Friday, December 23, 2005

Fashion observations while taking a break from last minute Christmas shopping as viewed from a bench in a small town mall

Fashion disaster No. 1:
Victim wears tight lurid apple-green pants held up by sparkling diamante belt matched with pink spaghetti strap and toting a pink (what else?) handbag. She nicely rounds up the sugary sweet cavity-inducing ensemble with pink lipstick and green eye shadow. Winner in the colourblind category of taking matching wa-a-ay too seriously.

Fashion disaster No 2:
Victim appears like an unassuming middle-aged mum in t-shirt and jeans. Closer observation however reveals that her jeans seem to be missing several sizeable pieces of fabric. Diamond-shaped, playing card-sized cut outs on front upper thighs leaves lasting disturbing image and invokes pity for teenaged daughter (who also appears ordinary, but with such a role model, who knows?). I am still thanking my lucky stars that as she turned to go, her rearview was amply covered.

There was one saving grace though..

Most Fashionable Award:
Pint-sized and impossibly cute 5 or 6 year old boy in knee-length cargo shorts, rugby shirt with turned up collar and an over-sized cap turned sideways on a jaunty angle. Pair the clothes with an attitude to match: both hands in pockets, nose turned up and a swagger to die for. This one’s going to be a lady killer when he grows up. There’s hope for Ipoh girls yet!

PS: And finally, Christmas shopping is done. Hallelujah!

Thursday, December 22, 2005

The one where I suck at wishing others

This year, it’s taken quite a bit of effort to muster up the spirit to say the “Merry” before the “Christmas”.
(Insert a contemplative “Hm” here)

Maybe things will change when I go home to the Christmas tree and the mountainous presents under it, the turkey and its trimmings, and the alcohol infused fruitcake with the accompanying wine. But for now it’s a matter of going through the motions with the heart and mind somewhere else (and no, I don’t know where they've gone, they do tend to wander off on their own accord).

I know this absence of feeling is real because I’m not even looking forward to presents, which in my opinion is the best part of Christmas no matter how much the presents have consistently sucked year after year. This year I really think I couldn’t care less.

However, I do want everyone else to be happy and merry and whatnot even if I’m feeling less than joyous. So folks, here I am making a superhuman effort to be cheerful while I wish you a very…..

Merry Christmas!


(….and may your presents not suck like mine. But for the record, they will. You know that right?)

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

For Smiles: What to do in KL when your boyfriend forces you to drive down with him.

Disclaimer: I'm not an original KL-ite leh, so don’t take my word as the gospel truth.

But I'll try anyway.

Shopping:
For a conventional mall I usually go to 1Utama which is pretty huge after the extension. For a less conventional mall with a laidback airy (read: less crowded since it's small and therefore not worth the time to most hardcore shoppers) feel and lots of food choices, I like The Curve in Mutiara Damansara (opp IKEA, further down past 1U). If you go there, check out this little clothes shop 'Tribeca' that I absolutely love.
For casual 'happening' clothes (they get their merchandise from Bangkok, Hong Kong etc) I've been patronising boutiques like Cat's Whiskers, Blook and others in the vicinity of Sri Hartamas, where there's passable food and pubs as well for you to check out.
If you’ve noticed, all these places are in PJ as I rarely go down to KL for shopping. The Golden Triangle: Bukit Bintang/Sg. Wang area, gives me a major headache as I find the crowds too stifling and disorientating.

Nightlife:
Heh. I've stopped clubbing for quite a while now. Let's just say I lost my stomach for it (and no, it has nothing to do with alcohol which come to think of it, I probably love more than ever!) I do sort of miss the dancing though *big sigh*. Anyway this means I'm pretty outdated knowing the high turnover in the clubbing scene here in KL (and in Spore too?). Hm.
I'd advise you to give Bangsar's Telawi a miss if you want a more happening night out and head into KL instead. I used to go to Passion and Poppy Garden on Jln Sultan Ismail. There's also the Asian Heritage Row, next to Sheraton Imperial KL, with a few clubs. I've heard Luna Bar in Menara Pan Global is pretty cool too with a fantastic view as it's on a high floor.

I can't seem to think of anything else tourist-y to do in KL...sad isn't it?

PS: I love the Christmas decorations at the Centre Court in MidValley ;)
Suria KLCC on the other hand has some sorry excuse for decorations this year. It looks like the artist department couldn't decide on a theme and therefore combined Hari Raya, Chinese New Year, Deepavali and Christmas elements into some cost saving ugly contraptions. Well that was last week anyway, hopefully they've done something better by now.

Here’s hoping you have a fun trip down here ;)

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Famous last words

I'm back (and feeling lazy).

I was going to write, but then I saw my unintelligible notes and thought, *gulp*..... maybe later-lah.

Btw, "famous last words" has become one of my most favourite, favourite phrases to use. I spout it all the time to the utter annoyance of many people I would imagine. But does that stop me? Obviously not, heh.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Goin' down south

La, la, la, Singapore here I come, again!

Heh.

It’s my annual trip down south, and this time, finally, I’ll be in town at just the right time to see the Christmas decorations. Whoopee!

People have asked what it is I find so fascinating about Spore (people ask the same thing about Bangkok, but that’s a love story for another time). Well for one thing it isn’t Singaporeans, they do tend to be a necessary nuisance (but I’m generalizing, so don’t get all hot under the collar and start hurling abuse ok?). So here’s a list of things I do love about Singapore:

1. SHOPPING
In case you were wondering, it’s in uppercase for a reason.

2. Cleanliness
Something every Malaysian would agree with, seeing as what we have to put up with.

3. Courtesy on the road
Cars actually stop for you to cross!! What a strange phenomenon! Anyway I’ve been told that the disbelieving look on this Malaysian’s face the first time this happened to her was priceless. I had to be dragged across by a very embarrassed friend and still managed to throw suspicious stares over my shoulder at the poor driver. He, he!

4. Efficient public transportation
You can take public transport anywhere, at any hour of the day (well until very late anyway) and still feel safe because so many other people are doing the same thing.

Now if only I had more money to splurge, sigh…

The agenda for this trip? I thought I’d slip in a touristy thing or two and actually go to Sentosa for the first time. Roller-blading! (I am so going to spend the better part of my time on my ass) Luge! Err….anymore suggestions? Places to shop, things to do, food to eat?

Oh, and there is one more reason that I go to Singapore: a certain childhood friend that I never see enough of. Come to think of it, make that the primary reason. ;)



Saturday, December 03, 2005

Here's to the good times we had

I think I’m out growing my friends.

Every time we meet it’s the same inanities we talk about, recycling the same old tired topics again and again. Each tedious session must have the requisite “Remember when…” stories until you get so sick of them you wonder what was the big deal about the oft repeated memory anyway.

It’s about being sentimental I suppose, holding on to the fraying threads of friendship buoyed by the fading memories when being together meant so much more. Holding on even though the passage of time has taken its toll and you’ve become virtual strangers with an increasingly pervasive contempt for each others previously charming idiosyncrasies. The once lively conversations we used to hold have now morphed into painfully plodding, dull drudgery.

These people used to be important to me, but perhaps I’ve come to that point in time when I realize that they’ve slipped down the scale of important people in my life and vice-versa.

And yet, and yet, and yet, instead of letting go we keep trying to recapture that elusive moment in time when we, together, were the centre of the universe, when we, together, were exactly where we wanted to be. This is a recipe for disaster because it doesn’t ever work and we just end up disappointed and frustrated with each other. And so we’ve begun to fade away, seeing less and less of each other, gradually forgetting each others birthdays and replacing each others numbers on speed dial.

But herein lies the paradox: sometimes, just sometimes, people you grew apart from can come back into your life unexpectedly and it can be like they never left in the first place. And somehow it can become so much better than before.

