally but we share at least 10 mutual friends, so I must have met you before.
4) You mistook me for my fraternal twin brother. Well, it happens.
5) You’re one hot chick. Can I have you numba?
Number 5 doesn’t happen often. In fact, it happened only once, and that’s because the girl saw that I was under the University of Sydney network and she was under the same network, so she send me a friend request. Unfortunately, we only spoke once and that was it.
Anyway, Zareth girl didn’t meet the top 4 requirements. So I ignore her request and just left her friend request hanging around in my Request box. A few months pass and I forgotten about her request completely.
Then today, when I logged onto Facebook, I saw that I had another new friend request. I was curious to know who was it because I haven’t met anyone new in person.
So I clicked on the link and…
I saw a guy who had my name too.
What the….

Picture maligned to protect his identity.
I definitely do not know this guy because under his information, he went to a sports high school in the Malaysian state of Sarawak, which is on the Borneo Island. The last time I’ve been onto the Borneo Island was when I was five and that was when I was staying in Brunei.
I guess these two Zareths wanted to add me on their friend list because they’ve never seen a Chinese guy with such an unusual name and they want to share their unusual names with me. Or they thought that their names were unusual and was surprised to see another guy with the same name. Either way, although I want to celebrate my name with theirs, I’m not going to accept their friend requests.
They can create a “Zareth” group on Facebook and sent me an invitation though. But then, I might just ignore the request too.
Unless there’s a hot chick that share my name.
Now, that’s another matter.