After owning this blog since forever, you can now find out who I am by clicking the page link right below my header. Or alternatively, visit www.braintango.wordpress.com/who-am-i.

Also took the chance to do some doodling since being trapped indoors with deadlines pretty much turn your brains into mush. A little cluttered, a little maniacal and a little too abstract to understand. Don’t ask me what it means, because I most likely have no answer too.

Happy sunny days guys, the skies finally cleared up.

Controlled Chaos

There will come a time in your life, where you will repulsively realize that every aspect happens to be spinning rapidly out of control. Your phone is out of juice, you may have had a drink more than you should have and you’re patiently waiting for the last bus to come whisk you home from the bus stop-all while trying to refrain from vomiting on your brand new shoes.

I am a little buzzed right now. Everything seems a little happier than it is, a little more positively charged than how it usually feels. When you have the right amount of alcohol in your system, you feel like the world speaks in helium voices. (The kind where people kind of speak in chipmunk-ish pitches instead of their usual ones? Yeah.) My throat is burning, apparently beer doesn’t help with the soothing of sore throats and neither does liquor. My thoughts are chaotic in my head, like flies kept in a bottle, driven mad with containment, driven desperate by claustrophobia. I haven’t written in a long time I’ve realized, perhaps too long to maintain my internal equilibrium, driving my sanity to a corner and letting something else take over. What exactly, I’m not very sure.

If I were to have a daughter in future, I hope she’ll be a wild child like me. Children who have been exposed to the toughest of shit tend to hold themselves better when things get rough. And things always get rough. I hope she’ll deal with things the exact same way I do, because I think I’m doing pretty damn well right now.

I just got my Macbook Pro, and I’m gonna shoot some zombies right now. Fuck the world, everything is nothing compared to a zombie apocalypse. Adios my friends, and wish me luck. May the best man survive.

Courage and Faux Bravery

I smell like cologne. Like man cologne. And there are 4 new bruises on my hands and probably a few more on my legs. I am in the office with unwashed hair tied high on my head into a ponytail and a churning in my stomach because my colleague is talking about the delicious Bak Kut Teh she wants to have for lunch. But more importantly, I am trying very hard to recall the spark of brilliance I had last night which I vividly remember hastily typing into my phone but has obviously vanished in a puff of smoke. (Much like my sanity) The only thing I can remember is the title I so wittily chose for that epiphanous moment and am reminded that I wanted to talk about bravery.

I am afraid of many things-beetles, lizards, capsicums, oily hair, dry hair, being forgotten, making new friends, losing old friends… If I made it my personal conquest to collate them all, the list would probably take its place on the Guinness book of world records for being the longest scroll ever. On a scale of 1 to 10, I probably place myself between a 2 and a 2.5. Courage the cowardly dog would be so proud of me. It’s hard to tell that behind the gungho façade and the daredevil image, I actually am a piece of silken tofu inside. I, like anybody, get queasy before a rollercoaster ride and try to conjure up a million lame excuses in an attempt to avoid getting on it (even though I suggested it in the first place). I, like anybody, feel like my heart is about to escape from my mouth before I address a crowd way too large for comfort (even though I clambered and clawed my way to that position). I, like anybody, feel like my legs are reduced to jelly when looking down from a height over 4 stories tall (even though I willingly climbed up there in the first place). This is also possibly how the epiphany came to me last night. Even when we’re not brave enough, pretending to be fearless sometimes help make us that little bit more courageous. Note my attempts at faux bravery in the parentheses above.

Faux bravery AKA pretending-you-are-completely-unfazed-when-you-are-actually-scared-shitless is an art. It is like jumping into the deep end of the pool before you’ve even learnt to swim. I like to think of it as letting my heart grab hold of the steering wheel while my brain has been dumbed down by either too much fear or too much alcohol. But hey, the good news is that while pretending to be brave, you actually do become a lion, or get a lion’s heart in exchange at least. Feigning bravery often means you end up doing the things you would never have done in the first place, thus making you that much  bolder. Try having to exterminate a flying roach because you have a younger sibling cowering behind you in fear. You have no choice, so take a deep breath, mumble words of comfort (which probably is meant for yourself rather than for your baby sister) and pretend that that thumb-sized pest isn’t your greatest nightmare. When you’ve won that epic battle between man and insect, pat yourself on the back and throw your arms up in victory. You’ve just faced your biggest fear and survived. You’ve also become the most courageous person to have ever graced this planet, because courage isn’t about being fearless. It is about being able to face your bête noir.

