the different shades of black

platform migrations

2005-11-11T19:13:00.000+08:00

" Choose life.
Choose a job.
Choose a career.
Choose a family.
Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and
electrical tin openers.
Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance.
Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments.
Choose a starter home.
Choose your friends.
Choose leisure wear and matching luggage.
Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit-crushing game shows, stuffing
fucking junk food into your mouth.
Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more
than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself.

Choose your future.
Choose life.

.. But why would I want to do a thing like that? "
- Renton, from the movie 'Trainspotting'

I rest tonight in the belly of my new crib... more then a little confused.

Goodnight world, thanks for the roof.
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incapacitated senses

2005-06-10T15:25:00.000+08:00

I wish you came.

It’s the hardest thing to do; writing about something that everyone has an opinion on and have been speaking of over the last few days. Some people liked the party, some people didn’t… honestly, it’s all been said and I'm so tired I don’t really care anymore.

Koh Pangan awaits.
Goodnight, world. I'll be back in two weeks.
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Chong-ism:

Seng: You know people are still asking us why we did it?
Yang: Did what? You mean the party?
Seng: Yeah man; catastrophic damages, thousands of dollars down the tube, a week of planning, round the clock set up, over 150 emais and God knows how much more clean up left to do.
Ngan: ...
Seng: ...
Yang: ... because we could, man. Because we fucking could.

resurrection projects

2005-06-07T11:20:00.000+08:00

Advance warning: House Party of The Year.

“No Survivors - 100% Casualties!!!”
date: 11.06.2005
time: nine pm 'till sunrise
location: the little treehouse of horrors
no cover. one night only.

Available Poisons of Choice
dance freaky (electro-progressive), chill out sanctuary,
console gaming otaku-zone,
munchies and grub, todi-guzzling at the park,
crash-TKO-pad, artsy-fartsy screen marathon and
other activities i really can’t mention here…

* free flow all night long.
** organized by the noizy minority.

Updates
On-line live video feeds will be made available (no audio).

Featuring the melodic & technical pyrotechnics of
DJ Shawn (Dallas, Texas)

Call or comment bellow to get on the invite list.
Goodnight, world. Brace for impact.
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documented transparencies

2005-06-06T10:50:00.000+08:00

Chong-ism:

Yang: Do you people dramatize your blogs to reflect your lives or dramatize your lives so you can have something to blog about? Honestly.
Ngan: Same difference. Honestly, I can’t tell anymore.

Watch out for more uninspiring conversations at nganchong.blogspot.com.
NganChong…. For life-less-ness….

fundamental prerequisites

2005-06-03T12:05:00.000+08:00

Addictions, everyone's got something.

the dragon

the dragon and i have become
one in the same
although i long to be rid of it
its spine has taken root
beneath my skin
when i struggle to free myself
of it, its points dig
deeper into me
threatening to rip the flesh
right off me
the dragon
would rather
kill me
then allow me
to live
without it

For the last two months Kero has been continuously trying to shed me from her skin. I think it’s about time I returned the favor.

We can't go on like this. We can't go on hurting the people we love for this.

Goodnight, world. Be in peace.
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Someone you should bump into:

Eevon: I think we should drag you out to shop.
Ngan: No, I don’t need anything right now.
Eevon: Honestly, you could use some new clothes.
Ngan: No, i don't need new clothes.
Eevon: Everything you have is the same.
Ngan: No, everything's not the same.
Eevon: Everything is in black!
Ngan: No, everything is in different shades...

Her name is Eevon and she has always been there for me.

iterative models

2005-06-02T17:40:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I think this city won't stop teaching us something until we get it.

Broken

I hate you for being noble enough
to be able to walk away
from our non-relationship,
for no longer filling the emotional void inside me,
for being stronger and smarter and
more sensible than me.
I hate you for making me cry
and for making me feel totally powerless.
I hate you for treating me like a princess
but being able to say no,
for being strong enough to do
what we both know is right.
I hate you for being intelligent and fascinating
without being arrogant and stubborn
and I hate you for being the person
I've spent so much time looking for and
finally, now, can't have.
By Daureen

I was turning 22, she was 25 and engaged.

Daureen wrote this for me the afternoon I told her to return to her fiancé and leave the notion of us together in the dark recesses of her imagination where it belonged. I told her it was for the best, that whatever we had between us was puerile compared to the future he wanted to give her, I told her that this would only end badly and that I didn’t want any part of it. I said so much but I didn’t tell her I didn’t feel anything for her… and that I probably never will.

It’s been four years now and I‘m still finding much to regret from this conversation.

Initially we went through the common motions of forbearance but it didn’t last for long. A week later she walked out of her engagement and found her way to my front porch. I asked her why she did it. She said she did it for us.

