Hate

It is a fragile living.
A life not made for this world.
I am not allowed to be a being,
Merely present, never wished.

Into a world of hate,
I was hurled.
But through repression,
I had to learn compassion.

For the wounds, they create,
Was not a product of chance.
It was brewed long before they emerged.
A deadly stance.

Why should they bear the weight,
Of these ancient mistakes?
Make not enemies of the people,
That do not understand.

Love them.

We are all within the same boat.
We need to stay afloat.
On this earth we all are the same.
Maybe it is time we share the blame.

x,
Ez

Broken Wishes

I wish, I hope; I try, I fail.

Broken

'm not a terra cotta vase, I "break" but you don't see it. 

I'm a pile of charcoal, the deep white, red embers hidden within a shell of dusty black. It appears calm and unchanged, until a piece falls off the facade of black wood, then does the fiery heat burn with the intensity it has always been burning underneath, only now exposed like a fresh wound, the air only strengthens the flames and they soar higher, burning through the entire outer layer. 

These layers were only temporary, even these flames are temporary, I know I will soon die out. But for now, I am burning bright, hot, intense and oddly fascinating. The heat and flames that have so bad wanted release has finally broken through the bland, rocky surface. I am no longer a broken nor enraged, I am pure living energy, a bird flying dangerously close to the sun. I love it.

The struggle is real

Imagine yourself as any member of LGBTQ+.

You could be a forty-six man from Brisbane, loves to fish, visits his mother every weekend, and teaches English Literature in a local university. His husband works in a bank downtown and during the December heat, they enjoy the cooler weather of the Northern Hemisphere, traveling to places like Armenia, Portugal, Tibet. He has stage two prostate cancer.

You could be a teenage girl, living in Iraq. She loves reading cheesy love stories and dancing to songs on the radio, while mouthing every word to her favorite song. Her two sisters and three brothers annoy and adore her, she teaches them the words to the songs she loves and even sneaks them sweets before dinner. She fears the possibility that she will be kicked out of her own house if her parents find out that she's dating the next door neighbor's eldest daughter. 

You could be sixty-one year old woman who always wanted to be a man. She was an art curator and now she's retired and lives in the same house she grew up in. She collects reader's digest magazines and has over a thousand copies haphazardly around her semi- detached. She loves her husband but she envies the ability to wear a polo t-shirts to every occasions. She does not have anyone to talk to about her true feelings. 

Yeah we live different lives, but we all share the same struggles. We cannot define each other for what we appear to lack, seem to have. Not just us. We all have a struggle and they are all equally real.

You should know by now,

Ez

Censorship

Have you ever just wanted to express yourself but couldn't? Well I have and it was fucking shit. Nobody understood me and nobody really cared. You see, I'm gay. But, in a country where being who you are is illegal, people don't think or talk about it and it's all kept in a metaphorical closet. People don't want to understand or even try to be understanding, they believe you can be cured like you're sick or something, that God can save you and you won't end up in hell. 

Thank goodness my parents sent me to an international boarding school. Although in the same country and there were still the same homophobic people in the boarding community, I was allowed more freedom and had excess to being whoever I wanted to be. It was thrilling and exciting and scary and new. It was a ball of emotions and I loved it. But I still wasn't expressing myself fully. I couldn't tell anyone, because I was just starting to make friends and I was just trying to make it from day to day and I enjoyed talking to my roommates and housemates and teachers and even the Indian lunch ladies in the dining hall. I didn't want them to think that something was wrong with me and I didn't want to feel rejected. So, I hid it. Kept it locked up behind closed doors. And it when on like this for days, and then for months and then the whole schooling year. And even though I wasn't being my complete self, it was enough for me. 

Till I went back home. Things stayed the same after I left. I was still the quiet one that had friends but nobody really knew who he was, and to my parents I was the good Christian child that hate anything sinful and was definitely not gay. To be restricted from expressing myself was terrible. It felt like locking away everything I felt made me who I  was as a person away. I had to pretend I believed that God hates gays and I had to stop being to "feminine" and be a "guy". Bullshit. I am who I want to be I can be whoever I choose to be. And then I realized that this school is my only chance I'll get to ever being me. 

