I was looking for something when I opened the cabinet in which all my trophies and medals were on display and then as I went through them, I realized that was it; there weren’t going to be anymore additions to the cabinet. I have won that much and now I’ll never get anymore chances of winning more. Realisations of that sort leads to wishful thinking; how it would be much better if I could have a few more trophies there -some bigger and heavier ones instead of the usual flimsy plastics ones I have. But then, I realized also that this meant that I’m reaching the end of my schooling days; a period of time which I love dearly. Because beyond all the ups and downs of schooling, I know I have grown. Whether at the end of the day, I will get to look at myself in the mirror and be satisfied with myself is another matter.

Tomorrow will be the first day of the MSSPK Athletics Tournament of this year. I’ve been an athlete for about four years –despite my girlfriend’s convictions that I’m just too small. Throughout those years, I have amassed a few medals –mostly silvers from the relays- but this will be the last year for me to descend onto the running track in school colours. I’ve never won a gold medal in the MSSPK and this year I ache for it, even more so because this would be my final chance to bag the elusive relay gold. I remember when I first joined the athletics team. It was a golden era in which all the senior athletes were all conquering heroes and we, the junior athletes were weaned on the stories of their great myths. Some of the luckier ones amongst us had the opportunity to witness first-hand these great feats. I was young back then, knew nothing about athletics and knew nothing about the coach. I used to get kicked around affectionately by the seniors and the coach was very stern with me because I was a junior. He used to call me Albert and memories like these never fail to bring back a smile to my face.

Years later, I am now a senior myself. I do not possess the athletic greatness of my predecessors nor do I have any myths of my own to tell. But I still love athletics dearly. The coach who has seen my train under him for years now knows me very well -he knows what my real name is- and he has become a great mentor and friend to me. I will not forget what he has taught me. Next year, I no longer have athletics in my life anymore; no more late evening training, no more nausea-tic bouts after sprint training, no more exhausting riverbank runs, no more sounds of spikes clacking on the ground, no more calf cramps, no more punishing far legs, no more football matches after training sessions, no more conversations with the coach. I will miss a lot and a big part of my life will move from being the present into the realm of the past. It is weird that I’m writing with such great affinity for athletics when there are so many other things that I will also lose when I’m gone from school. Perhaps it is because athletics has always been something I’ve done out of the passion and love for it and not solely to win. When I first joined athletics, I knew I would never be the best athlete and I got upset about it but after that, I dealt with it and moved on, enjoying each session as it came.

My first event begins on Tuesday and that day will be a testing day, not only for me but also for my girlfriend. But I feel good about this year and surprisingly, I’ve got a lot of confidence running through me. Although I’m still not exceptionally fast, at this point, I’m as fast as I’ll ever be and hopefully, I’ll peak at the right moment. I’m no longer the young gun I used to be. I have learnt and grown. I know now what to expect from myself and what I have to do in my races. Experience calms the nerves and I’m no longer afraid of the track. The rest, I leave to God.

The cabinet can still fit in a few more medals and I would be more than happy to fill those empty spaces. Ten years from now, all my medals might not mean anything to anyone else; but they will mean something to me. Because behind every trophy and every medal is a story of how a boy started his journey into adulthood and perhaps, someone better.

When we're young we don't worry about anything. All we do all day is smile and laugh. At night, we kiss and hug our parents and if we've been good, they will play with us. My Dad loved to play with me, It was our nightly ritual. Just before he fell asleep, he would let me crawl into the bed with him and he'd tell me strange and wonderful stories about fishing trips and wars and adventures I knew nothing about. Of course, in my youth I knew nothing of the lies that he kept feeding me with and I eagerly awaited to be conned each night. But one game that stuck in my head was the fact that he would tell me a story and gradually soften his voice and tone as though he was tired till he went silent completely as though in a deep slumber. And when I tried waking him up so that he would finish his story, he would remain silent, faking death. My little pushes will turn into harder shakes and my little pleas would turn into loud shrieks of horror. Each night, I would be deceived again and again into believing that my Dad would die at the end of his stories and yet, I never grew out of the game, believing in my father's acting. Perhaps from there, grew my minor obsession with death and it's effects. I loved my Dad. I still do. The thought of losing my parents used to be able to make me cry in an instant when I was young. All I had to think about was losing them and the tears would come out. These days, the tears don't come by as easily. But the curiosity remains, if not stronger. The thought of losing my loved ones to death, paralyses me with fear. I cannot afford to lose those that I love so dearly. And yet, death is something that we deal with on a daily basis. Finally, the single question that will haunt me forever is, if I die at this very moment, what happens? Will people care? Will I leave behind too many things unsaid and undone? Will I get to see those I love from the comfort of Heaven? Or will I slowly forget as people do in life and in death. Thinking about death is unhealthy I suppose. But that's only because it puts the value of life in clearer perspective; and people don't value life enough.

