selamat tinggal 2008

The most cliche thing to be writing right now would be on the past experiences, the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the rainbows and the (arm)pitfalls that made up the last three-hundred-plus days of my life in 2008.

Bo-ring.

Please gag me with a spoon.

So going against the norm, let me proceed to tell you that I friggin' forgot when was the last time I took a dump. No, seriously. I FORGOT.

That must account for why the gastric pains had to sneak up on me and go 'boo' right in my face two days ago. And I got insulted by the doc for that.

"You forgot to take your meals, huh? Smaarrrtttt..." she went, without even looking me in the eye.

I coulda punched her in the face for that wisecrack.

I don't miss meals. Not anymore anyway. I'm trying to gain weight - add more mass to my boobs, which had gotten smaller over the course of the previous months. Stress? Not enough McD's maybe. So I'm busy firming them up with this RM6 bottle of boob-firming gel I found at the pharmacy some weeks ago.

I mean, I figure, what the heck. It's RM6. If it doesn't work, it's only RM6. Rather than I pay a couple of hundred or a couple of thousand Ringgit for some fancy massage shit at Marie Claire and find that it didn't work, RM6 is as good as RM6 goes.

And I've been doing some weird shit man. Really weird shit like I'm starting to become a bit fucked up in the head, way fucked up than I was anyway. Like Jiminy Cricket's gone on vacation, I'm being a total badass.

Goodbye conscience, it's hello ruthless babe. Bitch. Whatever.

I kinda like it.

Plus I've been massively chewing on these gummy things. It's like crack I tell you. Good stuff.

Oh yeah, I need a dress. Something cute. Provocative. Something that screams - OK, I'm not putting that up here. It's 'censored' 'censored' 'censored'.

Finally, the evil laugh.

Bwahahahahahahahahahahaaaa!!!!!!

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another shade of dark

The transition to the dark side is complete. I have done the morally despicable and there is no turning back. I am darker than dark.

Let me revel in this new power of corruption.

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here we go again

Ah, the games people play. Otherwise known as the 'let's see who can manipulate whom better' game.

It's a game I wouldn't bother playing because it's a dangerous game where you are treading on the fine line between manipulating and getting manipulated - and a higher chance of getting manipulated there - if you don't know how to play your cards right. I dare say it does give me the thrills though, the risque nature of the game but to constantly be on your toes, watching out for the red herrings AS you throw out YOUR red herrings to the other party and crouching low, waiting for the bait to be taken as you prepare to move in for the kill.. man, it's just tiring. Too much work.

So I don't understand why there are people out there who like to play the deception game - with several different people.

Wait a minute. Suddenly I've this sense of deja vu. Have I posted something about this before?

It's a game of risky dice, which one gets addicted to fast. Never mind that I've lost at this game once before. Like the foolhardy gambler who's just caught on to the tricks of the trade, one learns from experience when's a good time to throw in the chips, raise up the stakes, and cash in on the money. And if I lose some.. well, there's always some spare cash hiding in these pockets..

And we roll the dice.

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things you need to know

Insecure men are such turn-offs.

I had a recent 'experience' with yet another one of those kinds of men and while I was a lot kinder this time around when I was telling him that he didn't make the cut, he didn't take it too well. He didn't get mad or anything. He just started gibbering like some prissy diva about how he'll never find someone like me anywhere else in the world and golly gee, how unlucky it is that he will have to settle for a mediocre girl now I refuse to stay in the same picture as he.

And man, oh man... was it such a chore trying to drill the positive messages into his thick skull. The guy was just bursting with negative vibes.

I had to reassure him that it wasn't that he was ugly (he is definitely not ugly, but not my type) but that there just wasn't any chemistry. Among other things.

I felt kinda sorry for the guy. He struck me as someone I used to be many years ago when I was a whole lot more insecure about myself than I am right now, only a bit more worse.

It sucks that he is still that way even after all these years but as I learned the hard way, confidence can only come from yourself. While the struggle to break free against the confinements that have molded you into becoming an 'insignificant' person is a labourious process with full of defeats along the way, you can never get over your insecurities unless you learn to climb the hurdles life puts in front of you.

Like for me, I beat the surrounding people's (and my own) perception of who I am by joining a reality show. Maybe it's the most absurd thing to do for a lot of people but hey, I showed people that there are things that I can do. I surprised them all, didn't I? And it feels good although I didn't win to be able to tell people that I was on TV.

I will keep on challenging myself. I will keep on falling along the way but no matter. I will just have to pick myself up, dust the sand off my knees and continue my way.

I will evolve into a more confident person. You'll see.

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and it turns around

It's funny. Well, actually, it's not. It's not funny that people I am not interested in are expecting me to be interested in them when they keep on pestering me with inane questions like, "When are you going to see me again? Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh?"

My favourite doujinshi by Aijou Bank has this title: You Can't Hurry Love. Give me some time to contemplate, realise the wonderful things about you, be romantically swept off my feet and maybe, just maybe, you have a chance.

But the blokes usually just blow it by being excessively enthusiastic about everything that's me, me and me. I'm sorry. I don't enjoy talking about myself every damn minute of the day. I don't enjoy having to give an opinion about every damn thing that needs a commenting on. If I loved myself that much, I'd just give myself a damn good wank and feel the love stir deep within my heart - then go to bed.

If everything's ever going to be about me, when do we get to focus on you? In the end, I learn that you're desperate to please and man, nothing can be worse than a desperate woman. Oh wait, a desperate man.

Ah, but wait. There's another reason why it won't work with me. This little charade to get me to fall for you.

And the answer is, there is someone special to me. I can't get him out of my head, I can't get him out of my heart. Fucking parasite.

Seriously.

Oleh itu, don't try to push for things so hard. Gently, wrangle me away from the goddamn parasite. Give me a reason to believe you can be special to me without being such a parasite. Yeah, then I'll run into your arms babeh.

And we'll sing Eidelweiss on the mountaintop. Just like in the Sound of Music.

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hey, i don't like you

Hey, I don't like your fancy hair, fancy clothes,
the Armani jeans and the Gucci purse,
Strutting in your heels like a two-bit whore,
Two-bit whore, two bit-whore,
Fluttering your lashes, laid thickly with
Dior goo, Iconic Lashes whoohoo!
Think you're like some hot drama queen,
All you need is some guys wankin',
To keep your ego inflated, like the doll
you are (sexy, inflated, fuck me up),
Inflated doll mouth open wide,
Aaaahhhhh two-bit doo-wip, doo-wip,
Don't like how you talk Miss Country Hick,
The Fifth Avenue ain't for the likes of you,
Spread it wide, your legs, your legs,
Heels in the air, your vanity can't be compared,
Smash that mirror in your face,
Laugh smile so bloody red like a MAC lippie
in a shade called (guess what?) Bloody Red,
I don't like you, hey, hey, hey,
You and your fancy hair, a curly wig,
A cover for the no-brains within
that thin skull as fragile as porcelain,
Hey, I don't like you, yeah I don't like you,
Hey, I don't like you, yeah I don't like you (repeat to fade).

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the wounded heart

Ah, sakitnya hati ini.
Sakit hati kerana cinta tidak ke mana.
Sakit hati akibat ditipu berkali-kali.
Sakit hati kerana impian tidak menjadi kenyataan.
Sakitnya, aduh, mengapakah sakit ini wujud?
Bukankah sakit ini seandainya sebuah imaginasi?
Sakit ini tidak patutnya wujud.
Kurasakan begitu.
Kerana... ku tidak nampak luka yang nyata.
Calar-balar yang tersorok di bawah darah yang kering.
Ku tidak nampak semua itu.
Tetapi sakit ini tetap ada.
Jauh di dalam benak sanubariku, sakit ini tinggal.
Tidak akan ke mana-mana lagi.

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it must be...

It must be something that I did.
I must have done something wrong.
It must be so... musn't it?
Else you wouldn't be glancing away,
Pretending I wasn't there.
But I am here.
I am here in front of you.
So I wait. And I wait. And I wait.
You are not noticing me.
You don't want to notice me.
So I get up and walk to you.
You walk away, hurry, hurry.
What did I do wrong?
Was it the things that I said?
Was it the shirt that I wore?
Was it the way that I laughed?
Was it just me... for existing?
That's right.
I shouldn't exist.
The world doesn't need me.
Neither do you.
Neither do I.
If it means a world of loneliness,
I don't want to exist too.

