Tag: writing

Abject Misery

~ Ninjafang ~ Leave a comment
Soir Bleu – Edward Hopper (1914)

This is all a joke, some kind of sick, twisted, fucked up joke isn’t it?

Those are the words my girlfriend said to me, as she grieved the loss of her dreams.

Life has been a hurricane of losing moments so far.

I’m hurting in ways that I can’t seem to pin down. There will be moments in the day where I feel like crying. Others when I’m OK and focused on work. But the deep wound inside will weep and suddenly, right in the middle of something, I’m grappling with troubling thoughts of failure and hopelessness.

In the span of a month, I’ve been hit with 2 extremely distressing piece of news.

The first, is that I am about to lose my job in 2 months.

The second is that all my research into building a home, investing in a future with my partner, has now come completely undone because of a family member pulling out of the project.

Right on the cusp of starting this project.

There is only so much a guy can take at once.

But … let’s contextualise everything before I start my wallowing in self-pity.

For the entirety of 2026, my partner and I have been discussing when we are going to move out. To take complete ownership of my personal failings, I have not done a good job saving money in my 20s. Now, as a guy in his 30s, I’m trying to make up for it.

My partner was never as stupid as I was. She’s been smart, switched on and saving hard since she first conceptualised a house.

So, in other to buy a house in Melbourne, I needed a bit of assistance from my parents to boost my savings. I originally asked them for 20K to help me, but they couldn’t find a way to do so, without redrawing from their mortgage.

I felt guilty asking, but I knew that I needed the help in some shape or form.

As I grappled with this, my parents came to me with a different idea. Tear down the original home and create a dual occupancy. Two homes, side-by-side, brand new, all the finishings you could want. Sure, the home might cost the same as my appetite for buying a home, but it’ll be worth a whole lot more because my parent’s home is in an affluent area.

It was an ingenious plan. Not only would my parents win, but I would as well, because I didn’t have to pay as much for a home, valued at least 1.5x the amount I paid to build it. It would set me and my girl up perfectly in life. We would have an asset worth a million plus, whilst only paying a much lesser mortgage.

We would get to build a new home, design the kitchen the way we want to, plot out how we would use the bedrooms, decide on floorboards, customise our sinks, entertain ideas about garage storage …. laugh about our bathrooms’ storage and really pour our hearts into this build.

This was going to be a dream home, a beautiful place that we can truly call our own. A privilege that so many people don’t get.

From a finance perspective, my partner and I were going to live on one side, whilst my parents and younger brother was going to live in the other.

And so … with that …. we put aside the idea of buying and put on the building hat. We went to countless house inspections. Met with 7 different builders. Talked to a broker, a conveyancer, a sub-division expert.

Every single weekend was dedicated to the house. We didn’t have a day go by, where we didn’t talk about the house. Do we want the kitchen this way? How many mm long should the walkway be? Do we want a floating staircase, a sink in the butler pantry? How do we feel about Miele, Bosch or Westinghouse appliances?

Just recounting all these conversations and the passion we had for them, hurts.

I was so excited for this as we kept getting deeper into the build. And if I was excited, my partner was doubly so. She poured so much into this project that I was in awe. She called up people constantly, asking questions after questions to make sure she knew all the details just right. She went to bed thinking about what kind of floorboards she wanted in the house. She talked to me about how our kids might go to a better school.

There wasn’t a single ounce of doubt in her mind. This project was going to happen. We were going to get ahead in life.

But (and there is always a fucking but) … as it turned out, my family did not do their due diligence.

The worst part of any dream … is the idealist who came up with the idea, but didn’t do any checking to see if it was feasible.

The most basic, bare minimum step was to check if everyone was on-board.

Everyone said yes initially. Mum, Dad, Younger Brother … but as things got more real, as my parents and I visited each display home, suddenly the price of everything cast the whole thing in doubt.

I told them early on, just how much this was going to cost. My parents said they were going to be OK with it. I told them to check with my brother …. and they told me, he was going to be OK with it. I took them at their word. I had no reason to doubt anyone.

After all, when my parents pass away, that home would be his. So, the split would work 5 ways. My partner and I, on one side, my brother, mother and father on the other. Everyone wins.

Live, Laugh, Love.

But as we got further through the project, I started to realise that there were massive communication problems.

My parents were slow to move and didn’t check in on me regularly. Perhaps my partner and I also moved too fast, thinking that everyone was on board.

The old phrase …. assumptions kills or when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me …. truly did rear its ugly head.

Whether it was my inexperience, arrogance or misplaced trust, I didn’t do my due fucking diligence.

I should have known better than to trust my parents, who have shown that they were dragging their feet in this project, through no real fault of their own. After all, it was my brief initial chat to them, that I was confused as to why my partner and I were doing the lion share of the work putting this together.

