My kind of woman

There’s this woman where I work who wears brightly coloured brassieres under white shirts. Today it’s electric pink. Hm. Is she just clueless or is this what unattractive women do to attract attention? And she’s not the only one here. Inappropriately short skirts, low cut tops with unsupported jingling boobs (they bounce in step with her stamping feet: her usual mode of ‘walking’), loud brash voices and garish make-up are some of the other attention-grabbing gimmicks they employ.

Oh, they certainly get the attention they seek, but none of it is complimentary, and much of it falls under the category of ‘crude’. I should know, I’ve had to listen to the guys commenting while I remained neutral and tried not to wince. Perhaps these women should realize that overt, in-your-face posturing is just terribly unattractive and completely tasteless. Wouldn’t they rather be on the receiving end of admiration and regard? And I mean this in both the professional sense as well as in personal appearance.

My kind of woman would be unusual in appearance, unique, none of that conventional beauty for me. She’d be attractive but unselfconsciously so. She doesn’t try too hard and she doesn’t have to. She’d exude a quiet intelligence, evident in her eyes (sparkling bright) and her manner, collected and reserved. Her laugh is easy and her wit sharp. A genuine person with no hidden agenda’s but yet intriguingly mysterious all the same. She is her own person, a person that is, after my own heart.

And she doesn’t exist! More’s the pity.

Zipping by

Just after lunch and I’m sitting in the pantry writing with a packet of fruits as a convenient excuse. I could of course type this on my PC at my workspace but it’s too open and I’d feel uncomfortable with the possibility of people looking over my shoulder.

This is going to be a very short week. I’m on leave this Friday and out of office the whole day on Thursday for training. So essentially it’s Monday to Wednesday and it’s already Tuesday afternoon, oh joy!

There isn’t any particular reason for taking leave, just decided on the spur of the moment on one of those down-in-the-dumps days. A feeble attempt at making work more bearable I suppose.

So anyway I’m wondering what I should do this weekend. Hm. Ooo-kay. I’m all out of ideas, but still looking forward to it despite having no plans. It’s all good. :P

A little too close for comfort

Back in Centrepoint again, this time a little earlier than usual (came here straight from a customers office in KL) and feeling a tad unnerved. Was quite freaked out after I found out that the recent kidnapping & rape of the air-stewardess in a shopping mall happened right where I am right now and that I was here on that same very night, the same night I wrote about Centrepoint being the place “to be”. How so very ironic. And driving in just now, there was a police roadblock right in front, I wonder why.

What’s very scary and continually frustrating is the fact that the knee-jerk reactions and finger-pointing from the authorities, random ministers and parties involved like the mall management solves nothing because it’s all too little action too late for the victims. It’s obvious that prevention & safety precautions are non-existent in the Malaysian culture and even experience (Canny Ong for one) teaches us nothing.

I try to be careful and take care of my own self, as everyone should. But sometimes it is so easy to assume that bad things won’t happen to us, and who wants to live under constant fear and vigilance anyway? And so we do what we can, and hope for the best.

Coming home

Sometimes I think about what it would be like coming home to you after a long day at work, of being able to say “Honey I’m home” and feeling your warm embrace lifting all the days worries away.

On the days when I get home late, you would have already gotten me dinner and I can see us both sitting there in a comfortable silence with you smiling indulgently as I slowly consume the meal. I can hear you ask, “How was your day sweetie?” and my replying sigh would tell you all you needed to know. Then pulling me close to kiss my forehead, you would have understood how after a tiring day, the last thing I am, is chatty.

Feeling that much more relaxed after a warm shower, the first thing I would do is rub your back and kiss you fondly on the cheek in appreciation of your calming presence and affection for me. And now I would ask you in return about your day, certain that I’d be able to focus my attention on listening to you.