I first came out to a friend, which in hindsight wasn't the best choice, because she was and still is a follower. She had a worst identity crisis than me. She wanted to be white, and wanted to be Indian, and wanted to be Latino. She couldn't not make up her mind. She was easy to manipulate and was vain as a poodle. She was utterly the most basic bitch I knew. I wished it wasn't her I came out to first and it wasn't because she didn't understand she did and was very supportive. But to me coming out wasn't just about being gay it was about being myself and if she wasn't herself, why the fuck would she understand? She did what was expected from an "understanding friend" she said there is nothing wrong with me and it's ok and we can talk more if I wanted to. And at that time, I was just grateful for her listening and thoughts were just rushing around my body and my emotions were just overflowing and for once in my life I felt my life was changing for the better. 

And it did. It was beautiful a whole new me was emerging from the shell I was hiding in for so long and it was just amazing. I couldn't tell you how it felt but it was just so intense and so raw and it was so me. After telling her, I didn't tell anyone else that week. It was just so scary and everything was so new I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone else. But eventually I told another person and then another person and then another and another, till I felt everyone I trusted was well informed of my gayness. Most were fine with it, and some were very curious about my sexuality and a few just didn't get it. I still remember one saying "your type" and that made me so pissed. I am not a "type" I am me. There is no one that is like me so therefore have no "type". The person never understood me and frankly I didn't care. Leave those that are only there in your life that hinder you and only create problems. 

Life was good and still is. I am myself and I have people that understand me right by my side. Many more have already found out and they support me or prefer not to ask questions. Fine by me. They say it's a new me. But I say it's the me that I have always been.

Found this random essay I wrote like 3-4 years ago. And yes I hate myself for this. Oh well. We learn from our past or something along those lines. I promise I will post more regularly. TRY.

Love,

Ez

Passion

I lay awake sometimes, thinking, asking myself, what do I actually enjoy doing, what exactly is my passion. 

I've always been told my entire life that I can be whatever I want to be, been told as long as I have a "passion" for something and I work towards it, I will succeed in my career, my life. But, I do not think I have any talents or something that I could used as a potential "successful" job. Even then, my passion definitely would not be the only factor that will influence my choices, because in this world you won't find many jobs with a degree in English, I won't be able to afford anything I want with a liberal arts degree, at least that's what my parents think. 

I'm stuck in the middle of the gap between what I enjoy and what I need. For me there's really no intersection I can foresee, my passion isn't as important anymore. 

Wildest dreams 1 (the series)

I've decided after consulting my previous posts on this blog, that I am very depressing. So, I decided to write something less depressing and focus on dreams I have remembered, because why the hell not. So here is one I had last night.

It started out in my school auditorium. It was packed with various faceless people that my dream felt was insignificant. The head of our sixth form, let's call her Mrs. Winnie, was, ironically enough, giving us a speech about personal statements much like in real life. And nobody in the sea of faceless enigmas of my dream was paying attention as per usual. However it quickly turned into a game of "Simon Says" and she said, "Simon says leave." So we did.

This is the where it gets weird.

As I was leaving, I saw a strange man rolling a carpet down a flight of incredibly dark stairs which is one. Dangerous as hell, and two. Kinda creepy. That's when I decided to look down and try to attempt to catch a glimpse of what this man was rolling up and duh duh DUH. It was a body of course. So naturally I was like the hell dude and made a beeline out of the auditorium as fast as my short legs could carry me. Thank god for black Thor, (Isaac) for conveniently being at the front door. Using his nordic powers of lighting he summoners enough of a light show to scare the strange man and allowed me to use my now obvious power of flight to fly into a steel tower surrounded by a rusty fence, built on top of the main field. Black Thor dropped his hammer and I also used my power to manipulate my body parts and stretched my arm outwards, to fetch it for Isaac.

Within the tower, we were met with different entities of not only the Nordic gods but also Egyptian ones, one of which resembled a sexy female spider. Each of them offering me gifts to help defeat the stage man, now identified as Loki. After receiving gifts from each respective God, me and Black Thor looked outwards and saw letters spelt in clouds, spelling out an address. So, quickly we got into Mr. Botak's car and we drove towards a small town.

In the town, let's call it "Martin", my friend, Cynthia was trying to sell huge individually bagged mackerels packed in red plastic bags. We managed to get her to tell us where the approximate area that addressed would lead us to, and this rag-tag squad left the market in town to find out what would be at the place. But, then I woke up.

