This is the original blog address of Nothing Better Than Being Alive.
I have removed the auto-redirect code in order to archive my posts, seen as it I originally intended them to be before porting them over to Wordpress and never getting to complete it.
However, I have ceased in keeping a personal blog and decided to invade the realms of Facebook (Audi Khalid) and Twitter (@audikhalid). I think the following re-posting from the Wordpresss blog explains my decision.
"With the recent death of one of my closest friends, Nicholas Chan Wei Kit, I think it is only appropriate that I take a bow from the blogosphere.
Much of my entries under the category “National Service” has me spending my time with him and Justin.
You’re happy where you’re at now, Nick. And nobody can shoot you down."
It's been a great 5 years of blogging, with Nick being one of the regular visitors. You'll definitely come across my writings again online as I open up blogs catering to different interests.
Great weekend. I loved it. From the moment I stepped out of camp on Friday night, till an hour ago when I stepped back home, I've had a much-needed break. What with my parents across the border and being single again.
I was doing my usual routine again tonight. Work, talking on MSN and Facebooking. You know, I have to admit that life has been VERY different since Jayden and I had a fall-out on April 1st. You probably would have noticed that right after that, I haven't been updating frequently as I did.
It's weird to hear, and highly patronizing of me, if I were to say that I found absolutely very little reason to do what I used to do - blogging, photoshopping, researching and plurking or whatever. But, for the record, everything's okay now, and we're talking again.
For a period of time I went around looking for something to fill up this empty space where my drive was. Along the process, I found new friends, did some new things and had a bit of fun. If there were anything good to come from this fallout, it would be that I've found a couple (or a few, rather) of people I really enjoy hanging out with.
I'm almost a year into National Service, and in one year I've made major decisions that I may or may not regret in life later. I've made decisions my parents would kill me over and I've made "hard decisions" that, not surprisingly, I took very lightly. In a year, I've moved on to the other extreme of the spectrum.
But I can't help to think that I've let my reigns go too early, too fast. I don't think much about philosophies or creative projects anymore. No. I've lost the mood to do all I did before. It finally dawned on me, today, that I don't feel like a complete, functional, intelligent human being. I've, instead, become a gossip queen with a plastic mask and synthetic leather shoes. A knock on my chest and you'll hear it hollow and thin.
There are times I feel I've crossed the line and rolled over some of my dear friends in our conversations or my approach to them. I barely listen or read intently as I used to. Impatient and disorganized. If you, my friends, are reading this, and agree, and I have offended you, then, please, forgive me.
My biggest regret, really, is that I've lost quite a bit of my skill in writing and English. My thoughts are highly disorganized now and keeping to time is getting unbearably difficult. Maybe I've spent much too long in my comfort zone. Or maybe I'm OUT of my comfort zone, and I'm struggling with my feet to find a place.
I wish there was a reset button. I really do. Reset back to September of 2008, when I was fresh out of BMT and lining up to read my listing for SISPEC, and spotting Jayden lugging his bag around.
I wonder, really, what I would be like if I stuck on to SISPEC.
Those were the words uttered by my boss and mentor, Jimmy Low, in the wee hours of the morning yesterday after we wrapped up from my biggest shoot yet.
It means a lot to me. I've been in the company for two years now, where I worked for absolutely no money just because I want to learn. My first paycheck was fifty dollars. I received my paycheck yesterday, and it was a double-confirmation that I was now a professional.
I've been given hushed advice by some of the people I know that the Army musn't find out I'm working while serving. Honestly, I think it's an open secret that many of our soldiers are moonlighting as well.
For the past week I've been juggling between reporting in camp at 7am, leaving at 7:30pm to get on location and then wrapping up at 4am, only to report back three hours later. It's crazy. I never knew I could do it, but I did. I can only thank my peers in the Guardroom for their understanding and tolerance. I should get them something nice.
The shoot we just did is entitled "De Dana Dan", a Bollywood feature film starring Akshay Kumar, and directed by Priyadarshan. I was stunt-doubling for Paresh Rawal. In the end, what I thought was to be just anothe run-of-the-mill odd-job became one of my biggest breaks yet since Pulau Hantu where I stayed on Ubin for two weeks, just before enlisting for BMT.
