He was but a shadow of his father’s former, valiant self. They took away every last thing he loved and lived for. But this time, he will take it back. It has given him every reason to fight.

As the vestiges of the fleeting peace, honour, glory and fame waned, so did any love and faith. If there was anything Jack was unlike his father, it was that he was devoid of love. His father had always been a cynic and a hopeless romantic. Just the kind his mother would fall for.

He has set out to complete what his father had begun. He will not let them take his will to live; they have already taken enough.
… …

I killed his wife, and murdered him in cold blood, eyes full of vengeance. Looking down the sights of a dead man’s gun, I pulled the trigger, again and again.

He died hunting ducks.

Redemption. Just as you taught me, pa.

At long last, a chapter is closed. For the man from Blackwater, the coyotes will wail, forever.

“Forever”, as I penned the last word of this memoir. It was the day John Marston stopped shooting.

I’ll never forget, he did it for me.

…

“Your hand’s upon a deadman’s gun, and you’re looking down the sights. Your heart is warm, and the seams are torn, and they’ve given you a reason to fight.”

In hindsight, I haven’t been shaken out of my comfort zone as many times before, as I have this year. I feel almost oddly out of place all the time. It’s probably because I am, after all, getting older. Things pan out less predictably as they get more complicated, don’t they? And they sure do get more complicated as one ages. Maybe it’s time for me to re-evaluate the status quo. Am I really as impervious to video gaming addiction as I thought I was? Am I really comfortable with my cavalier disposition? Is my burgeoning self-efficacy burdening me in certain situations, and astuteness in others?

Well, with these questions, I shall ponder. I shall return to work in 11 weeks’ time, a brand new me.

And that’s what I love about breaks. They can be a great time of self-improvement. Here’s to a great break!

Go get it energised!

There really isn’t any discernable differece in attitude between optimists and pessimists; they just behave differently. Optimists and pessimists are both escapists. Optimists see adversity, and they tend to think that “things will get better”, negating any contradictory evidence. They contend with things they deem positive, undermining the significance of all else. Contrarily, pessimists tend to think that “things will stay the way they are”, subjecting themselves to the view that their perceived reality is perpetually wrought with misery. Thereby, they refuse to live in reality. Consequently, they possess an idealised view of a world they might lock themselves in and away from reality. Both live in a world that idealises the future, and hold a skewed view of the present situation which they are facing.

I choose to be neither an optimist or a pessimist. Rather, I choose to be a realist, the diametrical opposite of the idealist.

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS.

Let’s start from the top: slept at 4 AM yesterday. I’m feeling weary now. Pulled a late-night to add the finishing touches to a documentary.

Not a problem, today was kind of a good day!

I presented the said documentary today. Except for a typo error, it was all good! Perfect, even, if I might add! The lecturer thought that mine was exemplary! Now, how’s that for pulling a late-nighter?

Aw… esome Monday morning! I never thought I’d say that.

That’s not all! Of course that’s not all. On a side note, I heard one of my favourite Glee covers today… THREE TIMES! “Don’t stop believing! Hold on to that feeling…”

Talking about which, wait, let’s back up a little.

Woke up in the morning, feeling nothing like P. Diddy. Fitful sleep, barely 2 hours of shut-eye.

Why does Final Cut Pro take so long to export? Waited for progress bar after progress bar. I had to burn a DVD in the morning. iDVD threw me an error at the final stages of burning. Ended up running late for school. Bus came in a few minutes, and was too crowded. I had to wait for the next one….

TRAFFIC JAM. >.<

All in all, it seemed bad. Gloomy. But it wasn't, not at all!

Something amazing happened then. I'm still in awe. o.O

Serendipty! Fate! Maybe destiny?

Kind of crazy that destiny was the main theme of "Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time". Oh, I finally watched that movie today! And "Karate Kid"! Both for free-of-charge!

That's it... The best monday yet in recent months!

Although, on a sidenote, I still feel bad I haven't watched Inception yet.

Excuse my incoherency. "Lack of REM sleep leads to impaired cognitive fuctions."

That's it. That's all. I've got to go to bed ASAP!

