Walls.

Stay here, don't go, I implore, I ask this beaut,
its sparkle and glaze doth shimmer and shine through all.
Four walls rise high to keep my being within,
yet flutter and fly it goes beyond this hall.

Who forgot to place a roof above my head?
I squirm and weep in disdain that I should stay.
'Most surely my hopes, my dreams had left with it.'
I told my thoughts to the wind which went away.

Would it remain when its wings are feathered?
The blind would see it clear as day, not I.
These walls I built with non but hands my own,
these walls I seek to break so I might fly.

Surely this bird has sang its tune to me,
entranced by non but songs of chirps and squeaks.
Yet while I still had wings in place of arms,
I shed them and exchanged it all for bricks.

Postings from the room under the staircase.

No, I'm most fortunately not the boy-who-lived. My uninteresting life is nothing like the sorts of Harry Potter, although this week I finally have something in common with him.

Moving to Petaling Jaya, specifically Seksyen 17, proved to be quite an interesting mix bag of emotions. For one, I am yet another step ahead in my journey of self-reliance and independence. On the other, the place which I've landed in is rather, for want of a better word, challenging.

Petaling Jaya is many things. It's urban and hip, yet aged and unsurprising. Being one of the older townships in the Klang Valley area, I find myself thrown into this weird juxtaposition of the old and new. My parents, when they first ventured out of their own hometowns to take a leap of fate into the city that is Kuala Lumpur, they started out in none other than this town that is PJ. And here I am now, following in their footsteps.

Except when they first started out, PJ was still quite new...

So yes, I am now settled down in this aged room, part of a semi-detached house, whose owner is also renting out other rooms en masse. Interestingly this place is quite a community of strangers confined within, there seems to be at least 6 or 7 different tenants. And of course, I landed in the room right under the staircase. A simple room with a table, bed and cupboard, sufficiently cleaned yet old spots still abound; bare necessities, really.

I shall now wait for my letter of invitation to Hogwarts.

Or maybe Dobby can pay me a visit. I suppose a chat with a house-elf would be pleasant in this solitude that is new to me.

But gloom aside, this room does remind me of pleasant thoughts of a time before. I suppose this house with its 30 to 40 years old design reminds me fondly of both my grandparents' homes, as well as a collection of memories from my childhood visiting homes of my various relatives.

And yet it fascinates me this place that invokes such nostalgia, is also close to Jaya One, Mid Valley and the like that which you'd associate with modernity. Truly, the contrast makes me ponder.

I suppose starting out my adult life proper (with my first day job so to speak) in a place devoid of the usual creature comforts could do me a favour, that I may build my character in my time here.

So here's to a year of fruitful career development.

Rantings from the 1st floor.

They say 23 years old is the worst age to go through in one's life (although some argue that mid-life is as bad, or worse). The time where you finish your tertiary education and are most likely seeking a place in society.

Lacking experience, having outdated if not insufficient amount of knowledge in your respective fields, no colleagues or employers to network for you, only a bunch of ex-classmates who are in a similarly precarious situation like themselves; Your other friends who've decided to start work right out of secondary education seem more well off than yourself...

Yes, I speak about myself. Pardon the whine. I write to no one, yet I wish to write this down for my future reference.

Applying for a job in the music industry. Sounds as bad as auditioning for a software engineer post. May the fastest coder win the job offer.

Music: Rarely any job offers listed on paper or online, and they're mostly irrelevant to my major. Of course there's always ample of teacher posts, but I pity my hypothetical students if I do take the job; I've hardly the patience nor the talent to teach. The world doesn't owe me a job, sure. But neither do I owe the world silence from my frustration.

Alas, first class honours all for naught, nobody cares. You need to be in the right social group. You need to be thick-faced and be a people-person. Know-who, not know-what. Sure I've heard all these things way back, but it doesn't change the fact that it's frustrating.

Another e-mail ignored, time to move on.

Pardon the rant.