Beijing Story

I have not blogged for a year. No, its not that I am lazy, but its because I cannot seem to access blogger.com in China... UNTIL I discovered that my Japanese housemates notebook can somehow slip its way through the Chinese filtering system into all the forbidden websites. Even then, I was a little too busy with other matters. When you are too busy with life, you tend to talk less about it. But now that I have time on my hands, I felt that I should continue to blog mainly because this story of mine is a story worth telling. Also because reading other peoples blogs mde my fingers itchy. AND also because I refuse to be put on Sharlene's Abadon Aztec Temples list. So Shar, this temple is no longer just a cultural relic. Kindly remove my name from that list. Please?

Thanks... now on to China.


BEIJING
For the geographically un-educated, Beijing is the capital of China. Judging by the map on my fridge, I would say it is about half the size of the Malaysian Peninsula, but it is still one of the smaller provinces in China. It has a population of almost 15 million people and I doubt that includes foreigners like myself.

TianAnMen Square and its surronding buildings are symbols of China's governance and culture. Despite what foreign media says about its government, political figures here are highly respected by locals. The government has also done a tremendous job in improving its economy and living conditions. You have to see it to believe how rich alot of Chinese people are.

This sight is more and more typical in many areas as Beijing develops further. Flashing neon lights, Starbucks, McDonalds, local and foreign supermarket chains are becoming increasingly omnipresent. In this picture, the traffic is awesome. During rush-hour, I can't help but feel Beijing is one giant carpark. If you KLians or Singaporeans think your jams are bad, Beijing will take traffic-terror to a whole different level.

If you are someone who likes talking to strangers, you will never feel lonely in Beijing. Day, night, dawn, dusk, there are always people around. This is one reason why I feel Beijing is a very safe place- if you commit a crime, there will be alot of people watching. Damned molesters from Malaysia should be brought here.
Of course, there are some downsides to its economic development. Pollution is one of them. People here are struggling to make their yuan that they really have no time nor energy to care for the environment. Because everyone is trying to survive or make it big, I can't blame them for the rubbish and poor quality of air, yet I have to blame them because who else is there to blame? The divide between the wealthy and poor is another major issue. Back in Melbourne, I saw this divide in the form of an hourglass of a graph. To experience it is a whole different thing. One day, I step into a club where the drinks are at least 40rmb and spakin' cars parked outside. The next, I see people on the streets desperately selling trinkets or slices of fruit for only 2 or 3 rmb. I really can't imagine how they can survive in an environment where inflation is going through the roof and rich people are spending money like toilet paper.

This was a shot taking during our school trip to TianAnMen and the Forbidden Palace. For most of these students, this short-term course in China will be a fun-filled and enriching experience that will open their eyes to a completely different part of the world. For some, it will dramatically shift the course of their lives in the future. For me, lets just say that I now preferred to be called 张冠诚 instead of Derrick.


FRIENDS
This story in Beijing is so long an multi-faceted, I did not know where to start. Should I begin from day one when I first stepped into Beijing? Should I begin by talking about Peking Roast Duck? Should I talk about school? As I have learned in Melbourne, a sojourn can only be as meaningful as the people I meet and my experiences with them, and not how well they roast their duck. Therefore, I have decided to start by talking about the characters that I have met, both interesting and repugnant. The picture above is pretty much all of my friends in my Beijing University Short-course in Chinese.
During the first-half of the year, I lived alone in a place where most residents seemed to be retirees. At 23, I really felt a little out of place over there. So for the second-half, I lived with these three other weirdos. The guy on the left-most side is Jacky Cheung 张学友. Very talented. The girl next to him is Kelly, the Brazillian-born chinese who, similar to me, does not really look chinese. Since the first day I met her, it is easy to tell that one of her biggest hobbies is talking. Because her looks are quite far above average and because she has that charm of exoticism, many guys are willing to listen to her blabb... i mean, to her expression of her feelings. Her charm has also got a handful of guys following her from Beijing to SiChuan, which is why we keep a Tai Chi sword in the house to fend away the ones who to follow her home.