"How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live."
Henry David Thoreau
US Transcendentalist author (1817 - 1862)


This blog has been closed indefinitely. The webmaster would like to thank all the visitors of this blog for their presence and also input. It has been a joy to write for your eyes and for my heart. Once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

-echo_slam-

echo_slam is human too. So I guess he should start blogging about normal stuff; like the poor quality of the air, poor service in most restaurants, the bullish condition of our economy, my affinity for household chores. Things like that. And oddly enough today, something routine did happen to me. And even odder is the fact that it qualifies to be entered into my blog. I guess most teens would relate to my little catastrophe but maybe on a different scale. Actually, I think I used the wrong word. It’s not a catastrophe –heck the past day or so has been absolutely beautiful for me- but rather a dilemma. Ok, now to reveal my problem: motorcycles. Yes, those little two wheeled machines that go screaming when you exert even minimal force on the acceleration; those devilish devices that can only carry two people at a given time, those ‘things’ that give you an inhibited sense of freedom as you’re speeding along the various freeways and roads. Yes, motorcycles have given me an outright headache.

Let me outline the situation to shed light on my little dilemma. echo_slam is a big boy now. He’s reached the legal age of 16 where he has the option of applying for a motorcycle licence. However, he has no motorcycle and the initial L-licence only lasts 3 months at the end of which he must apply for the permanent P-licence. So, it’s straightforward enough. Apply and get a bike. Or don’t apply and hold out for the car licence –which would require another wait of a year. Here’s the catch 22. echo_slam is born in the month of November; late November. In other words, I would have finished my SPM by then and any semblance of a licence would be useless. Why? Because God knows where I would land after my SPM. I need the motorcycle for convenience sake. I’m a busy guy. I’ve got to be at different places at different times; and I take pity on my Dad. He’s got to charter me around like a chauffeur when he’s also got a job. It’s not easy and I just want to lighten his load. So I guess the solution would be simple enough. Just learn how to get on the damn bike dude.

Ah, but what is life without some element of conflict. There is a minor problem in this solution. A discreet flaw if you may. Mom and Dad. They’re against the idea of their son being on a motorcycle. Heck, if they had to, they would call upon the assistance of the Untied Nation’s Security Council to prevent me from getting on one of those ‘things’. I must admit, I see some merit in their arguments. The motorcycle in itself is no dangerous machine. But when you live in a country where people drive with their damn kneecaps instead of their eyes, being unprotected on a machine that only affords you two wheels worth of balance is not ideal. Besides, if they did buy me a motorcycle, it would only last me this year before I make the transition to the car. What a waste of valuable cash. Now, echo_slam is one obstinate bastard. He is relentless and determined. And he tried, oh how he tried to convince his parents that he would be safe and alive. Heck, I don’t want to die –I live for others and also for those who won’t forgive me if I died. And so the banter went on, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; like an intense tennis rally. But see, the thing is I support Andy Roddick and they’re Federer people. And no offence to Roddick and all –he’s got a wonderful serve-but Federer is simply outstanding and so again Roddick loses to Federer and again echo_slam bites the dust. The fact is, I can’t buy a motorcycle without their consent and they’re not going to budge one inch.

And so the discussion ended unceremoniously with echo_slam retorting nonchalantly, “Don’t buy lah! Donnit to sit la!” As I said, unceremoniously. But deep inside, I wasn’t that disappointed. I had two opinions inside of me. That which supported me and this new guise of independence and that which supported my parents and their pragmatism. Riding a motorcycle is dangerous. And I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit that I’m pretty scared of getting on one. I’ve always only been the pillion rider; the one sitting comfy behind. Not the one piloting the damn machine. I know absolutely nothing about manoeuvring a motorcycle. I have no experience and the thought of getting on one and guiding the machine is quite daunting. Call me a coward but I’m scared. I know that I would gain experience and soon overcome my fear but all the while I kept thinking to myself, only people with brass balls can get onto motorcycles and just get on with it. And I don’t have brass balls. My balls are made of the gooey and watery substance you find at the bottom of gutters. It’s the fear of the unknown. And I relented. I’ve given it serious thought and my parents were right. The car is the much safer choice.

