I’m a diplomat brat.
I was a border-hopping toddler, born in the summer of ’83 in Belgrade, Yugoslavia. Despite what people believe, it’s still around today. Belgrade — not Yugoslavia.
From the European sojourn came a return trip to Malaysia, and then four years in the Big Apple. It probably was heavenly. My memories of the place are sketchy.
After New York, Singapore came calling and I was stuck there for a year. That’s when I discovered Michael Jackson.
I’ve been back in Kuala Lumpur since 1993, but I still feel out of place sometimes. I’m still in a state of a prolonged culture shock, and my way of thinking (more of my lack of thinking) makes me an easy target for whatever an easy target is needed for.
I’m also very lazy. I love to procrastinate, and I tend to shun deadlines. Or find excuses for extending them. Or simply just ignore the work.
I also tend to get away with it most of the time somehow.
I’m a geek. I love pop culture. And I love to know about the things that most people wouldn’t find a use for. Because nothing’s worthless.
Which can also explain the perpetual state of flux that my room is in. As well as my penchant for keeping junk — because junk is the representation of our lives immortalized.
Or so I’d like to think.
I fancy myself to be a musician, but I’ve never put in as much effort as I could to become a legitimate one. I’ve spent most of my time riding on the coattails of someone else’s success.
If only because I believe in living my life with as little effort as possible.
At the end of the day, I lead a fairly blessed life; it’s just that I’m too much of an idiot to realize that.
Remember: life is led easier with lowered expectations.