Dreams are cheap.

How do you think it feels like to be one of the round pegs in the square holes; the misfits; the rebels? You must feel crazy don’t you? People view you through crazy eyes and expect you to do crazy things, which you do. Sometimes you hold back. No matter what you do, though, they don’t accept you. They don’t understand. Nobody does.

These days, I feel like that.

I try to agree, I always do. But sometimes, the world drives me crazy enough to disagree. I’ve just got to find a reason to disagree. Perhaps, that makes me an anti-conformist. I didn’t choose to be this way, why would I? I wouldn’t deliberately choose not to fit in. “Conformity makes one forget what really matters.” Indeed, it does. Conforming makes me forget who I am, and that’s definitely somewhere I wouldn’t go.

I don’t want to live a lie. Being someone I am not? That sounds terribly awful.

I thought that this was the part in life where I get a break, I really did. Maybe I was wrong. It only gets worse. Shit never gets better. You just get further down the gutter and you’ve got to fucking wish that someone’s got your back. Nine times out of ten, nobody does. Shit happens, and you take it.

I mean, what else could you do?

You could rant. Shout, scream. Play the piano, guitar, bass, or the drums. Sing. Dance. Whatever it is, you just want to get it all out there. But nobody gets it. It just feels like you’re talking to yourself all the damn fucking time. Sometimes, it even feels like the anger has festered under your skin for such a long time, it might just burgeon into a fit of violence. Mindless violence.

You could stick it up to them. I could have: just me against the world. Tupac Shakur did it, didn’t he? I have much respect for him.

Or, you could just forget about it all. Wall yourself in a fantasy world where everything’s bliss, and wallow in self-pity.

I don’t like frivolity. Much less superficiality. I guess they’re just words to describe cretins? Big words, perhaps words unworthy. But I don’t like to disrespect those that do to me. It hardly feels right. It’s these people that don’t seem to be able to understand. They never do: always assuming you as the two-bit lifeless soul. Perhaps, yes, I appear a lifeless soul. Who else, but these same bunch of scallywags that made me out to be this way?

It makes me hypocritical, then, to subject myself to mindless violence. “Why do you like movies like this? What, are you a sicko?” I would very much like to shoot you now. But what good would that do? I turn my unhealthy tendencies into a hobby. So fucking what? Aren’t you the same bunch of finger-pointing ignoramuses that thought Twilight and Lady Gaga were brilliant?

Don’t fucking judge me anymore, world. I ain’t gonna change anytime soon. I can hardly stand it anymore. These days, I must admit that I’m really growing weary of trying to socialise. I’m tired of trying to make new friends. What do they do but to simply use you? I’m not a stranger to the ‘Quid Pro Quo’ dynamics of certain friendships. That’s not to say that the idea doesn’t elude me.

I have tried to nudge my life in a different direction. I have, quite unbearably hard. I don’t know why I just can’t see the scintillating “light from the sky” that would just teach me everything, and show me everything: how to love, how to care, and what to hope for.

There’s still more to say; lots more. Why do I have to hold back on my feelings? I don’t understand. I want to be around like-minded people, I don’t know just how hard that must be. Maybe I am mistakened, but I don’t seem to fit in wherever I go. Is it me? What is it, then?

If there’s a higher power, don’t fucking screw me over already. Seriously, this is a sick fucking joke. I didn’t know Deities had insecurities. Why? Why this?

I need an epiphany, I really do. Please, help me already. All these words I type; these sentences I construct — they feel like the voices in my head. It still feels like I’m talking to myself. What’s next?

You know, it’s hard to imagine that you only have one Bro, one homie out there. And it’s even harder to come to terms with the reality of it.

If love is such a magical thing, why am I not feeling it?

Originally posted on Facebook, this guide shall be posted here for the sake of all sane readers on this blog.

PRE-AMBLE:

As mentioned in the Second Article of The Bro Code: A bro is always entitled to do something stupid as long as the rest of his bros are all doing it. For example… If only one Spanish dude were to run down the street in front of a bunch of angry bulls, people would have been like "Dude, come on!!". The license to be stupid is why we have bros in the first place.

