what dreams may come…

lucid ruminations of a dreamer 2005-09-26 13:49:30

Dream journeys

and he said, "If a better  dream comes along, why not  dream it?"   We focussed people often find it essential to have a dream to work towards. The burning desire, the driving ambition of our life. But dreams do change. We might start out wanting to open a cafe/bookstore in the beginning, but maybe now, we want to carve a niche in the professional chef line instead now.   Maybe our goals change as we change, maybe we’ve grown up and the innocent and eternally optimistic child in us has grown up a bit and so is more exposed to the "real world" and how its cogs rotate. Maybe we’ve just given up hope of ever getting there in the first place, running low on ambition fuel and loaded down with the realities of responsibility in the back seat that our dream vehicle just gets a flat.   One thing’s for sure, if while driving down the road of ambition, if we slow down and watch for the signs maybe it can bring us somwhere different, maybe better?   On a road trip, we’re bound to make rest stops, stretch out our legs and have a much earned drink of ice cold teh-o-ais limau. So it is with our life’s journey, we reassess the destination and see whether we could stretch the gas a few miles more and go beyond our previous goal or decide to change our route to a whole different place, a whole different dream.   and he said, "If a better  dream comes along, why not  dream it?"

Must be funny, in a rich man’s world…

When Sean John hosted this year’s VMA, I knew it would be interesting to watch superstars stroll out of their pimped up ride bedecked in the finest bling their royalties could afford them. I knew the Book Smart would win the Grand Turismo PS2 graffiti with images of cash falling down like confetti. To the focus group that decides on the ad-work, money promises everything. Ask the 23 year old boy who made it big being the youngest entrepreneur in the advertising industry with a company to his name. If bling is your thing, then hop on in; because I’m gonna give you the ride of your life.

 

Welcome to the world of C O N S U M E R I S M. The politics that rule your pocketbook is guided by how gullible you are in spending your money. Splashy, bold and superbright highway advertisements have the nation eating Nasi Lemak McChicken for supper. Yes! M is for Makan. No wonder everyone is taking a dive at selling. M is also for Money. Because when you sell, someone will buy. People become naturally obsessed with departing with their eight ringgit for a chance to dip their tongue stud in a tall skinny iced latte; including me.

 

Everything has gotten too sanitary. Samantha Jones said it the moment Pottery Barn opened up in the hip meat-packing district she moved into. Our five-foot way mamaks have graduated from street sell to displaying the English premier league on a 48 inches plasma TV. Misted fan and closed-circuit television must be adding comfort to our epicurean experience because we hardly realised the fine print of additional ten percent in service charges we’ve been paying. A major payment brand dominates our visual landscape and even if the sticker on the door says “Welcome Here” – we know we could not swipe our plastics there to put food into our system.

 

Yet, money, according to Sally Bowles – makes the world go round – and I know everyone agrees with that. It drives a woman to choose between lifestyle and love. It is driving dreams into higher gear; but then again: if love is blind, money is even more so. The choices people make is driven by where the decimal point stops in a set of numbers that follows a monetary denomination. When someone asks me, what I do for a living; it always occurs to me that he is interested in the kind of possible disposable income that follows the career line.

 

No matter how far I park my car away from the valet, I still fork out something for the guy with the torch light who claim rights to that piece of land where my car is. I don’t know why I paid him because at the end of the night, he won’t be there, he won’t be looking out for my car; and should anything happen – the receipt he gave have given him immunity from any damages that might occur. I’m afraid I’m only paying him so he won’t break into my car. Its kinda like the protection money little Italian corner shops pay to the john gottis that rule the mean streets.

 

It’s the price of living in the city. There is always someone outside your car with his palm up and stretched in your direction. Even sex with the person you’re dating could be conditional upon how you have succeeded in impressing the bling you have. Face it boys, you’d have to be made from something to get something. The one who says money isn’t everything is the same person who is knocking on your door seeking handouts for a charitable cause.

 

 

Either you’re a CEO or a rent-boy, a waitress or a group accounts director, your wallet is filled with receipts to claim for the lifestyle you lead. Money is power after all – and power corrupts, as all law students know –Absolute power corrupts absolutely. No, your life isn’t just a number; it’s a RM88 nett business lunch at a swanky hotel, a ten ringgit parking ticket, it’s when your 5 cents worth finally making sense every time you send out a text message. When money is what required of you in a relationship and you work so hard at getting it both right; you lose your sense of self. The bohemian chick you were; once living on the edge waiting on tables of glamorous people and writing poetry at lunch breaks now a harried accounts executive yearning for a break in the advertising industry; making money choose your destination in life rather settling down for the kind of happiness you once had. So where do we go from here?

 

 

rant rant raving wednesdays

There was a common grouse left up in the air to dry last night at mambo. The boys and I have hit ground zero. The base camp realized a catch 22 situation.

GIRLS

Girls constantly lament about the scarcity of pretty boys with a straight heart; and fail to see the shy knight in shining Armani suit who hold a candle for them, their balenciagas, lipstick, everything under the sun; but their mobile phone. It must’ve been a dear Abby night because I ran into not one but three men who repeated le quote du jour.

‘I am SICK of being used…’; he says.

“I pick her up from her house, we got here, she disappears for the rest of the night and conveniently shows up about ten minutes before 3; she pulls a long face when I say I’d rather spend my ringgits on bottles and share with my friends than get a room”

The poor dude is sloshed and his story is pouring out to someone he met just 15 minutes ago. I listened. I listen because I find it amusing that I actually do understand him; and I told him so.

So what are you doing killing yourself over this chick? I asked him. All three said – no more, I’m sick of being used.

“Tell yourself *that* when you wake up in the morning, bro – you’re whipped. She’s got you twisted around her little finger…” ; I motioned a whipping action adlibbed with SFX. I’m being realistic, dude. Decisions concocted at an intoxicated spur should only be taken lightly. The same theory applies to kissing, touching and fucking under the influence.

Mambo, I am still obsessed with the energy it gives. It’s the people. Most of whom already know well enough to discard dat chip off their shoulder and learn that smiling, adds a number into your mobile phone. Elementary, dear Watson. I returned to my brother & Colin to bop to Sesame Street’s theme song & relate to them, tales of SMS flirting with the charismatic Josh Lim.

But that’s another story for another day…

I should start chronicling my Wednesdays into a book… its always something there. The generation that once was X; a tec-9 that dispenses prozac and a ratty teddy bear in the other hand – if you don’t even understand this – then you will never be able to

yan was right about city life. Its a mix of glitter and gutter…