However, there are times you have to come to terms with the fact that there are some phobias you cannot overcome and likewise, there are some fears you cannot face. But we will soon come to realize that being able to accept that truth is in fact an act of bravura as well. Therefore, I shall continue to stare at that daunting green stalk of asparagus and calmly convince myself that I, being so brave and valiant, will acknowledge the fact that I cannot and will never be able to stomach such a repulsive vegetable, give myself a reaffirming nod and walk away triumphant and proud.

I’ll Carry You Home Tonight

Unusually awake at an awkward timing of 6.49am and unable to go back to sleep. Makes me wonder if it has anything to do with the pink sky, or the dubious amounts of alcohol I had 5 hours before. Hm.

“We Are Young” by Fun is looping relentlessly in my head and every fucking time I hear it, I feel invincible and…embarrassingly, I feel like throwing a party that involves too much alcohol and too little talking. The world is a better place when people stop going on and on and on about themselves (or worse, other people) and put their mouths to better use by sipping vodka with lime and cranberry. (MAJOR YUM) Afterall, everything you need to know or hear is probably so much more real, raw and heartfelt after the drinking.

“Give me a second I, I need to get my story straight. My friends are in the bathroom getting higher than the empire state.”

Love this song. We are young! And even if the sky collapses like a giant biscuit that cracked, we’ll probably be the only ones walking away and saying “Wait, did the sky just fall? Or was that just a particularly bad hangover?” We will never be younger than we are at this moment. Hopefully, I will also never be more foolish, reckless, or silly as I am now. Oh wait, I want to be this reckless forever, because for now, I’m on a roll and as much as I sound like a teeny boppy teenager unable to come down from her first Justin Bieber high, I like it.

Remember how I took a completely different stand on clubbing just a few posts ago? Well, you can’t walk in whole and come out half when there wasn’t anything to lose in the first place right?

“And so if by the time the bar closes, and you feel like falling down, I’ll carry you home tonight. :)”

Awake Awake?

Remember the film “Click” where Adam Sandler would pick up the remote and unhesitatingly forward parts of his life away, only to realise how much he regretted it? I feel like I’ve been doing that alot recently, except the absence of a remote in my hand forces me to resort to sleeping to super speed my life forward. I think I average 15 hours of sleep a day now if I’m not heading out.

There’s something oddly hypnotizing about being in a room filled with people, music blaring at deafening levels and where the only beverage available contains enough alcohol to sanitize your table top. Had an amazing time last weekend with some of the coolest people I have had the honour of ever knowing in a nightclub dancing, drinking and puking my night away. As much as the puking was totally worth it considering the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed myself the previous night, I am having mixed reactions to the entire escapade. Reactions ranging from “Never again.”, to “Round 2 next Sat night!” and as much as the rebellious and fun loving teenager in me is screaming to say “Bring it on”, the matured old lady hidden deep within my marrows say no. And this time, the old lady in a grey knitted sweater wins.

I mean, there’s completely no harm (if you exclude the damage done to your liver) in partying the night away with a group of close friends because you know that no matter how drunk you are, there will be someone to hold your hair when you are hurling vile tasting liquid into the river and make sure that you get home safely. Especially with results releasing in ten days time, this is the best time to be young. This is the best time to be worry free. This is the only time you can ever be this carefree. Maybe its just me, but every time I have a kickass night, something feels wrong. Besides the fact that I feel like I have been punched in every part of my body (I suspect that my friends have violent tendencies), I feel even more empty than I felt the night before. And I don’t mean empty in the way broken hearted girls say they are after a break up. I mean empty in a sense like I gave too much last night and got too little back. Empty like I lost a night not remembering what I did, or who I was. Its funny for the moment when I text Daniel “Dafuq did I do last night?” and he replies saying “Irene asked you what your name was and you said Chow…Chow Chee Bye”, and then it just becomes horrifying because maaaaan I totally did not remember myself saying that last night.

Don’t get me wrong, I support partying, its just that I can never fully grasp the emotions I get after that. The high you get from being intoxicated, the heat from dancing with like a million other people on the dance floor, the air you breathe which feels saturated from the breaths of the others in the room, the way your vision begins to blur and everything starts to become funny, the feeling is exquisite. Crude yes, but exquisite.

I suppose some people feel that they shed a part of themselves after the night out and they feel lighter than they were before. Perhaps relieved? But to me, the lightness translates into an uncomfortable emptiness, much like I walked in a whole and came out half.