.

.

.

I think with friendship, like with any other relationship, there are peaks and valleys. And it all has to do with timing and similar or complimentary circumstances; if they’re favourable then the friendship blossoms and thrives. But friendship is also a volatile, dynamic creature because there are so many variables involved. The tiniest tweak can send it spiraling downwards.

We like to believe in lifelong friendships and forever afters, but I’m beginning to think that’s too idealistic, like looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses. Pretending we still know the strangers we call ‘friends’ when in reality we’ve become poles apart.

People change. Gracefully letting go would be the mature, dignified thing to do.

If only it were that easy.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Euphoria

I revel in:
The early morning drive home,
When the streets are empty,
And the trees stand to attention,
Dark and still in their silent vigilance.
The brisk air condensed,
Moist mist hanging low,
Illuminated into shimmery halo’s
Under softly glowing lamps.

The world slumbers,
Peace permeates,
And I am
wishing I could drive and drive,
hoping it would last forever,
The exhilaration
that I am,
alive.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Before you say anything...

You know how when someone says something to you about you and it irritates the hell out of you and makes you strangely uncomfortable but you can’t put your finger on it?

So you struggle to figure out why something that sounds soo innocent, even justified, chafes you soo much. You try to figure out why it makes you feel like something is ‘off’. Eventually you do figure yourself out but sometimes there’s something missing and then you realize what it is: the unknown element that is/are the motive/s of the ‘casual’ questioner or the accuser, that someone who brought it up in the first place.

In every likelihood (and very often so) that person itself is seemingly unaware of their own motives. After all, in their own defense, it was a comment or question about you and therefore they’ll vehemently deny any forethought or investment of their own designs in it. Liars.

I know I’m perceptive enough to catch this, but there’s nothing much I can do if they dismiss my probing with a remark like, “You’re too sensitive!” An openly cunning response calculated to again make me feel like an idiot for being soo paranoid.

I’m sure I do it all the time too. And now that I’m more aware of it (have been made aware of it actually), it’s sometimes hard to get out the words that instinctively come to mind as I have to turn each little sentence, each little question inwards first. Examine all my motives before my mouth blurts it out and it’s too late to take it back. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, introspection couldn’t possibly be so, but if done too much there’s a great possibility of becoming mute.

(Less cryptic, less cryptic, I know…)

Friday, November 25, 2005

Oy!

You know it’s going to be a good day when you come to work in the morning all groggy, carelessly slide your drawer open and find:

Bottles of Hoegaarden beer.

I haven’t stopped grinning since.

(Yes, this is the best birthday soo far and it’s just gonna get better!)

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Drivel

I’ve got to stop coming home after 3am on weeknights.

And my friends have got to stop interrogating me!

***

In other news……..right, news, ..……..let’s see,……...ok folks, here we go……..anytime now……...wait for it…...
.
.
.

Damn it all to hell! I have no other news!



Note to self: Must get life.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Not again

I’m very disappointed. But I tell her, “It’s ok, it’s ok, no biggie”.

For as bad as I feel, I would feel soo much worse if she knew because then she’d feel somewhat responsible and I couldn’t forgive myself for that.

So yes, a brave, care-free and confident front it is (while my insides quail and my spirits dampen just that little bit more).

Friday, November 18, 2005

Home

I’m heading home today, and I’m looking forward to it, a slight surprise considering all that’s going on. And as I gently tear myself away, I know I will miss and be missed and what a balm that is.

I haven’t been back in a while (long by my standards alone) and home is a place that has usually been somewhat of a refuge, not always though, but mostly and especially when I have needed it. It’s the ease of slipping into the calm quietness of routine, normality and laidback-ness that soothes the soul.

The Parents too in their own way miss me enough to be sweet and doting to the daughter who, in times like these, finds it easy to behave. And since I’m going back alone this time, it’ll be even more peaceful. Something I will savour seeing as the next time I return it’ll be to the nightmare of whirlwind activities and frayed nerves that is every Christmas.

And yes, I’m overly sentimental, but that’s just me.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Midnight

This is stupid. To hope that one typed word minus the endearments can convey the multitude of uncertainty, insecurity and emotion being held back.

I don’t know what it is I seem to be expecting. Why I’m restless, like a caged lioness pacing, pacing, pacing. Why do I want to shake something, anything, out of you? Why do I feel like putting you through a food processor in order to extract the essence of you, because maybe then I’ll be satiated?

Why against my better judgment (like putting this in a private diary), knowing who reads this, I still go ahead?

I feel …unsettled.

A friend said something that struck a chord with me yesterday. She said we needed time to find our tempo, a synchronized rhythm for two. And maybe she’s right, because I feel far from that now.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Subterfuge

When a virtual stranger enthusiastically recommends food, proceeds to order it for you and expresses horror when you attempt to pay for it, you must do your best to save face, yours and the stranger that is. No matter if the food was sub-standard, and chockfull of allergy inducing bits, shovel it down you must. So there I was grinning and bearing it magnificently as I stoically munched and swallowed the bad char keuy teow while my stomach issued a volley of protests. I even consumed quite a bit of taugeh so as not to draw attention to myself!

You see, I’m a char keuy teow purist. Yes, there is such a thing, I just made it up, see? It’s a malady Malaysian Northerners suffer without exception when it comes to food. You know how your Penang or Kedahan friends tirelessly wrinkle their noses and complain about every single item of hawker food that can be gotten here in KL or JB or Singapore for that matter? Well that’s the purist in them. We’ve been spoiled silly by quality food since young that our taste buds unequivocally reject inferior substitutes. So when we move to other parts of the country, we lose weight by default. (How’s that for a weight loss program?)

And char keuy teow which seems soo simple on the outside, is actually one of the hardest things to get right. I should know, after years of trying, all I need to do is look at it in order to tell if it’ll be any good. I personally think that the problem is the texture of the keuy teow that they use. It always turns out wet, when the last thing a “char” should be is wet. And they like to put foreign objects like lap cheong, which should not come anywhere near it, in it. What’s up with that? *Sigh…*

Urgh….if only he knew how much it took for me to bite my tongue, control my expression and use mind control to stop the gag reflex. Hm, I think I’ll politely decline the next time he has another brilliant suggestion…

Monday, November 14, 2005

We, are.

"Congrats"? Did I win the lottery?

I'm figuring out why this response disturbs me. And I think I know why. It's the general perception of society that a person is not whole unless they have a 'partner' (in crime in my case ;). And so to congratulate me when I have 'someone' is akin to conceding that I (and other 'unfortunate' people) was only half a person when I was alone. This is the one thing that used to drive me absolutely mad especially when I meet patronizing people (and there are way too many out there) who used to pat me on my back and say condescendingly "You'll find someone someday" while they clutched possessively to their other half without which their entire world would fall apart. I swore I would never ever do that to anyone, and I cursed those people to one day experience what it is like to be alone.

I haven't changed and I don’t want to change to suit anyone. I believe this is something we (him and I) agree on since both of us are highly individualistic. Retaining my individuality in a relationship is of great importance to me. I understand the virtue and necessity of compromise, but I'd never tolerate a dilution of my personality (and definitely do not want that of him either) just so I can hold on to him. I rarely have very strong views, but this is a topic close to my heart. And I’m not angry at this friend of mine, but sometimes I can give people a rough time for a careless word. And yes, I’ll admit it, I can be uptight. (ok, ok, that’s an understatement, happy now??)

***

So after some rough patches, and a very bumpy take-off, he’s decided to stick around this dysfunctional person.

I am happy.

I grin like an idiot,

And hide secret smiles,

When others are around.

(I am apprehensive.

And I worry,

I am insecure;

A measure of anxiety in the calm)

I hold my breath,

My voice catches,

I shy away,

but not too far.