The moron in the middle has shared many adventures with me. Yushi and I were acquainted during a trip to Inner Mongolia, and since then we have had many interesting experiences together, experiences that I do not know whether to divulge on this blog. This Japanese guy is really funny. Not funny in a witty or humorous way, nor is he the kind who likes to act cute, but his natural actions and demeanor can make you roll on the floor like your back caught fire. Alot of people adore him because this, but at times I feel that people should respect him more for his depth and intellect. My Japanese has had much improvement because of him. I have learned new words like kusai, onani, chinko, mangko, opae, isyoni neru, atama kitanai and many more useful and practical phrases. respectively, they mean smelly, masturbation, male-privates, female-privates, boobs, let us sleep together, dirty head

The girl on the right is Angela, our Beijing connection. Was not close to her in the first few weeks, but later on I realised that many of her friends call her when they are troubled. The reason is simply because she is a very good listener. So as we slowly started chit-chatting about life and its qualms, I found out that she can be extremely open in conversations, where you can talk about almost anything without limits or closed doors. I find it sad, however, that many of her friends only go to her when they have problems. People should realise that a wise counsellor has her own issues and needs. She is currently crazy over good-looking Indians and people of the Middle-Eastern region.

So, we are the four jolly roomates who met by fate, and decided to live together by choice.
The girl in the white T with pandas sitting next to Jacky Cheung is The Dutch-born chinese-Malaysian Su Huey. At the beginning of the year, when I just moved in to the flat of retirees, I went to her place for a small gathering attended mostly by Dutch people and had her home made Dutch food. When I arrived home after it ended, I realized that I forgot where the hell my flat was because they all looked the same! So I called her and asked whether I could spend the night at her place. Conveniently when I called, she was talking to her boyfriend on Skype. I bet he wanted to kick my ass real bad at that time, plus the fact that he will represent Holland in the Beijing 2008 Olympics for Wushu. I truly did asked the wrong person for a sleepover party.

Aside from that, I have to say that I am really happy to have met her. She is a person who had the initiative to organize alot of gatherings and outings, mainly because she wanted to experience as much as possible within her short 6 months in Beijing. We clicked when we first met, and although I must say I often feel out of place during Dutch gatherings, conversations with her are often pleasant and relieving. She is one person whom I truly wished that she did not leave after the first semester.

The girl in blue is MeiFang from Spain. Didn't get a chance to know her very well, so all I can say is that she is pleasant, smiley and her chinese kicks-ass. The guy in gray, Jonathan is an ABC, A for Australia. He was also born in Malaysia. We were pretty good friends at first, but as time went by, his non-stop blabbering really irritated the hell out of me. Furthermore, there are times when he thinks he is so damned funny by putting down Malaysian culture and or accent in the company of people from other countries. Although I cannot say that I am extremely proud of my country, and that I am having abit of an identity crisis as a Malaysian-Chinese, it is still my home and it should still be well represented in an international community. If you put my country down, you put down my family and everything that I has made me the man I am today.

Why can't all ABCs be like Kelvin? Or Vinh?

The other guy with glasses is Jung-Ho the Korean who grew up in Hong Kong. A happy-go-lucky guy who is nice to bully, but also retaliates well.




This is the Japanese who risked public scorning by coming to China. The one on the left is Saki, the one below her is Maki, and I can't remember the name of the one below. The girl on Jacky Cheungs right is Lee Qi. She is a oftentimes strange one, but strange people are nice to hang out with.

The guy in black is Shoichi, and he is a damned monkey. I really don't know how to describe him. He can be real fun to be with, but sometimes his jokes makes him a pain in the ass. Thanks to him, I really have seen and experienced things that I have never seen and experienced before. Oh well, I always believed that the best people to make friends with aren't covered in flowers and butterflies

Girl on the left is Lisa, of half Hong Kong and half Dutch heritage. Always calls me names in Cantonese and was the first who gave me the label of Ham Sap Lou (Pervert). Can't deny that label. The woman in white is Kim of Austria, everyones best friend. Probably all the foreign students knows who she is. The guy who looks like he is posing for a Colgate ad is Julian. No, he is not Chinese. This French charmer sure knows how to woo the ladies. Dammit Julian, I too would appreciate it if someone helps me with my coat. He is so gentlemanly that sometimes I suspect he was born in the 1800s.

You might be wondering where the hell are my China-Chinese friends? Well, my local friends actually outnumber my foreign friends, but its just that they are not so photo-happy. I will have to hunt them down after I get my new camera. Whether or not I will keep in touch with these guys for the rest of my life, they indeed have brought heaps of fun to life in Beijing. Now, I can visit Japan, Korea, France, Holland and Brazil without paying for accomodation!