What’s bugging me is the fact that I didn’t have the courage to press on. I’m unsure if that makes me a practical person or just a coward. I don’t want to regret the decisions I make. Sometimes, I want to do some things so badly but I hesitate because I’m afraid. What might happen if I do this? Why don’t I just leave things as they are so that nothing bad might come out of it? Now that I look back, driving doesn’t seem so safe either. My parents could offer me no assurance that I might not injure myself as I drive. Everything has its risks. This may sound like an excuse but I don’t actually feel comfortable on a motorcycle. So, I don’t really regret retreating on my stand. I guess I was comfortable with allowing my loved ones making a decision for me. Sometimes, I wonder, do you go with everything everyone tells you or do you strike out on yourself and challenge the tide? But in this case, my fear has led me to the outcome that it is just best to listen to the ones you love because at the end of the day, they have only the best interests for you. Fear fuels our failures, but fear leads us to safer paths. I am no sage, nor am I a God. I do not pretend to know everything in this world. I am afraid and scared just like everyone else. I have fears; fears of not making the right decisions and also fears of the consequences that might accompany these wrong decisions.

This experience and others have thought me something. It’s not right to be over-cautious. That would impede our growth. That leaves us and others disappointed. But having a blatant disregard for our fears gets us no where. God made us afraid so that we would be able to differentiate between what might make us stronger and what might kill us. We should always rely on our loved ones, because they know indeed what is best. I know I’m running the risk of sounding like a mama’s boy in addition to be a coward but its true. If we don’t trust them or their judgements, who are we going to trust? And we can always rely on them to give us that little nudge in the right direction. To strike your own road or to comply? To strike it out yourself surely. But life is a journey that spans many years and many events. And we always need companions to show us the directions.

The way I see it, love songs -or that genre of music that involves immature boy-bands and aged men crooning tunes pertaining to romance- has and will continue to change the topography of society. People talk about the social ills that infest our society. Think-tanks and leaders suggest approaches and laws to diminish the negative aspects of our society. But alas; it is too late. Decades of watching Ozzy biting pigeon’s heads and listening to piss-poor renditions of classics such as Mary Had A Little Lamb and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star has left our youth confused and disillusioned. We need to pave drastic measures to combat our socio ailments before we completely lose sight of what is important. And in this context, I have found the perfect solution: love songs to remedy the masses. They say music soothes the beasts. We aren’t exactly beasts but some of the things we do rival those done by our more unusual cousins in the animal kingdom. So I say, unleash a torrent of love songs to cultivate of a society of compassion and understanding. It’s all about the raw emotions and honesty of those songs that will overcome the darkness inside of us. We approach the end of 2004 with little notion of what bodes for the music industry. Hip-hop heavyweights like Usher dominate the industry. Grunge died along with Kurt Cobain. Rap is gaining much of the industries power. Pop is -as rightly put by a particular teen queen- “so yesterday”. Then there is the never dying genre of rock. In the many years since the epochal event that led to the discovery of sound, the human race has given birth to genres like the traditional pop, rock and rap. But now, breeds of unknown origins have been let loose. We now hear of nu-metal with its pioneers Korn and Linkin Park. We have techno; the insane head bopping, nerve twitching beats that incite muscular spasms in clubs around the world. There is jazz, the one music I still do not understand the appeal of. And we have also buried some genres like swing and waltz.

But none and I repeat none of these genres have the potential and capabilities of love songs when it comes to changing the very foundations of our society. There are no limitations to love songs. They may be pop or rock and even techno. What is important is the substance. Lyrical content. The way I see it, listening constantly to rappers threatening to kill each other is not healthy. Listening to rockers explore their drug and substances abuse problems and also preaching hedonism is far from ideal. And techno? Let’s just say, having muscular spasms shouldn’t be the choice of many. But love songs? All they speak of is loving others, unconditionally, eternally, completely and sincerely. Before I go any further, allow me first to post some lyrics of some great love songs so that this issue may be addressed in a broader sense.