I’d then sit back in bed and perhaps turn the TV on and gradually you’d come sit by me, automatically taking my hand and clasping it in yours. We might talk a little or just lapse into quietness, my head resting on your chest. After a while, if you gauge that all is well with me and that I am suitably occupied, you would gently extricate yourself and return to what you were doing previously. At other times when you find me restless or out of sorts, you devise ways of amusing me and making it better: whether sharing a tub of ice-cream or watching a movie together or just coaxing me to talk to you.

And as the night draws to a close and I find myself wilting, I’d ask you if you were coming to bed. If you answer “Soon sweetie”, then I would wait for you because sleep is lonely without you. On nights when I involuntarily doze off before you, I remain watchful. Then when you finally do come to bed, you would gently brush my hair in the quietest good night you can muster so as not to awaken me. But I am always aware and will sleepily search for you hand to hold and your lips to kiss my own good night to you.

And finally contented with you beside me, we drift off together into the night

Is Centrepoint the place to be?

Surprisingly, it’s turned out to be quite the people-watching place.

Here’s a checklist of the things I’ve seen so far from my little corner of the cafe:

1. Young professionals’ after work in their spiffy suits and lugging laptops
2. Young adults dressed casually (don’t these people have to work?)
3. Kids everywhere! (Is there a Gymboree or something around here?)
4. A Pomeranian with its lady owner trailing behind on a leash (heh, shouldn’t it be the other way round?)
5. A monitor lizard in a portable aquarium (sans water) carefully cradled by it’s young mistress

And imagine, all this in the space of less than half an hour since I arrived.

Still unconvinced? Well then, sitting right across from me are 3 lovely TV3 newscasters having a leisurely chat over their evening cuppa’s.

Now if only I didn’t find this old building rather depressing, I’d hang out here more often.

Oh! Look at the time, gotta run, got a class to catch!

.

.

.

5 minutes into class: (Damnit! Why must it be freezing on the day I wear a skirt?!)

Ambling along, rambling on.

8.30AM, at my cubicle and the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. Ugh. (Which explains why I’m writing here about nothing in particular.)

Woke up this morning feeling oddly grateful to be waking up in my own bed. As usual the first thought was a wish that I could sleep the day away and the second was a quick mental calculation of the number of hours before I could crawl back in under the covers again. Heh, talk about being motivated.

These days I feel odder and odder and odder, more and more out of place sometimes. For instance, yesterday, it occurred to me that I’m quite the geek, lacking in the social graces that makes other people appear ‘normal’. This after my trainer made a wisecrack at my expense and my fellow students took to teasing me after. Being the only female student also makes me stand out just that little bit more, so hooray for me. Hmph. Maybe I should attempt to control my expressions and stop frowning all the time. Unfortunately this comes naturally to me and I’m rarely aware of how I odd appear until someone stares or makes a comment.

Weekend’s almost here, yippee! However this weekend marks the start of my effectively becoming a football widow for a month. Hopefully I’ll have enough things to keep me amused ;)

Memories of weekends past

Oh no, neglected again.

I really do mean to. Even have things written out on paper and all but somehow can’t bring myself to actually post.

So anyway, it’s the start of another week with the promise that it will be yet another long drawn out one. Sometimes the only way to deal when you try but are unable to take a day at a time is to temper the dread by focusing on things to look forward to. Time warped weekends tucked away in the seclusion of two, is what carries me through the weekday. Indeed, what would I do without you?

Last weekend felt strangely…lengthy. Normally the precious two days zip by in such a blinding flash leaving me unsatiated and hankering for more by the always-depressing Sunday night. But this time it was different. I can’t put my finger on as to why. And apart from the hitches: mood swings (my fault as usual) & sleep interrupted by work-worry, I still feel it was one of our better weekends and I can’t wait for the next.

(We really, really must stop discussing things till the wee hours of Monday morning! Oh, but how difficult it’ll be because I do so love the ‘discussing’ and feel loathe to stop even if we pay dearly for the rest of the day :)

Feeling blah

I sit here (im)patiently waiting for him to return and gnawing at my lip trying to think of something to write.

I think I need to be much more careful with work matters. No, I don’t think, I have to. It’s just so easy to slip into apathy and disinterest when there are no pressing deadlines as motivating factors. That and the little persistent voice at the back of my head that says “this can’t be it forever and ever”.