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zettai unmei mokushiroku

The little bird with its the wing cocks its head to one side, it's watchful eyes peering at the upside down castle in the sky. Miracles are said to come true if you set foot in that place of mystery.

You could even... revolutionise the world.

The little bird with the injured wing stumbles in surprise, a shadow looming high on the wall is seen prancing with a sense of utmost glee - but there is nary a person in sight.

"Did you know? Did you know? The princess with the dreams of becoming a prince, her secret wish is to become the princess who will be protected by her charming prince. Her desire to protect is a facade, a facade for the fragile heart beating so softly beneath her milky chest," the shadow says with a musical lilt to its spoken words.

The princess dreams of becoming a prince, shouldering the burdens of the false princesses of the world to bring blossoms of smiles upon their dainty lips. She walks with courage and bravery, shoulders squared and chin up as she takes proud strides in the valley of malice and corruption. For the sake of their smiles... for the sake of a smile from...

Princesses can never become princes, she knows.

In her secret heart, she desires a prince. She desires to be the one to be protected.

The little bird with the injured wing lies still. Its body as cold as stone.

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the immorality of balloons

... you know. I have this stash of condoms at home - a box of chocolate flavoured rubbers and a handful of Durex rubbers in colourful foil casings - stuff that I nicked from a fashion party some months back.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. If you're going to be all Moral Police on me, fine. I didn't nick them OK. The stuff was just sitting around in glass bowls on the coffee tables.

They were party favours OK. Party favours. And it was a fashion party OK. Not some horrific orgy party where you swap partners and hump the furniture. Or pretend to be a lamp stand.

So anyway... the rubbers. They're hiding in this shoe box at home and I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do with them. I mean, sure, I know what to use them for but condoms, they're like a fucking party dress. You don't wear a party dress to work. You don't wear a party dress to the supermarket. You fucking wear a fucking party dress only when you've the fucking occassion for it and fucking hell, I don't have a fucking use for those fucking useless condoms because I fucking don't have a fucking partner to slide those slippery rubbrs on and fuck it all to hell!!!!!!!!! HAVE A HAPPY FUCK DAY TO ALL YOU FUCKERS WHO HAVE A FUCK TO FUCK.

There, the fury is unleashed. Now on to more important matters. I can do other things with my assortment of condoms. I can:
a. Puncture them with needles and then leave them lying around on certain people's desks in the office and hope that the best kind of shit happens to them.
b. Inflate the condoms by filling them up with strawberry jell-o. Then fling them onto random passerbys.
c. Chew on them when I get bored.
d. Try to fit my cat into one.
e. Dispose a condom in the office lavatory, no flushing, and wait for horrific reactions and rumours to run wild.
f. Nail a condom on my boss' office door.

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hey, yoda!

Today's a public holiday and I've decided to spare a few hours of my life today doing the most bourgeois thing a person of my standing in society could do - lepak in Starbucks. So here I am, my ass nicely warming up my wooden seat as I take delicate sips of my Christmas edition Toffee Nut Latte, iced with whipped-cream, and surf the Net like practically everybody else in this particular branch of Starbucks.

Ah, to be bourgeois. But it is a luxury I could only hope to afford perhaps twice a month until the money in my bank account runs low. God knows what I've been wasting my money on. It ain't Starbucks. Well, not really.

The fact is, I wouldn't even be here today (with two younger brothers in tow - and I also had to buy them a Starbucks drink each too) if not for the stupidity caused by Streamyx. Yeah, we can't use the Internet at home. Why? Who knows. Anyway it's been like that for some days and honestly, it wouldn't have bugged me so much (I've been keeping myself entertained by building myself an empire of lemonade stands in Lemonade Tycoon 2) if not for the other fact that is, I have to e-mail something to the office.

The other option I have is to actually drive the half-an-hour distance to the office and send in my document but that would have been stupid since the time spent at the office would only amount to a little over five minutes. So why waste time? Might as well go to Starbucks, waste my money, get myself on a caffeine high, contribute to the economy, make the world go round, send my document, download some comics and then well, get back to Lemonade Tycoon 2.

So here I am. Lame lame lame lame.

I love my Toffee Nut Latte.

By the way, did you know that if you put a picture of a tapir underneath your pillow, it would eat all your nightmares? Cool, huh?

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lamentation of the prune

Eh... prune!

Prune will help me with my constipation woes!

Prune will make me learn to fly!

Prune will make me as beautiful as She-Ra, sister of He-Man - alter ego of the pink-shirt-and-lilac-tights-wearing prince of Castle Gayskull! (No, I did not accidentally miss the 'r'.)

My mom, she was a constipated woman. Prune never worked for her. Neither did laxatives. Nor rotten milk. When I was born, I suppose I must have been quite the constipated babe. I remember being stuck in the loo for long periods of time ever since I was five.

It's a bad experience, constipation.

It's not too bad when you've got books to read in the loo though.

But I just read all my books and comics so going to the loo has become quite a dreadful task.

But I need to, you know. Poo. Because if I don't poo enough, I'm going to get colon cancer. That's what my mom says anyway.

But we don't have prune at home. So how? So how?

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Five minutes with... Sue the gorilla

SO there was this gorilla. And his name was Sue. One day, he enrolled himself into an astronaut program with NASA and guess whom he met? Oh, who else but the oh-so-gorgeous (I didn't say that), oh-so-charming (I didn't say that too), oh-so desirable (OK, I really didn't say that) hunky stud-muffin called Dr Sick Musjapa (wait, is he a Datuk now?) - Muzzy for short.
Well, it was the highlight of Sue's simian life. He ran straight for Muzzy and aimed for his crotch - but missed. Dang! Totally freaked out, Muzzy called for his bodyguards - two He-Man look-alikes in tuxedos, muscles rippling like violent waves beneath the satin - and they totally beat the crap out of Sue, whom afterwards became so super dejected like anything.
Charged with sexual harassment, Sue was immediately expelled from the astronaut program. Surat Melayu talks to Sue of the ordeal he went through and the embarrassment he had to endure as a result of failing to grab Muzzy's crotch.

Surat Melayu: Tell us how it felt like being kicked out of the astronaut program?
Sue: Oh, a regrettable decision for NASA I'm sure! They know that the only person who can pilot the rocket is me, Sue, not he-who-is-called-Muzzy - that good-for-nothing, ass-shaking, peach-faced pansy-boy. He, what can he do? Take a shit in the rocket and watch his crap float in zero gravity, that's what he'll do. And then they're gonna air it on telly and say, oh looky here kids, this is why you can't take a dump without thinking where your shit'll float off in space, hey? Then he's gonna jam the joystick up his ass and scream, "Oh, yoohoo! I'm like, the biggest ho in space! Woohhhh look at the cherry in my ass!" I'm not disappointed, not me. I know where I stand in this world and instead of feeling sorry for myself, I might as well think real big and aim to become a Hollywood star next.

SM: That sounds quite, erm, brilliant. How would you describe your relationship with your colleague Dr Sick Musjapa?
S: OK, so I wanted to fuck him real bad. Or maybe have him fuck ME real bad. I got a bit too excited when I saw him, you know. He, the biggest ho flying to Mars with me - in the same tin-can of a rocket? Whoooooo sweeeetttt... but you know, I bet you he only has a small banana in his pants so well, it's no loss. I mean, I'm still curious, but you know, no big loss. Uh-huh.

SM: Uh.. right. How did you come to be an astronaut? Any advice for the little ones who may also have the same dreams of travelling to new frontiers?
S: Naw. When I was growing up, my maw told me. Sue, you gonna be a strong gorilla just like your paw. And that was that. Then I was taken away into some research facility at the tender age of five where the people there mistook me for a girl gorilla (that's why I'm called Sue) and proceeded to do unthinkable things to me every friggin' day of my life! Anal probe! Have you heard anything scarier than that? ANAL PROBE!! So I thought, oh fuck myself to the worlds beyond, if I get myself to Mars, there ain't gonna be any fucking anal probes. Just me and a lifetime's supply of Caprisonnes. Strawberry flavour. So the advice I'll have for the little ones is this - STAY AWAY FROM THE ANAL PROBES.

Related story in Surat Melayu: Muzzy cries foul.