How many good-byes can a man take? How many good byes before a heart permanently breaks? Can someone die from saying too many good-byes? If its possible, then I might be a dying man, for there are too many good-byes and farewells this year.

In one year, I have said good-bye to Jel three times. I have said more than one sorrowful good-byes on Love Perhaps when some of my closest pals got eliminated, and when I got eliminated. The last time I said good-bye was to all the people I left in Melbourne and returned to KL for a long time if not for good. And I came back to KL only to face one more good-bye: Good-bye to my dear brother, Dexter.

He will be taking another step forward in his tertiary education this coming Saturday, to the United States, to Ohio. I feel a great deal of excitement for him, but at the same time, I'd really prefer it if he stayed. My life back here in KL would be much less fun without him around. And less fun it will be after he leaves. Fuck, it feels like leaving Melbourne all over again.

I thought I'd get used to it by now, but it isn't happening. About 5 days before he leaves and that feeling in my chest is already here. That feeling I had 2 weeks before I was about to leave all the Flare people. That feeling where your heart is slowly sinking into your belly. That feeling where when you lie down, your chest feels like its caving in and you get so sufficated with depression, you just wanna sit up and cry it out profusely.

I don't know when I am going to see him again. His course is two years, and the United States granted him a visa for 5 years so that he can get working experience. The ticket costs more than 4000 ringgit, so unlike me, he probably won't be returning that often. God knows when I am going to see him again.

Globalisation is fucked up. Or perhaps I am fucked up. I just can't take this good-bye shit. I could never take this good-bye shit. And globalisation is giving people alot of good-bye shit. Why do I have to be so sensitive to good-byes? Can't my heart be as manly as my looks? (Yes, I happen to think that I look manly)

Driving

Driving is so fun, I am now wondering why didn't I take my license earlier. I can't legally drive around yet because I've only gotten my "L", but I've been cruisin' around in the Charade like Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver during the wee hours of the morning to avoid a policeman saying to himself "Now that driver looks like he doesn't know what the hell he is doing". Its really a cure to a big part of my boring life here in KL. Soon I don't have to go "I feel like going to Yum Cha... damned, no transport" anymore. Neither do I have to worry about the mental capacity and clarity of a driver who just downed half a bottle of Chivas who will be responsible for getting me home with my brains in my skull after a Ghetto night out at Zouk. Hell, I could even go to Ipoh just for the chikcen rice when I feel like it! And when pals come visit from out of town or out of country, I can ferry them around while telling them "As you can see, KL drivers are a little Gila, or what people in your country call Bonkers, or what people in Mexico call Loco. So if you ever think about renting a car here, think twice, maybe thrice. Only those born and bred here can take the heat of our streets. Must be our cuurry, I tell you." So Kel, get your ass ready for a bumpy ride!

Another beautiful thing about being able to drive is that it makes the dating game a whole lot easier. Now I can give a chick a slick half-smile with my mischievious eyes and say "What would you say to Char Kuay Teow tonight. Pick you up at 8?" instead of trying my best to put on the coolest possible facade while the words "Take taxi, can?" blurts out from my mouth. The Charade, however, is not a chariot for wooing princesses. A 13-year-old Daihatsu Hatchback that has been worn by my mom during her school-teacher days and then torn by my brother during the years after getting his license, a girl might look at it and go "Maybe we take taxi, can?" There are the two Benzes, but it'll bring endless calls from parents nagging me on the safety of the car, constantly asking me to check whether it is still in its parking spot or whether the Mercedes-Benz logo is still standing proudly on the bonet. There is also the Toyota Prado Cruiser. I tried driving that once. Its like asking Optimus Prime to play marbles. While the hatchback is damned easy to handle, this is damned easy to kill hatchback drivers. Everytime I end a journey with that 4-wheeler I have to check it for scrap-metal from other cars or maybe even bloodstains and brain-matter. Plus, it drinks petrol like Kelvin at a free-flow night at Amber Lounge. Maybe I should just spray-paint the Charade...

I guess a time will come when ferrying people around will get a little sickening, as expressed by the minority of friends in Melbourne who do own a car. And traffic-jams will soon cause headaches and added stress. But for now, I'll just let my mind run wild with ideas of drag-racing, drifting, off-road adventures and the many activities that gives men that love for an assortment of cold-steel and rubber combined together to create that machine called The Car.

The Aston Martin in Casino Royale is one lady I'd love to ride...