In other news, am going back home this weekend, something I haven’t done for the longest time for personal reasons I’m well acquainted with. I’m not looking forward to it because I already know that it is going to be an exhausting exercise in damage control. I can also predict that I will be losing my temper and cool before long. It’s the result of thinking/hoping/wishing that the world could revolve only around the two of us. That’s not true for me though, the outside world intrudes and makes demands. And the result? Alternating guilt and anger.

There has to be something to look forward to. Hm. A sweet chocolate-y dessert should be an effective stopgap measure :P

(Hurry up hun! ;)

It really is just a stupid movie

I need to work out why I’m so angry. It’s just a stupid movie. But there’s a reason. I know there is.

……think, think.

It’s about responsibility. About doing the right thing no matter what. It doesn’t matter if you don’t really love her. If you’re still with her, then you stand by her: NO. MATTER. WHAT. Especially those times when she’s not at her most charming best. When she makes a faux pas. When she makes a mistake and embarrasses herself and you in the process. That’s when she needs you most, that’s when you prove that you’re around not just for the good times but for all times. You don’t run after the most accessible skirt around the moment you hit a rough patch. And even if you wanted to, at least show her a little respect and have the decency to end it first before you do so. (Oh, and yeah, it works both ways)

I have often debated this scenario to myself. What happens if while in a relationship, you meet someone else whom you unintentionally develop feelings for (yes, I do believe it is possible). Logic tells me that the right thing to do would be:

1. To NOT encourage/cultivate the other ‘friendship’
2. and while doing 1, try you best to figure out if you really do love your partner, if you want to make it work and if you do want to keep the relationship. (And by this I do not mean comparing the two even though that would be the instinctual response)

Easier said than done?

I suspect so, and I hope I never have to find out.

The Other

I know.

I haven’t written in a while. This is fast becoming the norm. Increasingly, it seems that the only reason I even write is to either assuage some kind of misplaced guilt or because I had nothing else to do. This was never my original intention.

And here I sit actually seriously considering starting another blog. Completely anonymous, not semi, like this one is. No editing. No mulling over grammar and phrasing, over whether a sentence is catchy enough, whether there’s an attention grabbing heading and if the closing is suitably graceful. Just free ranting - a faithful regurgitation so to speak. In fact I already have a name for it. I found it apt.

Yes, I realize even writing about it here instead of quietly going about my business is evidence of my ego. Yes, I have considered if this ego of mine could handle complete anonymity and the almost absolute certainty that no one would ever stumble across it or even care to stay. But this is the way I figure it will work: This space is for attention, and the other will be an outlet for the dissonance that would otherwise clutter, muddle and weigh down. It doesn’t mean whatever’s written here is put on, just that it is for the palatable and (marginally) less self-indulgent material, otherwise called my ‘good’ side. Admittedly, every once in a while this space is also used as a means to reach a select audience. I just hope I can keep the dividing line clear.

(and yes, bad as it is, this piece was actually edited!)


“..and by this we shall know that she has reached bottom and what more, is scraping away at her empty barrel.”

Perfection is overrated

(…..spoken like a true sore loser :)

You know what I wish sometimes?

That I was this cool, calm, collected, perfectly put together young lady. The very image that in one breath speaks of the effort put into it but at the same time is carried so effortlessly and with such amazing grace.

Instead my modus operandi is more aptly described as “scruffy” than anything else. You see, I’m the casualty of one too many “Why bother’s?” which usually follows swiftly after “I have nothing to wear!” and “Oh God I’m late!”. Once in a long while though I do force myself to try and expand some energy into this area. However the fleeting results from these sporadic attempts and the intimate knowledge of my makeup ensures that nothing has changed and sad to say, nor will it ever change.

Ah well, but I can dream....and secretly hate those rare women who can pull off this feat.