I'll be updating more about it soon, so keep a watch on this space!
Just for fun, here's a video of me doing a gymnastic routine that involves a backhand spring. I could never do this trick, but with guidance from Uncle Jimmy, I did it in FIVE minutes.
P.S Dating's going on fine. I've got a very lovable partner. Much kisses and hugs to you!
Okay, I'm seriously swamped with website projects now, both professionally and for my own. Sadly, my knowledge only extends to uploading photos and videos and writing. I can think of layouts and such but webbies get paid for what they do; there's no intuitive way I've come across that allows me to create websites easily.
I'm looking for someone to help me out. Particularly, I have the company website to move over, and I have a new blog up to detail my steps in my film-in-progress, and finally, my new wordpress blog.
I have half a mind to use my leave just to complete everything. Knowing me, I'll probably be off jacking it. Meh.
I've had some serious time on Facebook. No, I haven't been taking all that annoying quizzes. Even if I did, they probably don't go along the lines of, "What colour are you?".
Yeah, like whether or not I'm the color Framberry really matters. Facebook is an amazing social platform. It'll be a waste to spend it on trivial matters like joining a Mafia Wars gang.
I've been given plenty of heads-up on issues from AWARE, The Pirate Bay verdict, Swine flu and the economic recession thanks to my friends on Facebook. I'm grateful for them, otherwise I wouldn't have a stand on the current AWARE issue now. For the record, I cut out the article on Straits Times that read, "Religion and Politics should not mix." I intend to frame it up and post it near my bed for all to see.
It's such a great time now and my mom has decided to bring out the religion-card again. I feel very strongly for my atheist position, and I do have my opinions on religion, but I'm also aware that I, and everyone else, have their constitutional rights, and that religion does not triumph over law. As an adult, I have my rights, and my beliefs, and it's only right that the people I live with respect it. If we can only get this right, only then can we function.
Even if I were to subscribe to religion, I follow the idea that religion is entirely personal, and will keep it that way. If I had a son, I wouldn't feel obligated to enforce a doctrine on him simply because 'the book said so'. I'd let him out to discover for himself, telling him about my opinions, and allow him to decide. If there really was a God, He'll be more than capable of handling my son. Am I shirking my responsibilities? I think not. It's all in the perspective. Just like how liberals would think different than conservatives, democrats and republicans.
In any case, I might just update the next few posts with my opinions on the recent swine flu incident, which I consider a facade, from my Facebook discussions.
There are some issues to be ironed out, though. Such as ALL my embedded videos from Vimeo.com not showing up. I find the current white background too "Web 2.0" so I'll be changing that. And, of course, how can I live without my narcissistic updates on Plurk and Twitter?
On the same note, I've been porting over my company's website to a wordpress-based one. I know, not exactly the most professional, but it makes updating so much easier. The address is: thestuntproduction.com/news
Well that should keep me busy. On top of that, the short film I'm writing, and the whole socializing thing going on.
Once I'm done, I'll redirect this address to the new one. No need for you guys to hop between addresses.
I came across this video today recorded on a SprintCam v3 by I-Movix at an astounding rate of 1000-frames-per-second. Compare that to a normal video camera's frame rate at 25-frames-per-second!
Trust me, it looks MUCH better in HD.
Since we're on the subject of film, I'm working on a short film right now. It's another action-packed thing with the usual soldiers and boom-bam. I figured it was time to churn another one out to see where I am now, technically and creatively, after the days of masturbatory film-projects from Poly.
I'll update periodically on the progress of this project. Or maybe I should start a dedicated blog for it. Whatever la.
But I can't shake the feeling that I've been plucked by the hands of a sadist to be thrown into a boiling pool of red for a purpose I'm yet to discover.
I'm sure some of you have noticed that my Twitter roll has been pretty active these past weeks. It's so much easier than blogging.
I'm not dead yet. I'm just waiting for the right picture before I post up entries.
Then again, excuse me while I enjoy whatever I've been missing out on life. It's been too long.
