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...