What happened? I don't really know. I guess you can come up with your own conclusion and hopefully involves as many quirky, dream-like sub plots not mentioned perviously. Best of luck making your own ending!

Love,
Ez 

Prom-posals and my singularity.

It is that season again, the season when boys seem to fling expensive flowers, pastel pink letters and heart-shaped chocolates towards the general direction of the female gender in hopes of getting an agreement to accompany them to prom. 

Michelle and Mr. Botak are both dating, so it's only right for him to prom-pose, getting down on one knee and earning tears from a couple of people invited to the private event, and by people I mean me. In a school where gossip is faster than the wifi, it is no surprise everybody is hyped to find out who is going to prom with who, who's going alone, who's not going...etc. So conversations tend to fall into a couple generalised formats. 

Example 1:

Student 1: OMG. Did you hear about how Harry asked Mindy to prom?

Student 2: OMFG! Yes! It was literally the cutest thing, he asked her when they were rock climbing and when she was at the top and she looked down, he was below holding up a sign asking she to prom! 

Student 1: Aww. That is literally the cutest thing ugh, I wish someone would ask me.

Example 2:

Student 1: Did you hear that Ricky isn't going to prom?

Student 2: OMG. Why not?

Student 1: Apparently it's because he does not want to deal with the drama of having to find a date!

Student 2: As if anybody would go with him.

(both of them laugh) 

Example 3:

Student 1: I JUST GOT ASKED TO PROM!!!

Students 2,3,4,5.....10: OMG TELL US EVERYTHING. 

(group hug) 

Student 1: Well, Isaac took me to watch a Bollywood movie and like after the movie he surprised me with flowers and my favourite song, he is so sweet.

Rest of the students: Awwwwwwwwww.....

Just like the rest of us who grew up watching Disney channel original movies, or any other tween love stories, you know the cute nerd is always entitled to a hot prom date. We love and crave the story where the underdog gets a hot stud/chick. We have been conditioned to want a similar story to tell, to feel that prom is something special. Peer pressure does wonders too. More importantly I want it.

I want that feeling of someone asking me to prom, giving me a bouquet of flowers, I want that person to be nervous, blushing beet red, hoping I say yes. I want to feel the superficial, puppy love. But, I know I will never get that. and it sucks. Maybe in a perfect world I could get a boy to ask me out, but it's not. 

Yours truly, 

Ez

P.S. I know its stupid to want this, but I don't give a crap. Michelle might be making her debut in an upcoming post. how exciting! 

What a cunt!

Dear readers/myself, I have been fucking lazy. so I have asked my blog correspondent to aid in the visualisation of more than just my thoughts, so take it away Mr. Botak.

Yours,
Ez



Lately I've been thinking to myself... what a cunt! 
Through life's all of life's miseries and joys there is one thing which persists in attaining for itself the defining characteristic of an experience.

People. Mostly cunts.

Our experiences define who we are, whether we like it or not. We are birthed onto Earth of our own will, we have always had to muster up our own will to create ourselves. Thus is the nature of human beings, we are so attached to the idea of being our own selves, our own 'unique' selves, that we forget exactly how much we rely on interaction and reply.

"Hey, look at that cunt over there!"
"Oh my god, did you hear that, what a cunt!"

Hurtful lies, replies and social ties.

We learn to make mistakes, and we make mistakes despite learning. Perfection is not my desire, nor is it part of my ideals. I lie, I insult, but above all I have learnt to tolerate cunts and I now regard myself as the manifestation of hard work and influence rather than "the genius cunt".

Thank you
Kind regards,

Mr.Botak

Stupid

I am stupid. Stupid for letting you walk over me. Stupid for caring so much. For falling in love with someone more narcissistic and self-centered than me.

I am a fool for thinking that you were worth something. Worth the insults, worth breaking my heart for. To me you were worth so much more than just a person you became an entity bigger than your soul would allow. Everytime you smiled I fell harder, deeper into your trap. I am stupid to think that you were more than just a man. Stupid because I actually thought we had a good thing going. We never did. We will never have.

Weak.

Yes I am weak. Weak for being able to deal with feeling inferior, feeling like an alien, feeling like I am a freak of goddamn nature. I am weak because I don't say anything when people scream faggot, gay and hurtful words at me. I am weak because I hoped you were my friend. I hoped that you would care about something else other than yourself. Yes I am weak for letting you hurt me. I'm sorry I'm not as strong or as confident in myself as you. 