If you need something to lighten up your day (and then you came here, you went to the wrong place) here's a website to keep you entertained - F*** My Life
Here's a favourite: "Today, I was sitting in class and I fell asleep during the lesson. I was wearing sweatpants and had an erection. My teacher came up to me and grabbed my penis. She thought it was my phone. FML"
I once wrote on Facebook: My life is a matter of luck and coincidences.
I have no doubt now, after the events that lead up to the climax on April Fool's, that God is real, and he is a film scriptwriter.
Which other profession reserves its sadistic views of life for the pleasure of seeing its' characters suffer?
I thought I got life all figured out. And that the many turns of events that has shaped me into who I was has plateaued. I guess not, and there seems to be more surprises up the road.
I lost a friend, only to have another come in. It'll be just a stroke of luck, if it wasn't because they bear many similarities between each other. The coincidence is frightening. Sort of god's way of saying, "Here, you can have second best!"
I'm not afraid of meeting new people. In fact, this new person is mighty fine. But I yell with frustration to the man who giggles as he plays my strings.
I took the one thing I loved and broke it to pieces. What more do you want?!
I like how everything ends so perfectly in a loop in my life.
The length of the string doesn't matter. It'll find new corners, but after a while, it'll loop on itself, passing by familiar leg chairs, dust balls and floors, ending back at where it started.
I've been wanting to this for quite a while, and I guess it's the logical way to go - I'm converting this blog into a photoblog.
Sounds all well and good, but apparently I have no idea where to start. Gone with the sidebar (moved to the footer) and that leaves ample space for hi-res shots to be put in. There have been quite a few shots I've taken that I'd like to share but sizing it down to a width of 500px doesn't do justice to the details that I'd like everyone to see. Come on, digi-cams record in HD now, too!
Also, I'll be catering to wide-screen monitors... seeing how EVERYONE has a laptop now and every other emokid has a Macbook.
Oh I'm joking about emokids having Macbooks. Put your apples down.
I know my writings are crap, and I'm listening. So that means less blabber-writing and more mastur-snapping.
But, of course, I love writing. I mean, that's why I'm so annoying on Facebook, so I've set-up another blog purely for text. Due to privacy concerns (can't let my parents nose around), I've hidden the link somewhere on this blog. Happy searching!
I've been meaning to blog regularly. And I have been writing. Honest!
But I lose the mood whenever I get home. My handwritten work, chucked aside.
Maybe it's the mess in my room. Dusty, insect-infested, a vomit of colors strewn about. Clothes I never use hang lethargically in my cupboard. A sweaty bed. How ugly to look at.
I hate my room.
I want out. I need to get out. I need to kick everything away. But, no. I can't. For the witch would screech down from the clouds. And she'll get nosy. And perform an act of flattery towards me. And I'll lose my drive again. Please. Let me be. I don't need to be patronized.
I sit here on this sticky chair in silence. It's 2am... I light up a stick. A regular signal; I'm heading to bed. My finger taps the mouse. I think... I wish... one day I could bring a friend into my room and not be ashamed.
But that's just a wish. I'll clean the room someday. Hopefully, with help.
No more dusty tables. No more dust balls on the floor. Aesthetic uniformity.
The floors are wailing again. They won't shut up. So much pain under my knees. Rocking, and rocking. I don't want to get up.
My god. What's that. Behind the shadows, I see your face. Bright. Glowing. No... I cannot. Shyly, I turn away. Don't touch me.
But let me touch you. I strain a breath as my fingers glide over yours. Fuck you. Fuck you for making me nothing more than an object. A carton box. A broken chair. But, please. Don't move. I'm not done yet.
I've done quite a lot of things for the past two weeks. Things that I have deep urges to write about. But a book won't do, and I find satisfaction in putting it online for all to see.
But I can't put it up here. Not with my parents wandering around. Or potential employers fishing for background information.
I guess it does, indeed, kind of suck to not be able to express myself fully. Just as a simple hug, an expression of love, could be deemed a major abomination of whatever dogma one follows. Crossing the line, they say.
I found love, in a way. But a different kind of love. It's the kind I would love to keep to myself.
Maybe, one day, you'll find my blood writings online. As a different person. And you'll understand.
And you'll understand what lies behind some of the posts here. Veiled behind the cover of awkward poetry.
