a weekender wallowing

So Merdeka has come and gone.
Unsurprisingly enough, it was neither spectacular nor grand. Quite a damper actually, the celebrations, that is. Fireworks and parades (yawn) in Dataran Merdeka (formerly known as Victory Avenue) on Saturday and Sunday, but that was it. Besides, would anyone really want to spend a humid evening, rubbing shoulders with country bumpkins, Mat Rempits and snatch thieves? Most likely not.

I was suprised, however, that celebrations were quite loud in Cavell's. A birthday party, both for the country and man. The crowd was pleasingly boisterous, which livened up a potentially boring event (the countdown). And this place seemingly gets more packed as the hours roll by. Strange one, that.

Sunday was more subdued, but interesting. A match in PJ Hilton, followed by a drink in Backyard. It was good to spend some time with a certain sibling who's flying off (yes, three of four reached the hallowed soil of Britannia). Maybe age is catching up, maybe I'm more sentimental. Sometimes I'm plagued with regret for not having fraternised more with my siblings; time is a cruel reminder of moments lost. There isn't a week that goes by when I'm not filled with sadness for not having played more with Snoop's; yet another drop in this ocean of regret. Such is life, eh?

Oh no, just when I thought I'd haul myself to gym, a pressing matter has come up. Tea at the bloody-overpriced Lotus. Why do I always do this, get sidetracked from the thrill of pumping muscles and sweating profusely? Dammit! (No, that wasn't a smirk, I tell you).