I am no superman not at all
But I have no answers for you
I am no hero, and that’s for sure
But I do know one thing
Where you go, is where I want to be

(Dave Matthews Band – Where Are You Going)

I never know what the future brings
But I know you are here with me now
We'll make it through
And I hope you are the one I share my life with

(Daniel Bedingfield – If You’re Not the One)

And I'm trying hard to figure out
Just how I ever did without
The warmth of your smile
The heart of a child
That's deep inside
Leaves me purified

(N’Sync – God Must Have Spent A Little More Time On You)

The drops of rain they fall all over
This awkward silence makes me crazy
The glow inside burns light upon her
I'll try to kiss you if you let me
(this can't be the end)

(Blink 182 – Down)

Cause I want nothing more than.
To sit outside Heaven's door
And listen to you breathing
Is where I wanna be yeah

(Lifehouse – Breathing)

Got me hoping you page me right now your kiss's
Got me hoping you save me right now
Lookin so crazy your love's got me lookin
Got me lookin so crazy your love

(Beyonce – Crazy in Love)

'Cause you're everywhere to me
And when I close my eyes it's you I see
You're everything I know
That makes me believe
I'm not alone
I'm not alone

(Michelle Branch – Everywhere)

I wanna be with you
If only for a night
To be the one who's in your arms, who holds you tight
I wanna be with you
There's nothing more to say
There's nothing else I want more than to feel this way

(Mandy Moore – I Wanna Be With You)

That was a brief sample of love song’s finest. Notice I used the phrase love song and not the music industry or literature. Love songs have gained notoriety for their blatant indifference for grammatical structuring, overt misuse of syllables and rhymes so cheesy they defy logic and reason. However, one of the best poets and writers of all time, William Shakespeare was also a love song fanatic. True, he did not pen songs with the likes of Take That and The Backstreet Boys, but any of his revered sonnets would have made the albums of most boy bands. Absorb the sheer intensity of the emotions in these songs. They speak of love and trust; of fear and courage, of sacrifice and compromises, of trust and loyalty. These are the virtues that we want to imbue in our society. Love songs should be the new mantra of every responsible citizen.

*********************

It must be the weather. Or maybe it’s the season. I don’t know. At the moment, I’m caught up in the midst of loads and loads of love songs. I mean, there’s still space in my head for the brooding sort of music like Staind but I’ve got all these sugary tunes in my head. Actually, I find love songs to be a little bit tedious and tacky to a certain extent. I mean, there are only so many words that rhyme with ‘love’, ‘forever’, ‘believe’, and etc. But I feel for those guys. Again it boils down to understanding the emotions. Everyone knows what love is. And if everyone could just take a little bit more time to show love, the world would be a better place. I’m not saying that we should ban acts like Marilyn Manson –although all I have to say about this guy is “Dude, I’m a Catholic”. But love songs serve as the sort of affirmation that everyone needs so desperately these days. How often to we put into words out feelings? How often do we tell each other that we love them? It’s difficult to put into words what I’m trying to say. All I know is this. We have so many people singing beautifully cheesy songs around the world, and all these songs are heard by so many people. But it would be nice if more people learnt to appreciate them.

I love to listen to the word ‘love’ being sung over and over again. I’m a sap -a sorry sap at that. There’s just something about listening to a pretty boy with silly fringes singing about the supposed love of his life that is uplifting. Love songs aren’t music for all seasons. But they’re good for most days. And now for the finale: some immortal lines for all of my loved ones.

The strands in your eyes that colour them wonderful
Stop me and steal my breath
Emeralds from mountains thrust towards the sky
Never revealing their depth
Tell me that we belong together
Dress it up with the trappings of love
I'll be captivated,
I'll hang from your lips,
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above
I'll be your crying shoulder
I'll be love suicide
I'll be better when I'm older
I'll be the greatest fan of your life
Rain falls angry on the tin roof
As we lie awake in my bed
You're My Survival,
You're My Living Proof,
My love is alive and not dead
Tell me that we belong together
Dress it up with the trappings of love
I'll be captivated,
I'll hang from your lips
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above
I'll be your crying shoulder
I'll be love suicide
I'll be better when I'm older
I'll be the greatest fan of your life
I've dropped out, burned up, fought my way back from the dead,
Tuned in, turned on, remembered the things you said,
I'll be your crying shoulder
I'll be love suicide
I'll be better when I'm older
I'll be the greatest fan of your life

(Edwin McCain – I’ll Be)

See what I mean when I say love songs can be so meaningful? This song is so poetic. And so I dedicate it to everyone, anyone, someone and no one. May they enjoy the never-ending joy that love and its sub-categories promise.

(Ed’s note: Is this the end? Is echo_slam beginning to write rubbish? All those who doubt my sanity, raise your hands, stand up and be counted! )

-All the lyrics posted here belong to the artistes, the original authors and their respective recording companies. All rights are reserved.-