KUALA LUMPUR, Sunday - Renowned hunky astronaut Dr Sick Musjapa was admitted into the hospital this morning after being assaulted by an identified man at the back of Lorong Hj Taib, Kuala Lumpur.
Recounting his terrific experience to reporters, Musjapa said that the man, dressed in black fur and clad only in a pink apron (with heart motifs) just popped out of nowhere and proceeded to whack him with an exceptionally large banana.
"You can't believe how embarrassed I was! I was just about to give my boyfriend a blow-, uh, ahhhhhh... and this pervert comes up to whack my face with a banana!" wailed a distressed Musjapa in his king-sized cot, his voice muffled by the fluffy pillows engulfing him.
"And my boyfriend, he just ran! Waaahhh!!!! Then the ANAL PROBE! Lord, no!! The ANAL PROBE!!"
Collapsing into a fit with froth bubbling at his mouth, doctors immediately whisked Musjapa away and he was declared unfit to be interviewed.
It is understood that police have a clue as to whom the suspect may be. However, they were unable to comment during press time.

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and they all puked

I don't get it. When did parties start revolving around booze, the flashing of extreme cleavages and puking on the bathroom floor? And in addition to that, having your hand held by an absolute stranger and if you're unlucky-er, having your butt groped by some faceless person lost in the crowd.

Parties - if I remember them correctly - should be about pizza, chips and coke. Plenty of coke. The Coca-Cola variety, not the plant. And maybe cupcake parties with musical chairs for entertainment.

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Oh me, to be KOMUNIS

I think I'd like that. You know, to be a KOMUNIS. There's something fascinating about being a KOMUNIS.

I'd get to lug around a big-ass gun (preferably a rocket launcher or say, maybe a machete will be cooler), wear a jumpsuit with those really cool camouflage motifs and then yell like a madman right smack in the middle of a jungle. I'd get to sit in bushes and eat whatever that grows from the ground and invade villages on bicycles.

Oh, but that was the Japanese. Oh, what the heck. I'm half-Japanese. So that makes me half ASKAR JEPUN.

But still, being KOMUNIS rocks. Cos being KOMUNIS means I can do yoga. I can do pole dancing. I can strip in my backyard and shimmy my ass to Britney's Womanizer. Being KOMUNIS means I can eat three tubs of ice-cream and not get diarrhoea. Cos there's some kind of hidden power behind being a KOMUNIS. It's a little like being like Mumraa, the Ever Living. Yeah, that's being a KOMUNIS.

And then I'll rape all the cute guys I see. And they will beg to be raped. And I will tie them up to my bedpost and have my way with them AND I WILL HAVE MY WAY WITH THEM. Because that's the KOMUNIS way of doing things and I am KOMUNIS.

Ah, where art thou cute guy???? Join me and be KOMUNIS with meeeeeeeee..... we will have hot and heavy monkey sex all day longgggggg and we will wreck the bed and drive the neighbours mad with all the moaning and groaning and banging the bedpost against the wall and we will have hot and heavy monkey sexxxxxxx but I said that all ready and it's because I want to be a KOMUNIS dammit because I'm totally sex-starved and I want sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex and sigh.

Don't I just miss the pleasures of the flesh.

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Pole Dancing - The New Frontier

Majlis Fatwa Kebangsaan kata senaman yoga haram buat mereka yang Muslim. Tentunya ramai diantara penduduk-penduduk Malaysia yang membazir wang setiap bulan di pusat-pusat kesihatan (dengan tujuan hendak melangsingkan badan kononnya, tapi lepas sekian lama pun badan mereka tetap berupa seperti badan dugong) seperti di 'Kesihatan Selebriti', 'Kesihatan Sebenar' dan 'Kesihatan Pertama' yang berasa marah dan kecewa dengan keputusan majlis. Kata mereka, yoga is da best. Yoga memberikan fleksibiliti yang sebelumnya tidak dapat tercapai di kamar. Hebat! Sekarang nampak gayanya, dengan mempraktiskan yoga dalam kehidupan seharian, anda juga tentu dapat meniru gaya-gaya ajaib di dalam teks Hindu yang terkenal iaitu Kama Sutra.

Tetapi, fatwa tetaplah fatwa. Keputusan Pak Mufti memang tidak dapat diubah. (Tapi kalau engkau nak tunjukkan rasa tidak puas hati - telefonlah Talian Panas Surat Melayu. Kalau nak lagi drastik, kita memboikot Pak-pak Mufti di Malaysia, jangan kita 'selebret' Hari Raya Haji.)

Apa-apa hal pun, kalau engkau nak membunuh diri dengan menerjun ke dalam longkang besar pun aku tak kisah. (Hanya Surat Melayu saja yang akan kisah. Itu cerita sensasi woo.)

Tetapi sebelum engkau menerjun ke dalam longkang dengan membabi-buta, apa kata engkau cuba pole dancing dulu. Apa? Apa itu pole dancing? Bak kata dalam Bahasa Melayu (dan bukan Bahasa Malaysia, ya - let's be politically correct), tarian tiang.

Hah! Tarian tiang? Apa itu tarian tiang? Alah, kau tengoklah video clip Britney tu, yang ada adagen minah rambut 'blonde' itu berpaut pada satu tiang besi, macamlah beruk yang terpaut pada pokok pisang.

Hish, tak senonoh nampak, kata Makcik Esah. Apakah faedahnya nak menggesel-gesel badan pada tiang besi? Kalau Pak Kadir rumah sebelah nampak, mesti 'stim' jadinya. Orang tua tu sudahlah dah tua ganyut, miang pulak tu.

Tapi janganlah kita pedulikan kata-kata Makcik Esah, seorang wanita yang sudah ketinggalan zaman.

Kata pakar kemasyarakatan, Pole Dancing is The New Frontier. Pole dancing bukan sekadar mengeratkan hubungan silaturrahim dengan saudara terdekat kita, iaitu beruk, tetapi anda juga dapat membakar lemak dengan aksi-aksi yang penuh memberangsangkan. Kaedah senaman ini juga boleh diamalkan tanpa was-was kerana tiada unsur-unsur agama lain yang terlibat. Tiada perkataan seperti 'om' atau 'namaste' atau 'anyon haseyo' dilafazkan.

Apa yang anda perlu bimbangkan hanyalah mata liar Pak Kadir yang tinggal di rumah sebelah.

Oleh itu, marilah kita meninggalkan ajaran sesat yang bernama yoga dan marilah kita ber-pole dancing ke arah kemajuan negara Malaysia.

Malaysia Boleh!

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a chilly night

A feeling of loneliness permeates the air as I examine the beautiful interior of my hotel room. The cool air brushes against my skin and I shiver, momentarily.

I am in Cameron Highlands on a work assignment and all the loveliness surrounding me seems almost wasted for someone so horribly, horribly single.

I say it as if it were a disease.

(Perhaps it is.)

My eyes sweep over the chaise longue, with comfy pillow propped up on either side of its armrests. It will remain unoccupied for the entire duration of my stay. The veranda over-looking the scenery dotted with fields and hills will remain unvisited. I will only occupy a part of the bed, and only the bathroom will be utilised. I will only use what is necessary.

What a waste.

A hotel room meant for two occupied by a single person. It is a luxury that is lost on me. In the cool atmosphere of the highlands, I would much rather be snuggling on a cramped, rickety bed with somebody else to share the warmth of our bodies than to lie awake under bedsheets that barely takes away the cold.

Lying all alone in a big bed is sadness. Occupying a hotel room on my own is sadness.

I hate this feeling.

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absolute destiny apocalypse

Depressed one day and happy the next.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm going to die soon. Sometimes I wonder if he'll get run over by a truck soon.

That's kinda cool.

Woooo. He got run over by a truck - a flower truck, no less! Can I poke his corpse then? Poke poke. Poke poke. With a big stick. Icky.

Anyway, I've been entertaining myself by reading the later volumes of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. I'm at Volume 72 now. Crazy, huh? There's up to 92 volumes to date and that's all good because I've all ready run out of books to read. Books are too expensive and I've all ready utilised this month's book allowance. And next month's.

So. Jojo.

It was by pure chance that I started picking up on the series. Ages ago, my brother accidentally bought the wrong manga title. And he bought the third volume, which was awful to read because of all the gruesome scenes. But that's Jojo for you. Just like how the other action manga of that era were. Like Fist of the North Star.