A Post On Choreographing

Damned auditions for the Martell Rise Above dance competition is this weekend and I still haven't choreographed anything solid. All the moves that I come up with seem less than satisfactory, repetitive, sometimes even lame. Now I know the feelings of those artists who claw and tear and crumple their pieces of work a zillion and one times before that "Aahh..." moment comes.

Perhaps I am putting too much stress and fuss over the details, telling myself "This is too lyrical. I can't keep ignoring the beats" or "Can't put this Locking move now. Locking comes later" or "Why am I being so Jazzy? There's not enough street innit!" et cetera. Putting all these parameters just takes the fun away from choreographing. In fact, I have been feeling lately that choreographing just takes the fun out of dancing. Often, I feel like just turning up for the auditions and telling the judges "Ok. I didn't choreograph anything. So I'd like you to pick a song and I will show you what I've got! Just be kind and keep Mr. Nutcracker or any Cygnets out of this." Truth be told, I have actually done that before and it didn't turn out very well, thanks to my still-lingering performance anxiety.

So choreographing reduces the effects of anxiety on my performance. Thats not the only advantage of going prepared with a combination of moves. After watching so many dance performances by professionals and amateurs using styles like popping, locking, breaking, new school hip-hop, jazz, ballet, contemporary, latin, ballroom, I realize that there are so many more aspects involved in putting on a good dance performance.

The use of space is especially important for a solo. You are the only person on stage, and if you just stay on one spot throughout the whole performance, you make general appearance of the stage or dancefloor look so dull and barren. Unfortunately, many hip-hop and funk routines and combinations really does lack the usage of performance-space. Popping, Krumping, Locking, even Breaking does not involve much movement around the area. The only funk styles that does accomplish that are perhaps Boogaloo and Floating/Gliding. That is why despite my love for the style, I feel that hip-hop and funkstyles are just not suitable for stage, whereas ballet and jazz involves so much stage-travelling steps such as pirouettes, and movements such as jetes are so big that they put alot of volume on stage, making it visually pleasing for audiences who are seated at a distance.

However, hip-hop and funkstyles does look better up-close. This is probably because of the intricacy of their moves. A good Hit or Pop and be seen more clearly if you were in a circle than in a theatre. The minor details involved in Tutting and Waving are much more prominent in a club than on a stage. You can even better feel the funk in Locking if you were right infront of the locker than if you were many feet away. The subtle melts in Milking, the power of Krumping, the footwork in C-Walking look so cool on the streets, but just defuses when done on stage. Ballet and Jazz, however, has less effect up-close. This is probably because of the lack of intricate details and because of their large movements. Its kind of like how a rainbow looks pretty from a certain distance, but up-close the colour is just so big that it looses the effect of its prettiness.

Damned. I could go on and on about so many other issues. Things such as trying to impress audiences with your raw skills and techniques as opposed to using tricks or storylines, the climax, peak and anti-climax to your performance in shows or in battles, the control of energy, the display of emotions... Suddenly while I was writing, I realized that some Performing Arts student who majors in dance might come across this and plagarise my ideas. Also, you guys could be getting bored with the technicalities of it all.

The main issue in the beginning was whether I should choreograph or just go there and freestyle. Freestyling is definitely more fun for me. I might even be able to display my emotions better because I don't worry about the coming moves. But choreographing gives me a chance to analyse and manipulate the visual aspects of the performance in ways that freestyling cannot. The problem is choreographing is really stressing me out because of the aspects that I feel are required for putting on a good show. The worst part is that when I am stressed, my inspiration and creative juices are just stifled, making my moves repetitive and unimpressive.

I need to have fun choreographing. I need to find the fun in choreographing again. Stressing out is no good. But how? Where is the fun, especially when you don't have your dancer friends to show what you have come up with? Arrgh....

Step Up/ Photos By My Bed

I watched StepUp a few days ago Dammit! It made me miss Melbourne more, especially the clubbing scene where everyone breaks into a routine and the gals and guys got into a small battle. A lot of people here would say “Aiya, where got such thing? How come everyone knows the steps?” Oh my friend, they do… they certainly do.

I don’t know when is the next time I’m gonna get to break into a routine while clubbing. I don’t know when is the next time I’m gonna get into a battle in front of hundreds of tipsy audiences. So I don’t know when I’m gonna stop missing you guys. Here, except for a few other amateurs, I’m the only one really bustin’ moves. Sigh… the last gig I did was the one in Amber. The one where Kel went: “Hey, we should stop dancing. They aren’t paying us for this.” That was damned fun. I hope Changi Golf Club will provide the same atmosphere, eh Ness?