I used to shoot films to impress my lecturers. I used to write in an air of arrogance and absolute. I used to work in the horrid conditions of a film set. Nothing more, but for the money. And for fame.
Something must have changed me somewhere. And I'm enjoying an up-turn in my life. A vast difference than the dense air of depression of February. But I'm taking life lightly, laughing off every mishap and celebrating every little success. I don't carry the weight of the world with me anymore.
Every step I take is filled with the rhythm of an orchestra. Every turn I make is a dance on the stage. And every smile I give carries a thousand words with them.
I clinch on to that night. The night we held hands. Vivid, it was. Those slender fingers and a touch filled with intimacy. I remember those hands. They once filled my heart. It's not the same person anymore. But it felt so familiar.
I buried these feelings so deeply inside, I forgot what it felt like. When these hands brought me over, my heart sank into the abyss. Waves of bittersweet feelings wash upon the walls of my chest. The feeling I had between my lips, they became familiar again.
But I know, this was just a dream. And it will last as long. The good-bye hug. And the farewell kiss. So lightly as it was. I know this could be our final one.
Ben called me last week to help him out with taking pictures for his store. Between our usual CAPSLOCK SHOUTING MATCH at each other, he briefed me on what he wanted for the shoot.
It was going to pretty simple and I wanted to do it because I've never done this before. Besides, it's Ben. Need there be another reason?
Armed with nothing but a six-meter-long piece of cloth and my camera, we shot in the confines of a wall and a pleasantly brightly lit room. We were lucky this time.
I think the shots came out better than I expected.
One of the first few shots of the shoot.
I shot, in total, of 168 pictures. Ben had two bags of clothes and the model went through the whole thing. We did everything in about two hours or so. By the time we were done, it was midnight... on a freaking Thursday! I have camp the next day!
For the record, I did get to camp on time.
Red, grey, and white. I like this palette.
I stayed over at his place that night. I felt like a king, really. And I greatly appreciate the gesture. Indeed, I felt embarrassed at the great hospitality the household showed me. Thanks, Ben!
Daddy is charming. Mine isn't.
These are only those I got a hand to edit back at my own desk over the weekend. Head over to The Typical Store to see other shots. It's awkward, I know, and so not me, but I found a few of the jackets pretty interesting.
I think I might want to explore portrait photography even more!
I was reading a Digg article's comment section just now. I came across this heart-wrenching story user Hal90000 shared. It's worthy enough to be shared.
Here it is:
I had a friend like that once. Thing is, the ending wasn't so cute, or great.
I was young, three or four, and living in Milwaukee. My dad was mowing the lawn, my mom was inside doing laundry and watching my little brother as he slept in his crib. It was cool outside, and I was in the driveway laying down. I noticed a green snake in the grass, and I slithered over to him, because that's how he moved. The little green snake slithered over towards me as well, and we met each other on the pavement, near the grass. I talked to the snake for several minutes, and played games with it. He was my little buddy, that snake, and we had lots of fun.
Days earlier I had noticed that gum did not stick to my shoe when I walked over it, and this intrigued me. I thought I'd step on the snake, because I figured it would be a fun game, and nothing bad could happen. I stood up, and put my right foot over him, and sure enough, nothing happened. The snake was fine, he slithered onward, and seemed to be having a great time. I stepped on the snake again, assuming all was well, and would be well. Only this time, I felt something, and I heard a small crunch. I jumped back in horror, and looked down at my s shaped pal. He was red now, and he stopped moving around. Though I did not know what death was, I knew instinctively that something horrible had happened, and my immediate reaction was to run inside and pour water on the snake, to make it heal. I was sobbing at this point, and I could have filled the cup with my tears. Instead, I filled it with water from the bathtub, as it was the only thing I could manage to reach.
I ran inside and out, pouring cup after cup onto the snake in the hope that it would come back to life, and keep on slithering. I figured if I could make the red go away, he would be alright again. But he wouldn't be alright, and he'd never play any games with me again. Instead of washing the red away, I washed away my first friend. He washed down the driveway in a rush of red colored water, and his grass green color slowly turned dull. I stared in disbelief, and sobbed at what I had done. I wanted to play a game, and I thought I knew it was safe. I kicked off my shoes, and ran inside to mourn alone. Below my right small white shoe was a middle arch, and a red stained heel.