But well, what the heck. If you ended up reading the third volume, no matter how gross the story was, you just have to backtrack from the first volume to find out what makes the story so gruesome to begin with and then of course, you can't stop after that because there are so many other volumes after the third just waiting to be read. Then before I knew it, I reached the second part of the Jojo series and then the third, and that was when it became really exciting.

I just love the whole concept of Stands - what each Stand can do is unique to each individual so you have a Stand that can stop time, a Stand that can magnetise objects, a Stand that can kill you in your dreams, etc.

If I had a Stand, I want my Stand to have the power to manipulate minds which I think is the best kind of power to have. It's better than being invisible and it's better than being able to fly. If I can manipulate minds, I can easily get people to hand over their money without a fight and I can easily tell them to lie motionless in the middle of the road while I wait for that great flower truck to speed by and run them over.

Yeah, that's cool.

So where's that flower truck?

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and it all falls down

It's stupid. To think that an e-mail could frazzle my nerves. I saw his name in my inbox and thought that he had sent me an e-mail. Bzzt. Wrong. It was one of those generated e-mail things, inviting me to join an online social network. Figures. He would have sent the invite to everyone in his address book, and my address was probably automatically added to the list as well.

And then I fell. Into a never-ending bottomless pit.

I felt depressed.

I tried drawing a picture of a cow. It looked something like a cross between an obese dog and a buffalo. Hideous. I threw the drawing away.

There was a time you know, when I thought about the unfairness of the situation we were in. I thought... were the circumstances different, we would have had it easier. That we could be together.

Cue back to now, and the answer is: Fat chance of that. Regardless of the body I was born into, he will have remained the asshole that he is. I hate that fucking shithead. Because I love that fucking shithead. And I really curse the part that I can't get him out of my mind. All because of some dumbass e-mail that he didn't REALLY send.

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you're just disillusioned

Shut the fuck up. No, really, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

You want to know the truth? You. Are. Disillusioned.

You wanna talk about injustice? Stuff that crap. You lot, who have nothing better to do than to bitch about people the damn long day, have no right to talk about injustice.

Kau ingat kau tu bagus sangat ke?

Then bila time nak complain, dialah No. 1. Bising macam anjing kena sepak. Come up with more creative excuseslah. What the fuck. Say that you're too retarded to handle responsibility. Or that your STD gets in the way of productivity. Validlah kot. You probably have an STD or two anyway.

Hello. You should realise that the problem lies with how you manage your time and how you prioritise matters.

Mengaku jelah. That's why you'd rather sacrifice time that could be spent doing more important things at home, like sorting the clothes in your closet according to colour, to bumming around at the office just to bitch and bitch and blacken your heart even beyond the blackness that it all ready is.

Fuck you man. FUCK YOU.

Babi. Fikirlah sikit. Who gives praise to pigs anyway?

NOTE: If it doesn't make sense, that's because the missing text has been placed between comment tags.

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i rip my heart out in pain, in vain

Kill me, why don't you, kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me.

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the tempest within

I wish not to care.

There is too much fury in me.

It manifests in my dreams.

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what awaits is boredom

'Great' isn't exactly the word I'm looking for. 'Great' in a sarcastic way, yes.

I just finished reading that book, Brisingr, and I find that there's nothing left for me to read at home. Great. So I'll need to buy new books. I'll need to get my car fixed. I'll need to.. get waxed. And a family dinner's planned for tomorrow.

Do I play Katamari Damacy again?

Whatever happened to my Typing of the Dead CD?

Lately, it's been hard to rouse myself up from bed in the mornings. I know I have sufficient sleep (eight-and-a-half hours, that's good enough for any growing girl) but whenever the alarm rings, I just feel totally whacked and tell myself, five more minutes. Which of course, becomes fifteen. Then half-an-hour later.

I wonder if this is what they call burnout? But I've only been doing whatever I'm doing now for three weeks! Isn't it too soon to be burnout? I haven't been going home that late anyway since work for me, gets completed by the time 'real' office hours end. I love doing what I do anyway - as long as what I have to do isn't too lame so why, why, why?

Do I have to go to the gym? Is it a matter of stamina? Or maybe I'm just destined to lie in my bed with all my books forever after all.

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small things make me happy

You've heard this plenty - but I will say it again. The last six months was hell. A wacky roller coaster ride with a plethora of all the great things which make a drama so great - heartache, heartbreak, disappointment, lies, betrayal, scandals and backstabbing. Oh, and let's not forget the one thing which I'd never experienced in the years before - character assassination.

But that was then... and they will most likely continue along the same journey as me. Well, what to do. I'm a magnet for all these things, I guess.

Yesterday, I nearly cried in the office. There was stress yes, and you know me - I have a tendency of making my life revolve around problems - but the tears that jumped to my eyes, the emotions that blossomed in my heart - they happened because I realised just how much I missed, and love, writing.

Perhaps it wasn't the most exciting things that I wrote about but to sit down at my desk, and let the words flow from my mind to my fingers to the screen after some hours of toiling under the hot sun on muddy terrain was... nothing short of amazing. It was like rediscovering an old love that I had forgotten for so long.

I had second thoughts. And I thought to myself - will I not give myself another chance to prove what I'm worth?

It is. A gamble.

I am not a strong person. I may not... cry in public. Nay, my pride does not allow for that but inside, I have a fragile heart. I care about what people have to say about me, a little too much sometimes, and being alienated scares me. But as long as I find pride and satisfaction in the things that I do best, everything else should not matter, should they?

And I think... and I laugh... and I cry...

Two years ago, I lost what was dear to me. Nothing else mattered but my work, my writings - they were the anchors that kept me going. Now... different situations, same shit. And while I do have more things to be thankful for, my writings still give me the secret joy to continue plodding on with my life.

Three different people told me the same things: Be with the devil you know than with the devil you don't know. Will I be able to withstand this devil? Will I have the strength and perseverance to come out on top? Will I... (where is that girl with the crazy antics, the one who'd get her friends to laugh along with her?)

Please help me God. This is the time when I need you the most.

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it starts with 'i'

Kind of like how the first line in Linkin Park's 'In the End' song goes - but the only difference, and the crucial difference, which I have learned is that it all begins with 'I', the self, and not, nay, never - love.

It cannot be, you see. Why? Love is not eternal. Were it eternal, then how could I stop feeling the way I used to feel, that feeling I believed to be love, for certain people who used to belong? You may argue, too, that the self disappears after a period of time on Earth and thus, it cannot be eternal as well.

Well, smarty pants. Eternity, I believe, lasts for as long as you exist. So as long as I, this self, exists - I am eternal.

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another year comes to a close

It is October 2008.

Was it really half a year ago when... and the repercussions... and the mixed feelings of bewilderment and defiance and despair and ecstacy and... the sex and falling in love... and moving on yet looking back and wondering... and...

It is October 2008.

Two years ago, this time, right now... I... A year ago, this time, right now... I...

The disappointments. The humiliations. The anger. The agony. The loneliness. The tears. The fears.

I've grown. Where are the tears? Hiding behind a happy smile. Where are the fears? Hiding behind a newfound confidence. The others, they remain still but slowly they disperse under the waves of new emotions.

It comforts me to know that I've been hurt, countless of times. Only when I've felt the bitterness of life, can I truly appreciate the beauty of a sweeter predicament.

The year end draws near. I feel, that my life is too.

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a milestone achieved

So many things have happened I can't begin to describe them all. I try my best not to be so full of myself though, because something really happened today and I'm still reeling with a most pleasant buzz in my brain that finally, there are people out there who see me for the potential I have and recognise my talents. Most importantly though, is that there are people who want to give me a chance - a chance at something big, that will no doubt have more than a few people going green with envy.

But pride must surely come before a fall, and I have a master plan to stick to so alas, that priceless moment when I can finally gloat like nobody's business has to be put back on the shelf. It's a pity. For once, I wish I could shove this under the noses of the people who have made my life an everyday depression disaster and tell them, look, you can kick me all you want but I won't ever go down the way you want me to.

After the many years of mediocrity, this is truly a milestone achieved.

Keep it up, me. All it takes is a bit more confidence, a bit more positive thinking.

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obladi oblada

Uncertainty is still pretty much certain, where my future is concerned. Just when I decided once and for all that I would grab that uncertainty and make things certain once and for all before heading off to a new working environment, life throws me a curve ball and new developments are instantly in the picture. I was confused, angered and then I realised that the certainty I wanted was staring me in the face - although it wasn't exactly the way I hoped it to be.