It's the little things that count

I spilled my coffee this morning, on the table and a little on myself. Is it serendipity that I wore dark today? Fortunately my reaction was an audible ‘Oh shit” instead of “Oh fuck!” (No, I’m not repressed, there’s just a certain appropriateness of time and place to follow). My neighbour turned around and said with a straight face, “Jackie, do you need a bib?”

That made me laugh and laugh before I answered with a resounding “Yes!” For all her flaws that girl sometimes has spot on humour.

So I hurried to the bathroom, to clean up the mess. I took one long look at myself, heaved many sighs and it dawned on me what my response should have been:

“I don’t need a bib, I need a bed and the rest of the week off”

The thing about working with sales people is that while they’re not the most hardworking of people, their social skills livens the environment and lifts the stress every now and then.

Strangely though, now I feel ready to face the week ahead.

I hope it lasts.

(In case you didn’t get it, the thing that counts is laughter)

The creative juices: Watch them flow

Hm.

I was going to write about work then thought the better of it since it’s a little too close to home (i.e. it would positively identify me. Yes, still that paranoid).

So I’m exploring other possible topics, like for instance:

1. How Not to be Mundane.
   
   (Hm, nope. Nada. Zilch. No ideas.)

2. My Exciting Weekend!!!
   
   (Err…I’d have to lie for this one. And just looking at the exclamation marks wears me out)

3. The Art of Zen.
   
   (ah hah hah hah hah! Someone stop me before I bust a blood vessel!)

4. Three Easy Steps to Growing Your Bank Balance.
   
   (Step 1: Rob The Bank.)
   
   

5. ………*I’m thinking damnit!*
   
   
   

Arghh! To hell with it, I’m going to sleep.

Work

It’s been a slow week and this marks the first time I’ve ever seen my calendar scarcely populated since I started work here about a month plus ago. And even though I’ve worked late a few times this week, it was to do re-work on past proposals, nothing new and exciting. In a way it’s been a good break from the usual hectic schedule. It’s given me the opportunity to hang out a little and get to know the new colleagues. They’re an amiable bunch. I foresee good working relationships being formed.

Work-wise, it’s been a pretty steep learning curve. Most of what I’m being thrown into now is completely new to me. It’s both good and bad. Good because the room to grow is virtually limitless and bad because often it can be so overwhelming sometimes that I end up feeling like a drowned rat (and often end up looking like one too!).

But at least I know I don’t regret anything, and that is enough for now.

Update: That was written sometime late last week. As of now, work has piled up with several looming deadlines in the near horizon. That’s how quick things change. And even though I won’t be back to work till Wednesday, the thought of checking my email & calendar when I do, makes me shudder.

“Make no sudden movements, and no one will get hurt”

I long for escape. The blessed ability to let go. Release from having to be someone I no longer recognize. The silencing of the disquieting voices. Relief from sudden, unexplainable anger. The end to all this melodrama. Blissful blankness.

I am so tired.

From the push and pull. From the up and down. The brief peaks, the debilitating lows.
(Rinse and Repeat: the only thing that’s constant)

Can you be divided and yet expect not to rip yourself apart?

How far must you run from yourself before you realize you haven’t budged an inch?

I did this.

(and I think I’m losing it)

Deja vu

While I was having breakfast this morning, a woman with her back to me arrested my attention. Truthfully, it wasn’t her at first, it was her killer boots: burgundy leather with towering heels (what can I say? I am true to my gender sometimes).

But as I checked out the rest of her, I was struck by the way she held herself, in a self-possessed watchful stillness, like she was in a world of her own, so ‘zen’ that she’d become one with her surroundings, neither affecting it, nor being affected by it. The immediate thought that leapt into my head was that she was not just obviously alone, but lonely.

I was ashamed at the thought, of how easy it had been to judge until I realized what drew me to that conclusion. You see, what she reminded me most of, was me. I was her. And when I was her, I was not aware of carrying my loneliness around like a brand on my forehead. I thought it was secret only I knew. I thought I gave the impression of being a girl, self-confident and independent enough to be totally comfortable being out on her own. It was also what I thought of other women whom I saw alone.