I saw the rainbow last week. I was on duty that time, wet from the shower earlier on. It was pretty magical, really. The rainbow formed right in front of my eyes, and I had a good view from the top of the hill. I saw the end of the rainbow, or the start of it. It was there, right on Pioneer JC's tennis courts. No pots of gold, though. Only wet rubber pads.
The rainbow grew. And it grew really large. Now that same end of the rainbow was over on the KJE expressway. It was a magnificent sight. I felt so small. So tiny. I looked at it, stared at it. And they looked like ribs that hold up the sky, never will it shatter onto Choa Chu Kang.
I rushed for the guardroom's camera. And I stood up there on that hill. I've been on this hill many times, looking out. And I snapped away - my rifle hanging across my chest. It seemed pretty useless because there's no way the pictures are ever going to leave camp. But something tells me to take it anyways.
It was pretty surreal. The sunset behind set a dramatic ambience against the dark clouds in front. The night guards gathered on the road and cars stopped on the hill. Some would take a glance, roll their eyes, and walk on. As if time has its cold grip on their throats. Others would smile, give a comment, and move off. Most, though, would stare in awe. It was only an illusion of light. There's nothing to it.
Then again, music is only mathematics in motion.
It's different nowadays. I've stopped writing anything for a very long time. My guitar is propped against the wall. My camera lays dead. It's sole purpose now is to fill up a bag that I carry around every time. A dead weight.
Maybe I'm uninspired.
Or maybe I've lost it. I've lost any inspiration to do anything. Right after I went back to being a 'professional'. It's the curse of money, I suppose. And it's been a burden on me forever.
I find that once I've been offered a paid job, every ounce of creativity or ideas I've ever had magically disintegrates. I fall back on rigid rules of 'creativity'. I fall back on elitist ideals of what is, and what isn't. The end product is rarely anything I've ever been proud of. Part of the reason why I rarely ever 'charge for (my) services'.
But what can I say?
I've only 3 dollars in my bank account. Soon enough, I'll have to bite the bullet and sit through a ton of discomfort... for survival's sake.
I've received quite an unexpected response to "Jayden 21". I'd like to thank all who watched it (whether or not you liked it...) and it's given me quite a much needed push to experiment more with film.
Granted, it's NOT the best shot or best colored or best edited or best visual effects(I think it was overdone) but there seems to be something right going on in there. I have a feeling it's got something to do with why I was a fail-person in Poly. There were 'rules' to follow that were supposedly 'right' and most of the time should guarantee a kick-ass product. Yes, that's what I said. Product.
This time round I did this video with nothing but the feeling I had after reading this blog post and the comment I left after. I had more to say that I couldn't put in words. One thing led to another, and there I was splicing clips together.
I didn't make this for fame, awards, money, or pseudo-anti-authority. I did this because I had a message to say. And that, I think, is where every creative person's work should stem from.
Sunset at Sembawang.
But enough of that. My still camera sits still in a corner now but the pen is still moving. I'm having a few ideas popping out every now and then. Even the rock and roll tracks have been on hold lately giving way, instead, to piano music. In fact, you can listen to my current playlist here.
But such is the volatility of the mind, and the cruel nature of luck. I have been in a depressed state since an incident that happened a while ago. I'm all smiles in camp but it's been difficult to focus on work and I find myself sleeping my feelings off in camp. I skipped meals and did silly things like swallow half a bag of sugar powder (was for some doughnuts) and cable-tied an orange and threw it down the hill. Once, I even found myself wandering around camp in sandals on my way to the Medical Centre. But I stopped to walk on top of the hill and look across the sky.
I guess it's that feeling where you want nobody around you... but when you close your eyes you want somebody to be there with you. That makes no fucking sense, I know.
The recent approval on the video has somewhat lifted this feeling off my chest. There wasn't a dense blue mist anymore. The sun was brighter and the air was light. But a big part of me is scrambling up to pull back that feeling of dread. I guess when you spend so much time in hell, you start loving it. Isn't that why some ex-prisoners commit crimes just to get back in?