This dynamic, of doing all this research, trying to get the roadmap working for us, understanding dense and complicated processes and then me having to brief my parents was exhausting. It never really allowed me to switch off and get everyone in on one table.

Every week would follow the same formula …. I would spend my hours at work, calling up builders, town planners etc, and then organise a meeting with them in the afternoon or on the weekend. And then I would come back to my parents on Monday and update them.

It meant that for only one day, a Tuesday, I had a proper respite from this project.

However, as anyone can rightfully point out … no fucking wonder you guys didn’t cover the fundamentals and basics.

We never had a proper group meeting after our initial chat, about this whole concept and when you don’t meet regularly and actually hash things out in person … you are going to forget some very basic fundamentals.

It was two parallel lines trying to get to the same destination but never converging and arriving as one train. My parents were relying on my updates, going at 40 km/h. My partner and I were going at 100 km/h and frustrated with my parents’ lack of speed.

I never got a proper chance to join everything together, because even though I was the middleman, the project manager, I was too wrapped up in my own problems. Whilst I did see this problem … I never had the chance to fix it until it blew up in my goddamn face.

Because whilst my partner and I were zooming along, there was a very critical fundamental issue we overlooked. The panic and feelings of my younger brother. I mistakenly believed that my parents were constantly updating him, the way I was updating them.

But that wasn’t the case, because he was going through a whirlwind of hurt and panic on his side. His own partner was refusing to engage with this. She was appalled by the idea of living with my parents, afraid of the lack of the privacy and by the sounds of things, unable to see how it benefitted her.

Worse, my brother was going through a crisis of his own. His job was clearly too taxing for him, draining him of every dollar, every ounce of will to live and affecting his mental state. He worked way too long and was now in a prison of his own making. He’s refusing to seek help, because he doesn’t want to burden others. There was even a time where he was taken to the hospital, but we weren’t aware of it until a day after it happened.

The most awful part of this, is that because he is interstate, we are unable to go to support him.

“I’m not mentally stable right now.”

How the hell am I supposed to deal with that.

I can’t. I don’t know how to fix that, but all I can is swallow my rage and try to be there for him. Because he has definitely said no. He can’t be a part of this project and without his finances, my parents can’t fund the other side either.

So, despite three months of heart, passion and planning hours my partner and I poured into this … it has now been stumped right before we even start.

The fury my partner has felt at my family and I have been biblical and rightfully so.

All I can do is take it on the chin and apologise. But I know this isn’t enough. She is beyond hurt. She has been betrayed, led on and finally robbed of her dreams. She literally grieved when I told her.

Something inside of her broke, because I know that when you are in the depths of grief and pain, you may start to laugh absurdly.

My partner did just that. She cried so hard, that they turned to gut-wrenching sobs and then to cold, bitter laughter.

My whole support network, my best friend, my partner in life, my girl … now cannot stand looking at me, because I represent a family that failed her. This whole thing has put my entire relationship with her into jeopardy. It wasn’t just 3 months of work and emotional build up at stake here, but also my 4 year relationship.

Worst still, she cannot fully afford to get angry with me, because at the moment, I’m trying to find a new job.

And here comes the context to the second round of misery.

Whether it’s through complacency or perhaps there truly is something about me that the business doesn’t believe in, I’ve been forced out. Even though I believe I am a valuable member, a hard worker and have proven myself over and over, there is something that I am lacking, that my manager sees.

What that is, I’m not sure. Because it seems like even she can’t tell me, what it is, about me in particular that makes her want to drive me out.

But that is where the chips lie. I’ve been forced out.

However, my manager did give me a grace period of three months to try and land something before I am leaving in October. So I suppose there is that small mercy.

Whilst I was already looking for a new job, this news was an incredibly bad blow to my ego. I thought I had more time to find a new job, but now there is a three month ticking time bomb over my head.

And so here I am, looking at jobs, trying to think about my new move, my new work-home … and what I want that to look like, what I think I am good at and what will make me enough money to sustain my lifestyle with my partner and my hobbies.

It’s all so incredibly depressing to have to think about yourself in this way. On a day to day basis, we never evaluate just how much are we worth?

To ask the question “what is the sum of who I am?” is so exhausting.

You have to try and sum up who you are, and then sell it.

And I’ve failed to sell who I am 5 times now.

5 interviews …. 5 failures.

Every single one, another nail in the coffin that I am trying to get out of.

And the panic is starting to build more and more.

I suppose this is the part where I start my self-pity party.

But I’ve been robbed of doing so for so long now. Half my mind is solely occupied with trying to work out a way to get out of this gargantuan mess. The other half is furiously trying to regulate my emotional state.

I’ve never felt more alone, more lost and more empty in my entire life.

Nothing I’ve ever done has quite prepared me for the absolute bottom of the barrel I’m experiencing right now.

No job. No house. No confidence. Potentially even no girl, if I cannot fix things.

This is truly the darkest hole I’ve ever been in.