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I'm lying on my bed, chatting on the phone with a girl. She seemed nice. Fairly interesting, fairly humorous. Judging by the many questions she was asking, she was probably into me. After I hung up, I wondered when should I see her this week, if I wanna see her at all.

Then I look at the pictures on the shelf next to the edge of my bed. I look at the picture of balloons. I look at the picture of flowers. I look at Mr. Nice. I look at Rafaek and the six-pack bear. I look at the Maltese. I look at the ring. I see my name. I see her name. I stare at the heart in between. How will anyone ever match-up to these memories? Will anyone love me this much? Will I love anyone the same? What was that girl on the phone compared to these photographs? As I ask myself these questions, my eyes well up with small traces of tears. Sometimes I wonder whether putting up these pictures so near my bed was a good idea...

Hardest Day of My Life

4th of November, 2006, was by far the hardest day of my life. It was the day I left the place, and more importantly, the people whom I grew into a young adult with. I have never cried so much since I was five, or maybe not even when I was one. The sobbing started the day before at about 3 a.m., while I was hand-writing my testimonials to all those people whom I love so much. I broke when I got to Shar’s. As I recollected each of our many magical moments that were accompanied with a realization of the possibility that these moments might never happen again, I felt little parts of my heart and soul just disintegrating into the air. At that moment, death seemed to have a better prospect.

I felt like I had to drag my heart wherever I went the next day. Each step I took was an emotional trudge. I tried hard to keep walking tall, keep my chest out and my head up. But the vacuum within my ribs was just sucking everything towards it, making me a perpetual hunchback. Damned… even that word brings memories. My dear friends planned a surprise farewell for me, and my decoy was dinner with Jel. But we never had dinner. We just had a tear-fest full of why-is-it-so-hards and you-can’t-leaves and looking at old tear jerking photos. When she brought me back to my place, Vinh kicked of the surprise by barging in the door too early with a measly “surprise…”. That was funny even for that moment. The rest popped out later which was really shocking! Thanks all of you… I truly almost thought that I was forgotten, and that you all managed to live on without me. How stupid can I get? And those videos, those bittersweet videos. Bitter because it reminded me of the people who I am gonna miss, sweet because I was reminded that I have been loved by many during my stay. Not many people can say that they have been loved this much when they were overseas. Then there was my surprise belated birthday cake. Thank you Gorgeous for bringing the balloons, stuffing the messages, baking my cake and being the best and prettiest decoy there is. I pray that my testimonials really meant something to each and every one person in that room.

Despite the merry send-off, I only slept for about 30 minutes that night. Somehow, an aching heart aches more when you lie down. So I got up, and started crying again. This time it was profuse, with an unrelenting stream of tears and sobs. Again, death seemed like a better prospect. I might have chosen to slit my wrists if Jel wasn’t there. Even she got a little worried about me. Thanks dear, for the much needed emotional support. Then the time came for the departure.

Shar was already crying in the car on the way to the airport. Crying is infectious upon the sight of a deeply loved friend in tears. Further proof of that was when we were at the departure gates, where we broke down one by one, except the almighty Kelvin who needed to be strong for the rest. I was thankful that he was there and that he held back, otherwise what a mess it would have been. Its ok Joon Win, you were pretty tough yourself. I waited every second before I had to go through those gates. Sucking it back in while doing so took an emotional Hoover dam. After filling my departure card, I took a peak outside. I saw you guys. I saw Joon Wins arms around Jel, Kels arms around the huddle of Am, Ness and Shar. That was the last sight of my dearest friends in Melbourne. If I ever went into acting and needed to cry on camera (not that I’ve never done it before), all I have to do is conjure that very last image.

I read their letters on the plane, except Jels for the fear of flooding the 747. Ness, I can hardly see myself in the picture because I am so well hidden behind Shar. Am, thanks for telling me everything, and I really wanna know what that moment was. Shar, I smiled on the plane knowing that Melbourne is now a brighter place for you to be in. The feeling of knowing that a loved one is happy is truly indescribable.

On the plane I couldn’t really sleep, couldn’t really watch anything because my mind kept floating back to where my heart is. When I looked down upon the wide agricultural landscape of Victoria, I tried to convince myself: “I am happy that I am leaving this farmland”. It worked for 5 seconds. Then at the end of the flight, I saw the bright lights of KL, the lights that did not reflect the dimness within me. What awaits me in this well-lit city that I can no longer see as my true home? What will not await me here that will await me back where I flew from? I was a walking void. A hollow carcass. A dancer without his flame.

