Loft of an Eldritch Metaphor

the bucket list

Posted on 29 Jan 2015

I wrote this on the old Caspershire before setting off to the United States. Don’t take this list seriously, it was meant to be a joke. A lame joke.


It is customary that student with the chance to study abroad comes up with a bucket list - awesome things to do like touching (and eventually hugging) the Statue of Liberty and then down to swimming inside a cage with piranha dancing on the other side. This is thrilling, and as thrilling at it gets, the thought of me having my own bucket list exceeds what the usual definition of thrilling in dictionary: rip-roaring!

I posed few rules on my bucket list, as it cannot be a dysfunctional fairy-tale fantasy like feeding a T-Rex with lasagna by using bare hands, or highly improbable like getting married and have a child within 2 months (which is technically biologically scientifically sexually impossible), or purely fictional like replacing Clark Kent as an ad-hoc Superman just in case he got poisoned with unholy dose of kryptonite.

So, here’s the list with descriptions.

First I want to visit the top schools in the States, namely the 8 Ivy Leagues and also what we call Ivy Standards. These schools are boasted with high academic records, and I’m going there to feel the wafted auric energies from overachievers. I’m not going there to insta my face cuddling the seemingly-majestic old-looking buildings for the sake of envying my friends in Malaysia, but to put my cobwebs in place. For networking, it is.

The next one is attending (geek) conferences. Silicon Valley tops the list, joining Apple’s announcement events, joining developer meet-ups, and whatever geek-like-high-tech coffee talks that come across my news feed. Not that I want to be a developer/programmer too, but it is nice to see awesome people doing awesome coding stuffs in flesh, and to thank them for what they’ve done to the world.

“Mr Torvalds, you rock man!"

“He’s in Finland"

“Oh..” *packing up for Finland*

The third would be a covert mission. I’m gonna be tip-toeing behind Mr. Obama, and when it seems he can be caught off guard, I’m gonna roar right into his ears on an attempt to freak him out. If the mission is well executed, I want to leave my autograph on his singlet, and if the opposite happens, I’ll let him autograph on my bare chest. Fair and square.

And the last one in this short list, is to save money for marriage. Eh.