I can feel myself staring balefully upwards in this prison that life has thrown me into, a deep dark hole that resembles the pit of Lazarus as seen in The Dark Knight Rises.

The light is so far away, but I need to climb so very far to get out.

As I am writing this, I’m applying for jobs, and praying that someone will accept me and see the talent and skills I can deliver.

I realise now, what a gift it is, to stay with a company for a very long time.

But what a curse it is too, to stay at a level where you never grow.

I know that I’ve outgrown my workplace, that there is nowhere for me to advance, that I’m starting to show signs of boredom. It was inevitable that I was going to leave and in some way, this is still on my terms.

Yet the timing of this all, could not be worse.

It’s so hard to regulate one’s emotional state when you’re always panicked, always despairing and just trying to catch a breath after all the shit that has been thrown at you.

It’s even harder to do so, when I know that I need to give my partner space and that I can’t talk to her until she’s healed a bit more.

So right now I’m all alone. Alone to deal with my parents, my brother, my girl and my own problems. I know it’s bad because right now I’ve resorted to listening to the L.A. Noire theme over and over again. I haven’t heard this theme in a very long time, typically reserving it only for the most bitter moments. Back in my younger years it was the theme I liked to associate myself with, when I was in the darkest of times. When I just wanted to stare out in the distance and try to process everything.

As I’m writing this, I’m struck by how much more processing I need as I get older. I know that physically you take longer to recover, but it seems that emotionally that is also the case.

Emotional wounds don’t heal quite as fast, even though, yes you got a tougher skin, more capable of taking on critical or mean feedback, but the moment something hits through your armour … it takes a lot longer to heal. What was once something that my ego merely brushed off, is now something that marks me for a lot longer. I get flashbacks to the incidents or worse still, I repeat the same mistakes that led to that mental scar.

Because changing is harder as you get older. And all of this happening right now, is forcing me to change.

And not just at my comfortable pace. No …. at a rapid speed. I need to shed all of this baggage and emotional desolation and somehow transform it into something useful.

While yes, I’m tired, exhausted and clearly a bit unstable, I know that I have to push through, that I can’t let all of this break me. Because whilst I’m not 100%, I still got plenty of things that I can do, because in all honestly, the only way to climb out of this dark mental prison, is to work my way through the list.

  • Repair things with my girlfriend
  • Help my younger brother get better
  • Find a new job and fast
  • Start pivoting to finding a good home
  • Learn to forgive everyone involved
  • Start saving as much money as possible
  • End things on a good note at my current workplace

The list goes on and on, but like the epiphany I had the other day, even just doing one of those things is a much bigger and more important task than I think it is.

Sometimes, even the smallest and most trivial tasks can rob you of the most precious thing you have …. time.

And time is always going to be against me.

So I guess I better stop this stupid meandering shit and get to work.

In the eternal words of Nancy Sinatra’s You Only Live Twice …

You only live twice … or so it seems.

One life for yourself … and one for your dreams.

You drift through the years … and life seems tame.

‘Til one dream appear …. and love is its name.

And love is a stranger … who’ll beckon you on

Don’t think of the danger … or the stranger is gone.

This dream is for you … so pay the price

Make one dream come true … you only live twice.

I guess I better choose which dream I want.

~ Damocles.

The New Car ….

~ Ninjafang ~ Leave a comment
My new Toyota RAV4 XSE 2WD in a Graphite Colour

Besides a house, a car is arguably the most expensive thing a person can own.

And this car is a crazy milestone for me. It encapsulates so much more than I realise, when I stare at it.

I’ve driven my old white 2015 Toyota Corolla for nearly a decade now. It’s been through a lot, and under my hands, it’s nearly hit 200,000 kilometres. Throughout that entire time, I never really thought about getting a new car. I figured that it was my car, until the wheels came off, which, to my surprise, it hasn’t.

But my partner convinced me otherwise. She knew that I needed a new chapter, a new adventure and a reset. All the memories associated with that white Corolla were going to be superseded by this new car.

So, we went car hunting …

I rejected Mazda outright.

Toyed with the idea of perhaps buying an Audi, my dream car brand since I was a teenager.

Winced at the price of Lexus.

Seriously considered Honda for a second.

Laughed at the idea of ever stepping into a KIA or Hyundai.

Shook my head at the ridiculousness of BMW.

Buried the idea of ever looking at Mercedes or Porsche.

Until we came back to the same brand that I had been advocating since day 1 …. Toyota.

Toyota make the best cars in the world.

Yes, Ferrari will always have the greatest sex appeal. Aston Martin has the approval of Bond. Porsches have the legacy of 911s. But there is a reason why Toyota are everywhere.

To use a gun analogy, they are the Glocks of the car world. Unflinchingly reliable. Almost monotonous in how good they are at every metric. They are boringly excellent cars.