I look away,

but have you framed

in the corner of my eye.

Now I know,

The sum of us

is an absolute.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Now

Everything is soo bleak right now. I desperately need to laugh. I’d probably get down on my knees and kiss the feet and thank the next person who can make me laugh. Make me forget the heaviness of my heart. Make me stop thinking and feeling for a few seconds.

I feel like I would allow you anything, but you won’t allow me to be. There is something desperately wrong with the sum of us and I don’t know what it is or how to make it better. And the accusations get us nowhere. No, that’s not right, they get me exactly where I am now, in limbo which should be painless, but it’s not.

Monday, November 07, 2005

The Great Gender Debate

Ah. Nothing like a lazy Sunday evening, good food and a mixed group of interesting personalities to spark off a heated (but friendly: no injuries incurred even though some would have gladly strangled each other if not restrained) gender/relationship debate. In the end, the men claim that they have been enlightened on the female psyche and will put it to good use.

But I’m not soo sure. You might tame the occasional tiger, but you can’t change its stripes.

***

A snippet:

Men want the women they’re with to be attractive to other men. It makes them proud to escort these women around, to be the object of envious looks from other guys. It is even a factor in considering if a woman is worth pursuing. Nevermind if she’s brilliant or makes him laugh till his insides ache. If she doesn’t make heads turn then he has to seriously considering if she is worth his time and effort.

On the other hand, women would rather their men not be soo attractive as they wouldn’t want to have to spend all their time fending off the advances of other women. Women are jealous creatures and their claws are sharp.

When it comes to pairing up, handsome men must find a partner of similar beauty, no plain Jane’s for them. And even the most average looking Joe thinks he has as much of a fighting chance as the next male model bloke at hooking up with the most beautiful chick at the bar (and to this I say, get a clue and a mirror while you’re at it babe. Heh.)

But the thing is see, that average Joe? He ain’t that far from the truth (that lucky bastard!). Women tend to be less concerned about looks when it comes to finding a mate/boyfriend/husband/partner/whatever. Just look around. Of all the mismatched couples you see, how many more of them are made up of gorgeous women with ordinary looking guys as opposed to the other way round? A staggering number that’s what. And leaving the depth of the man’s pocket out of the equation, it usually boils down to men being the visual creatures while the females are more emotional. For him, as long as she’s hot enough to salivate over, and for her, as long as he makes her laugh/feel loved/treats her like a queen, then it’s all systems go.

.

.

As with all generalizations, these too will and do breakdown if given a wide enough sampling population. So while it need not be said, here it is: not all men or women conform fully to the gender stereotypes above. But as a general guideline, it’s pretty damn accurate, most of the time anyway.

***

On a personal note, the gender debate gets stale pretty fast. There really isn’t any point in re-hashing and arguing the same old points again and again. The finger pointing also gets increasingly wearisome after a while. It’s a conflict as old as time and will never be resolved.

And so as I get older I’d rather access the person as an individual rather than judge or predict how they will act based on their gender. Of course this only works if you believe that people can rise above and beyond the norm and actually develop a personality independent of and perhaps despite their gender.

Oh well, one can hope.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

November

It’s Friday night, no actually it’s already Saturday morning. The week long holiday has flown by, and yes, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I don’t regret not having had plans. As someone said, it’s never going to be as bad or as good as you expect it to be.

***

Time has a way of sneaking up on you. It’s already November, a month I usually greet with a combination of anxious excitement, trepidation, a certain amount of denial and varying degrees of depression. It’s a month where every little detail of my life flashes before me in sharp relief. A time for questioning, for reflection, for taking stock.

The past few years, like clockwork, I descend into the pits of depression on the day when I should be celebrating the anniversary of my birth. Once it was soo bad it took all my willpower to hold back tears in public. It’s not about being afraid of getting older because while that is true it’s merely a matter of getting used to it. It is however because it’s the day when I feel most alone. And oh how it cuts like a knife!

Yes I have friends and family who wish me and celebrate, but it’s somehow lacking. I always end up feeling significantly less than special, knowing that I’m not the most important thing in their lives. Do I sound petty and self-absorbed? Shouldn’t I be grateful I have people who remember and are willing to make an effort? The thing is I do appreciate it, but at the end of the day when the party is over it’s the loneliness that remains. And it is this underlying feeling that permeates the day and infects everything with bitterness.

Will it be any different this year? I have hope, but am conditioned not to expect too much. Anyway, I’ll know soon enough.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

I (wish I was) am the body beautiful

I never knew I had it in me.

You see, I’ve only just started going to the gym. Religiously. Like almost everyday. And it all started because I somehow acquired a free 1 month membership (hence the kiasu-ism i.e. milking it for all its worth) to this rather popular gym. I say ‘popular’ because of the sheer volume of beautiful people per square feet concentrated in one location. It’s enough to make any normal-sized person, with a usually healthy body image feel inadequate and run to the nearest Dunkin’ Donut for a pick-me-up scoff.

Funny thing is, and I’m embarrassed to admit this, but gym equipment freak me out. I mean, they’re soo massively intimidating and have such complicated mechanisms that you probably need a degree in engineering just to figure out how they work! And after you painstakingly get them all nicely figured out and actually start using them, all you want to know is how to make them stop before they crush you to death! (Hm? What do you mean it’s only my imagination??!)

The first time I visited the gym, as I made my way past row after row of people using the umm….running exercise machines (yes, yes, I need to brush up my gym lingo), I was struck by how much they resembled programmed robots. The illusion was further fortified by their synchronized movements, blank faces totally devoid of expression, and eyes staring straight ahead, completely disregarding anything else that was happening around them. I suspect that if I was to fall in a dead faint in front of them, that they would not have bothered to break their rhythm but instead grimly soldiered on. But maybe that would have been because it was only me fainting. Heh.

So anyway, needless to say, I only go there for the instructor lead classes. So far I’ve pumped iron to music, salsa-ed and samba-ed like a hot Latina (I said like, but oh how I wish!), and belly danced to glory. Sadly, all I have to show for it are very sore muscles. But still, I’m enjoying it. It gives me something to do that requires very little interference from my brain, which is a good thing really. And besides, I have to get my moneys’ worth right? Oh wait, no, that’s not right. Oh hell, who ever needed a reason to exercise anyway?

Now, which class should I go for tomorrow? Kick-boxing or Hip Hop? Decisions, decisions…

Friday, October 28, 2005

For whom the bell tolls

Well, the time of reckoning has arrived like a death toll.

A week of endless empty monotony awaits.

Will I live to tell the tale? (Wait a minute, why would anyone even want to hear the tale?)

*Sighhhhh*

And here I was trying to cultivate the image that I actually had a life. Phish phosh, that’s down the drain.
.
.
.
.
The gym, the gym, it will be my salvation!...but that’s a story for another time. *wink* (And seeing as I have nothing else to do, it’ll probably be soon. Heh.)

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Turbulence

It's a gift and curse. I can always read people.

And when you say "I trust even you don’t want to know.." I get the distinct impression (in fact I’m bloody fucking sure) that, that is precisely what you want me to do: to want to know.

I'm divided. On one hand, as a friend, I'd like to help, to listen. But on the other, aware of the circumstances, I don't want to get involved, to avoid the complications just waiting on the sidelines to happen.

Damn. I’ve been in this situation before. The other one ended badly, for me. But this time there’s soo much more to lose and I’m not just talking about our friendship.

Why am I a magnet for people in throes of trouble?
Do I look like the Dalai Lama or something?
Why is it, even though they know that I’m the last person they should be asking, they still throw caution and propriety to the wind and do just that?

Desperation? No one else to turn to? I know, I know damnit.
That’s why I’m soo divided. Because I’m afraid, if not for me, then you would have no one else.