Out of obligation we dated for a little while before I finally ended it. I heard later that she tried to reconcile matters with her fiancé but it was already too late. She’s the only girl that’s written for me. She gave me eight pieces in total and they were all about how I hurt her.

Chicks with dicks, you know… sigh.
Goodnight, world. I'm sorry for all the damage.
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Melodic eccentricities you should be listening to:
What: This Love
By: Maroon 5
From: Songs About Jane (2002)

Why:
Because these are the wicked words that hang disturbed and unsettled between our unwritten lines.

for loops

2005-06-01T10:24:00.000+08:00

sick rhymes

don't ask me
what i'm thinking
trust me
you don't want to know
don't let me
remember the good times
don't let me
relive the bad times
don't let me
read all these
sick rhymes
i wrote
for
you
by david mack

I discovered recently that Kero still keeps me in mind although she'll not have this compromise matters with her boyfriend. So, nothing changes and I'm starting to wonder if it ever will...

Goodnight, world. Rest well.
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Ngan-ism:
" Don't you get it? Convenience is a luxury, it's not part of the package and it’s not a fucking right! "

compilation errors

2005-06-01T00:20:00.000+08:00

We needed to meet, face to face.

After the longest two weeks of distance, Kero and I decided that it was time.

We needed to connect like we used to before this maelstrom of emotional uncertainties fell on us. We needed to keep a face attached to the stories we hear. We needed to talk and be civil like people that fall out of non-relationships are forced to be. We needed to be friends. She needed to try. I needed to hang on.

As such, a plan was quickly put into place. It was essentially simple enough; I would pick her up for lunch and bring her to one of the finest Indian restaurant our city had to offer. We would order ridicules amounts, sample everything that poked our curiosity, enjoy the decorations, giggle under the flurry of our inside jokes and smoke like we were immortals. To close the afternoon, we would catch the screening of Episode III at a nearby cinema. Only then, with her breath slow and contented, would she go home. With a smile on her face and a smile on mine knowing that another mission was well accomplished. Simple.

Not too common to be forgotten. Not too elaborate to find myself racing against the sundial. I even got her a limited edition CD by one of her favorite bands. It was going to be simple. It was going to work. It was going to be idiot-proof, even for me.

But as the city would have it, Murphy’s Law decided to impose itself onto this effort and… man, it was unrelenting.

Four hours behind three queues in two different cinemas that took two buses and one train ride eventually found me without tickets for the show.

An overdue wake up call in the morning and two hours of Bangsar traffic lead me to her doorstep over an hour late.

A map faxed over to me by the restaurant and then later revised by a friend not only had us lost but eventually took us to a different restaurant all together.

She was very sleepy by the time we got there and I was rather tired myself from driving all morning. We didn’t say much, we just ate and tried painfully to laugh.

There’s not much that I now remember from this conversation with Kero. Except that things are better with her boyfriend, her life is filling up with new people, work was finally becoming challenging and that I still can't look her in eyes.

Later that evening Seng asked me how it went, all I could say was that we Passaged Through India and somehow found ourselves at The Bombay Palace. He rolled on the floor laughing. I grinned and asked him to pass the bottle.

I should also note that she left the CD in the car.

Goodnight, world. Hold her for me, won't you?
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Ngan-ism:
"If you believe in true love, you'll also have to accept that not everybody finds it. Quantitative logic and semantics, that's just the way these fucking cities work".

code anomalies

2005-05-30T19:39:00.000+08:00

" I'm not gonna meet someone like Diane Court at a kegger. I mean this girl was different, man. When we'd go out, we wouldn't even have to go out. We'd just hang out. This girl made me trust myself. I was walking around, feeling satisfied, can you imagine that? "
- Lloyd, from the movie “Say Anything”.

Goodnight, world. Don't give up on yourself.
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Someone you should bump into:
I call her Kero and she's the one that you're hoping to find someday.

We spoke a week ago and I asked her if it’s over. She said, “Yes, I’m going back to him and we’re going to work it out”.

Everything she's said since then doesn't seem to carry much weight. I guess that means it still hurts... and that I still miss her very much.

environmental run-time exceptions

2005-05-28T02:00:00.000+08:00

It was pouring heavily that afternoon and I remember being stuck in the café scribbling this on a napkin.

Oh, queen of rain
trapped by your unconscious design
stop building me chains
i cannot break
stop me drowning
in my own mismatched hate
stop your beauty
falling like tears drops
into the gutter
that is
my
soul
by quddus chong

I was with Evelyn the night before. We were making our way out of my apartment to the car park when we saw a shadowy figure slumped and groaning beside a nearby drain. The guards were paying no attention to it and I too was just about to drop my blinders on this sight until Evelyn whispered, “I think she’s crying”.

I did not contest, Evelyn is always right and I’m always too apathetic.

