So I did this personality test Jamie showed me last night and I think it’s possibly the most accurate personality test I’ve done. So here are the results in a nutshell…
Low Trust
Low Authoritarianism
Low Femininity
Low Confidence
Slightly Aesthetic
Slightly Earthy
Slightly Low Empathy
Slightly High Openness
Slightly High Attention To Style
Slightly High Spontaineaty
Slightly High Extroversion
Very High Masculinity
Very High Agency
Click here to view the full profile and take the test yourself.
Dear Stalker,
If you’re reading this, well then you’re the stalker I know you are. Not enough that you’re going through her entire online life, you’re looking through all her blog links trying to find out about her friends. You disgust me. You are incredibly conceited.
I read your blog entry. Your “hidden message” to her. Um, what? Writing black letters on a black background? Grow up. Take a hint. Leave her alone.
I don’t appreciate the things you wrote about her. Are you completely sane? Have you read the rubbish you put on your blog?
Look, really man. After wasting 5 minutes of my life reading your sad, sorry blog entry I have come to the conclusion that you…
1) Think she OWES you so much love an affection.
2) Don’t care about her opinion. You think “I like her so she must like me.” What she thinks about you seems not to matter at all.
3) Think she’s stupid. You put ILOVE********* as your personal message and scramble up the letters? Another one of your cute little riddles? Codes? Har. Har. Oh and to top it off you tell her, “I just want to be your friend.”
So, from what I can tell, you’re not one to take advice, but here goes. Get a Life. If you can’t find one, try here…
www.ebay.com
Thank’s for reading.
Damn, I can be such a bad bastard.
P.S. Oh and I find it extremely disgusting that you have a picture of her as your desktop background. She is extremely freaked out by it. And frankly, I am quite freaked out on her behalf as well.
Think about. They watch you grow up too. And yet, chances are, you don’t even know their names…
I’m talking about the postman, ice cream man, mama shop uncles and aunties, coffee shop vendors, the Pest Busters.
I mean, these people have been seeing you over the years. Not everyday, but often enough. And it really makes you think when one of them comes up to you and says “Wow, I remember last time I came here you were in primary school only? Now big boy already. Where you schooling?”
And well you couldn’t help but think that it’s nice that people remember these things.
What made me think about this was the ice cream who came over yesterday. He told me how he remembered us buying ice cream from him like 4 years ago. When we were in primary school. I vaguely remember buying ice cream mor an ice cream man while I was in school uniform and also that the guy looked familiar. He asked where were were studying now too. And then, he have us our ice cream at $1.20 as opposed to the usual $1.50. That was nice of him!
So folks, just be nice to the people around you. Say hi to the people around you. It really does make a difference.
Running off over next door’s garden
Before the hour is done
It’s more a question of feeling
Than it is a question of fun
The confidence is the balaclava
I’m sure you’ll baffle ‘em good
But the end will reek of salty cheeks
And runny makeup alone
Will blood run down her face
Of a boy bewildered and scorned
Will you’ll find yourself in a skirmish
Will you wish you’d never been born
And you tie yourself to the tracks
And there isn’t no going back
And it’s wrong wrong wrong
But we’ll do it anyway cause we love a bit of trouble
Are you pulling her from a burning building
Or throwing her to the sharks?
Can only hope that the ending is a pleasurable as the start
The confidence is the balaclava
I’m sure you baffle ‘em straight
And it’s wrong wrong wrong, she can hardly wait
That’s right, he won’t let her out his sight
Now the shaggers perform
And the daggers are drawn
Who’s the crooks in this crime?
That’s right, he won’t let her out his sight
Now the shaggers perform
And the daggers are drawn
Who’s the crooks in this crime?
That’s right, he won’t let her out his sight
That’s right, he won’t let her out his sight
That’s right, he won’t let her out his sight
You’ll be able to post any day of the most
For the sights of all time
You knew that he’d be trouble right before the very first kiss
Quiet, unassuming but you heard that they were the naughtiest
She pleaded with you to take it off
But you resisted and faught
Sorry sweetheart, i’d much rather keep on the balaclava
You know, I sometimes give rather obvious hints to everything I daren’t say out aloud by posting all these fucking songs. No, I don’t post them randomly because they sound cool. It’s the lyrics.
