I swear to you. Life goes in circles. We struggle to move forward, find improved ways of doing things, we seek to better ourselves – yet at the end of the day, we find that we have come one full circle and are back where we started from.
Let me illustrate, or as a good friend from India puts it, let me ‘splain you.
When we were kids, Muks and I were dragged every single &#%$@! week to this hashing thing, my dad seems to be obsessed with. Hashing, apparently, is a sport and involves running after a guy, known as the hare, who lays down a paper trail for the hashers to follow. The scenery and hare changes every week, and this hashing malarkey is supposed to be healthy.
I nearly lost an eye hashing once, when some crazy-assed hare led us into a rain forest at night. It was pitch black and I was attacked by monsters. Actually, I tripped and a thorn bush cut me, nearly taking out by eye. I still cringe whenever I think about it.
I have always suspected that hashing is just an excuse for men to drink lots and lots of beer. There was always a huge
happy beer wagon at the hash site, filled with nice icy cold cans of beer, mmmm. After a token effort at running, dinner at the local kedai kopi ensued – and this was always accompanied by lots and lots of drinking, grandma tossing, strip tease contests by fat balding middle-aged men, etc. Anyway, the point of that long winded dissertation above is to establish the fact that I started drinking beer at kedai kopis.
Life got better when I was studying in Sydney. I started drinking with my friends in seedy run-down pubs in Chinatown. Charlie Chan was a favourite, I recall. It had three old jackpot machines, where my roommate had an unhealthy fixation with. He lost fortunes, entire GDPs of small Pacific Island nations.
My affluence grew when working life commenced. With more cash to splash around, I started frequenting posher establishments like Espanda, Qbar, Zeta Bar, Poppy Garden, Havanitas.
Until last year.
I started frequenting a pub opposite my office. The place is always dark, smoky and noisy. Beers cost RM35 per jug, though slightly watered down. The place may not be much, but the company more than made up for all the pub’s shortcomings – C. Lengus, Chosim, Sean, Balak, Kaysee. We had fun.
Last night however, I found myself sitting in a kedai kopi with C. Lengus, Balak and Tuckie. We were drinking beer.
Such an ah pek thing to do. Hahaha.
I remember thinking to myself, this is so much better than going to the pub. The beer’s cheap and food is readily available. I don’t think I’ll ever go clubbing again – the noise, the crowds, cover charges, the vomit splattered all over the toilet walls and floors are too much for me in my dotage. The kids in the clubs these days seem so young I feel like grandpa just sitting there holding my seriously overpriced glass of Chivas.
All I need is good company, and a kedai kopi that serves beer and stout. Just don’t force me to go hashing again, okie?
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