But, maybe if you would listen about my problems for once you would feel different. Maybe you would understand how how I feel when you say those mean words. How small I always feel. Maybe if you listened, you would know how hard it is to smile in front of people revolted by you presents. How it feels to be unworthy in their eyes. How my life is a mistake. 

So yes I am weak. But I am a hell of a lot stronger than you will ever be.

I am sorry.

My parents unspoken dreams for me was at some point in my life I would take over the family business and become a pharmacist, go to church every Sunday raise kids with a good Christian wife and retire at the age of approximately 65 and go to heaven. Well guess what I am gay, I'm doing art in a-levels and I don't believe in Jesus. Lol.

Paying Homage to Eastwood Prep.

Like any good sheep/follower we should all respect the person, of which we have decided to use as an inspiration for our own works, so it is only fitting for me to do this while, passive-aggressively teasing my friend, and inspiration. 

Let's call her Michelle. 

You see my friend Michelle has her own blog which deals with not only her own personal life but the politics, religion and other topics that make mine seem less convincing and/or actually readable. So, I will not link her in fear of her blog undermining mine, although she's not as funny, at least I think that I am funnier. She gave the college we both share and go to, the fake name, Eastwood Prep. Although what might have caused her to use this name could have been tv shows or any other number of factors and thoughts that just scramble throughout her brain, I have hypothesized that it has to with the word "prep" being in it. I cannot and will not tell you dear readers why it is so, because inside jokes are better kept "inside".

Both mine and Michelle share similarities in our story at Eastwood Prep, although mind started of earlier than hers by approximately two years. EP is a school that teaches primary right up to A-levels because they rather like keeping the money of the student's middle-upper class parents money for the long run. Lucky for me, I entered at the ripe old age of 15. 

In the beginning of my life in EP I was doing what I did best, become an outcast, which used to work fairly well in a day school but in a boarding school like EP I cannot stress how important a friend can be. But I was a "late-bloomer" so to speak. I didn't want to know you I didn't want to talk to you I just wanted to be left alone. And only after an entire term later did I attempt to warm up to people. This however did not made it any easier to make friends, but seemed to make the task a lot harder. Because it is very difficult to make close bond with people that had made closer bond with others earlier, before I did. And so I was forced to adapt and discover new ways of making myself more "approachable", in this process, however I discovered my humor and my ability to make conversation with just about anybody I put my heart into. Basically I found out I was a closeted chatterbox. (Pun intended that's another story) I did mange to find friends and foster a close bond with several individuals and most I am very glad to say are some of my best of friends.

However, much like Michelle, the year we started lower sixth was the year both of us really felt accepted into the community. High school was a dog eat dog world, intertwined with a mixer of crappy pop music and expensive clothing. We were not capable of the same level of mature respect and understanding, till we made it to sixth form. I felt like a bud, that finally after the tough turmoil of dealing with name calling and homophobes, had just be planted into conditions that allowed me to bloom into what I felt was me all along, the me I never thought I would show anyone. I made so many friends in the past school year, and made such close bonds with the cream of the beautiful crop, I have never regretted anything since. Yes I love EP and I'm not the only one.

Your bro,

Ez

AM I HAPPY?

I feel like sometimes we underestimate the moments we are actually enjoying ourselves and in turn we seem to embrace the melancholy of the crappy times. Dear reader/myself are you happy, with your life, your being, your stance in this ever-changing world?

My life has always been like some uphill battle of proving myself to the world, to people that have always doubted me and my capabilities. There have even been low points in my life where I start to believe them, their mean words, that yes, they are right. But, now I know that I don't have to listen to them. I am the only person i have to prove too, that yes I matter, yes I am fine and yes I love myself. I hope that this can help you the reader or even just myself when he tsunami of depression, that comes swirling in, irregularly, that you can do it and that I love you. *insert virtual hug*

I am proud to say that I am content. I am happy and satisfied with what I have. People, however make it seem like it is not good enough, that we need to strive more, pick whatever fruit from that tall tree we call life we can reach without falling. Indeed I do want more, as greedy as that sounds, but I want to decide when and how I will give that, to not just be satisfied, but to feel in my soul an overflowing sense of bliss and the sheer joy of life itself. We should always appreciate what we have now and never forget them.