But really, everything's good. Better than I could hope for even and this is where I surprise myself, and everybody else. I realise that I am a strong person after all. There are no mistakes in my life - just experiences.

It just goes to show that life can sometimes be very unpredictable - but I can take control of my life by being certain about what I want to do.

After I leave my current workplace, I am going to take singing lessons. It's going to cost money, but to do the things I've always wanted to do will be the best gift I can every give myself.

I used to despise the person that I was. Right now, I quite like me though, this silly girl that I am. I'm going to love myself more because I am someone worth loving.

I love me.

Fucking narcissist.

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come, stay, walk away

The truth is no longer relevant and where I stand is no longer immaterial. You made it this way. And that is why I am taking the key and locking the door, shutting it in your face. That will be the barrier between you and me.

Where I stand is on one side of the door. Where you stand is the other. The truth is that the key remains in my pocket, the door locked until you decide to cross the border. How you cross the border is by convincing me to unlock the door for you. How you plan to convince me is extraneous. That is your problem.

Should you you decide to remain there, that is your problem. Should you decide to walk away, that is your problem.

My problem is no longer you. You are your own problem.

Touche.

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it's called strategising

All my life, I have been plagued with mediocrity. I was always never pretty enough, never smart enough, never talented enough, never popular enough - you see, the list doesn't quite end because I was born a mediocre person.

I'm going to stop being mediocre and this is going to change by taking charge of the things in my life which I can actually make improvements on, or even, change drastically.

It makes me sound like I am unhappy with my life. You are who you are, be happy with the person you are!, you might say but well, there's always something bigger out there and if you think I'm all ready a great person, thank you, but I don't want to be great - I want to be fab.

I have my shortcomings and I can lament about them the whole day but I am going to overcome them and rise above my state of mediocrity. I will become fab. Being fab means I am in control of my life. I believe that if I can become beautiful, confident and happy, good things will come to me. And good things WILL come.

Control is something quite important to me and I will have my occasional stumbles, but as long as I don't lose sight of my goals then control and achievement will be attainable. So what if it's all about me, me, me? As long as I do not hurt others in the process of developing myself to become a better person, it ought to be fine.

It's also way easier being all about myself because I only have me to deal with, unlike being in a relationship where you have another person with different ideas, goals and limitations to deal with. And in relationships, the emotional factor comes into play and me, emotional me, has a habit of fucking things up all the time.

About where I want to go with my career, for example, is simpler. I create a goal and I move towards it. If I fail, I can try again. It's only game over when I've given up on myself.

In a relationship, it's game over if the other person decides to kill you in the middle of the game and steals all the tokens away from you. Huh.

So it's like that and I can tell you that there is no mention of a relationship anywhere in my master plan. It makes everything professional that way.

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this beautiful ugly world

Am I hot? Am I hottttttttttttttttttt???????????????

Anyway, I got super pissed. Well, not exactly, but I gave this guy the scolding of the day when he suddenly called me up at half past midnight to say that he's driving towards where I live, wherever that is.

I was like, whaaaattttttttt????????? I berated him for pulling such a crazy stunt on me and really, if I was going to be such a bitch about it I would have just told him that he'd have to turn back home because my address is not for him to know. But me, I'm a kind girl. So I went to have a drink with him nearby and scolded him some more.

Finally, I just firmly said that since now he knows where I live, if ever he decides to make a last minute announcement like the one he made or drop by unannounced, I will beat the shit out of him - and then report him to the police for harassment.

Then today, he had the cheek to text me after work hours to ask me out - we can do whatever he want, he added. I replied: NOT TODAY.

Man, some people are so persistent.

Now, I understand why a lot of the guys I've been with hate surprises.

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my broad shoulders

Someone once told me that my shoulders are broader than anyone's so I should stand up tall, stand up straight, stand up proud. I don't know when she said that my shoulders are broad, if she meant it literally because indeed, my shoulders are broader than on an average girl with my body build but these words, I take to heart every day.

These words ring clear in my head every time I feel down. As I get ready to face the hostile world, I pause, square my shoulders and take that first brave stride with a deep breath. It becomes easier to walk forward then. It becomes easier to look ahead then.

I wait to become the girl, whom you will see and notice her and say, "That girl, she walks with confidence."

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things i learned

What I learned from my self-help books on relationships is this: Always take things slow, proceed with caution, stay firm to your own terms and never ever have sex with the guy until you've gone out with him for at least six months until wherein you can determine whether you are a 'good for now' girl or the girl 'for keeps'.

This is an advice I should have read about before jumping into the previous relationship. Seriously.

Anyway, there's this guy who's quite interested in me. We met online via match.com and we went out for the second time today. He's quite all right, different from the last four guys definitely in that he's more generous with his money (he wanted to buy me shoes today and I got dragged into this shoe store to try on some pairs but I lied that the shoes weren't comfy - I am so gonna buy this one nice pair soon, without him of course), more gentlemanly (he carries all my things, never mind if it's just a small plastic bag containing seven big curry puffs from Old Chang Kee) and for now, not someone I will term arrogant or has a big ego. He's all right I guess. A bit nerdy looking, but not too bad.

But he's not exactly what I'd say someone who'll have me lusting over him.

So well, he wants to see me like, every day. I'm the only girl he is seeing (he likes to concentrate on one girl at a time and here I am, sort of trying to serial date like the books said I should) and the worst part is, he told his mom about it and the mom's fine with it. Today's only the second time we've met!

It's kinda funny, me trying to rationalise with him and telling him to take it easy, that he still hasn't seen the rotten side of me and that it takes more than just two dinner dates to really get to know a person.

I am not discouraging him. It's just that the last two relationships, especially the last one, really did teach me the value of sticking around long enough until you know the person for who he really is, rotten side and all because once you've fallen (or once I'd fallen) you are most likely to hang around despite finding out the guy's really quite crappy after all because you're in too deep and will endure the pain until comes a point where you can take it no more.

And there's the other guy... whom I kissed the other night.

Ah, I miss him so much tonight! I miss his strong arms and warm embrace, the heady scent of his perfume. The eyes that burn so intensely, yet twinkle with humour.

I am so fucked.

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why do we keep on fighting?

Yesterday, the one who uttered the harsh words that he will no longer have anything to do with me called. I must be getting used to this because I wasn't all that surprised when I saw his name flashing on my phone display. I suppose he must have been curious, or that his ego caught him by the elbow and told him, look, this is where you butt in and tell the girl that no friend she has is as big, as kind, as generous, etc. as you.

Which was sort of what the gist of the conversation was about anyway.

Ours is a volatile sort of relationship. Hot and cold. A wave of serenity followed by the eruption of a volcano. I wonder if these are the things which draw us to each other. The drama, the excitement, the sheer un-predictability of all the elements which make us and break us.

Little things can easily break the peace, and the repercussions can be great. Just like throwing a small pebble into the lake, creating ripples far and wide. Yet, eventually the ripples will peter out and once more, calm is restored as the pebble gently sinks to the bottom of the lake, filling it up with the memory of the little object which had caused the disturbance to take place.

Despite all that, when we move away, we find ourselves coming together. We find an attraction between us that sometimes, is hard to ignore.

Really, what sort of a relationship is this? We hurt and we get hurt. The cycle continues, we return for more.

He came to see me last night - a peace-making outing that half-way snaked itself into yet another full-blown argument before the steam let off and we were back to being friends again. We talked of work, the things we wanted to do in the future, traded advice on the ill situations in our life. We ate at McDonald's.

He looked at me, admired me openly. Tucked my hair gently behind my ear. He held my hand and I held his. He asked for a kiss and I touched my lips to his before we arrived back at my gate.

I really don't know how I feel for him. Love sometimes, lust sometimes, admiration sometimes, anger and jealousy and frustration combined too.

Maybe I want to keep him by my side. Because I see parts of 'myself' mirrored in in him - the past, the present and the future. We're too similar, yet we are different and this is why we will keep on fighting.

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achievement of the day

Yesterday, I lost my temper. I made mistakes. Someone got really pissed with me. I think the friendship's broken for good. I went home depressed and went straight to bed, because depression makes me tired, and took a nap hoping that it's the kind of nap that spells forever.

But eventually I got up because some friends pestered me to do something and not mope around. So I joined some colleagues, former and present, to celebrate a colleague's last day at work at a club.