PS: For the sake of peace and calm I must say (though I’d really rather I didn’t have to) that this post is absolutely NOT about anyone who visits this space.

Still not a feminist

An email from a ‘fan’:

Since you follow the F1, was wondering if you knew the issue right now with regards to the F1 races where they are thinking of bringing in women drivers. And what’s more interesting is that the loser team Minardi is actually going to introduce one women driver into the F1 circuit. Well I guess after Alex anything is worth a shot.
Anyway in the SUN papers today Jenson Button actually commented on this issue and the following were his remarks:
- women drivers maybe to big to fit into the F1 cockpit
- one week in a month they wont be able to race or imagine any driver wanting to race them during the period
- the mechanics would face problems strapping them in (boobs) and would not be able to concentrate
What’s your opinion?


The wise one replies (Me-lah who else??!!):

Firstly I'm embarrassed to say I didn't even know there was a ruling against or for women drivers. Honestly, the lack of women drivers never even crossed my mind. (Now I have to go off in a corner and start pondering why it never occurred to me, because that's strange don't you think?)

So anyway, I'm delighted to find that there are actually pretty good (according to the papers) women drivers out there. And so if this will mark their foray into a male dominated circuit, then more power to them. I seriously think gender is a non issue when it comes to excelling on a level playing field. People shouldn't care what gender the drivers are as long as they're damn good at what they do. And for the record, this opinion doesn't just apply to F1 driving.

As for 'structural' differences, this is just silly. It reflects more on him than the women he seems to have a grudge against. Personally, it sounds like Button is very intimidated by more competition coming his way that he has to fall back on anatomy and biological makeup to protect his turf from intrusion. As such I won't even justify his dinosaur-mentality comments with a rebuttal.
PS: All together now, "Button sucks, Raikkonen's ma man!"

Monday, October 24, 2005

The not-soo-angry feminist

I was in a sewing shop just now accompanying a colleague who wanted to purchase something or rather. While in the shop I couldn’t help feeling a sense of forced feminity and girlishness, of docile domestication, homeliness and other unmentionables. I couldn’t help feeling soo out of place among the cross-stitches, knitting needles, balls of yarn and rows upon rows of colourful thread, sequins and beads. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of the above, hell, I even used quite a number of them as a kid. But somehow, now, all of it smacks of stereotypical female occupations: a reinforcement of an arcane female ideal. And try as I may, I find it hard not to be somewhat scornful (oh, this is too strong a word) of women who indulge in these pastimes. It appears as if I’m making a case for feminism, which is not my intention at all. I really mean no offense though it may seem otherwise. But it’s just that I don’t fit this particular pigeon hole.

On the flip side, I love the veritable Aladdin’s cave that is hardware shops. The intoxicating smell of leather, shelves of every imaginable glistening steel implement and contraptions and tins of industrial chemicals. There’s just so much to pick up, tinker with and marvel over. Unfortunately the downside is dealing with hardware store owners and salesmen. I happen to be the wrong gender you see, and I couldn’t make it anymore obvious if I walked in with a sign plastered to my forehead that said, “I’m a girl, cheat me, I’m dumb”. Not only do you get disbelieving looks because you’re a girl, saying you’re “Just browsing” to inquisitive macho men doesn’t stop them from following you around gawking and snorting under their breath at such a highly amusing oddity.

There was once I frequented one particular hardware shop soo regularly that the owner began to greet me warmly like a favourite daughter. Heh. But it sure didn’t stop him from trying to con me out of my money though. Men, sheesh!

Saturday, October 22, 2005

The Yellow Brick Road

Future plans: it seems everyone has some idea where they’re headed, or if they don’t at least they have their future acquisitions all mapped out and carefully budgeted for. Car at 23, house at 26, marriage to the nice boy next door at 27, 2.5 kids (carefully spaced out, naturally) by 32, the insurance plan, retirement investment plan, children’s education fund, the requisite local and overseas holidays, all efficiently planned years in advance.

Woe be anyone who doesn’t have a ‘plan’ much less a clue where their lives are headed, what they want and how they’re going to get it. The horrified pitying looks that follow such a foolishly brave announcement would be enough to make you want to repent remorsefully before you quietly do yourself away so you wouldn’t have to inflict anyone else with your directionless existence.

Sometimes I wonder how many out there make up all the stuff people want to hear just to quell the questions and patronizing concern for their welfare. How many purposefully lie just to seem not soo utterly lost?

PS: Two things:
1. This is too heavy for the weekend, I apologise.
2. And I'm not as depressed as I sound.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Psychedelic baby!

“I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldi-er,
I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldi-er,
I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldi-er,
I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldi-er….”

All these things that I’ve done – (Hot Fuss) The Killers

Instructions for use: Sing line repeatedly, starting out soft and building till reaching a completely soul-satisfying screaming crescendo. Accompanying head shaking, furious air drums action and feet stomping also highly recommended. Heh. Therapeutic this.

PS: I can’t help thinking that this is exactly how The Beatles would sound if they were from this era, complete with hysterical, swooning, and much hotter female fans of course (but yet somehow still managing to be cool enough for the guys).

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Future soo bright I gotta wear shades

Your face is your fortune. It’s written in the stars, on the lines of your palm and apparently also in your choice of a favorite cloud in the sky. I kid you not.

A good friend of mine visited a fortune teller for the first time recently. We’d discussed the possibility of doing this before just to satisfy our curiosity eventhough both of us are born sceptics. We’d both hesitated and put off doing so because even if we knew enough to take everything with a healthy pinch of salt, we weren’t sure we’d be able to withstand the power of suggestion and that seed of doubt that would linger on.

So anyway, she did it for fun and because not only was the “Mythologist”, as he calls himself, highly recommended, but he also speaks perfect English. This is handy especially if you don’t want a lot of things lost in translation. We’d all like our money’s worth and let’s face it, fortune telling is already vague as it is without the further complication of language.

For obvious reasons, I can’t reveal what he told her, but she came out not that much wiser about her future then when she went in. She had a few words of advice though. When faced with a fortune teller, do try to reign in the scepticism and keep your expressions bland. These people are attuned to body language and this will affect what and how much they tell you. And the other thing was, to get the most ‘benefit’, it’d probably be a good idea to seek a consultation only when you have pressing need, like for example when you’re at some crossroads of life. Otherwise you’d have nothing to ask him and whatever he’d say would carry no weight and very little meaning.

Now for a little experiment you can try at home. If the top tip of your ear is aligned to the end of your eyebrow and the bottom is aligned to the top of your upper lip, then you are destined for greatness. Of course if you have an asymmetrical face like mine, this begs the question: which ear? Or must it be both? These are questions you must ask the next face reader you meet, ‘cos I sure as hell don’t know! Heh, that’s another career choice down the drain...

Monday, October 17, 2005

On a serious and much too personal note..

I am different. I can’t explain it. The other day it just hit me: for the first time I have my eyes wide open. For once the road ahead though vague, appears to be devoid of obstacles, be they the ones I set up for myself or the ones that have been put there by prior circumstance. I realize that in all previous times I was never happy. Instead, what there was, was a whole load of anxiety and a distinct sense of futile hope.

This time round I’m aware of the constant need and the application of conscious will to not play mind games. A need to be honest, to be unafraid to say what I mean and what I feel, nevermind the consequences. And all of this while feeling like I’m voluntarily plunging headlong into the unknown despite being completely aware of clear and present danger. That’s right, for once I’m acting like there’s nothing to lose.

I used to be soo careful with my pride, doling out affection only to the exact measure of the amount I received. To show too much was a carnal sin, a sign of weakness, an acknowledgement of someone else’s power over me. And in an atmosphere where control was paramount, I never invested more than what was clinically appropriate.

