exaggeration and tall tales galore

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Pommes de terre

dis⋅il⋅lu⋅sion /ˌdɪsɪˈluʒən/

–verb (used with object)
1.to free from or deprive of illusion, belief, idealism, etc.; disenchant.

Someone once apologized for disillusioning me. Now that I think about it, what a nice sentiment. Apologizing to me for bursting my idealistic bubble. Being sorry just because the truth turned out to be different from what I perceived it to be.

I have been listening to Debussy's Clair de Lune constantly, and I think how lovely it is each time I hear it. Once, as I was listening to it, it reminded me of the extent of pleasure that can be derived from listening to a piece of music, and it made me think that surely this pleasure is a divine blessing? Alhamdulillah for allowing me to be able to hear and be happy and be moved by a song.

My relationship with God is not easy. I have to work at it constantly, as with any other relationship I suppose. Sometimes, like now, I get frustrated with Allah and myself and wonder why can't I just love Him, and feel Him when I pray, and remember the afterlife. Why is it still difficult for me to accept Islam as a whole when I've been to Makkah and have been moved by seeing the Kaabah, why do I still feel my daily life and my quest for religion are detached, why is it so easy to forget my experiences during umrah and revert to my old ways. Why isn't abiding and remembering Allah as easy as falling in love with a piece of music?

But if it's easy, it isn't love I suppose.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Debussy

I like breakfast. I think breakfast likes me. Throughout the day, some part of it, however minimally, will be allocated towards thinking about what to have for breakfast tomorrow. When I wake up from sleep, some time will be allocated into thinking what to have for breakfast and reaffirming whatever it is I planned yesterday.

I am happy when I think about breakfast. I am sad when it's over.

Breakfast was the consolation of having to get ready by 7.45 to be in time for college classes. Waking up at 6.30(or,6.50, after snoozing the alarm button 2 times), I would drag myself out of bed, shower and get dressed, all the while dreading the idea of starting the day with an 8.30 maths class. But breakfast would provide the 15 to 20 minute solace in the form of coffee, the papers, and whatever my mom made, which was always good.

Weekend breakfasts at home! I used to wake up late, so it'd usually be 11 am and everyone would already have had breakfast, but there would be one bungkus of nasi lemak and sambal paru-paru waiting for me in a pink beg plastik. I'd make iced coffee with a nescafe 3 in 1, I'd get a good book, and eat the nasi lemak and sambal paru-paru with my hand while reading. Bliss. Bliss. No matter that lunch was only a couple hours away. I'd make room for breakfast, no matter how minimal the time frame. For breakfast, I would cross the highest mountains(metaphorically of course, if done literally, tak sampai a couple hundred meters I would pancit), I would swim the biggest seas(metaphorically of course, I can't swim for shit), I would forge the lowest valleys.

When I was home last summer, I'd wake up early and nibble something while my dad had breakfast and mom had coffee. We'd see dad off to work, then go line-dancing, and then she usually always took me somewhere for breakfast afterwards.

"Hari ni nak breakfast ape?"
"Hmm..."
"How bout roti canai?"
"Ok!".

"Hari ni nak breakfast ape?"
"Hmm..."
"Shall we makan bi hun sup?"
"Ok!"

"Hari ni nak breakfast ape?"
"Hmm..."
"Nak pegi Oldtown?"
"Nak!"

***
You know, for all my talk of longing for a companion, etc,etc. It just hit me, as I was crossing the intersection to get back to the apartment(yes, my usual spot for experiencing self-indulgent mini-epiphanies), I've never actually been in love.

Wait!wait! The way I figured it out, is this. You see, it is one thing to want a person to like you. But it's another thing to be in love! All my past infatuations weren't love, because love wouldn't be so self-centered, would it? I was self-centered whenever I liked someone. I was always thinking of how my object of affection would fulfill me. Fill my voids, make me happy. I am selfish with my emotions. It can't be love if I am still that selfish with it even with the person I supposedly like.

Huh. That consoled me, if you can believe it. Never mind I'm alone, that I might remain alone, never mind I've never actually been in a two-sided relationship, I didn't love the guy anyway. When, or if, I find the person that makes me selfless enough to care for him unconditionally, someone who will make me less selfish and think about another person's feelings for a change, then we'll see.