They’re not as expensive as a Mercedes, nor as cheap as your Mazdas or Subarus. They don’t have many ugly designs like BMW nor are they above collaborating with others. After all, the aforementioned Subaru and BMW gave us the iconic reimagining of the new 86 and Supra.

Toyota cars have been proven time and time again to be incredibly reliable, well made cars with an enviable service record.

They can be modified to carry .50 calibre M2 Browning machine guns in their flatbeds.

They’ve won the 24 Hours of Le Mans five consecutive times.

They collaborated with BMW for the new Supra. Subaru for the 86.

They sell the most cars at any given time, anywhere in the world.

Their HiLux survived every thing the boys at Top Gear threw at it.

And in my personal experience, they have amazing turning circles, no matter the size of the car.

So in the end, I swapped my old 2015 Toyota Corolla for a 2025 RAV4 XSE.

And I gotta say, I love my new car. I really do. Not only is the colour combination exactly what I hoped it to be, it’s also an aggressive looking machine. I truly love the current generation of RAV4 aesthetics.

The aggressive grill of the front end, with the angry white lights, that contrasts nicely with the black bonnet protector … the black accents that help add an edge to the look of the car and just how the body sweeps upwards to the square rear end … all of it just hits right for me.

I’m also really happy that I listened to my instincts about the colour of the car. I knew that all black wouldn’t look very nice, as my XSE comes with shiny black accents along the bottom and top of the car. So instead, I went for a lovely graphite grey and it honestly couldn’t have turned out better.

Add in the all black wheels, and my RAV4 is a tall, roomy car that makes me very happy.

It’s also a beautifully smooth drive. I love how spacious it is inside, and the way how the hybrid engine feels. It forces me to drive a bit slower, at a relaxed pace, because I can feel the slight lag when I press down on the pedal, as the engine has to choose either to use the battery or the petrol engine.

This lag is actually calming. Yes, I miss the rush of slamming down my pedal and getting instant feedback, but it led to a lot of speeding fines. Here, the RAV4 isn’t going to break any 0-100km/h in x seconds records. But that is perfect for me.

It still has that silky smooth turning circle I love about Toyotas, and because it’s so roomy inside, I actually have a place to put my left elbow, so that I casually lean whilst I drive.

I also love the heated seats, how fast it takes to defog the windows and how big the screen is, which makes reversing a breeze.

The added height is a new thing to me as well. I’m so used to being very low, that the taller RAV4 is a welcome change.

The boot space is also insane. I can fit so much stuff in the back, that it’s genuinely incredible. The car boot door is also so big, that it becomes a very nice roof over my head as I pack things.

But there is a very special thing about this car that I really love beyond how it looks and all its nice features.

It’s what it means to me. An intangible element to a very expensive purchase.

This RAV4 represents what a changed man I’ve become.

After all, it’s a SUV. A family car. Sure, it’s an aggressive looking family car, but at the end of the day, it’s built for comfort not speed.

I chose this model, because it’s an investment for the future.

And I really do love this new car. It’s so comfortable to drive, the sound system is amazing and it’s so quiet and effortless. The car just glides over the road.

The car represents change, a new chapter and my new focus on something else, something bigger than me.

A family.

Man, that’s a scary but exciting thought right there.

~ Damocles.

Mortality

~ Ninjafang ~ Leave a comment
Charon carries souls across the river Styx by Alexander Dmitrievich Litovchenko

A week ago, I learned that my grandfather passed away

As per tradition with my culture, I was told that as the eldest male amongst the grandchildren there, I had to write a speech about him.

This was a struggle.

Because every single minute I’ve ever spent with the man, was difficult.

We didn’t speak the same language, barely interacted beyond translations from my mother and a strong handshake that gradually got weaker with his age.

He seemed fond of my brother and I, that we had grown up quite tall and strong for boys our size.

But beyond his grateful smile, I don’t really know the man. I didn’t even really know his full name, let alone what he did in the past for a job or his history.

In truth, he was very much a stranger to me, with the sketch outline of a grumpy personality.

The speech I wrote wasn’t very long. If there was a sketch outline of the man, I didn’t exactly fill it in. All I did was just bold the outline itself with a thicker marker.

A letter to my Grandfather …. 

When I think about my grandfather, I think about how happy he always looked when he saw any of his grandchildren come up to greet him. Our family has always been big, but there seems to be a light in his eyes that glowed when he saw his grandkids around him. 

There’s a quote that I think is so true of so many grandparents, that I think about often … “That’s the thing about being a grandfather. I get to do all the things I wished I’d done with my children, and the things I regret, I get to do different.” Grandfather was always so gentle with all of us, from me all the way down to Isaac.

I like to think that he loved being a grandfather, because when we all came around, he seemed happy, content that there are kids running around, adults talking and making a fuss over him and grandma. There was a peace on his face that could only come from having family over. 