Looking back, I know why I am exactly where I am now. I did this. But can this change last? Can I swallow my pride and take the chance? Can I suppress the urge to run for my life? I know I said it was a joke, but yes, what else can I be, but afraid?

(And meanwhile at the back of my mind, the resounding voice of reason cautions, “It’s too fast, slow down”.)

Friday, October 14, 2005

expectant hush

A sea of endless calm,
As far as the eye can see,
As long as memory can stretch.

Softly,
A ripple runs through
Gently,
The boat rocks
Tentatively,
The slumbering sailor,
stirs.

What is this shifting?
..swishing, ..rolling,
..tossing, ..turning,
..churning?

and in the horizon,
the Eye of the Storm,
approaches…


Disclaimer: I don't know why I feel the need to write a disclaimer. Well, actually, I do. I thought I'd be embarassed at its childish simplicity (mission accomplished: I am). But then I wondered why should I be soo bothered? Let it be. At the very least it is honest.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Cheetahs

Sociable?
Not exactly. Only the males, often brothers, roam and hunt in a coalition of 2 or 3. Rarely will they live alone. This is in contrast to the females who are solitary except when they have litter. Males and females mix only to mate. As such the female raises her cubs alone.

Biologically engineered for speed
Classic example of nature and adaptation at it’s finest.
The cheetah is the fastest land animal in the world with a top speed of 110km/hr. You think that’s fast? Even 5 month old cheetah cubs can easily outrun almost any other adult carnivore! Though a member of the cat family, it differs in many ways from the big cats like lions, tigers, leopards and panthers which rely on brute strength to hunt and overpower its prey.

Cheetahs rely purely on speed. And to achieve such blinding speed the cheetah has a highly adapted structure. It is the only member of the cat family that has non-retractable claws. This blunts the claws and makes them ineffective for attacking prey, but highly useful in providing traction to the cheetah during the chase. Its heavy tail acts as a rudder and the flexible backbone as a spring. The cheetah’s light, lean frame is attributed to thin bones and during the chase the cheetah is at times completely airborne with none of its paws touching the ground.

All this speed comes at a price, and so to accommodate the increase in oxygen intake, the cheetah has large nasal passages, a large heart and adrenal glands to support high metabolism. The large nasal passages leave precious little space for the cheetah’s small teeth and jaw. As such once the cheetah outruns its prey, it clamps onto the neck and suffocates its victim before consuming it.

Strength vs Speed

The cheetah is very vulnerable once it has captured its prey after a high speed chase. The intense effort expanded leaves the cheetah in exhaustion and if it is to savour the spoils of its victory, it must eat quickly. The slight cheetah is no match for the much bigger, heavier predators like the lions and hyenas. Even a pack of vultures can easily oust the cheetah and steal away the prize.

Cub Mortality

In the wild, cheetah cub mortality rate can reach as high as 90%. The main predators are lions and hyenas. In fact it’s been shown that lions kill cheetah cubs as a matter of course. They don’t eat them, they just kill them. Researchers have yet to find a reason for this phenomenon. And it doesn’t help that the females being the sole parent are forced to leave their cubs in search of food.

And now another fun fact you can take away with you: Ever wondered what the difference is between the leopard and the cheetah? Same colouring, both cats, right?. Well, the cheetah is easily identifiable by its characteristic black "tear mark" running from the inner aspect of each eye down to the mouth. Oh, and the leopard’s much heavier, remember strength vs. speed and agility?


PS: Alright, alright, if you insist: I watched a documentary, found it riveting and decided it was my duty to educate the world!....or maybe just the two of you. Oh, nevermind! Anyway I hope you found it as educational and as much fun as I did. Cheetahs rule!

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Love Thy Neighbour

Can someone please kill my neighbours?

(No, no, this is not yet another Malaysian rant against Singapore. Sorry to disappoint.)

And just to get the logistics right for those who want to heed this distress call, plus seeing as murder ain’t no child’s play, they live directly opposite me and are LOUD. Tonight more so than others. They’ve been having some big ass party and as if it isn’t enough to block off the entire street, they and their guests have conveniently opened tables and parked their backsides in front of their neighbours gates effectively blocking off our exit routes. Damn them all to hell!

And the howling, good God the howling. And squealing, and screeching. Yup folks, that’s right, they have that perennial Malaysian weapon of mass torture: karaoke. And my do they wield it with abandon. I’ve had to seek refuge by plugging in my earphones and blasting classical music. And yet, and yet, in the background, I can still hear their sweet voices.

Could I plead just cause if I went over there and wrung their necks? Something’s got to be done, they’re effectively keeping us prisoners at their pleasure while we writhe in agony. Huh? Huh? Could I? Could I?

And besides it’s just not neighbourly to have a party and NOT invite your neighbours.

That’s right, all that alcohol and I’m not invited. I demand justice!
.
.
.

Update: It’s past midnight and they’ve subsided without blood on my hands. Thank God for small mercies. I’m going to sleep.

Friday, October 07, 2005

AA: The Joys of Alcohol and Altitude

You know something’s not right up there when you suddenly have to go up to Genting at midnight, on a weekday, in your Japanese slippers and ratty clothes (hey! It was a spur of the moment thing ok?) just to shiver while drowning a bucket of beer through chattering teeth. Heh.

I have nothing to say for myself by way of logical excuse except that somehow the road just lead there and um, alcohol is a force greater than myself?

You know what the funny thing is? There were a lot of other jokers who were doing the exact same thing, there was actually traffic going up and on the way down. Who are these people and don’t they ever sleep or need to go to work the next day or something? I tell you, youngsters these days..

Oh, did I forget to add that I had a hell of a time? There’s just something about those roads winding through the mountains, soo pitch black that you have to turn on your high beam just to manoeuvre. Then there’s the icy early morning wind blowing in from your rolled down windows and the magnificent sight of millions of tiny twinkling fairy lights down in the sleeping valley. *Sigh*

Must try not to get too fond of these impromptu jaunts though, have you seen the prices at Genting lately?! Are they trying to make us pay for the natural air-conditioning or what?

And now excuse me while I try to sneak a snooze at my desk, crawling in at 4am is too much for this aging spring chicken.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Life: Not an exact science

I was watching this series on TV the other day. It’s not a bad family drama that I follow on and off. The main protagonist had been having one of those recurring what-if dreams where your life turns out exactly picture perfect. He agonizes over it because he felt that it meant that the way his life had turned out would always be inferior to the happiness of his “perfect” dream life. He confides in a friend who is of the wry opinion that “dreams are dumpsites for neurological waste” and goes on to tell him that trying to find meaning in dreams is like trying to avert unpredictable tragedy, that life happens: we’re grateful when it goes well and count our blessings when it doesn’t.

But what I loved most is the ending sequence where he finally gets to see his dream to its unexpected conclusion. He’s amazed to find that his seemingly perfect life is ultimately very flawed and as imperfect and difficult as his current reality is, he’s lucky to have just that. That in spite of tragedy or because of it, he’d gained and become soo much more than his “perfect” life would have afforded.

Could it be that we struggle soo much with regret, and that we second guess our choices every single time because unlike him we don’t have the benefit of seeing how our desired what-if scenario pans out?

God knows the last thing I want to do is sound preachy, but I guess what I’m trying to say is we don’t have to beat ourselves up when things go wrong, because in another place and time, wrong might have been what we needed all along. And in the end like a light bulb going off in our heads, we might just see why it was all necessary.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Maybe

Maybe we should stop trying to figure out life.

Maybe what we need is to find escape from the mental and physical paralysis that comes from over analyzing, from the constant need to pick apart every little insignificant detail in an ultimately futile attempt to elicit meaning from the utter randomness that is life.

Maybe all we need to survive is gut feel and a quick prayer that we don’t get into to much shit.