Anyway, I am absolutely enthralled with this clip of Ryuichi Sakamoto(ADOI I LOVE THIS GUY) performing the The Last Emperor. Awesome, awesome,awesome. Performed the year I was born, before I was born. I wish I'd been there. I would have had goosebumps. And Mr. Sakamoto is wearing what is perhaps the biggest corsage ever pinned to his lapel.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Kira Ora

I find that as of late, I'm becoming more and more reluctant to blog. The ideas are there(especially when I'm bored). You know me. I blog about my feelings. So the feelings are there(I'm a one-woman drama fest), but I'm becoming less inclined to blurt them out to cyberspace than usual. I'd rather watch a movie, or bake something, or go to sleep.

That worries me. I should write them out. I don't want to be numbed over by entertainment and eating and lose all original thought. And to all the self-conscious demons inside of me being all hypocritical and pretentious, and to all the demons that may(though unlikely) exist out there judging me, to them I'd just like to say fuck you, and fuck off.

Sorry for the profanity. But it fits my frustration in that sense.

Vanilla ice cream, much like bananas, are extremely wonderful, because they go great with so many things. I bought a 2 liter tub of vanilla ice cream, and I'm trying to list out all the ways I could eat it. Just on it's own. With sliced bananas, and chocolate chips. With a warm chocolate chip banana muffin. With apple crumble. Scooped into a mug of hot milo. With soda. Sandwiched between a hot dog bun, or just a couple slices of bread. With practically any sort of baked good. On a cone.

Oh!Oh! Have you listened to it? Kings of Convenience have FINALLY come out with some material, apparently the new album is coming out in October. Their website directs you to where you can listen to the new song, Mrs Cold. I like it. Eagerly anticipating the album.

I thought Queenstown was lovely, somewhere I'd like to go back to, maybe in the summer next time. I tried skiing. I'm bad at it, so it wasn't particularly enjoyable, but I'm glad I can now say I've tried it. And I went bungee jumping, which, unfortunately, wasn't as satisfying as I hoped it would be. It was too short, I think. But yeah, the part where you're actually looking over the ledge about to jump is quite something. I should have drunk in my surroundings more slowly, paused a bit before I jumped to make sure it all sunk in, to feel it. Oh well. Next time, maybe. But I really did like para gliding, I think that was the most enjoyable activity I partook while I was there.

I think New Zealand has scenery like no other. Well, it's unlike anything I've seen before, which may not be a credible observation because let's face it, I haven't traveled much to begin with. But it was beautiful. And there were lots of sheep. Lots. Lots.
Christchurch. I loved how I could see the alps backdropped against the city.
The Remarkables at sunset. Yeah, they call an area of the mountains in Queenstown The Remarkables. Awesome wei. Anyway, this picture doesn't do what I saw justice. It was getting dark, and clouds and fog were coming in, when suddenly there was this partition in the clouds and a ray of sunshine from the setting sun spotlit that strip of the mountains. It was gorgeous.
My excellent travel buddies.

Overdosed on korean romantic comedies yesterday. Man they have a lot of good-looking people.

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Holly Golightly

"Listen. You know those days when you get the mean reds?"

"Mean reds. You mean like the blues?"

"No. The blues are because you're getting fat or maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad, that's all. But the mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Did you ever get that feeling?"

I've just watched Breakfast at Tiffany's properly for the first time. I like it. And that's quite a rare occurrence, it's a novelty for me to genuinely and more importantly, to be sure that I actually like something the first time I see it. I often doubt my judgment on anything I've just read/watch/experienced, the reason being a)I usually can't tell whether I really like something or just want to, and b) I'm so easily pleased, it's ridiculous, especially with movies.

If anything, it usually takes time for me to think things over and ponder for a while before I can come to a proper conclusion whether I like it or not. Or repetition. Many a time I've reread a book or listened to a cd and find that I liked it much more that what my initial impression allowed.

I donated blood again. The first thing I thought when I saw the needle was 'I don't remember it being that big last time'.