It was exhilarating, not because of drink, not because of the music, but because I was in very good company. We laughed, we bitched, we traded stories and my last few hours of the day was instantly a whole lot more perkier thanks to their encouragement.

I may not be all that fab now, but there will come a time. I know it.

And I danced, for the first time in public. It wasn't so scary after all, because I was with people whom I felt totally at ease with. That's another check on my list of things to do in public to bolster my self confidence.

I think I can move on easier now.

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oh so pretty

Today, I blew a wad of money on clothes - which are absolutely necessary of course. Raya's coming, and I am now prepared, because I got myself two baju kurungs. One is white with magenta roses and the other gold with a songket bottom and embroidery detailings at the sleeves and neckline. They are such beautiful things, and they fit so wonderfully that I knew I had to have them. Money, well, money is no issue as long as it saves the hassle (and as long as I am not broke yet) and now I shall be hassle-free because I don't need to go baju Raya hunting anymore!

Anyway, I was an hour early to an assignment today and since I'd been at that shopping mall three times during the whole of last week, I wasn't so keen on going about and window shopping in the same boutiques for the fourth time (even Borders has gotten stale) so I did something I never would have done before: I got myself a room in Redbox and had a karaoke session all to myself.

Such a liberating experience! To be able to hog the mic and sing all the songs I want. Great stuff. I must do that again!

Other things to add: I am trying to get a new-found friend to sell me his unused mini trampoline so I can do my own Celebrity Fitness-style PowerJump sessions in my room and we shall start, with my butt! Firm and tone! Bikinis, here I come!

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conversations in my closet

That, is going to be the name of my column. Why Conversations in my Closet? When playing hide-and-seek when I was younger, one of the typical places to hide in was the closet and sometimes, it gets boring (when you happen to be playing with younger siblings who took a long time to find you) so I'd conjure up conversations with imaginary characters in my mind. Nowadays, I can't climb into the closet anymore. But I still have conversations with imaginary characters in my mind when it gets boring.

I'm not loony. It's just a lot more fun than say, watching some mindless Korean drama.

Anyway, I love masks. I love the ones that you slather on and peel off instead of the wash-off ones which are so much of a hassle. I'm not too crazy of the masks, the thin cloth things which are usually oversized and needs adjusting to accommodate all the areas of your facial skin. But those things, they usually come in lots of 'flavours' and the scent really appeals to me so I'd go buy myself a few packs which are infused with berries and stuff. I love the ones from The Face Shop. They have a large variety of masks there, not too ordinary things too.

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dance workout with Helen

Oh Helen, she's like my best bud.

OK, I've obviously gone cuckoo because I've done the unthinkable. I went and bought myself a dance workout DVD. Oh, the horror! I really can't believe I went and did that considering I'm, you know, twenty-four and not quite desperately tubby yet. But the fact that this little plastic box is staring me in the eye is no joke: Dance Workout with Helen. All bling-bling and pink fonts. Oh, the horror!

So, I've been doing a bit of dancing in my cramped room and I look quite ding-dong when I catch myself in the mirror. I'm horribly rigid, I don't know why since nobody is looking anyway (except for Helen and her two backup dancers but they don't count) and my dance routine looks as exciting as watching my cat eat. No!! What happened to boosting my sex appeal??

Huh. So tonight, me and Helen workout again. Hopefully it gets better and one day I'll actually know how to dance without prancing around looking like a beheaded chicken.

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exotica erotica

It strikes me dumb whenever a member of the opposite comments that they like my 'exotic' look. Exotic. Exotic to me, are the girls of Hawaii, of Rio de Janeiro, of Cuba. Exotic to me, are coconut drinks, grass skirts and salsa sauce. Exotic to me, by whatever reason whatsoever, is definitely not me.

Certainly for the guys of Hawaii, there's probably nothing exotic about their girls - after all, it's the same bunch of girls day in and day out. And for a lot of people, 'air kelapa' is what they'd usually buy to pair up with dessert at least once a week from the 'pasar malam'.

Exotic means 'unusual'. What is so unusual about the way I look? You see me... you think, oh Chink. What's so exotic about that then? Is it the pimples? Yea? Cos I'm twenty-four and should have left the pizza face days back in my teens?

It gives me this really strange feeling to be called exotic. Like I'm a flower from some unexplored jungle waiting to be plucked away by some bad, bad man. Now that sounds like a horrible analogy for a cheesy porn movie waiting to happen.

But what can I say when a guy told me that one of the main reasons he wanted to get to know me (and eventually get into my pants) was because of my so-called exotic look?

I don't like the way my nose looks. It doesn't sit straight on my face I think, and I'd rather something that looked a lot more noble, not snout-like.

Anyway, don't laugh just yet. Three people have commented to me that I look a bit like Sammi Cheng. The Honky actress. Weird.

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moving on, moving forward

Have I moved on? Have I? Have I?

Or I am merely in a dilemma? (Still? Gosh. Can a person be in dilemma for THAT long?)

One thing's for sure, although there are certain things that I can't get out of my mind, moving on has been a surprisingly, liberating move.

The stress that I once used to associate with the workplace has diminished and now I just couldn't care as much if the other colleagues are gossiping in a circle (which does not include me) because hell, I don't think they have any reason to gossip about me anymore now that I am just me, myself, the colleague who does her own work and minds her own business. Even if they wanted to gossip about me, there's hardly enough material to go around anyway so what, they want to take a stab at my clothes? Go ahead. At least I'm not fat and don't wear clothes that lovingly display rolls of fat or a paunch that more fittingly belongs to someone who is pregnant for two months.

I can talk to whomever I want. Joke. Laugh. Talk to the male colleagues and not worry that he will get offended! Even if he is, then so what? He used to offend me a lot by talking to certain female colleagues he knows I am clearly wry about so why should I care about his feelings anymore?

At the end of the day, we are just... friends. I don't know how it is from his side. But so what? Friends have the honour of offending friends. So if he can offend me, I can offend him. And nobody goes to bed all hot and bothered.

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save me from dilemma

I need.. to put on more weight. But I need to go to the gym. If not, I shall become a dugong in no time at all.

I want to meet Britney. Oh, I do! I do!

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to the one i cannot name part two

It's funny.

Things ended but I am not crying. Does this mean that I am a stronger person now? Does this mean that I am in denial? Does this mean that my feelings for you were that trivial? Or does this mean that I have resigned myself to the inevitable end ages ago?

But I still feel in my heart for you, and that is not a lie.

Ah, how hollow it feels to be yearning for the experiences we shared before all the things that had caused the breaks in the cracks in our 'exclusive' relationship had come to surface!

The first time I noticed you, was when I'd come in really late into the office in the wee hours of the morning, fresh from a shoot in Taiping. The first time I talked to you was that evening itself. I had two boxes of donuts to distribute and I offered you one, bursting into aimless chatter which had you laughing. I liked you instantly.

In the coming days, I will purposely come to the office and stay till late, just so I'd catch a conversation with you. We started flirting, shared our own inside jokes and ventured into a territory where we were just comfortable with each other.

Do you remember... the stolen touches in the office, when we used to sit next to each other? The nasi lemak dates? Kisses in the lift? Staring at the stars outside your house as we munched on Mars bars and guzzled apple juice? How carefree we used to be then - and it wasn't even such a long time ago!

Good things will always come to pass. I know that. I can only console myself that I have other things going for me, that a better man will come into my life. The truth is... were things different, I'd have been willing to stick with you. Despite all our petty arguments. Yeah. Because I loved you, you know?

"I like to hear (you say that you love me) but I like it better if you mean it."

I mean every single word I've ever said to you.

Good luck to both of us. If only things were different... and I wasn't Malay... and you weren't Indian.

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to the one i cannot name

When a relationship dies... a little part of you dies along with it.

Thanks for the memories, dear. You shall remain in my heart always.

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flirting, once upon a time

Boy: I wanted to say goodbye.

Girl: Did you want a goodbye kiss too?

Boy: (Pauses.) Then if I pushed you against the wall and kissed you before you go, would you protest?

Girl: I'd like to see you try.

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flying kick away the old attitude

Sans the love. Of course. Bad habits shouldn't be loved.