Maybe what we need is to close our eyes, draw a deep breath and Take.That.Leap.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Charm School

I was on a rare visit to a client’s office where I had to register at the guard house before entering the premises. I should have known something was amiss when I found the young-ish pak guard minutely scrutinizing me as I wrote down my name in the visitor log.

A polite cough later he said:
“Excuse me Miss, correct me if I’m mistaken, you’re not Malay are you?”

I flashed what I hoped was a dismissive stop-all-friendly-overtures-NOW quick smile and said:
“No.”

Then out of nowhere as I turn to go he says with an impish grin:
“Your face is true beauty”

Only presence of mind and iron self-control stopped me from bursting into wild laughter.

He made my day...ok, ok, make that my week. But I can’t help feeling sorry for him, after all, he must have really bad eyesight.

Office air-con technicians, the balding pakcik at the neighborhood sundry shop, the waiter at the corner mamak shop where we have after work yum char sessions and now: security guards.

I’m quite the charmer I am.

KL: Proceed with extreme caution

I made the death defying foray into the hell hole that is KL last week. That’s right, I drove there. Yikes!

While PJ isn’t exactly paradise on earth it tends to be a little less frightening than KL somehow. And have you ever noticed how the number of motorcycles increase exponentially the nearer you get to the city centre? It’s those crazy jams I tell you, everyone’s finding a way to cut the time and money lost when you’re stuck in one. But if there’s one thing car owners fear more than traffic jams on the roads, it’s those damned motorcycles. I mean if you’ve ever had the bad luck to have an accident with one, you’ll know that no matter whose fault it is you’re automatically done for, in terms of paying for damages that is.

So there I was, trying to stay clear of those motorcycles, but in KL, that’s pretty hard to do with the sheer proliferation of them. You need every ounce of concentration in your body, extra pairs of eyes on the back of your head and perhaps on your elbows too for good measure. And still, my once in a blue moon trip in had 2 motorcycles grazing each other at high speed right next to me, causing one’s carrier box to rip off with a flying piece bouncing off the roof of this already rattled drivers car.

Holy guacamole! Next time I’m taking public transportation!

Thursday, September 29, 2005

He ain't heavy, He's my brother

His proud grandma called to tell me that her grandson, my nephew, was in the newspapers. Unfortunately we don’t get the Northern section here, so proud aunty couldn’t show off to her friends. Damn.

His father, my eldest brother, and I are separated by 11 years. Suffice to say we are far removed in more ways than the convenience that is provided by geographical distance and age gap.

This is the guy who made me cry while trying to drum into me my times table. I still remember sobbing while reciting “2 x 8 equals 16, 2 x 9 equals 18…sniff, sniff!” But I have much to owe my brother in terms of a musical education. He was an 80’s teenager, so mini-me had a steady diet of 80’s pop while growing up. One of my fondest memories is of him doing an impression of the Fine Young Cannibals “She drives me crazy”. It had us siblings all rolling on the floor in gales of laughter and till today I smile every time I hear the song. Years later I found that I seemed to be able to recognize 80’s songs and sometimes even sing along without knowing who sang it and what it was called. And so I began paying attention and now I have quite the repertoire of cheesy music to be paraded during karaoke sessions. My friends call me old, but I prefer to think of it as being “cultured”, heh.

I also remember how he and my 2nd brother conned Mum and Dad into taking the whole family to watch “The Thing” in the cinema. I was about 5 years old and spent the entire movie with my hands clamped over my eyes. Oh let me tell u the brothers certainly got a sound caning when we got home and I had lovely nightmares for ages. (Aside: that’s a great movie btw, caught it later in life, was sort of a pre-cursor to “Alien”)

Now he’s a husband and father (well, has been for a while, this post is a leetle late) and it warms the cockles of my heart to witness the tenderness in his eyes at unguarded moments when he’s with wife-y and sons.

So I know we’ll never have the picture perfect elder brother-little sister stereotypical relationship. He’ll never be the elder brother I look up to and confide with and I’ll never be the little sister whom he’ll worship and over protect. But I have a sneaky suspicion that he’s proud of me and I’m secretly happy that he’s found his place in life. And as a bonus it’s nice to find that we share the same irreverent sense of humour. It’ll probably never be more than that, but as far as relationships go, I’ll take it as it is any day.

This is of no consequence whatsoever

My sister says I’m killing my plants.

But I can’t help it! They bring ants in all shapes and sizes and though I’m not one to discriminate against insects, the big black ones, the tiny black ones that run like the wind, the tiny red ones with black bottoms, they all have one thing in common, they BITE.

Seems I’m not very good with live things, they tend to drop like flies under my care. That includes humans. *cue maniacal laughter*

PS: I apologise, I have a long, not-so-vapid post in my pocket somewhere but due to technical difficulties and countless re-writes, it’ll have to wait a little while more.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

It's a happy, happy holida-ay!

There’s almost a week long break in early November for Deepavali and Raya Haji.

I find that incredibly depressing.

What’s the use of a holiday when u have nothing to do, nowhere to go (because you have no money to spend) and no one to spend it with?

Hell, I can hardly even fill the weekends!

Monday, September 26, 2005

Questions

Isn’t it amazing how little it takes to send your self esteem plummeting?

How little it takes to fill our seemingly bottomless wells of self doubt?

One misplaced word, one forgotten invitation, that’s enough.

Why do we constantly crave affirmation, validation?

Why must belief in ourselves be planted in quicksand?

Sunday, September 25, 2005

"Hi, nice to meet you"

At this age (I feel old, ok?), I can no longer abide by introductions. Meeting new people has become such a chore: the endless treadmill of socializing that leaves you spouting the same tired old lines again and again for the umpteenth time.

Sometimes you feel like lying about yourself just to break the monotony of it all. And other times you have to reign in your to tongue to keep from saying what you really want to say i.e. when you want to let brutal honesty and slit-throat sarcasm take over. But you don’t of course, because that would be a major no-no in polite company. Trust me displaying psychotic tendencies does not make a good first impression. But still depending on how I feel that day I tend to either come across as a smiling half-wit mute with no personal opinion whatsoever, or (this is when I put in some effort) a bland “normal” human being, or (when I’m really pissed) an enigmatic deranged lunatic. Heh.

My point is, and I do have one (I think) is that I wish there was an easier way to go about meeting new people, a way that is not fraught with soo many layers of pretension. Because don’t get me wrong, I’m all for meeting new people and expanding one’s circle of friends, it’s just that I wish there was some way of filtering them for quality first.

Examples of some desirable top notch qualities in my case would be a strong stomach for whiny bullshit, tolerance for long drawn out moody silences and a very strong hide to withstand the occasional whiplash from a sharp tongue. (And people find it amazing how such a wonderful girl like me can’t find a nice sweet guy. It’s a mystery, I say)

So this brings us to blogs (you knew it was coming didn’t you?). When you come to think of it, it’s the perfect solution isn’t it? You get to quietly read as complete strangers pour out their deepest darkest thoughts, feelings and desires. You get a feel of what the person is made up of by the way they express themselves and their reactions to their surroundings. Now if this isn’t a brilliant way to vet through the anonymous masses before you actually introduce yourself, then I don’t know what is.

But (yes, there is a but), using a blog as the sole medium with which to size up a person is not without it’s flaws. It’s kinda like trying to imagine what a person looks like when all you’ve seen is a toe. I also tend to think that the image we portray of ourselves in our blogs are frequently an exaggeration of who we are. It isn’t necessarily a lie, but more of an embellishment perhaps.

So what now? Ok, here’s the deal. If you do find a blog/blogger that you like, chances are you’d probably like them in real life and go on to be lifelong (virtual) friends and whatnot. But before that prepare yourself, because all of what you read might not be embodied in the person you will eventually meet.

Real life, it’s a bummer eh?

Thursday, September 22, 2005

The World: It is too small!

