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!

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?)

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 ;)

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.

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. ;)

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.

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.

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…)

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!)

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.

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).

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.

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.

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…

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.

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.

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.

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.

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…

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.)