The funny clowns on the news.

This country of mine is slowly turning into a cross between a communist and a Middle-Eastern nation.

First, there was that proposal to assemble a religious/moral police force, specifically for Muslims. Then came the insane rules and regulations to be adhered to during the month of Ramadan. The very vocal leaders of a very racist association fighting for a cause that is Malay supremacy. The ultra-conservatives who dream up ridiculous ideas that make the true patriots cringe. True patriots like, well, yours truly right here. We are a multi-racial, multi-cultural, multi-religious country. I thought you all learned history in school.

There was a motion to ban social networking sites (i.e. Facebook) on grounds that it's disrupting the nation's harmony. An idiotic approach. The problem is not the site, but rather the users of that site. It just proves to show that we have a third-class mentality, despite having access to first-class (really?) facilities. So many people filing for defamation lawsuits. People charged under the Seditions Act. All because we are too easily offended. So who is to blame in the first place?

And recently, I read about people who would not fly with the national carrier, Malaysia Airlines -- because they do not want to die. Finally, something we can directly attribute to non-Malaysians. Now listen to what I have to say:

Dude, that could have happened to any airplane and any airline. It could have been a European aircraft up there flying over Ukrainian airspace. It could have been any plane headed to Beijing at that time. It could have happened to anyone, but it happened to MAS. The fact that it happened twice doesn't prove anything.

So keep this in mind, my friend: The next time you board a plane, be it Emirates or Etihad or British Airways or whatever airline you choose to fly on, there is someone out there somewhere who secretly hopes fate would get back at you and send you hurtling at freefall speed into a crater in some desert as the plane you thought was reliable crumbles into pieces in mid-air.

I'm not hating on any airlines. I just hate the idiot who made that statement.

The fifth principle of Rukun Negara is "Kesopanan dan Kesusilaan". It's about time we start walking the talk, don't you think? You game?

Happy Merdeka Day to all of you. Let's make this nation better this time around -- hopefully for real.

Project on hold.

Been reading articles online about how crowdfunding has the potential to really turn things around.

Also read about how this Kickstarter project, despite its nature, managed to get pledges amounting to over 50 grand. It's a crazy world we live in.

So, can I do that with my mom's car? I'm seriously thinking about it.

The intelligent moron.

The first IQ test I took was in 1996. I was only nine years old back then. I remember it like it was yesterday -- about 120 of us, all third-graders, gathered in the school hall for our first public exam. 1996 -- the first year of the implementation of Penilaian Tahap Satu (PTS), an IQ test for elementary school students. Those who score above the level set by the ministry would get an offer to skip fourth grade the following year and enrol as a fifth-grader instead.

Guinea pigs of the national education system. That's what we were. The first batch of students subjected to what the government calls "a method to identify the really smart kids and let them have the choice to be a step ahead of the rest". My parents thought I'd score well enough to get the offer. They were wrong. No one in my school scored within the required range. For an "elite" institution that requires preschoolers to pass an entrance exam in order to be accepted, I imagined it was a disappointment to the faculty. Things sometimes don't go the way you want it to go. C'est la vie.

I didn't try too hard in that exam. The questions were about things that were nowhere to be found in the textbooks. It felt more like a series of puzzles that were so much fun to solve, because it was so challenging -- and I didn't care if I passed or failed, much to my parents' displeasure. Talk about having typical Asian parents. I later learned from my father that he too had skipped grades when he was younger. The headmaster pulled him out of the first-grade class he was in because he was "so much smarter" than the rest of them. He had only been there for a week before he joined the second-graders. "All of you are smart," he used to say to my siblings and I. "It's in the genes."

So the hypothesis proposed by my father is this: Intelligence is hereditary. Is he right or is he crazy?

And then, there was this feature article on Reader's Digest, some time in the 1990s. It was about Mensa and the world's geniuses. A few pages were dedicated to a sample IQ test used by the organization. Years later, I found a similar test on the Mensa website. Online social networking had me taking more and more of these "Fun IQ Tests" as well as the serious ones, and the results? I have to say, a hunch tells me they could be accurate.

My IQ, according to these tests I've taken, can be anywhere in the mid or high 130s, with 140 being considered as genius. The Stanford-Binet scale classifies that as "very superior intelligence". I have a very high likelihood of passing the actual Mensa test. Something to be proud of? I don't know.

Truth is, despite that knowledge, I feel like a total idiot -- because that's what I am. IQ scores mean nothing if you still feel inadequate at the end of the day. They mean nothing if despite all that innate cognitive ability, you are still found wanting by those around you -- and I am no stranger to being found wanting.

You're very smart. You're not stupid. You freak me out with how quickly you learn things and come up with shortcuts that I never knew could work. So why am I seeing this? What's going on?

Almost a genius, and still not fulfilling expectations. Images would pop up in my head -- of Sufiah Yusof, Ariff Alfian, Christina Perri and my best friend. Intelligence is a curse. A curse, because the society pushes you to achieve what it considers as perfection. You are not allowed to be real, while the rest of the world can get away with anything. Crazy, and yet I'm the one with a referral to a shrink. Christina Perri's name wasn't a random mention, by the way.

No one is perfect. Even heroes have the right to bleed.

Thank you, Five for Fighting, for being so inspiring.

Memento mori.

Watched the live telecast. The tears came as soon as the cargo plane landed. Alhamdulillah. You all are finally home.

Moi, the movie buff.

When I read about Robin Williams' death in the news, this scene immediately popped into my head. One of my all-time favorites.

Your move, chief.

He will definitely be missed.

That old house.

First things first: Wishing all of you a blessed Eid! Minal aidil wal fa'izin.

I love old houses, especially if they haven't changed much over the years. I love the feeling of disorientation I get when I walk through their doors. It feels like a mini time-travel expedition.

Just like this house my family visited recently during the Eid celebrations. It's the family residence of one of my father's closest friends. Built in 1970. Most of the exterior and interior finishings are well-preserved. Renovations emphasized on restoration rather than transformation.

My mother said it brought back memories of growing up in that decade. "They don't build houses like this anymore," she said. "Everything you see here used to be all the rage back in the day. Trendy. Up-to-date."

Well, not anymore. It's still charming, nonetheless. Timber finishings on the ceiling. Decorative patterns cut through the walls, just above the windows, as a natural mode of ventilation. In areas where aesthetics are of minor significance, the windows are louver windows. Very old-school.

What I loved the most, though, were the walls. Tiled from floor to ceiling, in geometric patterns that scream "Disco Era". So irresistibly retro, I just had to take a picture.

Awesome, isn't it?