Somehow, I feel posting lyrics from a song to convey my own thoughts seem a bit more discreet than screaming it all out. But eh, I just killed off all that discretion with this post.
I relaly ought to stop. This whole thing is way too narratively convenient to turn my life into a rather interesting tragedy movie. Or a Black Comedy! That would be fun.
Chapter 1: Alcohol, Satay and Free Sugar
It seemed an unlikely place to procure alcohol. That rather dilapidated warehouse looked more suited to selling furniture or tires or something like that. I thought we were getting some moonshine or some other bootleg alcohol. However, nestled within was a tiny shop that sold a huge variety of alcohols. The real deal, Bacardi, Bailey’s, Tia Maria, Guinness and much more. All at discounted prices.
The owner was quite suspicious of our age. Even after we showed an EZ Link card with a birth date as proof of our age. But Money Talked and we walked away with $90 dollars worth of alcohol.
Alcohol is quite important for any chalet party, but still, you had to have food. What kind of chalet party is complete without Satay?
So Rachel was off to Call A Man About Some Satay. Meanwhile, we shopped for provisions. Managed to procure a lighter and can opener for a heavily discounted price. Yeap. Tried to be as cheapo as possible and appropriated sugar and creamer from Mcdonalds. Hey, they’re giving it out free after all!
Chapter 2: There’s No Place Like Home
“Some place where there isn’t any trouble. Do you suppose there is such a place, Toto? There must be. It’s not a place you can get to by a boat or a train. It’s far, far away. Behind the moon, beyond the rain.”
Dorothy was wrong. Really, all she needed to do was take a cab into Changi. Because there, nestled in the jungles of Changi, was Bungalow 6.
The place was quiet. The only welcome any of us got was a “Welcome to Indonesia!” message on our cellphones. Singtel was swapped out for one Telkomsel, some Indonesian telecoms operator. That and the whole atmosphere of the place, the quiet, the serenity, the surrealness of the beach at night and the fucking huge moth all brought up this quite undescribable feeling.
I felt Good.
Gabe and I dashed up to cop beds while the others set up the food and BBQ equipment for the guests that were arriving at night. I attempted to get the BBQ started. At the rate I was going, the Satay would sooner get smoked than barbequed. Eventually, with the aid of Gabe we got the BBQ going.
So we sat down. And we waited. And waited. But noone came besides Kev, Marcus, Yunxuan, Jill and eventually Zayar who sauntered in at one in the morning. Some of the other guests thought the party was on the following day because of a typo in the Official Chalet Website.
Chapter 3: The Curious Incident Of The Fucking Big Moth In The Nightime
I thought it was a bat at first. When it came to a stop, perched on the edge of the roof… We realized it was not a bat, but actually a fucking big moth. In fact, it was an Atlas Moth. The largest moth in the world.
My peer’s weren’t as easily impressed by the moth as me. I am a wikipedia dork so here is a link to the page on the Atlas Moth. Anyhow, we forgot about the moth for a while. When we were done barbecuing someone went inside to put something in the fridge. We then heard her shriek and run out. The Moth was inside our bungalow.
The bravery of the Bungalow’s men was about to be put to the test. And quite frankly… We were all scared of the big ass Moth. Marcus, egged on by the rest of us, plucked up enough courage to attack the moth with his styrofoam bolster. The Moth Was Angry. So, it fought back. Beating Marcus back outside.
Marcus was unperturbed. He armed himself with an umbrella and charged forth once again. He prodded the Moth. And the Moth hopped on the umbrella. At this point there was quite a lot of “OH MY GOD THE MOTH IS ON THE UMBRELLA! THE MOTH IS ON THE UMBRELLA!” going around. Marcus slowly brought the Moth outside. And then he threw the umbrella out and slammed the sliding door shut.