Since my bros are doing it, I shall have to uphold the code. This note by no means reflects the girls I have fallen in love with or will fall in love with. Nevertheless, a chick only attains a "pass" grade if she fulfills 70% of my expectations. Anything higher than that is considered a perfect match.

The purpose of this is to furnish chicks with a little "cheat sheet". Hypothetically speaking, if you are the perfect girl for me, you will know it. That's because awesomeness makes one self-aware. However, in the case that said girl dosen't know about my feelings of affection, she shall be deemed as too stupid. The exception to the pass grade on this test is the second question. If said girl does not meet my intellectual expectations, she is dismissed and ignored.

FYI, before this cheat sheet was written, only two were thought to so much as remotely passed the test.

RULES:

If you're a guy, repost this as "My kind of girl".
If you're a girl, repost this as "My kind of boy".
If you are a bro, you will endeavour to repost this as soon as possible.
If you are a certified chick, you will need to read this.
If you are lactose intolerant, please stop reading.
If a girl fails at Question 2 and Question 46, she is thought to be a failure.

THE ROADMAP:

1. Do you need him/her to be good looking?
Personality is imperative. However, this is a secondary requisite.

2. Smart?
She would preferably be within range of 20 IQ points from my own. Smarter girls are preferred.

3. Preferred age?
Her age would preferably within range of not more than 2 years from my own, unless said girl is younger and meets the following requisites:

x < y/2 + 7, where x is the chick's age, y is my age, and x > 14.

4. Preferred height?
There's a reason why chicks are referred to as "shawty" in Atlanta. She must be the same height as me, or shorter, unless said girl plays Grand Theft Auto. 83% of the time, I find tall gamer girls attractive. True story.

5. How about sense of humor?
She must have a strong sensibility towards sardonic and sarcastic humour, especially satire. A girl that can make pop and geek culture references at the rate of 20 references per week or more is greatly desired.

Additionally, sensibility towards tongue-in-cheek and slapstick is mandatory. These are indicators of sanity.

6. How about piercings?
Piercings are a major turn-off, unless one can pull it off, genuine goth style.

7. Accepts you for who you are?
She doesn't only NEED to accept me, she also needs to love me for who I am. Duh!

8. Pink hair?
Oh, gosh, NO! Again, unless she plays Grand Theft Auto, said girl is dismissed from my mind.

9. Mushy or no mushy?
I have no preference.

10. Thin or fat?
I only dig slim chicks. Slimness is a reliable indicator of health and thus, sexual attractiveness.

11. Black, Brown or White (skin color)?
I would be turned on by a girl of any ethnicity, as long as she isn't Taiwanese.

12. Long hair or short hair?
Preferably, long hair. It is a reliable indicator of confidence in one's sexuality.

13. Plastic or metal?
Metal. She must be able to tolerate Metal music as well.

14. Smells good?
I have no preference.

15. Smokes?
Unless she plays Grand Theft Auto, no way in hell.

16. Drinker?
No preference.

17. Girl/Boy-next-door type?
In accordance with the Platinum Rule — "Never ever, ever, ever 'love' thy neighbor." — literally, I am not a proponent of dating the girl next door. "Bagpiping", however, is welcome.
Figuratively, however, I would prefer the girl-next-door type.

18. Muscular?
NO! DUH.

19. Plays piano?
That would be awesome. It is a reliable indicator of creativity and an imaginative mind, which are primary requisites.

However, since I am unable to play any musical instruments, this is unimportant.

20. Plays bass and/or acoustic guitar?
Guitars are twice as awesome as pianos. Again. the ability to play one is a reliable indicator of creativity and an imaginative mind, which are primary requisites.

But, since I am unable to play any musical instruments, this is unimportant.

21. Plays violin?
Violins aren't awesome. However, again. the ability to play one is a reliable indicator of creativity and an imaginative mind, which are primary requisites.

But, since I am unable to play any musical instruments, this is unimportant.