I appreciate and I feel absolutely that I am extremely lucky to have found friends I could express myself to, and not free the judgement I have always felt throughout my life. I don't need pretend and I never need to sensor anything and they embrace me, that weird Asian kid that goes through weird phases whereby he only listens to a specific genre of music. I can be myself and that is something I never thought was possible so for that, my friends at actually read my posts and are literally the only reason I am so many views is the reason I want to wake up in the morning for.

Love,
Ez

Paternalism

pəˈtərnlˌizəm/

noun

1. the policy or practice on the part of people in positions of authority of restricting the freedom and responsibilities of those subordinate to them in the subordinates' supposed best interest.

   
   

   Special thanks to my best friend, let's call her Yolanda for giving me a better title than what I originally wanted to call this post which was "When society tells you what's right". That's A-levels for you, just using big ass words. 

   
   

   Language is absolutely beautiful. We have so many words for so many things but for some reason, the only word society allows men to be described as is "manly". Why?

   
   

   I was never allowed to express myself as a child the way I wanted to. I was never allowed to play with dolls even though I wanted to. I was never allow toys which were labeled "for girls" because I was a boy, whenever I wanted to dress up, I was never allowed to pretend I was wearing a dress, I was never allowed to feel beautiful, I had to be a man, I had to be handsome.  

   
   

   By society's standards, men cannot be "feminine" or "womanly". But society also gets to decide what gets to be classified as "masculine" and what is not. Who allowed them to decide? Well, it is us. We have allowed society to not only classify and box us into very constricting identities, but forces us into these tight molds that we helped built, and we must conform to what we society feel is the social norm and that you don't you're queer, weird and different. 

   
   

   We are told to embrace our individuality. We are told we are special. We are told we matter. 

   
   

   So, why is that same society that tells us that we should love what makes us different, telling us what we should be? 

   
   

   Maybe it was all just an elaborate prank, they never wanted us to ever help. Even from the clothes we wear as babies, we know that blue is for boys and pink for girls. As kids we are told that dolls were for girls and the males played with guns. In school boys learn about electronics, machinery. Girls learned how to cook, and sew. We are the results of what has been taught to us subconsciously. Is there an end to this cycle of false hope for individuality?  

   
   

   I sure hope there is. What people then to forget is that we are dynamic (another world I picked up thanks to A-levels) we are all different and by controlling individuals that are innocent and not allowing them to be who they feel they rightly are, are we not in the wrong? It is their lives and it should be their choice on how they want to express that. We have to stop labeling and generalizing when we see fit. Stop trying to tell people we need to be this or we have to wear that. Let us be who we want to be.

   
   

   Yours truly,

   Ez

What you wear on your first date and what they mean.

Imagine this...

The situation: Man goes out on a first date with a potential future husband/wife.

The Venue: The neighborhood's best family run restaurant with the killer lasagna everyone wants you try. 

P.s. I totally did not steal this idea from watching Jenna Marbles on YouTube.

Disclaimer: this is just for fun and yes it's hypocritical (due to my views on social stereotypes) for me to be putting "people" in these stereotypes just from their clothing choice but the whole point in me doing this is to show you dear reader/myself how stupid it is to think that someone's character is a certain way just from their outward appearance. So not hate please!

Number one 

A white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a skinny black tie with sneakers and black jeans that compliment the tie well. 

What that means:

Yes I do listen to Fall Out Boy and Panic! At the Disco. I sure hope my garage band will make it big on the Voice this season. 

Number two: 

A t-shirt from Topman that looks "lived in" and has rolled sleeves even though it's a short sleeve (you know the kind right?) and a chill vibe to it but costed more than your total bill including tip and skinny ripped jeans from KC paired with some nike trainers. 

What it means:

I desperately need some other humanly void to dump all of my money into and not just buy clothes that cost more than a human liver on the black market (may not be accurate). I don't want to come off as pretentious and super fucking rich but I really want to buy you expensive stuff that you don't really want. 

Number three

Killer biceps and a simple grey/white polo with a pocket and simple salmon pink shorts from uniqlo with a pair of Vans 

What it means:

I am probably a fuckboy. But, my dad is a rich lawyer so you're probably going to have a one night stand with me but you're going to regret it for a long time. Yes I do have a great resentment toward my father for sending me to boarding school at the age of ten. 