We thought we were in the clear. But we were not. Alas, the Moth had left it’s spawn inside the house! Dozens of it’s little egg things. We swept them up. Most of them at least. Worst still, the Moth had returned! This time, it had perched itself on the glass sliding door and was laying more eggs. It was rather disgusting, but the whole giving birth thing has never been very clean and neat has it?
This time, it was Gabe and Kev who Decided To Take Action! Armed with some ladies deodorant and a lighter they proceeded to blow torch the Moth. It was quite funny. Gabe was holding the lighter and Kev was holding the deodorant. Their first feeble attempt failed. Their second attempt was much better.
It would have been quite cool if they had actually hit the Moth and stood there laughing and the poor burning creature.
What happened instead was this…
Gabe lit the lighter. Kevin sprayed the deodorant. There was a big fireball next to the Moth. The Moth flew away unscathed. Gabe and Kev RAN THE FUCK AWAY while screaming. It was hilarious.
Chapter 4: Good Company
That problem solved, we could relax a bit.
When we realised it was just going to be us, we packed up the BBQ and headed inside to watch horror flicks. We watched Mary Shaw which was not terribly terrifying, but it was very original.
The movie ended. And out came the six bottles of Saint Something beer we got earlier. We played a drinking game called Have You Ever till we ran out of our Saint Somethings. Then out came the Bailey’s. Then out came the Heinekan and Baron.
By now, all the drinkers had gotten a bit tipsy. All eight of us sat outside for a nice long talk cock session. Our topics? Well, what else do slightly intoxicated teenagers talk about?
Sitting out there, drinking and talking cock with a group of friends was one of the best experiences of my so-far socially retarded and boring life. I am not being Kwa Zhang, but it really was that great. We should do this again guys.
Our talk cock session lasted till the wee hours of the morning. We moved from the patio to the living room and finally to our bedrooms. Where Gabe and Kev’s elaborate scheme about some spirits in Changi and how wearing a hoodie protects you from them. Kev and Gabe were sharing a bed and both of them were hiding under the sheets wearing hoodies! Zayar and I were kinda creeped out. We had no hoodies and we were next to the window.
Eventually, Zayar went to the girls room where they were sitting down and having a chat. Kev and Gabe were still freaking me out so I eventually I joined Zayar in the other room. Also partially because Kev and Gabe locked me out of the room.
Chapter 5: Close Encounters of The Second Kind
Alright, what chalet party is complete without some creepy supernatural occurences?
While Zayar, Rach, Bev, Denise, Sherryl and I were chatting in the room, Something Happened. None of us noticed Zayar suddenly shift forward to sit up instead of leaning on the window sill.
We decided to go downstairs to join Gabe and Kev in their egg feast and to watch some telly. Rachel was sleepy so she decided to stay up there on her own.
A short while later, Rachel came downstairs saying that she could hear breathing in the room. She also felt a strong presense in the room. At this point, Zayar calls Rachel over.
Zayar tells us his story. As he was sitting against the window sill, he felt a hand at the back of his head. It wasn’t the curtain, it was something tangible he says.
Needless to say, noone slept in that room that night.
Chapter 6: Twenty is Ten’s Crowd
The previous nights boozing and ghostly encounters had resulted in us only getting to bed at six in the morning. I slept till about eleven in the morning when I woke up with my first hang over. I don’t usually have more than two drinks at a time, so last night’s boozing had really gotten to me. I don’t usually drink that much. I downed a Panadol and a a glass of water and got started with the party preparations.
Again, I attempted to start the BBQ going. Again, the food would sooner have smoked than barbecued. Aidin came to the rescue along with Pris, Amanda and Serene. Eventually, we got one of the finest BBQs I’ve ever seen going.
So people came. And We Ate. We Drank. We Were Merry. There was a good crowd. Eventually, the lack of alcohol got to people and we set out on a Great Journey to procure more alcohol from a food centre that was several kilometres away.