I really appreciated his quiet company. I and all the grandkids may not have been able to speak with him all the time, but we knew that he was proud of us, happy to see us and always glad when we could spare some time to visit him. It showed in the smile he greeted us with, the hug he would give us and the handshake he would offer. 

That quiet pride and love he had for all of us was special and we’re all going to miss that in our lives moving forwards.  

So thank you Grandfather for always being happy to see us, for allowing us to make you smile and for being a grandfather that we could always make time for. 

We’re all going to miss you and we hope that you can rest peacefully, knowing that we’re all going to make you proud. 

We’ll look after your children now. 

As you can see, it’s not exactly a illuminating biography of the man. In fact, I was so stuck on what to say for his small obituary, that I had to borrow a line from one of the greatest fictional grandfathers in film history, Kevin Costner’s John Dutton of Yellowstone fame.

I suppose the best line I wrote was “looking after your children”, which served as a rather poignant reminder of our duties to look after the elderly.

Ultimately, I felt more sorry for my mother, who was there when he passed, looking after him in the retirement home. What a traumatic experience. I can’t imagine the grief, loss and anguish she felt, when she realised that he died right in front of her.

My grandfather’s death got me thinking though. Pondering about my own mortality and how I view the world.

I suppose it’s time that I start viewing the world more like an adult. Fearful of the smallest thing that could end you.

After all, the next day I could suffer a heart attack, or get into a car crash. I could slip on something and hit my head on something as it travels down. I could get bit by a venomous animal, crushed by construction work or be unfortunate enough to be on a beach, in the middle of a mass shooting.

But if I’m truly honest, what haunted me throughout the entire funeral, was this one question: How am I going to be remembered?

Seeing the number of people that turned up to the funeral, I was struck by how little friends he had. It was mostly extended family and beyond that turned up. I didn’t see any or many drinking buddies or fellow church-goers, it was just a very solemn affair amongst family.

I didn’t hear any fun anecdotes, or wistful nostalgic trips down memory lane. Instead it was just a few photos of him back in his home country and more recent selfies that had been taken by his daughters.

Will I be remembered this way? Summed up in a collage of 15 photos? Will there be anyone left to actually tell my story? Will they capture me in the way I want to be captured?

Those questions haunted me the entire funeral weekend.

So I suppose the question I want to answer here in a written format, if I was to die tomorrow, what would I want to be remembered for?

I’m struck by a certain film that I loved as a child, Troy (2004) starring Brad Pitt as the imperious Achilles. In that film, there is a recurring theme about kleos, the ancient Greek term for “glory” or “renown.” Achilles, goes to Tory, because he wants to be remembered. It is not enough that a potential wife and child will remember his name. Instead, he wants it etched into the fabric of human history.

If you stay in Larissa, you will find peace. You will find a wonderful woman, and you will have sons and daughters, who will have children. And they’ll all love you and remember your name. But when your children are dead, and their children after them, your name will be forgotten… If you go to Troy, glory will be yours. They will write stories about your victories in thousands of years! And the world will remember your name. But if you go to Troy, you will never come back… for your glory walks hand-in-hand with your doom. And I shall never see you again.

When I was younger, my desire to earn kleos was all-consuming. I wanted to be different. I wanted to be unique and achieve something that very few have. I would lash out at anything that would pin me in a box, that I was a simple puzzle that could be solved.

This made me learn and be fascinated by a lot of things. Fencing. Skateboarding. Alternate music. Napoleonic History. Roman History. Military tactics. NASA. Formula 1. Classical Music. Krav Maga.

I wanted to be good at everything, so that people could look at me in awe.

My arrogance knew no limits, because deep down, I truly believed I was better than the faceless, nameless “masses” out there.

Nowadays, all the kleos I crave, is in the sport I am mediocre at: tennis.

I’m addicted to winning. It’s my inner crave for glory, ignited again.

But I don’t want people at my funeral talking about what a great tennis player I was. Because I never competed on a professional level, I don’t have the capacity to brag about my skills on court.

At the risk of stroking my ego to obscene levels, I hope that people will talk about me as interesting.

I would like to hear the question: “Did you know Damocles did this?” or “Did you know that Damocles was passionate about this?”

That to me, is the best compliment of all, because it shows that not everyone knew all my interests and that I did have a lot of interests, hobbies and passions.

If I can get those questions and discussion going at my funeral, then I know that I really did do my best to explore as much of life as I could. I didn’t limit myself to just my job and one hobby.

I was a curious individual and that showed. I also hope that I am remembered as a moral man, a guy who tried to make the right and best decisions constantly for his family, friends and partner.

I have so much that I am interested in, on a daily basis.

From a sports perspective, I’m passionate about Baseball, Tennis, Formula 1, Fencing and Cricket.

I’m also intrigued by SailGP, MotoGP, English Premier League, Boxing and Free-Running.

