The Matchmaker

Throughout my secondary school year, I have encountered many people in relationships. You name it, I've seen it: stormy, lovey-dovey, the obscene, constructing castles in the sky, fumbling when people stumbled upon them, love today hate tomorrow love again today, cat fights...

Ah, life.

And through it all I play a role that seems most unsuitable for a man: the matchmaker. To clarify, I rarely introduce two people together. Instead I help mend the relationship with patches here and there. If something is going to make them happy, I'm willing to do it. They share their secrets with me and I don't go around yelling that the king have donkey ears. The secrets are safe with me.

In one case, I helped to jumpstart a relationship. The boy know the girl (they are in the same club) and the flammable stuff are already there. A few simple tasks like making a fake ID (school, not national) and printing the girl's picture at a photo shop generates the needed sparks. I am happy for them. At the same time, I slide deeper into depression.

I am the matchmaker. And the matchmaker is lonely.

Leave me alone while I listen to Spandau Ballet's Trough the Barricades.

G'day Mate - Seems Like I'm an Aussie

Your Slanguage Profile

Aussie Slang: 75%

Canadian Slang: 50%

Victorian Slang: 50%

Prison Slang: 25%

British Slang: 0%

New England Slang: 0%

Southern Slang: 0%

What Slanguage Do You Speak?

Understandable, since I've been exposed to... if you can call it, Aussieness for 5 years, mostly through IRC and message boards. As for the Victorian slang, I read a lot on our deer cap detective. But Canadian? That suprised the heck out of me. I mean, suprised the shit out of me mate.

Stalking Meeting a Blogger

Sometime in the past week, the Abwehr informed me that they have located her seat.

The game is afoot!

I decided to go on reconnaissance myself. And I did not came out empty-handed, since I now know that the 'A' in her name does not stand for her father's, instead it is hers.

D-day was set on shit I forgot sometime between 21 and 24 June. School was about to end and I loitered around her class, scanning every girl's name tags. People think I am a pervert. I am. After what seemed an endless number of girls passing by, someone walked out of the classroom. Scan. Zing!

"Nadia?"
"Yes?"
"Do you know me?"
A pause. "No."
"NSDS3."
"Oh, hi!"
"Hello."
We went our seperate ways.

What do you expect? Some romance story? Blogger's meet there and then? Naaah.

Life goes on.

Wanderings in Kuching

The General Post Office. Reminds you of the Parthenon, right? Corinthian colums in the facade. In the background is the Merdeka Palace Hotel.


A cemetary. It is so old that only the hardy crosses remained. Others had fallen and rotted away. No flowers to be laid there anymore, since the one that can remember those who are buried are not living anymore.


An old bicycle. Note the even older-styled handbrakes.


The owner, as antique as his bike.


The original Sarawak Museum ('Old Wing')


"I'm lost."


"Why does my map don't match this one?! Damn amateurs!"


"Take one more picture and I'll whack you silly with my umbrella. Or with the carved column, choose either one."

Cold Day In Kuching

Two days of rain. So cold that even the kucings curl up into balls of fur.



I shall be away until this Saturday, or next week's Sunday.