Londonium

London in the winter can be very grey. Lively, vibrant, bustling, but grey.

Paris in the Rain

Paris, a city acclaimed to be of love, of beauty and sheer romance.

Thats what the brochures said anyway.

Shelter

The last time I posted anything was more than six months ago. I now reside in England and sit at my desk every night with ponderous thoughts to be ponderously pondered.

The insomnia I used to have is now back, back with a vengeance. Having been up for 25 hours and then only managing a meagre 4 hours of sleep isn't the most ideal situation to be in when you have class from 9am - 5pm.

London has been good to me - I hate it, but it has been good to me.

Hatfield on the other hand has been the evil step sister that seems to prod me with needles every now and again - if needles were a metaphor for continuous down pours of precipitation. I mean, I'm Malaysian, I ought to be used to the rain...but it just isn't the same. It's rain that trickles in an endless stream and last for days on end, making the blistering cold not just cold, but wet and cold.

I rant and forever digress from a point I do not remember striking up. Did I? What was the point of this all?

Unconditional Sleep Deprivation is not something I welcome kindly.

Here's the London Bridge. No it wasn't falling down.

Indelible Ink : A Mark of Status for the Future

Today I woke up at 7am to brave the unimaginable (Actually quite imaginable here) parking situation at a school nearby just so I could cast a ballot and have a say, albeit a small one, in the future of my nation.

This General Elections sees the first ever use of the indelible ink - an ink that is placed on your index finger to mark the fact that you have voted and to curb the problem of multiple voting. The ink is said to last anywhere from 4 to 5 days. Malaysians, being the cheeky bastards they are, have already found numerous methods of washing off the ink within minutes. Whether to prove a point or just to appear clever, currently - about 3 and a half hours after the polling stations opened - many have already posted on their Facebooks and Instagrams, pictures (some even sequences) of their fingers untainted and looking as clear as day.

But more intriguing to me are the ones who relish so much this little symbol of patriotism.

Yes, we're all doing our part. About a million of us are as we speak, and consequently about a million of us are also bombarding instagram with unnecessary pictures of what appears to be a mass rebellion against manicures.

Our bright future generation, also known as the generation that grew up on positively reinforced parenting, also known as the generation that thinks they're too good for anything they're offered, and also known as the generation that thinks they all deserve super stardom in one way or another - has seen fit to inadvertently create a social status symbol out of what really is a simple solution to some electoral problems in our nation.

I see so many people sitting around in coffee shops, walking down the street, looking at the hands of fellow citizens - judging their decisions on whether or not they voted. So, if I voted, does that make me automatically OK to smile at and if I didn't, should I welcome your frowns of disapproval?

I faltered and found myself spiraling out of control into an abyss of judgement - as I too peered around and found myself looking for this little symbol of apparent hope. Ever judging with piercing glares only to realize the result of this meant I voted so I could judge others. Its amazing how something so important to our future can so simply become a trend. Are our ego's so lacking in maturity that we still strut about in such fashion?

The most I can do is hope that we did it for the right reasons - and more importantly, I hope we know what those reasons are.

I'm Arthur Loh and I write.

What you need to know about me :

I can write.
I write articles.
I write copy's.
I even photograph if you want me to.

What you want to know about me :

I can work.
Be kind to me and you'll see I'm loyal.
Be nice to me and you'll see me put in effort.
Work with me and I'll work for you.


So fuckin' hire me right now to write something. Anything.

You know what? I'll write an article for 50 bucks on anything you want me to write about.

Email me at artieloh@gmail.com NOW to take advantage of this once in a lifetime sale of dignity!

The Only Bed I Need

Its 4am and I've been trying to fall asleep for the past 4 hours. In that 4 hours I have thought about more things than I will experience in this one year.

For starters, I'm falling pretty ill and I'm beginning to miss my own bed. The past few months have seen me sleep in many different beds (No I'm not screwing around), in hotels, in motels, and in the guest room of a dear friend. Today, I sleep in a bed that's mine, but really isn't. I have my own room here in the house mother grew up in, in Sungai Petani, Kedah and yet every time I lay down on this bed it just isn't the same, because it isn't really mine.

I spend an average of once a year here at this house and sometimes I don't even make it back for an entire year. The worst about being here right now isn't the bed, its the fact that I'm falling ill and the only place I have ever recovered from anything is in my own bed. Not to mention the god damn mosquitoes are making it hard to get even a glimpse of rest.

But its Cheng Beng (Its a Chinese tradition that on this day we visit our ancestors and those who have passed before us to pay our respects and to cleanse our spirits) and I'm here to pay respects to my grandfather. I've got to be up by 6am which is currently a mere hour and a half away. Then I've got to endure another day here until I leave on Sunday morning.

Ah fuck it. I'm taking the next flight outta here tomorrow.

The Opportunist

My father is a philosopher, an artist, a counsellor, but more than anything else, a teacher.

My mother is a business woman, a realist, a survivalist, but more than anything else, a teacher. 

I was taught by my father but raised by my mother. 

My father spent much of his free time teaching me how to do things, firmly believing that there is no right way or wrong way, only your own way. He taught me to be morally sound, but encouraged me never to forsake my own individuality for anyone. He taught me that people are defined by the way they lead their life, but many don't know how. 

My mother made me bear witness to her every move on a financial platform. She instilled in me the knowledge to know when I'm living beyond my means and when I'm pressured into assimilating into a level of society I cannot afford. She, whether intentionally or not, taught me to want, taught me to crave and strive to satisfy my cravings. 

I am society's opportunist. 

Fueled by my desire to fulfill my wants in life, armed with the knowledge to see things that others may not. 

I am my father's son, and my mother's prodigy.