22. Sings very good?
Preferably, yes.

23. Vain?
Vanity is the holy grail of chick-hood. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Yes!

24. With glasses?
I have no preference. However, my answer to Question 1 still applies.

25. With braces?
I have no preference. However, my answer to Question 1 still applies.

26. Shy type?
I have no preference.

27. Rebel or good boy/girl?
A bad girl is good in bed, a good girl is good to date. I have no preference.

28. Active or passive?
In a relationship, passiveness is a major turn-off. NO.

29. Tight or bomb?
Preferably, the former. However, a girl would still pass this one if she is the latter.

30. Singer or dancer?
Singer: I have no preference, but it would be good.
Dancer: Lap Dances are always a turn-on. Preferably, yes.
Ergo, I choose dancer.

31. Stunner?
Good looks are ephemeral, but so is life. Stunning looks get an awesome point in my book.

32. Hip-Hop?
Yes, she must love, or at least tolerate Hip-Hop.

33. Earrings?
I have no preference.

34. Mr/Ms. count-my-ex-boyfriends-until-you-drop?
Honesty is paramount in a relationship. However, competiveness isn't. I don't want a girl to shove their sexual escapades in my face.

35. Dimples?
Beautiful. This gets one awesome point in my book.

36. Bookworm?
She must be an adept writer. However, being a bookworm is way too extreme.

37. Mr/Ms. love letter?
She must be an adept writer, AND romantic. So, yes.

38. Playful?
I have no preference, but playfulness gets one awesome point in my book.

39. Flirt?
I have no preference, but flirtatiousness gets one awesome point in my book.

40. Poem writer?
Again, she must be an adept writer. So, yes.

41. Serious?
She must be serious about me — so serious, she thinks it's all a fantasy.

42. Campus crush?
I'm leaving this unanswered on purpose. Figure it out yourself.

43. Painter?
I have no preference. However, it is a reliable indicator of creativity and an imaginative mind, which are primary requisites.

44. Religious?
Either Agnostic or Christian preferred. Jedi are greatly desired.

45. Someone who likes to tease people?
I have no preference. However, teasing is an indicator of diabolism, which is a major turn-on.

46. Computer games geek? Or Internet freak?
An absolute must. The fervent love for Grand Theft Auto and/or Halo is preferable. However, any form of interest in video game is just enough to make the mark.

47. Speaks 20 languages?
I have no preference. However, I think this is absolutely sexy.

48. Loyal or faithful?
A chick must be loyal AND faithful to a bro, and vice versa. Such is life and a derivative of one of the fundamental laws governing the universe.

49. Good kisser?
A good kisser is greatly desired.

50. Loves children?
Preferably not.

Rule of thumb: NO KIDS UNTIL YOU’RE AT LEAST 45.

Here’s why.

• Studies have shown that human hearing starts to fade the instant you turn 45 so children won’t be as obnoxiously loud.

• After you turn 45 your game will naturally start to fade. Having a kid at that point gives you a prop that will help pick up chicks.

• According to the approved younger chick formula (your age / 2 + 7), when you turn 45 you can no longer hook up with a chick in her 20’s. Since the dream is over you might as well crank out a munchkin.

• Having a kid before you turn 45 means devoting much of your precious time to caring for and/or paying for it. After 45 what are you really doing with your time other than wishing you were younger?

• The longer you wait to have a kid the more likely you’ll be changing your baby’s diapers at the same time you have to change your own. While that may not sound ideal it will drastically reduce the amount of time you spend in your life dealing with poop.

CONCLUSION:

Chicks, good luck. This roadmap is but only one path to awesomeness. 83% of the time, however, the other paths to awesomeness are so much longer than this one. True story.

Bros, it is your job to bend over backwards to help another bro bend someone else over backwards. You know what to do.

Lady Gaga fans, I am sorry, this note has nothing of interest to you.

Hypothetical girl that passed the test, I congratulate you, and you might receive a call soon.

Barney Stinson, I thank you for The Bro Code [Redacted in the eyes of a chick, unless she is a certified bro.].

Darth Vader, I know Father's Day has passed. But I really want you to be my father.

I should, shouldn’t I? I mean, I’ve been looking forward, or backward, but never stopping to question the status quo, the present. The present is met with apprehension. The past? “Wow, I’ve come so far!“, I would say to myself as I reminisce. It makes me feel just a little better inside.

