Photo: Thomas Leuthard
I know you’re busy, and you’re probably reading this post because you’ve got some time to kill between getting ready for work and your daily commute, so I’ll make it worth your while.
I mean, I can’t promise that you’ll get anything out of this, but hey, that’s the internet for you am I right?
One year ago
Well hello again. It’s been a while since my last post, and I thought I’d take this chance to announce a discovery I’ve made. I’ve taken to a monochromatic wardrobe a while back, and upon further inspection of social media, have come to a conclusion that it began almost one year ago. This discounts the black tee, jeans, and working boots phase I had prior to that.
Contrary to what I expected, the year passed by relatively quickly (much quicker than I’m comfortable with, frankly), and I haven’t thought much of my styling options until today, when I felt that my black Doc Martens could use a polish, but realised that my black Vans were too scruffy to stand in as a replacement.
I’d like to think that a handful of you would be interested in the life of a goth ninja, so I present to you, the things I’ve learned being colourless for a year.
Sole audience. Photo credit: Bujar Gashi
Have you ever watched a movie more than two hundred times? I have. The Matrix was released at a time when the internet had yet to bloom, where the best accompaniment to lunches and dinners were two-disced VCDs.
I can’t explain my intrigue. I had memorised the script by heart, but I was still mesmerised by the story of it all. Maybe it was the first time I ever questioned the meaning of consciousness. Perhaps I had an affinity to bullet-time. Maybe I just liked the wardrobe. One thing was for sure, I couldn’t get enough of The Matrix.
I remember signing up for that Writers Bureau course when I was still dressing hair for a living. I spent years fantasising about having my byline in magazines, the wonder of reading feature articles and hoping to do something similar one day.
I didn’t complete the course, but my dream remained. This morning I just realised how far I’ve come since then, and how I’ve actually realised my dream without even noticing.
This piece is particularly meaningful because I really loved my time on assignment and the writing process. The formatting’s a little off when compared to the hard copy though, so I’ll try putting up the PDF version soon.
Click here to read the story!
I love writing.
It’s not so much the creation of words than the tactile feeling of production. I’ve bought mechanical keyboards not out of necessity, but just because they’re much nicer to type on.
I’ve also lurked in bookshops, testing pens for hours at a time to find my favourite variant. I’m too cheap to get into quality pens, but boy do I splurge on the best mainstream ones. For the curious, I’ve always returned to the Pentel Energel and Zebra Sarasa—with a huge preference for the latter.
Behind our smiles lay the seeds of doubt.
He took a failing airline company and turned it for profit. Then he was thrust upon an international disaster, to which he showed the world what leadership meant. He’s also my new boss, and today, I’m about to give him a haircut.
My tools clatter in my trembling hands. Wait, did I say tools? I meant a shabby kit made out of office scissors, a wooden comb, a women’s disposable shaver, and a bottle of mineral water. Tony Fernandes looks at me, a stretch of bubble wrap hanging off his neck at an angle.
This is going to get messy, I say to myself.