But anyway. Back to Breakfast at Tiffany's. I really liked the score, especially that part at the end where she comes back to look for the cat, all dark and heavy on the piano. Did you know Henry Mancini won an Oscar for writing the score? Trivia. George Peppard was gorgeous, all charming and solid and soulful aquamarine eyes, gosh. And I'm just about the gazillionth person to fall in love with Audrey Hepburn. Or at least, Holly Golightly. I should read the book.

Ok, ok. Favorite scenes? The part where they first meet and talk in Holly's apartment, tasseled ear plugs and all, the scene where Holly strums a guitar and sings Moon River, the part where she meets Doc again.

I'm going on a trip tomorrow. By the time I get back I'll only have about 10 days before classes start again.

Tuesday afternoon, the weather was beautiful. I didn't even have to wear a heavy coat, just my sloppy black oversized 100% acrylic pullover and a scarf. Had to go to the city to change my money, so I walked downtown. Bumped into A on the way there. A is one of those people whom I've grown to dread to bump into, and when I do and can't avoid it, it doesn't kill me, but it does in a way, because here is a person who you know is just completely unaffected by your presence. They don't care whether they bump into you or not, and I suppose it's better than meeting someone whom you can tell would rather not meet you at all, but sometimes I think it's almost as bad.

I'm going on a trip tomorrow. I hope it'll be fun.

I hate the cold. I hate this emptiness I feel. And I know it sounds awfully melodramatic to say it like that, but there is this certain emptiness I feel right now, a bit of dread, and I'm trying to figure out the cause, and I'm trying to remedy it.

Bye.

Friday, July 03, 2009

Crispy M&Ms

I've started so many blog drafts and left them unfinished, it's quite ridiculous. Bear with me? I've just watched Twilight(don't judge), and now I have this piece called Bella's Lullaby by Carter Burwell stuck in my head.

Who the hell cries when watching So You Think You Can Dance? What kind of pathetic creature starts welling up when a contestant manages to survive the contemporary piece and manages to make it to Top 20, or when only one of the brothers gets to go on the show?

Me. I happen to be that pathetic creature. My ability to cry at things like reality dance shows still manages to fascinate, disgust, but mostly just annoy me. My earliest memory of crying while watching something can be traced back to when I went to watch Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame at the cinema. Stupid Esmeralda. She just had to go with the blond sergeant or whatever he was, didn't she? Of course the ugly guy ends up alone. I may have been young, about 8 or 9 I guess, but I was already weeping over the injustice that is unrequited love.

How I got from crying over Quasimodo to crying over So You Think You Can Dance beats me. If anything, I'd like to give my tear ducts a good scolding. "Can't you AT LEAST be more selective and choose something actually worth crying over?!Like kittens??".

***

I know my music collection is pretty puny, but I like how I more or less have at least a song or two for any occasion. For days when I feel like singing out loud, the more intricate the lyrics the better. Songs for eighties dancing, daydreaming, for staring outside some form of transportation. Tunes for sentimentality, for longing. And of course, songs for every shade of sadness.

However, I've come to realize that I don't have any songs for when I'm angry. There were a few occasions recently where I was mad and needed some music to channel my rage, but then I found I didn't have anything that seemed angry enough. The closest I got was Speedhorn by The Noisettes, but for me that's a song tinged with sadness, and I wanted something louder, more bitter. Recommendations?

***

Watching the video of someone going bungee jumping is already making my heart beat faster, who knows how it will be if and when I'm actually standing at the ledge ready to step into nothing? I wish I could do it with a friend. With Azrieal! Besides the idea of actually jumping which is already daunting, the prospect of having to make small talk and deal with awkward gaps of conversation with whoever that's tying the cord to my legs and strapping me in is another point of reluctance. But if I don't do it this time around, when and where else? I don't want to look back over 2009 come December 31st and remember I could have gone bungee-jumping but was too chicken shit. And I will NOT let reluctance to do it alone deter me either.

Two pictures:

Yes, that's Aina and Sal, gloriously showing off the wonder that is a giant tap. Yes, that's Anna giving a somewhat reluctant smile and peace sign, no doubt perturbed by the enthusiastic models beside her. Yes, I ate an astounding amount of KFC and junk food during exam season.

And yes, that is Logs being the utter gentleman, sewing and tightening all four of my winter coat buttons. No, I can't sew, and yes, I is failure.