I solemnly swear that I shall be a better person, not because it is the fasting month, but because there is a great need for me to become a better person. It is, for MYSELF as I feel that I no longer see myself as a girl (although I did say oodles of times that I shall cease to become a girl only when I have reached the ripe age of thirty-five) but as a woman, and a woman should maintain certain qualities which make her attractive.

You know as well as I do as to what my character flaws are.

There is no need to elaborate as to what those flaws may be but while for me, those 'flaws' have always been the quirky bits that make me into the unique person I am, lately they are starting to developing into characters of their own, larger than life characters, which see me becoming an eventual version of a woman who should be scorned and well, I don't want that.

I want to be open still, yes, a person who speaks her mind but practicing careful tact. Gracious yet not a doormat. Demure on the outside, a smile for everyone but with a fiery protective spirit for the underdog.

And a person who looks confident in heels.

No more two-inch heels. We are upgrading.

I am woman!

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pink bear comes flying (with a kick and with love)

A night of numbness, and I wake up with a little smile (one that's obviously fake, of course). I've small reason to cheer up unless of course I take into consideration that there's free dinner waiting for me at the end of the work day.

But I am cheered up. An intern who is leaving tomorrow gave souvenirs to everyone and from her big bag of goodies, she drew for me a pink teddy bear with felt angel wings, dangling from a metal ring. I feel almost loved. I love bears. I love pink. I love angel wings.

Today is someone special's birthday. An exchange of words in the middle of the night left me feeling numb. I was stunned by the things that I heard - which I have no way of comprehending if they mean to tell me what I take them to be - words of indifference. A trickle of tears rolled off of my cheek and onto my pillow before I decided that I just didn't want to think about it anymore.

I'm taking a rain check on my sadness. Besides, it's much easier to feel numb than to feel sad, than to feel mad.

In my mind, I ask if I am not a friend? A friend who asks for respect, asks for a little special time with her special friend - and she gets relegated to the back of the queue. It's all hunky-dory because I am someone who will always be taken for granted. A few more steps... and then it will come to a time when I will leave for good.

Nevertheless, I still went up to him to wish him a happy birthday. I gave him his gift, a gift which I have spent money and effort on to make sure it is the right gift (and with a personal letter hidden within), and he is happy with the gift. Of course. It was something that he had asked for, something that I noticed that he was in need of and money can really do wonders after all. (This coming from a person who is not too appreciative of hand-made paper flowers made in amateur fashion.)

I don't know if he had all ready read the letter. I can't remember what I'd written all ready. It's so much easier to forget. Be numb.

It saves me from all the pain and heartache in the world.

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am i fabulous?

Of course I am! And there can be no one more fabulous than me - because I say so.

Anyway, a special friend's birthday's coming up and I'm trying to figure out how to make it special now that it clashes with the whole fasting month and a break fast function which I may or may not want to attend depending on if I have a plan or not first.

At least I got the gift ready - all that needs to be done is to wrap it. And I don't know how to present it. I'd like for my friend to unwrap it in front of everyone because that's always the best part about giving presents - the whole unwrapping bit - but I'm not so sure how my friend will like that, drawing attention to the fact that I had put in some effort (and what will be more obvious, the money) to get him a gift.

But that's how it is with the controlling types. It's hard to second-guess what they want because they expect you to know what they want. (As if I'm a mind reader.)

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reality check

Obviously, I am fabulous. I am gorgeous. I am intelligent. I am charming. I am a person of substance.

And because of those, you shall fall for me.

That's the way it shall always be.

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the art of being melancholy

I'm taking a break from the usual dosage of self-help books on relationships. So right now, I'm reading this book called Your Personality Tree. It's supposed to help me understand the way that I am and how I am able to cope with people of different personality types.

Barely into the second chapter, the book has all ready told me what type I am: A Melancholy with parts Choleric and Sanguine. (The book tends to categorise personality types into a whole X or a combo of Y and Z but I am definitely a mixture of R, S and T.)

I will only list the parts which I feel are true about me, as the book also notes that not all the traits may apply for every person because we're all unique and stuff.

Melancholy, The Thinker:

Emotions
Strengths
1. Deep and thoughtful
2. Talented and creative
3. Philosophical and poetic
4. Appreciative of beauty
5. Conscientious
6. Idealistic
Weaknesses
1. Remembers the negatives
2. Moody and depressed
3. Enjoys being hurt
4. Has false humility
5. Off in another world
6. Low self-image
7. Has selective hearing
8. Self-centered
9. Too introspective
10. Persecution complex
11. Tends to hypochondria


Work
Strengths
1. Perfectionist, high standards
2. Detail-conscious
3. Sees the problems
Weaknesses
1. Not people-oriented
2. Depressed over imperfections
3. Chooses difficult work
4. Self-deprecating
5. Hard to please
6. Standards often too high
7. Deep need for approval


Friends
Strengths
1. Makes friends cautiously
2. Faithful and devoted
3. Will listen to complaints
4. Can solve others' problems
5. Moved to tears with compassion
6. Seeks ideal mate
Weaknesses
1. Lives through others
2. Insecure socially
3. Withdrawn and remote
4. Critical of others
5. Holds back affection
6. Dislikes those in opposition
7. Suspicious of people
8. Antagonistic and vengeful
9. Unforgiving
10. Full of contradictions
11. Skeptical of compliments

Do you recognise these traits in me? I'm sure you do.

Because I am idealistic, I refuse to see the reality before my very eyes. Because I am appreciative of beauty I am depressed by the flaws I see in myself. Because I remember the negatives I find it difficult to move forward and constantly dwell in painful moments. Because I enjoy being hurt I will continue to let myself be hurt by people whom I care about although they may not care about me, but as I am idealistic I refuse to see the reality that they may not care about me and that I should move on. Because I am a person with pride, I will persecute those whom I find are less than perfect. Because I have selective hearing, advice does not work on me because I am stubborn and will only choose to hear what I want to hear. Because I am a perfectionist I get depressed and feel that life is not worth living when things do not go the way I want them to go and because of that, flawed people will never become my boyfriend. Because I enjoy being hurt I will choose difficult work to make my life more complicated than it all ready is. Because I am deeply insecure I need to be validated constantly and that is why I will ask you what you think of me at random moments to fish for compliments although compliments given without asking make me suspicious as to what the true motive behind those nice words may be. Because my character seeks to find the ideal mate I shall never tire you with grouses of not being able to find a boyfriend until I actually do find one. I am antagonistic and vengeful and I show this side of me through my sharp words and standoffish stance.

This is the Melancholy me.

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the idiot's guide to self-help

The inevitable thing has happened. I've flying kicked Agatha Christie novels aside... and embraced the terror that once was. That is to say, I've become addicted to buying and reading self-help books.

Within the last four months, I've bought at least ten of such books with dubious titles like: The Man-ual. The Surrendered Single. Unleashing the Inner Seductress Within. Crazy books with topics like how guys appreciate girls in miniskirts (duh!), how breaking up is a lot more liberating than living in Kenya, how to feel happy by jumping rope (and looking fitter and better at the same time), how to be a great kisser, etc.

There were some entertaining reads with some gem of advice thrown in between the pages, but others were major dud. I really don't need to know that a guy thinks about sex thirty times a day. I all ready know that. Heck, I do that. (I'm normal. I also happen to have more testosterone in my system than the average girl. That's why a specific part of my body isn't prominent enough.)

Anyway... you know what? I did this dumbass thing. Which is to follow the advice of this stupid book. Which is to hang out at certain locations in hopes of snagging an eligible guy.

So I went to the bookstore... and all I met were aunties and uncles browsing through the self-help section (ack!). Then I went to the hardware store... and all I met were grungy-looking construction men. And then I hit the bars... and all I met were unbelievably nerdy looking desperate men... and some cute foreigners but I am not interested in foreigners.

So what if I am the media! The only people I run into are the same media people day in and day out - and if I was never attracted to them the first time I met them ten months ago, how am I supposed to be attracted to them now?

Fucker...

I'm going to eat cookies and fume.

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fly, mo-neh, fly

And so the mo-neh flies... 'cos I have found myself a brand new vice - online shopping without a credit card!! Tadaaaaahhh!!!!!!!!!

How the heck did I managed that? Oh, it all began with that one website. They sell clothes on its site see, or more like blog. Then from there I clicked on a bunch links... and they all sell clothes too, see... and then I saw things that I liked. They were cheap. Some were branded, some were not.