This lady was quite elderly, abandoned and suffering from retardation. It took us the longest time but we eventually manage to gain her trust through the use of Evelyn’s soft words and my emergency Hersheys. We drove her to a police station not too far away where we were hoping they could help us find a shelter or trace her family. The officer I was talking to told me that all the shelters here were only open in the day. What they could do was to bring her down to the general hospital for a check up and let her spend the rest of the night at the station. I mentioned tracing her family again but the officer looked away. He asked me who I thought put her on the streets in the first place.

I’d like to think that the city cries for us sometimes. I just wish it didn’t make me feel so fucking useless.

Goodbye, world. Be good to yourself.
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vicious paths

2005-05-26T04:23:00.000+08:00

I have to wake up at 6 in the morning and I hate it.

Yang is already late so he throws a bucket of water over my head while mom gets breakfast ready for us downstairs. We leave soon after, he’ll drive as I play co-pilot. I’m armed with my iPod and a fresh new playlist to get us into gear. We talk on the all way there; mostly about music, his homo-phobic dreams and our tragic love lives. I’ll give him my two cents and he’ll laugh reminding me that if for nothing else at least I’ve maintained my brotherly role by showing them everything not to do in life. I keep a grin on my face and continue working the iPod. I don't dream anymore, the sedatives have taken that away from me. He doesn’t know.

When we reach Empire Towers I get off, bid him an excellent day and start walking to my own little concrete crib. It’s a long 45 minute walk but it makes for good exercise. It’s also the best part of my day.

You’ll find me strolling with amphetamine charged music in my ears and wanderlust in my eyes. I love walking down the middle of Jalan Ampang at 7 in the morning. It’ll be inevitably turned from a road to a car park during that time and I’ll walk past a hundred different faces stuck in traffic. I see them reading the paper, putting on make-up, tinkering with their radios, screaming at kids, trying to pray, holding back tears, planning their entire day behind a steering wheel… the list goes on for about six kilometers and it is never the same.

I try not to stare and they try not to pay attention to me. It’s an understanding I have with this city. I can look as long as they don’t notice; I’ll survive as long as I keep dancing around these infamous motorcyclists.

Breaking the contract, the city doesn’t know that in my head I’m secretly watching REM’s Everybody Hurts. The world is monochrome and everyone hears the same music. People actually notice me although I’m still pretending not to be seen. They step out of their cars, one at a time, and begin slowly to congregate behind me. They’re marching together in a very melancholic-non-conformist-Tyler-Durden manner. No one talks; we just walk forward breathing air that doesn’t make us hurt. With the corner of my eye I can see them smiling. They’ve broken away from the city’s grasp and are marching towards whatever it is liberation means to them. Everyone is holding hands now and I don't have to dance anymore.

That's all for today, I have to go.
Goodbye, world. Take care of yourself.
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Someone you should bump into:
His name is Quddus. You will find this secluded code-addict sitting in the deepest, most concealed corner of an IT firm in Kansas City. Do not let his mild mannered demeanor fool you. This man is the single most anal-retentive, judgmental and philosophically-pious person I've ever known. He serves as my harshest critic and my greatest nemesis.

Although, there have been moments that stands to contradict this. Like once, when he was barely ten years old, Quddus ran into a completely foreign shopping mall alone. He charged in there to look for his kid brother who wandered off by himself (which at the time, he was not yet popular for doing). His mother was frantic and did not know what to do so Quddus sat her down and told her to wait. He ran in there all by himself and although it took him awhile, the two were reunited and Quddus lead their escape back into the arms of their mother.

I should also mention that he is without a doubt my foremost reference of literature, culture and art. He has thought me so much and without him I would not know the meaning of courage, imagination, nobility or brilliance.

These days he lives far away but when I’m sad I still like wondering off. Regardless of how it looks to my peers, I’m not annoyed or running from anything. I just miss those kind hands that were always so good at leading me home.

This is Quddus. My big brother... also, my biggest fan.

humble beginnings

2005-05-25T02:00:00.000+08:00

HELLO WORLD

HelloWorld is a term for any simple program or component that verifies a functioning system environment, usually by outputting the words "Hello World''. Hello World holds very little value in the learning or evaluation of a programming language and its constructs. Its primary purpose is to ensure that the compiler is on the right path, the libraries are in the correct places and that the build script is sane.

I am the compiler of this little virtual endeavor and my name is Ngan Chong. You would have already known me by a multitude of different names by now but it doesn’t really matter. These are just names granted to me by the city and its people. Sooner or later - given enough grace to stand by my side - you will eventually know me as Ngan.

Not a face, the brief acquaintance, a name card, a story, the friend of someone's brother, the brother of someone's friend, not the hearsay nor a series of numbers on your machine.

No. My name is Ngan and it's a pleasure to finally meet you, world.
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