I am having a solo dance competition soon. 10 000 ringgit first-prize. I was supposed to begin intensive practice the day after I arrived. But there was no flame. For one day, Derrick was not a dancer. And I even thought of never dancing again. I just wanted to look at my box of memorabilia. I just wanted to look at the production posters. I just wanted to slowly read the letters again. I just wanted to read Jels present. Yes, I also believe that it is better to have loved and lost and not loved at all…

…. But is it really all lost?

All these things had to go on my walls. So I began creating my museum of unforgettable experiences…







I looked up on the wall where all my Flare certs and posters are, I looked at the Crunk’D T-shirt, I looked at all the photographs of my dearest friends. Then a frail, female voice in my head went “Make sure you make this trip worthwhile, coz you are breaking everyone’s heart.” And another guy’s voice went “There is a time to be sad, and a time to move on.” Then I said “Derrick, you dumb fuck,” and Derrick became a dancer again.

This dance is to show what Flarians are made of. This dance is for all the hard rehearsal times that we went through as a team, and the fun performances that we’ve done as a family. This dance is for you guys.

K.L, you ain't seen nothing like this!

Must revert to my old self.

"Our personalities are heavily influenced by the enviroment that we live and activate in." I can't say that this statement applies to everyone. Some people seem to have a stronger sense of self, with their traits and characteristics held constant despite the drastic changes in their living environment. But it sure as hell applies to me. After the 5th episode of being in the reality show of courtship, it has finally dawned upon me that when I flew for home from Melbourne, I forgot to pack many of my traits and characteristics that made me so abled and competent back there.

When I bump into someone, I'd use to ask "How's life?", and a decent conversation would ensue. Now, I'd just say "Hi" and then have a hard time of thinking about what to say. Despite it being such a simple habit that made me fairly likable and fairly popular in the University of Melbourne, I left that and many other simple social skills behind in my apartment on Flinders Street. Skills that gave me the pleasure of greeting every 10th person that walks by me in the city because they happen to be an aquantance. Skills that enabled me to get on the guestlist of any damned asian club. Skills that gave me the success of running my very own Mambo night. All these.... just don't seem to be with me anymore.

5 weekends, already 5 weekends on the show, and I haven't even managed to hold a decent conversation with any of the girls that lasted at least 30 minutes. I don't know why the hell I am still not eliminated. The other guys seem to have their words flowing like champagne by just being themselves while I am still having trouble with just being Derrick. Before something is released from my mouth, I'll think it ten times over. "Hmm... what will she think if I said that? Will she like me more? Like me less? Is that lame? Will she feel insulted?" Even out of the show, questions like "What kind of image will I project if I said that? Will I look cool? Will that make the persons day any better? Am I smilling right?", before I say even the simplest of things.

And those are just the basics. What about my sense of humour? It seems to have gone completely down the drain!!! I am not a fucking funny person anymore! I could have been a comedian back there. Now? Even my dad is funnier than me!!! I used to not give a shit whether people laughed or not. Some were lame, but many actually made people crack up. God damned I miss the feeling of making all of my friends laugh. Its just so hard for it to happen when I am over here. Over here, I seem to find myself being in the postion of a laugher more than a joker. My mind just doesn't seem to be as fluid as it used to. I could just put one and one together and get a crack out of people. But currently, I don't know how to put one and one together anymore.

After writting the third paragraph, I realize that one of the main problems is that the internal dialogue within my head is too long. Heck, its not an internal dialogue... its a freakin' internal debate! Worse than a Republican and a Democrat having coffee! I think too much, analyze too much, which cancels out all the sponteneous juices from flowing. And why do I think so much? Probably because I have too big a longing for social approval. Need to be liked too much. Typical Leo trait. Yes, blame it on my star sign. I gotta learn how to be a bad guy and appreciate it. Appreciate that always trying to be Mr. Popular is hazardous for health. I also have to stop reading books on "How to make people like you" when my own personality will suffice.

This is somewhat similar to an injury. An injury to the personality. The ligaments of my "self" is torn. It needs to be bandaged, then it needs recovering and rehabilitation. But there will be no therapist for me. So I'm gonna take one baby step at the time, starting with thinking less.