So why do I think otherwise now? Is it that having been there, I’m now more adept at detecting this mask in others? Or have I become the very thing I detest? I pray it’s the former.

It's good to stay in the Y! M! C! A!

Obviously another ‘happening’ wedding, heh.

A relative’s wedding this time round but under The Parents (and miscellaneous Relatives) watchful eyes coupled with the duties as designated driver, the consumption of free alcohol was impossibility. Oh how my heart bled at the sight of all that alcohol passing through the lips of less worthy people. Damn them all!

Hm. This story could probably end here as nothing of any interest happened at all i.e. No Alcohol = No Fun for Jackie.

(“Do I need you because I love you or do I love you because I need you?”)

Just a couple of observations:

If there’s a dance floor, when a love song starts playing (“Wonderful Tonight” is always a sure bet) and your lady gets that wistful, longing, dreamy look in her eyes, gently take her hand and ask her to dance. Trust me, she won’t even notice your two left feet because she will be floating on air. And that sparkle in her eyes? Priceless.

Attending weddings unaccompanied when you’re single and unattached is a curse, as we all know so well. Attending weddings ‘partner-less’ when you’re single and attached is almost equally torturous. The overdose of sappy romanticism, public declarations of love and all things ‘couply’ serve only to fuel the longing to have that someone’s hand in yours and his smiling eyes looking back at you.

I suspect the only reason that’ll be left for me to keep going to weddings (other than being duty bound) is the alcohol.

Experience (or lack of it) and Perception

I’m learning not to underestimate the strength of personal experience. New experiences and the insight they bring are the reason some days I’m almost completely convinced I know nothing at all. It is a singularly powerful motivating factor in the way we perceive, behave, and react to our surroundings. The same event can happen to a multitude of people at the same time and yet every observer’s reaction to it differs depending on each one’s internal makeup up till that point of time: a direct result of years upon years of ingrained experience.

The simplest experiment to test out this fact (I would say ‘theory’ but it’s so straightforward that I’m sure millions have thought of it way before your truly) is to try and re-watch movies after an extended period of time, a few years being ideal. Yes, it’s that simple. I’ve tried it and a previously harmless movie is set to give me nightmares tonight.

This personal experience thing is kind of funny actually. On the one hand it’s a tool that forces us to ‘grow up’, whatever that might be. We also tend to regard ‘experienced’ individuals with a respect afforded to the wise. However I think experience should also be digested with a certain sense of wariness because it’s a sure and easy path to cynicism. And while there’s nothing wrong with cynicism (only the very naïve are devoid of it), a person who puts too much store in past experience, using it to shoot down or dismiss new possibilities is in danger of ending up bitter and angry at a world that she thinks has let her down and is determined to continue to do so. Often times bad experiences especially, shrivels our courage. Making us fearful of taking risks, always expecting the same outcome.

I’ve never really needed experience before except for the purpose of cultivating empathy. Instead, what I lack in experience I more than make up for with an over active imagination as some unfortunately have been made painfully aware of. And yes, this imagination or in most cases the ‘looking ahead and imagining the worst’ is a fear just as paralyzing as experience can be.

Time

I’ve been thinking a lot about time these days.

About how futile it is to wish you could fast forward time, because eventually the time you were waiting for will come round and when it does, it has the gall to go ahead and pass you by!

It is just as similarly futile to try and hold back time, to try and make it slow down in order to keep the unpleasant at bay because whatever it is you dread will be over soon enough regardless of what you do.

The one constant about time? It passes. There’s absolutely no point trying to exercise control over it.

I know this isn’t any big revelation, everyone knows this implicitly, but if that is so, why then do we struggle so much against the passage of time? Wouldn’t it save us a whole lot of trouble to just learn to accept things as and when they come?

But you know the funny thing about ‘knowing’ things is that it has no relation whatsoever to what we actually do about it.

I really must focus on directing my smiles at the person who brought it on instead of absentmindedly glancing away at other people while I do it, which has eeriely brought many a returning smile from strangers. Yikes!