It’s shocking how easy it is to put two and two together and discover that you know the person whose blog you’re reading.

So far I’ve found the best friend of my sis ex-bf (who btw also has an empty blog – the lucky devil), a friend of a friend of a friend (yeah it’s complicated) and an ex-colleague (sort of, worked with a sister company, exchanged like one sentence with eons ago).

It’s just too easy. I’ve never even met most of these people before, but with what scant information I know about them it’s a breeze connecting the dots.

So this begs the question: How long before someone who knows me, finds me? How does one go about ensuring enduring anonymity?

Why do I even insist upon anonymity in the first place?
Simple. I’m extremely anal about privacy. I’d hate to move or shut down because I’ve been found out.

First off I probably need to lose the nick, it’s a dead giveaway. Bugger.
.
.
.
.
.
Oh, what the hell! I’ll risk it.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

I, Mortified

Just received the photos from The Wedding.

*Ack! Gasp!*

Burn the evidence! No wait, it’s in softcopy, Erase! Delete! Remove all traces! If all else fails, GO INTO HIDING!!

Note to self: constipated leering and cackling like a hyena does not a good picture make.

Oooo…the shame…

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

All Boozed Up and Puked Out

Any wedding that begins with you and your friends arriving 1 hr late even after a frenzied rush to the venue and ends with the bride’s rowdy shouting of “Where’s my drink??...hic!” has got to be an unqualified success.

Attended what must have been The Malaccan society wedding of the year and had the good(bad?) fortune to grab latecomers seats at the “happy” table. One can easily foresee the fun night ahead when the blokes at your table have tomato-red faces even before the 1st course! Naturally most of us closet alcoholics quickly disintegrated from pleasantly contented to maniacally ecstatic no thanks to the open bar strategically situated right behind us. I still have no idea how much of the bar came to be transplanted onto our table. It was all a blur of glasses chinking, flowing amber gold liquid and muffled cries of “Yuuuuuuuuuum Seeeeeeeeeeng!!!!” & “Bottoms Up!”.

You know there’s nothing like an alcohol induced exuberance to have complete strangers fall into each others arms weeping with joy like long lost siblings. I mean, who cares if you don’t even know each others last names? Does it even matter if no one has anyone else’s handphone numbers by the end of the night?

Yes it was a damn good wedding, and S & S, we shall always fondly remember it as the one that had the most people puking to glory…Congratulations you two!


PS: How is it possible that mushrooms ingested in Melaka can emerge glisteningly whole and completely undigested, 3 hours later in KL? Ah, one of life’s many mysteries I guess…

Monday, September 19, 2005

Can someone invent this already?

Don’t you wish sometimes you had some kind of machine that converts thoughts to words on paper? It should work like some sort of an internal thought transcriber.

I mean it’s bound to be damn useful in inconvenient situations when you’re mind is going furiously but:
1. You’re having a particularly trying time locked in the toilet or
2. When an almost super human effort to retain your fleeting thoughts caused you to absent mindedly try to brush your teeth with hair conditioner (don’t even ask…).

How many times have you come up with the wittiest commentaries while flat on your back after lights out and with the light switch way over there? I have found that by the time I actually decide my thoughts are too brilliant to be entrusted to my increasingly unreliable memory, drag myself out of bed to trudge all the way across the room and switch on the lights, rummage for a notepad, scramble for a pen and finally sit back down comfortably, I will invariably realize that I can no longer recapture that kick-ass turn of phrase.

And like all kick-ass turns of phrases, it will remain elusive until the next such time you so happen to be inconvenienced yet again, like while stuck in an endless traffic jam with not a scrap of paper within sight and a totally dead cell phone so you can’t even painstakingly type it out word for word.

All I’m saying is, the moment someone invents this machine, I sure as hell will be the first in line.

It's their loss (?)

I need to get this off my chest before I write anything else otherwise it’ll be totally screwed up.

I’m reeling from the shock of not getting the job. No wait, more like shock from not even having been called for an interview.

How is this possible?

Was long-listed to attend an Assessment Test, but I told them since I had already sat for the test when I applied to their company the year before, perhaps they could check their records and get back to me. Which they never did do of course.

Now this is the part that I don’t understand. The previous year when I sat for the routine test, I was short listed and attended the first interview. The HR Manager calls me up after a long silence apologizes for the delay stating the company was in the midst of a mulling over a recruitment policy change and if I was still interested to come for a 2nd interview should it go favourably? I re-stated my interest and urged them to keep me updated. Which they never did do naturally.

So now this: being unceremoniously booted out without even being given a chance to be interviewed.

At times like these it’s nice to console yourself and go, “It’s their loss, it’s their loss”.

But funny how I’m the one who ends up feeling the pain right?

Thursday, September 15, 2005

The Wedding Bane

I was prepared for it. Psyched myself out. Dusted off the bullet proof amour. Gathered the heavy artillery for defensive counter attack. Stocked up on a barrage of witty comeback lines. And so when it came, surprisingly instead of all hell breaking loose, there was hardly a ripple on the surface. After all that build up….what a bummer!

Attending weddings, unaccompanied, when you’re in your twenties, is usually the worst possible situation you could get yourself into. Nosy aunties and sometimes even complete strangers will magically assume the right to pinch your cheeks and drawl ever so condescendingly, “So when’s your turn darling?” In situations like these it is always advisable to keep sharp and heavy objects far from the victims reach. However the alternative of witty comebacks only leaves them wagging their heads while reprimanding you like a naughty child. It’s a lose-lose situation in everyway.

Worst still if you’re attending the wedding of the 2nd among your group of 3 bosom buddies, which basically means you’re the only unmarried one left and EVERYBODY knows it. It’s enough to give even the most independent girl a strong dose of inferiority complex. And I don’t even want to get married!

But yeah, all said and done I guess seeing the radiant bride and the adorable albeit nervous groom made it all worthwhile.

And yes, I got the same old questions, but miracle of miracles, it rolled off like water off a ducks back.

To the happy couple, dearest C & S, I truly wish you both every happiness together.

And you both have your names engraved on my wedding invitation (along with a dozen or so unlucky people), which unfortunately for you though might very possibly come like, never. So don’t grow old waiting at the postbox eh?

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Breathe In, Breathe Out

Can’t. Help. It.

I agree with everything he says.

He makes me nod after every single sentence and grin like and idiot. (Note to self: Must remember not to do this in the office, The Inwardly-Evil Colleagues with Outwardly-Mild-Temperaments are just waiting for the slightest reason to have me committed)

So I struggle to keep my mouth shut. From banging the table and proclaiming “Exactly!”, “That’s so true!” and “I feel you babe”, while nodding vigorously.

Because that’s too much affirmation to be dished out to a complete stranger, even if it’s all true.

The problem, my Dear Imaginary Reader, is who would want to come across as an over-eager-Energizer-bunny-like stalker? No, no, under all circumstances one must act calm and supremely cool. That is of essence.

Compulsive commenting on a complete stranger’s blog is NOT the thing to do. Yes, yes, must restrain ourselves from virtually patting people’s backs and saying “You da man!”
And posting a rebuttal or an agreement of views held (as in this case) in one’s own blog is also so not done.

*summons dwindling will power*

Ahah…hmm….methinks the problem is pride, of which I seem to have cultivated an obvious over abundance of. Sigh and double sigh....

PS: Dear Imaginary Reader, am soo very sorry for my incoherence. Tut! Tut! Shall now bury my head with the shame of it all.

PPS: Oooooooh man….I need to find something else to write about already!!

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

September

The surest way of declaring bankruptcy by the end of the month:

2 weddings and 6 birthdays.

I swear I shall slap the next friend or relative who dares to be born or wed in this month.

There are 11 other freaking months to choose from, spread out for God’s sake!