I like to think that I am decent at: Writing, Self-Reflection, Emotional Control, Critical Thinking, Simplification of Complex Concepts, overall Athletics, Cooking, Event Management and Film Criticism.

Things that I’ve had a phase in are: Parkour, Skate-boarding, Piano Playing, Journalism, Marine Biology, Paintball and Krav Maga

What are some of my passionate topics that I love to talk about? Napoleonic History, Roman History, Mythology (Norse, Greek or Egyptian), Geopolitics, Military History, Modern Military Tactics and Equipment, Science-Fiction Novels, Film, Lego, Watches, Metal Music, James Bond … etc. etc.

As I am listing all these things I am interested in, I’ve realised that I can’t really sum up who I am, everything I’ve liked and been dabbling in, in a single blog post.

Not only that, I’m also somewhat afraid that if I can sum up who I am in a blog, then that somehow suggests that I can stop being interesting.

An existential crisis indeed.

To sum up what has been a long ramble about death, and my own legacy in a few succinct words:

I’m afraid that when I die, people won’t remember me as interesting.

And to me, that is the worst type of legacy I could leave behind.

So thank you, Grandfather, for the reminder that I need to stay humble, be willing to learn and remain forever curious about the world around me.

~ Damocles

Winning

~ Ninjafang ~ Leave a comment
Challengers (2024) remains one of my favourite films about tennis from an avant garde director …. it also has one of the best NIN scores ever made.

Today, I won my first ever proper tennis match.

The score line? 6-4 6-2

But let’s take a step back here.

It was against a high school friend of mine, a life-long friend that agreed to be my tennis partner in 2026 and who has taken significant steps to improve his game.

It wasn’t an official match. No officials refereed this little match between us.

But …. It wasn’t an easy game either.

For months now, we’ve been relatively equal.

We were both rusty from years away from the court.

We were relatively similar in height, but he was a mite bit taller.

We both liked Wilson racquets, however I splurged early in my tennis journey and used a much more expensive Blade model that I now felt ashamed to use with my inferior skills.

We both couldn’t hold our serves. He was more consistent, but with anemic power on both his first and second serve. Mine were powerful, but uncontrollable. They would slam into the net or blast wildly outside the service box.

At first we couldn’t last longer than a set. He would normally win, as his serves wouldn’t let him down, but mine did with alarming regularity.

We played once a week, but I had a slight advantage as my partner/girlfriend actually wanted to learn how to play, so I had my hand on my racquet more often, coaching her.

This led to me developing a lot of defensive capabilities because I often had to chase the ball more and lob them back into the court. This particular shot would serve me well in this match.

Today, as I gripped my racquet, I felt a bit more confident.

I had been playing with my partner’s friends and my serve was holding OK. I had been practising for weeks, constantly trying to get “on-top” of the ball and make sure it would clear the net and land in.

The serves were now getting more consistent and starting to dart away from my opponents or force an error out of them.

It was becoming a weapon.

A weapon that I didn’t use very well in the first game, because I lost it.

0-1

Not a good start.

But the crack in the armour showed. My tennis buddy didn’t hold serve either.

1-1

Time to reset. Time to get my head out of the funk and focus on the toss.

Up the ball goes, down goes the racquet and crack goes the ball as it ricochets off the ground and surprise my friend with its bounce. He hits it back awkwardly, and I gently slice the ball close to the net.

He runs in, and softly hits it back …. whereupon I lob the damn thing over his head. He tries to jump, but as he lands, all he can do is laugh in appreciation as my lob land inside the court and away from him.

This is now a recurring tactic. I open him up with a big serve, then bait him to come in, before lobbing it over him. Most of the time, it works, but when it does, we get a good rally going where I’m testing my speed and athleticism in trying to reach the ball to return it.

When we get into a rally, it’s he who dictates the game with his volleys, height and reach.

The game goes on and on, neither of us holding serve.

Until suddenly, I try something different at 30-40, 4-4.

I slice the serve.

It catches him completely by surprise and he is unable to do anything as the ball arcs away from his racquet for an ace.

This tiny ace, changes everything. Suddenly, I feel like I’ve wrestled momentum back onto my side. It’s an opportunity and I need to break ahead.

I win the next two games with ease.

6-4

Then its onto the second set, where I’m able to break his serve, hold my own to a dominant win.

I’m tired yes, but I can also tell I got a bit more in the tank than my buddy. He might run marathons, but I got the stronger will to win in tennis.

When the dust settles, it’s a pretty dominant performance. In the second set, I can feel myself being more aggressive, attacking the baseline and going “rip city” on easy balls. I’m not double-faulting as much and my serves have a nasty bounce to them.

Meanwhile, my buddy is starting to throw in the towel. He knows I got the momentum and his very flat serves aren’t really deterring me.

I am also starting to experiment. A little jump before hitting my forehand. Sprinting faster to the ball so that I can try and make a desperate shot to recover.