If life is a road trip, I’m nearing the outskirts of another city, cruising at a comfortable speed. Perhaps, a speed too comfortable.

Time to hit the brakes or hit the skids. Three days till I turn seventeen. I can do it.

Let’s hark back to the first week of school. I was a freshman then, as I am now. But there’s a difference, no doubt. I was reticent then. I am not so reticent now. I guess I’ve learned to see the humour in things much more nowadays. That’s not to say that I have lost my edge entirely. I’ve learned to see things positively where it matters.

There’s something peculiar that keeps me going. Deep down inside me, it’s rage, I reckon; rage that fuels and invigorates my actions. These days, I feel I might just have lost all of that. I find the notion of hate quite humorous. Maybe it’s just a fleeting thought. I’ve been known to take things with utter seriousness. I think that it is a good change in things, though.

All in all, six weeks just went by without much of a hitch. I’ve made many new friends amongst my classmates. They are a delightful bunch. I like the school environment; it’s pleasing. Of course, I simply love how I could use the Mac in school. Playing Grand Theft Auto: Episodes from Liberty City’s simply unresistable!

Not all’s well and good though. There are, of course, a select bunch which do not possess airs and graces. Fortunately, they haven’t been much of a problem in reality as they have been online.

Quite recently, I’ve also exposed myself to more television shows. I find the experience rewarding. After watching Glee, it’s now difficult for me not to see the music in every situation. The Big Bang Theory has also helped develop my sense of humour and linguistic skills. I could go on, but that would border on verbosity.

Most recently, Red Dead Redemption has been occupying my thoughts. I haven’t gotten far in the game, but if there’s one thing I must talk about, it’s the similarity between myself and John Marston — there’s no space for faith in my life, is there?

But there sure is for love. I’ve waited so long for this, I wonder if it shows? I’m smitten. I’m perplexed. I don’t know just for how long I can suppress my feelings.

What I’ve written today might not be much, but I wouldn’t want to be too loquacious. I’ve learned to be less reticent, and I guess that’s wonderful. It’s not that much fun writing in figurative language, anyway.

Here’s on to the seventh week — they say it’s the magic number; it has always been for me.

Approximately 27 hours ago, I returned home from the Film & Media Studies’ Freshmen Orientation Camp, organised by Ngee Ann Polytechnic, of which I’m a first-year student. The only word I had to describe it was simply “awesome”. Any other word would have been an understatement.

I am still trying to rejuvenate and reinvigorate – it’s difficult when the past three days were bustling with heightened energy. Fragments of raucous cheering and dancing still stuck with me. Like a vignette into the wilderness that the Polytechnic life seemed to promise, the camp was an indelible experience – one of stark difference to the past twelve years of my life.

I simply don’t know where to start writing about this camp, though – perhaps the dancing? If anything, the camp in its entirety could be likened to a party. I must say ‘Hop Night’ was what I loved most about the camp – the energy I had experienced there was simply quite unprecedented in its league.

On Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, we danced the night away to the throbbing speakers and smoke. Urban crossover music graced the airwaves with wonderful resonance as everyone moved to the beat in freestyle. I had never danced to Pitbull’s songs before, and I must say it’s quite a new and pleasing experience. In hip hop parlance, I think I went ‘krazy in da club’ that night.

If the music played wasn’t awesome, the vibe of everyone compensated for everything. Lady Gaga might have fallen short of stellar (not by a small margin by any means), but the dances to the tune of “Telephone” were entrenched in my head.

“Sube El Volumen!”, as Pitbull’s song Krazy goes. Every moment of camp was perennially interspersed with zealous cheering, as I remember it vividly. Invariably, every camp I went to included cheering. But it was the first time I had experienced something so perky!

I don’t know what else to write that hasn’t been written countless times by my fellow freshmen on Facebook, so I’ll just end this short note. Here’s a quick shout out to the peeps in Brawn and Johnny Bravo!

P.S.: One, Two, Three, Four! Uno, Dos, Tres, Quatro!