Have you ever sat and observed a hawker stall operator? Me, I have a love-hate relationship with them. I love the food, don’t get me wrong, but that’s besides the point. I like having meals at hawkers stalls because, well, I feel that’s where the spirit of entrepreneurship lies.
I don’t like to call myself one, for “entrepreneur” is a title, a person, I aspire to be. An as an “asprireneur”, if there’s every such a term, I like to think the best entrepreneurs are born on the streets. A combination of street smart and resourcesfulness. A fixer of broken things. A spotter of gaps, holes and opportunities. An entertainer, ever ready to entice anyone with their new hairball of an idea, the master plan for world domination, the no-brainer-where-have-you-been-all-my-life solution to a daily problem. A seeker of the goldmine, as much as the adventure itself.
“I gotta stop eating those desserts from the first class menu or risk losing the modelling contract.”
“I feel sorry for those who were lining up to get my autograph only to find out I’ve left in the limo with Tom C half an hour ago.”
“I hate it when life gives me the worst kind of choices. I mean, how am I supposed to choose between full scholarships to three ivy leagues school? #lifesucks”
Ok, before you go off and say something like “dick”, “what a douche”, “don’t be so fucking perasan lar”, “nothing better to say just STFU lar!”, let me first give you the definition of the term humblebrag. (assuming my examples above are not illustrious enough)
A lot of times we look at politicians who created problems but don’t pick up the mess. I mean, you don’t have to look so far, Malaysia’s political scene totally deserves a channel on it’s own at Astro. Like a bad script for an action movie, the flow is usually:
- Shit happens
- Appoint scape goat(s)
- Bury said shit
- Look elsewhere
- Post credit scene: Launch new campaign for next impending shit
I was at this cozy cafe, working as usual. The sun just set, a dark shade of crimson tangerine outlined the horizon. A cool breeze visited the patio of the cafe once in a while, the snuggly, cozy kind.
Yeap, a great setting to snuggle, and true to my word, at the corner of my eye, I saw an elderly couple walking in, holding each other tightly. They appeared to be in their early sixties, physically. The uncle is wearing a handsome polo shirt, smartly tugged into his slacks with a darker tone belt, that went down to his shiny, polished Hush Puppies. The aunty, wore simple khaki pants, floral blouse and an Egyptian silk scarf around her long, slender neck. Both of them wore specs, but what the glass failed to hide, was the adoration in their eyes.
This is a true story.
*The names had been changed, but definitely not to protect their identities or the crime.
The training and personal development industry in Malaysia is small, so when there’s a new player or program in town, it’s natural for us to be curious. Like the new kids in school, we would Google their names, try to find out a little about their background, and if she’s cute, whether she’s single.
So when a trainer, *Lee, got his/her NLP trainer certification from a master trainer, *Palov, that I’ve not heard before, I just naturally got curious.
There are only a couple of green monsters out there. It’s not the Hulk, or how your private parts looked like after being stung by an exotically fatal jungle hornet*.
No, I’m talking about the one inside you (again, dude, not the one in your pants).
Yeah, let’s talk about jealousy.
Let me get it right first.
In no way am I referring to those reunion dinners that involves relatives, family members and loved ones. Those you can either rent a boyfriend, girlfriend or give-your-grandma-a-scare gayfriend, or sit there silently and be screwed instead lar. Remember, the aunties are just caring for your well being. 🙂
No, I’m referring to those with your classmates. Yeap, those who you’d copied homework from all your school days, those you ponteng class with, those you had a secret crush on for years, those who first populate your Friendster account (yeah, I’m that old). And because everyone is back in your hometown for CNY, it makes a good sense to meet up, kan?
Sorry guys, as much as you may think it’s the “where I came from” or “what’s that man doing with that rubber glove”, the truth is the talk I had with William, my 7-year-old, was more about the reality of life. (Sure, some would argue having too many unprotected sex is the key to jump starting a life, but I’ll probably let his school give him that moment of enlightenment).
“We talk about death before, and while we all try to live as long as we want, sometimes accidents do happen. One day, I won’t be around anymore, and I need you to know this: don’t expect your mother to care and support you as I did.”
A few months back (April 2016), on the way to school, I had a heart to heart talk with William, my 7-year old.
“Will, if it’s okay with you, for the next few weeks or even months, we will need to limit our spending a bit, because daddy’s in debt, and it’s so bad that I had to borrow money from your aunt last night.”
He kinda understood the concept of debts, but still, in his innocence, he asked how I got myself into debt.
And here’s the story.
This all happened within a month, and I thought in the spirit of Fuckupnights, we can all learn from the incident.
Who’s the startup you ask? Piktochart.