There's comfort I find drowning in this ocean. When the numbness sets in and your ears deafened by the thudding of your heart, you release the few bubbles of life and you see them float to the twinkling sun. It's that moment of inner peace and tranquility. If only I could live in that moment forever, with death a beat away.
I'm feeling better now, but I don't think I'm quite happy with that. I can't hold my pen much longer.
This is the first video I've put together after a two-year hiatus.
In writing, I hide the true meaning of my words with awkward metaphors and subtle hints. This film tries to replicate that through its rhythm, shot selection and style. My strength has never been in creating fanciful flashy designs.
This one's dedicated to our very good friend. Take one for the road.
I sit on the stage with posters of me laid in the dozens of rolls. A person walks up and I stand up to shake her hand. A picture is taken and I smile. A signature is drawn and the next one comes. Repeat.
I've led quite a life to sit on this stage, high above the heads of the people, but never too high for cameras pointing down at me from the balcony. I've made music that made fathers cry and children dream. I've written books that inspire and change a person with mere written words. I'd left my gun in the ground in exchange for security found in a pen. I've touched the lives of the people around me with seemingly mundane actions like a conversation or a single picture taken at the right time to forever cement that special moment of their lives for the rest of time. The very words I speak have been delicately plucked from my library of life experience.
To some, I am everything. I have all the money and fame anyone could every enjoy.
A little girl walks up. She's young and impressionable. I stand up to shake her hand and I could see she's overcome with fear and anxiousness. Yet, she yelps in excitement at our meet. I sign another poster, unrolled without much thought from the stack, and take a photo with this girl. I thank her for coming to the event and shake her hand. She is moved to tears. I am like a god.
"Oh..." she shyly covers her little tender lips. "... is there anything you cannot do?"
I thought of that that question and I smiled. My posters hang all over the building, gently waving with every gust of wind.
"That's a very good question," I said. "I'll have to think that through. And I'll answer it in my next publishing. I'd love to know the name of this beautiful girl who presented me with this question."
Lisa, was her name. And I wrote it down on paper. I kept it in my breast pocket and patted it to assure her. A nod goodbye and I turned to the next person. What a humbling question.
Is it possible for a man to still be unhappy with himself even though he's done so much good and lived such a rich life?
Is there, really, nothing else I could do at this point of time, with all my wealth and satisfaction? If yes, then, I ask, wouldn't it be better to live in a ball, with no perception of the world outside. Surrounded in a lie of blindness to the senses with nothing to compare anything to.
Wouldn't everybody be happy, that way? After all, isn't this how most of us live our lives? In our little ball created by ourselves. What we cannot relate to from our experiences in life, we shun away. What isn't in our knowledge, is impossible.
A man who has seen death everyday will think nothing of it than a man who stares at it for the first time. A man caught up in the machine sees nothing else than the perfect machine, even if it's obsolete.
Is our bubble too big? Is our bubble too small?
Is this man happy because he dreamed of little in life, or is this man unhappy because he dreamed of too much? This man believes there is no such thing as the color blue because where he comes from, his family, his underground home, there is no such thing, and it's absurd to think there might be a color in this spectrum of light. In fact, questioning this itself grants you a ticket to the noose.
It seems there's very little I find amusing in the material world. While others gawk at my camera, or the colorful things I produce, my reaction isn't similar but, rather, the opposite. Sadness. For the few things I feel I should be commended upon lays right in front of them but is unseen.
This camera, this guitar, these videos are nothing more but an extension of a busy convulsive mind that's raging in silence yearning to be heard across the world. Can anyone ever look at these child-like photos and say there's a reason I took this, without all its aesthetic rape?
Is this, really, a matter of perception? That my countrymen are mostly superficial idiots attracted to pretty colors, flash and bang, and casual intercourse and see nothing beyond that? Can this be extended to the rest of the world's current population?
Or is it, really, that my countrymen are highly intellectual and that they see no need to the let the world know of their musings? The things in their head, they keep to themselves, and no need to be the village savior?
In effect, this makes me the superficial idiot, doesn't it?