I’m now starting to loosen up, playing a more experimental game where I want to practice certain shots.

All in all, it was a really good game and a testament to me slowly improving.

I’m also really proud of the way how I handled my occasional double-fault. I don’t let it get to me as much. I have a more reliable second serve that I know I can use to at least fight out the point.

Before in the past, I used to mentally fold. I couldn’t analyse my serve and figure out what went wrong. I would just collapse and try to focus on returning only.

In this game, my serve just felt better. Granted, it’s still not quite where I want it yet, lacking a bit of power, a bit of spin and a bit of control, but it’s a lot better.

Tennis is really becoming my sport. It’s the game I want to go all in on and start playing more competitively. This win, in around 1 hour and 40 minutes, has fuelled my desire to keep upping my game.

I’m now seriously thinking about getting a coach and playing even more regularly than my usual 2-3x a week. I want to meet a player so good, that he makes me want to almost quit, so that I can be humbled.

It feels good to know that I got the beginning of the mental acumen, physicality and skill to try and win a proper match. I might be able to call myself an amateur tennis player now. But that title will only feel right after I’ve won a few more and I’m certain those wins are going to be rare.

Now it’s time to see if I can lose a set and try to come back in a best of 3.

~ Damocles.

2 Months into the 2026 Fitness Journey

~ Ninjafang ~ Leave a comment

Tennis has consumed my life.

I’m down to 84kgs, which means I have lost 3 kgs in 2 months.

This is amazing progress, something I didn’t realise until I typed it out. It’s also gone to show the lengths I’ve taken to commit to this fitness journey.

There are now way more positive routines that I’ve instilled into my daily life.

Immediately after lunch, I like to go for a walk at the office. It’s nothing punishing, just a 30-minute walk at a leisurely pace but it’s enough to keep my legs moving and chipping away at the 10K daily milestone. Averaging around 3-4 thousand steps, up a small hill that just challenges me slightly, it’s the perfect way to shake off the rust of sitting down for 3 hours and get myself moving again.

I like the walk, not only because it gets me away from the office and the stress, but also because it’s nice to breathe the external air and suffer the weather conditions.

Rain, Sun, Wind … I just grit my teeth and get through it because not moving would be worse.

My meals have also shrunk down, to try and accommodate the general rule of outputting more than inputting. But like any part of going on an exercise plan, dieting is the worst part of it all.

I’ve relapsed a little bit here and there. Inhaled a bag of crisps, ate with my eyes over fresh hot chips and downed a bag of Natural Confectionary candy …. but overall I’ve been trying to hold steady. These relapses only happen once a week and I’m trying to not cave or at the very least not eat the whole damn thing in one sitting.

But I know that dieting is the critical key to lose weight. If I continue to eat the same way with the same bad habits and poor choices in food, no amount of tennis, gym and walking is going to help.

So, I’m sticking to my strict, lean meal prep. And to be honest, the scale is reflecting that discipline. Which is a huge relief.

Because if I’ve been angry, frustrated and moody over my stomach rumbling, it better be for something.

But onto more positive news, another really healthy routine is going to the gym with my girlfriend regularly now. It’s been an amazing story to see my girlfriend, who was never an athlete really push herself in the gym and on the tennis courts. Her enthusiasm and infectious need to move motivates me to always push myself as well.

Whilst I keep telling her that her coordination is actually quite good, she doesn’t believe me. So sweetheart, if you are reading this, this is in writing …. your coordination and athleticism are actually there, they’re just a bit rusty and we just need to dig a tiny bit more to get it out of you!

But my primary method to losing weight, is tennis.

Back then, I thought if I played tennis, I would lean myself down to a worthy go-karting weight. It actually worked. I got to my leanest at 74kgs.

And now, when I think about it …. I actually lost interest in racing (due to exorbitant costs) and became a lot more engaged in tennis.

Tennis, even at a recreational level, is still incredibly demanding. I will probably create a separate post on tennis in an IMPACT series, but it tests me like no other sports does.

It also exposes my weak mental side. The side that will relapse because its thinking too much about hot chips. The side that is a little bit lazy and complains when the going gets tough.

When I’m gassed from serving 4x double faults in a row and need to put that failure of a game aside and focus on breaking my opponent’s serve …. the stress is almost insurmountable. I need to believe in my own game; trust my tennis brain will make good IQ plays and not fear the next service game.

It exposes me in the worst way possible, destroying my confidence and yet somehow also restoring it at the same time.

To be honest, the mental aspect of tennis is really the most intriguing part to me. For me, performing at my highest level (which isn’t that good), in spite of the burning heat, the stress of the game and the sheer gladiatorial element is what is going to strengthen my resolve, my mental acumen and my ability to think under immense pressure.

It’s the ultimate way of syncing my physical body to my mental will and desire.

I hope all this development will equate to me being able to lose even more weight and become ever more trim.