Wanting wells inside my little heart. The pocket starts firing smoke signals screaming "Buy, buy buy!" The insignificant thing (now insignificant) called willpower collapses. I succumb. My closet shall have new additions. Muahahahaha... and comes again the cycle of broke-ness before we reach the end of the month. Dang.

But there are some really good finds online. And it's amazing that I don't even need to have a credit card to make my purchases. m2u is all I need. Everything will get PosLaju-ed to my house. No doubt my mom will start making inquiries as to what the things the postman drops off at our gate are. Never mind! At least it saves me the hassle of driving, wasting petrol, wasting toll money, wasting time going in and out of stores and finding that there's nothing that looks good.

Oh... I love the Internet. And me, and my salary, are fucked forever.

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the curse of the armpit hair

As far as I'm concerned, armpit hair serves absolutely no purpose to me. I don't know about you - maybe you actually LIKE having armpit hair 'cos it makes you feel warm and fuzzy (in a literal sort of way). Like, MAYBE. (Who knows?)

Anyway, I can't stand armpit hair. They're just unsightly things which shouldn't even exist in the first place. I'd lived for half my life without armpit hair, and that suited me really fine. Really, armpit hair just ruins everything there is about a girl. It's so unfeminine to have something growing out of a girl's pits. (Plus, a lot of guys find a girl with armpit hair gross.) And so, I invest in a razor - I use Gillette Sensor Excel Woman, by the way.

The other thing I can't stand is when I come across girls with stubbly armpits. Well, so it may be hassling to actually pick up the razor in the mornings while you are rushing your shower but if that is the case, do not wear a shirt that exposes your pits, whole or even partially! It's just too gross to see a day-old, or God forbid, a few days old, armpit stubble on any girl - even if she happens to be an absolute knock-out.

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flying kicks gloria gaynor, with love

First I was afraid, I was petrified!

And truth be told, I am still petrified. Why? Because I gave you that damned key and I haven't had a chance to change the lock yet. More like, I am reluctant to change that bloody lock.

So I am waiting behind the door, waiting for the lock to turn while I lie in a catatonic state, like a rotting piece of veggie.

I've got all my love to give but I don't know if I'll ever survive actually.

(I should just lay down and die.)

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sushi goes 'peta'

I... have got some weird fantasies hiding in the folds of my armpit. (Eh?) But you all ready knew that didn't you? Like the one... with the dog... and with the girl... and with the umbrella... (Eh??)

It's not as awful as it sounds. There's not a lot you can do when you combine a dog, a girl and an umbrella together anyway and especially if it happens to be raining. Worse comes to worse, the dog and the girl can only shield themselves from the rain with the umbrella. If a flasher runs up to them, they'd still stand quite still underneath the umbrella in refusal of getting wet.

If it wasn't raining, the girl could whack the dog with the umbrella. It has to be yellow, preferably, that umbrella.

Anyway, today's fantasy is about sushi.

(Omigod! A disturbingly disgusting image just flashed into my head!!! I accidentally imagined a piece of sushi resting peacefully on somebody's hairy armpit!!!)

(Flying kicks the disturbingly disgusting image to a far away place - but without love because disturbingly disgusting things don't deserve love.)

Anyway again, sushi. If you take a piece of sushi and fwapped it against the table, it'll make this 'peta' sound. That's today's fantasy actually. Taking the same piece of sushi and going 'peta', 'peta' against the table top for a hundred times until the smell of sushi is embedded into the table (and my fingers) and remains for the next three days.

'Peta', 'peta'.

Ooh, I think I want to eat sushi off...

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adding that extra inch

Ultimately, the best shopping finds has always been on the days when I am a little bit down. Last night, after an assignment which I found mind-boggling (I think... the whole The Devil Wears Prada lifestyle does not suit me) I consoled myself by buying myself a pair of heels. So it's not Nine West - I am not fashionable enough nor am I rich enough (for now) to buy a pair - but it they are really, a nice pair of heels. A gray bordering on black, slightly glittery-metallic, with thin straps a la Mary Jane style, peep-toe with swatches of clear plastic on the sides for a peekaboo effect.

They are also a good inch higher than all my other heels - at most, my heels are about two inches in height while the new one must be about three - and it feels a bit wobbly when I walk about in them as I am not used to the height yet but I feel more powerful in them. I feel more 'grown up' actually, and I don't just mean about the height - although I do adore the view from higher up. (I've always wished that I was a bit more taller.)

My deflated little heart could not help swelling with a bit of pride when the women I met over the course of today's assignments openly admired my heels. They were very well-dressed women so to have them acknowledge my fashion sense spoke volumes that I had made a good choice because I'm just clueless when it comes to being trendy most of the time.

Heels project an image of a confident, sophisticated woman who is bold, brash and wears sex appeal like a second skin. I am not quite sure how people see me but when I wear those heels, I would like to project myself as such.

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anxiously, i burst into flames

Scenario 1:

Do you have this dream where you need to pee really badly? So you go to pee? But somehow the pee doesn't trickle down? And somehow you still don't feel relieved? Then you wonder if it's a dream? After which, you actually do get up and find out that it was a dream but you really do need to go after all? So you rush to the loo in time, partially wet your pants or maybe you wake up to realise that you've peed on the bed?

Scenario 2:

Do you have this dream where you're brushing your teeth? And as the bristles on the toothbrush touch your teeth, they start tumbling out and fall into the sink as if they were glued onto your gums with potato starch? And you watch in horror as your teeth flow into the drain along with the water running from the tap? Then you try to grab the other bits of teeth in the sink and try to stick them back onto your gums? But they won't stick? And then you wake up and check your teeth to see if they're still attached?

Scenario 3:

Do you have this dream where there's a girl? And you know this girl, you like this girl and the girl likes you back? But you did something really crappy to this girl, like you cheated on her or lied to her or said something unflattering about her butt and she comes at you with a flying kick? Which is to be expected anyway because you did her a great wrong anyway? And because she really likes you? And your guilt is seeping into your dream?

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the rage of natto

That itty-bitty brown stuff that looks a bit like cute rabbit poo? It's actually edible and quite delicious. Natto to me, fermented soy bean to you and it tastes just like rabbit poo.

But I'm just lying. Because I can.

Oh yay, natto.

Once upon a time, there was natto just as there was tempe in the household. Natto, soft and sweet, gooey and sticky with a smattering of soy sauce tasted good on plain rice on the days when there was no chicken nuggets to fry for lunch. Tempe, hard and bland, fried to a crispy bar was a horror to swallow, a horror to digest and was banned from the household after it made an appearance underneath someone's bed as a molding, stinking mess.

It's strange how something rotten (read: fermented) can taste so good. A lot of people don't agree though. They say mean things about natto, the whole lot of them - which of course deserves a flying kick from me (with extra love, of course). They say that natto smells funny. (Oh yeah, as smelly as your grandma's underarm?) And they say that it just tastes bad. Like I said, it's rabbit's poo. Not everybody can stomach rabbit's poo.

But before we veer off the track, let me remind you that I'm lying again. It's fermented soy bean. Soy bean. Bean. Rabbit's poo.

(Ooh, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good".)

And being soy beans, it's healthy stuff. It has protein. Like how beef has protein. That is why I eat beef on non-natto days.

By the way, my youngest sister? On Mondays, my mum packs her a little lunch box of steamed white rice with a container of natto. No wonder she's so unpopular at school. Kids don't deserve this kind of treatment. They need chicken nuggets OK. Nuggets are the mainstream thing. Natto isn't.

And because I have a daily word limit, here ends my story on natto.

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kicking you in the ass with love

Let me be clear on this: "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Every new blog needs new resolutions. Here are mine:
1. I will (try to) stop being all mushy and emo with my postings. I will unhinge and take out my frustrations on the zombie nurses in Silent Hill: Origins.
2. I will eat pancakes with a vengeance. With extra helpings of maple syrup. Sweet!
3. I will be nice to goats. Goats deserve a bit of loving too (with a flying kick thrown in for good measure).
4. I will become the topic fairy. Every posting will be based on a single topic, and they must be random because random is fun.
5. I will embrace my flaws. I shall scrutinise my bum in the mirror right after this and wonder how I can afford a nice jar of bum shaping cream.

And the last one - and the motto for the remainder of the year:
6. Love me, and I shall kiss you (but only if you're a man and a cute man at that). Unhinge me, and I shall kick you - but with love. Because I'm kind like that.

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