Chapter 7: The Drunken Procession
I’m not sure exactly what pathway it was that we were following, but it was… Surreal. It was extremely dark and it was extremely quiet. (Apart from those who were singing oldies at the top of their lungs.) The path was between a stretch of jungle and the coastline. The only light came from the ships and platforms out in the sea and the streetlamps on the pathway. So we actually couldn’t see much more than the silhouettes of the jungle. It was haunting, slightly eerie. But beautiful.
I, once again, was slightly intoxicated so I was feeling pretty good. Enjoying the cool breeze and the good company.
We were making quite a lot of noise. Passers by were making quite a few comments about us. After all, we all looked drunk. Truth be told, about half of us actually had enough alcohol to be slightly tipsy. Nobody was really drunk. The other half that hadn’t been drinking were ACTING drunk. Really. It was hilarious.
So we made the long 4 to 5 kilometer journey to get the booze and cabbed back.
Chapter 8: Truth or Dare?
After most of us were drunk enough to say stupid things, someone decided to play Truth or Dare. The stakes were high.
Shoot, Shag or Marry?
Shag, Shag or Shag?
Strip to your boxers!
I got scared. Alcohol makes you stupid. I decided to bail before I let anything stupid come out. Oh and I do let slip stupid things when I’M NOT intoxicated so imagine what I might say when I am intoxicated. So I ran away to watch the idiot box with Gabe and Rach downstairs.
I was a bit tipsy now so I can’t remember what happened. Gabriel went missing. I wondered where he went. I went back up to the haunted room wanting to sleep there. Then Kev and Rach reminded me of the previous evening’s occurence and I did an about turn and went straight down and collapsed on a mattress and fell asleep.
Chapter 9: Exodus
For the second time in two nights I woke up hung over. The first night’s hang over was more of a lean over than anything, but that day’s hang over was the real deal. Argh. Woke up at 7:30am, downed a panadol and took a shower. Felt much better after that.
So we packed up our stuff, tried to make the place a bit neater, but failed… Lost a spoon. Searched for a spoon to no avail. Paid for the lost spoon and we stood outside what had been our Home for the past 3 days and 2 nights.
We were all kind of lost. We sat outside looking rather forlorn, eating frozen marshmallows.
Then we realized we had left over fire starters. We also had Zippo Lighter Fluid, a piece of charcoal and marshmallows that were beggining to get unappetizing…
We threw em all in a little pit near our chalet and Gabe lit it up and we watched it burn.
We all just stood there. Watching intently as the marshmallows bubbled up and burned like hot lava. No one said a word. We just stood there and watched. The party was over and the Post Party Depression was setting in. Even now as I type this, I long for a repeat of the first night. Alcohol, Good Company and Talking Cock Sessions.
We kept the fire going. Throwing in more lighter fluid to keep the pointless fire going.
Why did we do it?
There was something strangely poetic about the whole scene. If it were in some artsy Cannes Film Festival screening you’d have film critics going on about some deep profound hidden meaning to the whole scene.
I guess deep down, if you believe all this philosophical shit, perhaps the Fire represented the party. And how we just wanted to keep it going.
Eventually, we realized we had to leave. So we grabbed our bags and rather theatrically closed the party by extinguishing the fire.
Epilogue: Lasts But Not Leasts
This is sort of a credit kinda thing. I don’t usually write all this mushy stuff and all that but here goes…
Thank you Rachel for hosting the whole thing superbly and making sure none of us got drunk enough to do something stupid. Thank you Kev for answering all my random guitar/bass questions. Thank you Gabe for making awesome instant noodles and doing a great job with the housework. You’d make a good housewife man. Thank you Beverly, Amanda, Denise and Sheryl for being awesome company. Thank you Marcus, Yunxuan and Jill for all your indoor partying and for chasing away the Moth with your bolster Marcus. That was really brave of you. And thank you Zayar for being so damn funny.
I hit send and I could almost here the “KA-CHING!” as $100 was deposited into my unopened POSB account. It was fuckin mindless shite doing transcription, but it paid very well. It was boring, but the end justified the means.
Every now and then I’d hear scary Marketing words like “Special Business Unit” mentioned and I’d get Hollywood style flashbacks of all the Marketing Lectures I had spent sleeping or writing what could hardly be called poetry at the back of my notebook. At the end of it all, my Corporate Bullshit vocabulary had reached never seen before highs.