Until the next update ….

~Damocles.

Do You Feel Safe?

~ Ninjafang ~ Leave a comment

Police are urging those with dashcam or CCTV footage to come forward.

It’s different when you read those words and realise that it’s referring to the street you live on.

It hits even harder when you realise that the victim could have been you. A guy who was sent to the hospital with multiple stab wounds, just because he refused to give up his phone.

The 32-year-old was walking home from work when a car started following him.

As a guy who regularly walks around his neighbourhood at any random hour and is nearly 32 … it hit me just how this could have been me. This attack wasn’t premeditated or planned. This was random.

Whilst I would argue that I would have better sense to run away, or realise something is wrong when a car is following me, it’s still terrifying to know that this could happen to me.

In a way, learning about this incident made me feel justified in learning Krav Maga. But like a self-fulfilling prophecy, it’s also made me extra paranoid.

My neighbourhood is very safe. Having lived over 10 years here, I’ve always felt like I could go outside for a walk and not worry about anything. Everything is well-lit, people are friendly, dogs are being walked everywhere … I’ve never not felt safe.

But I didn’t grow up idolising spies for nothing. My head has always been on a swivel no matter where I am. My girlfriend has complained that I am always scanning my surroundings when we are walking, that whilst the habit has lessened with her, it is still an ingrained habit to check where the fire escapes are when I enter a new restaurant.

Taking in the moment, is the same as taking in the environment I find myself in.

The stabbing of the random man, was a sobering moment for me. It meant that I had to be extra cautious when I walked outside, that the moment I opened the gates and hopped into my car, I could face trouble.

That particular incident happened 5 weeks ago.

Only recently I learned two things.

My brother’s car window was smashed

And my car experienced an attempted robbery.

Someone came up to my car and gave it a good tug, checking whether it was locked or not. It was my mother who caught him mid-tug, and wondered what he was doing before he subsequently ran away.

Worse still, was my poor brother, whose right rear window was completely shattered. We exchanged theories on who it could be, what could have happened, but fortunately, aside from the annoyance of replacing the window, luckily in both cases, nothing was stolen.

But the ease had set in. My mind was now extra alert, extra paranoid and mulling violent thoughts.

I like to think I know my capacities pretty well.

I wanted to learn Krav Maga because it has every dirty trick in the book.

But even before I took lessons, I was already a dirty fighter.

I knew that if I ever got into a fist fight, I was going straight for my torch, blinding my opponent with the beam, before smashing their jaw with the hard edge of the torch and sprinting as fast as I can in the opposite direction before they can even register what happened to them.

Because when you’re alone and potentially outnumbered …. you hit as hard as you can and you run.

People hate cardio.

My job is to make sure I hate it a bit less than they do, so I survive another night.

This is the problem when something violent happens on your front doorstep. You start coming up with insane violent thoughts to process, to wonder and to brace yourself. Because you know deep down, once violence turns up, it never stops until someone is dead at your feet.

Violence can only be met with superior violence. It’s no good cutting a man’s arm off. He’ll still try to stab you with the other hand. You need to behead him to properly end everything.

That is the one thing I’ve noticed in watching so much police body camera footage.

You de-escalate whenever you can. You talk, plead, then shout and finally command.

But if they ignore everything, you draw your gun and you end the threat.

I don’t know what type of threat is out there, but it’s in my neighbourhood now. I can hear angry shouts that can only come from substance abuse. A man, my age, was stabbed. My brother’s car was smashed into, and a stranger tried to break into my car. A man once walked into my home, and tried to open the door. Last year, my friend’s car was broken into and he lost valuables.

It would be foolish of me to assume that everything is rosy in my area.

I need to stay vigilant and wary.

To answer my question ….

Do YOU feel safe?

No, I definitely do not.

If anything, and this is a mixed feeling, I feel almost vindicated in how paranoid I’ve been all these years. Vindicated but also saddened that I was right. Call me a cynic, but you can’t trust people. I’ve watched and seen too much law enforcement and military footage to believe anything else.

People are unpredictable, and with how the local judgement has been on crime lately, it’s not surprising to see that crime has risen.

But at the same time, I understand that desperation. Cost-of-living has shot up and that means the number of people who are now desperate has gone up too. A car is an easy target to get quick valuables.

Yet, that only proves my theory about the unpredictable nature of humanity.

In the end, to survive in this world, you need to keep your enemies at bay, by having a strong community around you. People you trust, people who will have your back in desperate times and most importantly friends and family that you can lean on for help.

No man is an island. It takes a village to keep the marauders away.

And I can definitely sense them lurking around in my neighbourhood.

Whilst it may be exhausting to be vigilant all the time, it’s a whole lot better than the alternative.

Life is already tough.

Let’s not make being a crime statistic a part of it.

Eyes on a swivel and make sure you know how to run real damn fast.

~ Damocles.