Number four 

A Fedora with a matching suit, preferably a dark green jacket and pants. A beige shirt and striped tie with polished dress shoes. Maybe smoking a cigar and wearing sunglasses indoors.

What it means:

I am part of the Italian mafia.

Number five 

A hat that you usually see James Bay in and/or a man bun. A sweater made with only organic cotton and recycled cloth. Dugerees/overalls with ripped holes and a pair of old converse sneakers. 

What it means:

I work in a micro-brewery in the creative district of town. I am a vegan and I love [insert unknown indie band] they're so profound and deep. Also I haven't showered in three days. 

   

Is tradition supposed to change?

Over the past couple of days, Chinese New Year has swept across the world, predominately across Asia like a storm of lanterns and very loud gongs and like scattered showers everywhere else that has an abundance of the Asian variety (can't hate me for saying this I myself am Chinese too) covering it with the most alarming shade of red and the thunder of even more alarming firecrackers.

Although it does mean a week off from the extreme conditions of having to deal with A-levels (which by the way has up coming trails right after, god damn it) and is a pretty good and efficient way of collecting ridiculous amounts of money (if there is only one thing we as Chinese know it's the love of cash) to spend on food and clothes I as a consumer is forced to recognise and purchase because fashion is ever changing and I want the recognition and acceptance of the world, so i buy shirts that are basically dresses on me because everything now is extra long, and my torso is extra short, also I freaking love pizza.

 But, you see dear reader/myself I feel that it's great that we celebrate a Chinese tradition that has been, well frankly speaking not changed for probably centuries, we probably just have more red paper to hang up and yes I am that person that is all for change and putting a new twist to mundane events and generally trying to make it new and exciting for the youth of today. So why not right? Apparently I am so not right. But, we don't go to the temple because we're christian and we go to the Chinese church down the road where I sit there clueless for two hours. So, if we change things up for religion it's fine, but to leave out, oh I don't know, Yee Sang or as I call it Chinese salad off the menu, oh hell no. Because tradition. But, we don't actually like it, it's mostly just very dyed pickles and cucumber and I don't now what else. And I am not actually sure why, we actually still do this. ( we eat a mouthful, regret it and leave the rest on that fish-shapped platter) Even-though we can't be superstitious because we are christian right and it is supposed to symbolise luck for the new year. I frankly am just very confused because if religion really did play a part in the decision of excluding  "traditional actions" many things like Yee Sang and even the colour red should not be included because we aren't allowed to believe in such things like luck.

This is how I see it. I don't mind the tradition, I don't mind getting money and buy new clothes, I just feel like we should be allowed to pick and choose which parts to celebrate. Because yes essentially we are losing our culture and values associated with them, but we can create new ones, and they can be built on top of long standing oldies. Why don't we embrace a different mind set and unique approaches to old traditions and compromise? We need to realise that those old traditions need some finer-tuning to fit into a modern world. It is an a war we cannot win, so why are we trying to stop that?

All you Asian readers/my inner Chinese man is probably hating me so hard right now. But, you know I couldn't careless, tradition is and will always change and we need to stop feeling like it is a bad thing, we have to be accepting and we have to move on, that is life basically. However, I could just be wrong and all this was a waste of time. Tell me what you think, or don't it's fine.

Best wishes,
Ez

HELLO AND WELCOME TO THIS BLOG!

I have this really big, irrational fear about committing to anything I know is secondary to my life.  And unfortunately this blog falls into that section. But, I feel if anything at all, this blog will be a good practice if you will, for building up my will to commit to something long term. 

I hope this blog will be how I express myself and talk about issues I want to talk about and when I want to and be that virtual buddy that you only come to drunk or really in need of a hug, or both. I also have this problem whereby I ramble, A LOT. But, fellow reader, or maybe just me, I hope this blog will help me grow as a writer and spread some of my humour (you can rest assure that I will come to this blog drunk or whatever and have a good giggle at my own jokes) and that this blog can be that platform I shall use to show you guys/myself that my life is like a huge wok and it's filled to the brim with happy memories, sad experiences, angry ranting and shocking discoveries all neatly written in a hopefully concise and informative essay or just a few words in the font new times romans and posted on this website.  

Cheers, 

Ezra. 

P.S. I am not an alcoholic.