Well, don’t get me wrong. The company whos staff were being interviewed seemed to genuinely like their company and the way it was run. Not often you see that now and though they’d never ever meet the transcriber who transcribed their boring as hell interview… I applaud them.
And as far as my attitude towards my job is concerned, Jamie’s rather scary sense of responsibility sorta reminded me about my responsibilities. I wasn’t mucking around with a school project anymore. This was a paying job and I’d better get my shite together. Thank you for the wake up call. Even though it did make me feel like a recalcitrant child. I bet it’s some Early Childhood Mind Trick or something..
Well, now on to my next job. Designing a logo for Bernhard and my Mum’s HDB project. I haven’t a clue what the thing is about, but they asked me to design a logo for it. At first I felt kinda excited that they asked me to do a logo for them. Now, I see my peers doing advertising and marketing work as interns in major media companies and I realise…
I’m still shite.
Now, I feel a bit Ma Fan about doing the logo thing… But I said I’d do it, so I’d do it.
And if you’re wondering why I started spelling shit as shite, I’ve been watching clips of Trainspotting on youtube and I think it is just so awesomely cool the way Ewan Mcgreggor says shite.
So I’ll be saying shite quite a bit from now on. Shite.
Why do I insist on courting danger? Pursuing the impossible? Laughing all the way to the gallows?
I’ve found an answer. Finally.
Because I haven’t anything better to do. And I realise… There isn’t a better reason than that. That’s all it takes.
Doinchi don’t mean shit. It’s not some obscure Japanese word for strength of courage. Not a reference so some unheard of Greek Godess.
Doinchi is the spawn of bored preteen boys who needed funny nicknames for their classmates. Dinesh was pretty dang hard to twist into something amusing. Like Alan would be an Alien.
One day my classmate Alan decided to call me Doinchi. That became shortened to Doinch sometimes.
This was immortalized by my email address that was created then; doinchi@yahoo.com. Which was later changed to doinchi91@yahoo.com because I lost my password for the former email.
Since then, I named my video game characters for Runescape and eventually Guild Wars Doinchi or variations of it.
Doinchi. I loved it. I loathe it now. I was a very different person during the days when I was called Doinchi. A stupid little preteen kid who’d get into scuffles at the back of the school field and wince everytime someone said fuck.
Now I don’t get into scuffles at the back of school fields and I say fuck more times than I’ve had hot meals.
If a Name, an Identity holds so much personality and history, I think it’s time for a new one…
Doinchi is dead. The Dawn of Dinny is nigh.
But my email? My blog address? ALL FUCKING DOINCHI!
Such a bugger to change it.
So anyhow, this is the story of Doinchi. A lot of people have asked. Time to tell the tale!
Alright, here I am. Loaded up on painkillers and isotonic drinks. I guess I can pass off as a healthy person for a few hours.
Damn, I know I wasn’ looking forward to this party at first, but seems like more people I know are coming. I still dread telling Aunty Naleeza that I can’t hand in my transcripts today. Argh!
Guests are here, bye!
AAARRRGGGHHH!!!
I’m sick. My mum is having a huge Onam party at my place tommorow. I will not be well by tommorow. If you’re wondering what the hell Onam is I haven’t a damn clue. Some holy thing apparently. Which means all the food is vegetarian, which sucks. Children are also given money for Onam, so that’s the only reason it’s marked on my calender.
Yes, so that doesn’t seem like such a big problem right? I can just slack in my room and bide my time. No, there is a problem.
The interview transcripts. I am completely FUCKED. I told her I’d send them in by Sunday. Sunday is less than two hours away and I still have like another fucking hour to do.
I’m sure she will let me submit them by Monday but the thing is, well, she is a friend. So it is kind of touchy. Would an actualy employer stand for this? Probably not. Her? Probably yes.
It’ll take 3 hours to do. I am in no condition to work. And my flu is going to last till Monday at best.
Oh shoot me now!