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Bedlam! Chaos! Hysteria!

*Warning! Excuses to follow...


The Parents are down: indefinitely.


The Sis is “stressed”: sic.

The Blogger is catering to the whims and fancies of The Last-Minute-But-Damn-Cocky-Prospective-Client: *passed out*

The Boss says smugly, “Don’t kill yourself over it”: ^&$&*;@;#$&%#&^%$***&!!!!

Therefore The Beloved Blog is: neglected.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

The Writing on the Wall

There are stories in unexpected places.

And in this case: my bedroom wall.

In started during a recent (infrequent) spring cleaning, I found a paragraph written in ink by an ex-tenant on my wall. It began:

“ I hate you.
You cheated me. I love you soo much but you did this to me…..”


It goes on to ramble incoherently (generously peppered with a multitude of exclamation marks) why the author hates/loves/will-never-forgive, her paramour.

After some background investigation (read: nosy poking around) the whole sordid story was uncovered. Said authoress was a small town lady in her mid 30’s separated from an impotent, abusive husband (I am NOT making this up!). After 3 lonely years moving to big bad KL, she found true love in a married man with 3 children. The outpouring of anguish on the walls was during a particularly trying time when his wife found out about the affair. Why this translates to him cheating on her is beyond me. But it’s not for me to judge.

Anyway the story has a happy ending of sorts. She becomes his 2nd wife and they now have 1 child together.

As entertained as I was by her colourful life story, I do wish she’d have expressed her feelings a little less permanently…..like with a pencil maybe...or a blog.

Now excuse me while I figure out how to remove it…

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Firmly ground into the asphalt

What higher accolade can you receive from a favourite blogger than for them to link to your blog on their site?

There I was leaping about excitedly doing a little victory jig.

And then I read her Disclaimer.

Whoosh! Slammed back down to earth.

Seems she won’t be responsible for contents on external sites and neither does she endorse them, us, I mean me.

I’m a little slow, should’ve caught on that she links to all sites that link her.

Sigh, well it was fun while it lasted….like all of 10 seconds.

PS: But "Flypaper for freaks"? That’s harsh girl. Personally I prefer self-centered narcissist myself, not that self-centered narcissists’ aren’t freaks too. Hmm….Freaks Unite!

Ms. Brightside

I don't want to look on the bright side.

I want to wallow in self-pity.

Who said indignant self-centered hurt never made things better?


Monday, August 29, 2005

Things you really did not need to know about me

1. Top on my list of dubious abilities is epic yawning. I’ve been nicknamed “hippopotamus” and I proudly live up to it.

2. The Sis says I’ll never get a boyfriend because of (1). I have yet to prove her wrong. (Surely there must be a man out there who thinks prolific yawning is a lovable trait in a partner…. No? Well, bloody ‘ell!!)

3. I have been trapped in lifts twice.

4. I am claustrophobic.

5. Hence when (3) happened (4) ensured that I experienced my 1st panic attack.

6. It was during (5) that my crazy friends introduced me to Crayon Sin Chan. It made me laugh and calmed me down. Now I’m forever indebted to that pint-sized flasher.

7. “Drama in Real Life” from Reader’s Digest issues in the 60’s and 70’s is the cause of my fear of lightning.

8. As it is I am also wary of electrical appliances for fear of being electrocuted.

9. And I stay as far away from microwaves as possible and use them only when absolutely necessary. I always think they are going to explode at the slightest provocation.

10. I graduated top of my class. Dad cried at my graduation. I was too shocked to react.

11. I love trains. I find them endlessly romantic. My dream is to ride a steam engine winding through the Himalayas.

12. My maternal grandfather was a stationmaster. I wish I’d been born before he retired.

13. Mum has 14 brothers and sisters, Dad has 8. This is always an impressive fact to be trotted out at dull parties. It would be even more impressive if I could remember all their names….

14. I dislike (most of) my relatives. They think me anti-social and dislike me with equal vigour.

15. There are 2 genres of books that I like: humour & horror. Other than both starting with the letter ‘h’, they are polar opposites. I am unsure what this says about me.

16. In Form 6 I was entrusted to the care of 2 white mice being fattened up for the dissection table. Over the course of a weekend in my care, they died. I think their kindred have been hounding me ever since. Proof!

17. I became an aunt at the age of 16. 10 years have passed and I’m still trying to get the hang of it.

18. I am an occasional clairvoyant and it scares me. I believe that when the time comes I will be able to predict when people closest to me will die.

19. I religiously switch off my handphone at midnight everyday. I have learnt that when the phone rings in the wee hours of the morning, it can only mean bad news.

20. I love X-Files. ‘nuff said.

21. I think Exorcist is the best horror movie ever made. Everything before and after is total crap.

22. My secret burning ambition was to be a Jedi Knight. I think it still is!

23. I obtained my driving license at the age of 18 and promptly stopped driving for 8 years. I’ve begun again this year but still cannot drive a manual.

24. One unexpected side effect of driving is my growing ability to cuss fluently. I am inordinately proud of this modest achievement.

25. I’ve eaten assorted bugs before. They were not tasty. Perhaps they needed more salt.

26. I am the perfect candidate for Fear Factor. Unfortunately the fear of answering inch-thick entry application questionnaires defeated me.

27. My aversion to taugeh (bean sprouts) is legendary. I have tried unsuccessfully to convince people that I’m allergic to it.

Lastly, this is by no means an exhaustive list. And neither do I guarantee that the above will remain true as time goes by. As such I will update and revise this list as an when…..I feel like it. Hah!


The End

He's wearing a GODDAMNED RING!!

And now I have to go to confession for taking God's name in vain.

Bloody hell!!

Friday, August 26, 2005

Budge the Budget


Did some budgeting last night.

Apparently if I cut out eating all together I should be just fine.


Thursday, August 25, 2005

Tea

The thing about tea is, no matter what flavour it is: mango, forest berries, wildflowers etc, and no matter how great it smells, it still tastes like plain. old. tea.

But if you’re lucky sometimes the cold variety like you get from Starbucks, Coffee Bean and whatnot can taste like dishwashing liquid.


That’s why I drink coffee.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

These hands

I’ve got hot hands. Yup, you read right: hot.

Before you go on off tangent and start imagining how this part of a person’s anatomy (this blogger’s especially) could be “sexy”, I meant in terms of temperature. Yeah, yeah, what a letdown huh?

Back to my hands now.

They’re always warm. Even when it’s freezing outside, my hands will be the warmest one’s around for miles unless of course Dad’s in the vicinity. It's genetic, you see.

Mom has an aversion to them though. Whenever I touch her, she’ll give a start and yelp “Your hands are just like your father’s!”
I still haven’t been able to decide if this is a compliment or an accusation.

But yours truly always has the last laugh, I'll huff, “Yah what, I’m warm-blooded unlike you reptiles!”

Needless to say I give a mean heated massage, assuming of course I be a good girl and refrain from attempting to break me some bones. Trust me, cries of pain only spurn me on.

And they’re disproportionately big and fleshy too (my hands, my hands, focus people!), what with being perched on spindly, bony wrists and all. My, don’t I just sound like your regular freak show?

One of my fondest memories is of Dad tenderly examining my hands, smoothing them over and announcing with gusto, “You should have been a boy!”.
I don’t know why I should remember this fondly cos if anything, it should have plunged moi into conflicting feelings over sexual orientation vs. parental devotion. Heh.
.
.
.

Ahem, I trust I have contributed to your daily dosage of riveting reads.

You may go now. Scoot!

Monday, August 22, 2005

Hollow

I wish I could take a break from myself. Just go and leave me behind.

Live outside of the inside,
Take respite from the reverberating silence,
Solace from this pregnant emptiness,
And welcome clamour to ease the hollowness.

Find relief,
Release.