exaggeration and tall tales galore

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Melbourne

There are some days, days that are far and few in between, where you wake up, and you feel that you're hot. You feel that you look good. Damn good.

You wake up, shuffle over to the bathroom mirror and blink, because today, for some reason, your early-morning reflection does not repulse you. Your hair, instead of messy, is sexily tousled. Your zits have shrunk, your skin looks smoother. Your belly looks smaller, what is usually fat is today nicely curvy. It is a strange thing, as you examine yourself in the mirror. You're hot.

So you shower and get dressed. You blow-dry your hair, which falls perfectly, the fringe is not wonky and you have no cowlicks or any flicked up ends. You choose a casual outfit, just a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt, and somehow these simple items of clothing manage to accentuate whatever that looks good about your body today. The t-shirt falls flatteringly, the jeans make your legs look good. You pair the outfit with your favourite stud earrings, and flip-flops, which for once, doesn't look like you're wearing selipar jamban.

Your grab your bag, sling your headphones around your neck, and get ready to head out to class. One last check at the mirror. You're still hot. And you look cool!

So you leave your apartment building feeling rather good about yourself, and this transforms all your usual mannerisms. For one thing, you don't scurry to the lecture theater like you normally do. Instead, you stroll along languidly. You're practically sauntering. Self-confidence is oozing out of you, you feel like you could take on the world. If you have any crushes at the moment, you half-wish you would run into them. Because how could they resist you now? Your self-esteem has risen to the point where you feel you would have no problem looking them in the eye in giving them your best 'come-get-me' look, and they would definitely...well, come and get you.

And then, at this moment, when you are still high on this self-esteem pill and self-induced perceptions of hotness, that's exactly when a proper hot girl, a bona fide bombshell with gorgeous hair, fabulous figure and amazing dress sense will come sit beside you in the theater/get into the same lift/walk past, and that moment will have the same impact on your bubble of confidence as a pin on a blown up balloon, a small kid's finger on a soap bubble, or an alarm clock on a really good dream. All illusions/delusions/hallucinations of hotness are brought to an abrupt end, and once again, you are the slob in a ratty stretched out t-shirt and selipar jamban.

You sigh, groan inwardly, and want to curse the hot girl, but it's not her fault. The good God has blessed her outer appearance with features that fit conventional perceptions of beauty, being bitter about that would be petty and pointless. So you content yourself with sighing once more, perhaps emitting a rueful chuckle, and you wish that even if you won't ever look as good as the hot girl, you will someday manage to achieve the same sense of comfort within your own skin and self-confidence that you felt today, before the pretty girl had to ruin it all.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

I didn't even know Jurassic Park was a book until my brother told me

Had my first wtf moment at work today. As in, 'what the fuck am I doing?'.

Singing out loud in the car seems to be the only semi-effective method of retaining bits and pieces of your soul in the face of traffic jams.

Proof I still can't drive for peanuts:knocked into a pasu while reversing out of the driveway this morning.

Sometimes, usually when I get out of the car and start striding purposefully towards the office, with my work-pass around my neck and my laptop bag, I think I can see myself doing this. Sometimes, when it's past office hours and I'm still at work,or when I have a wtf moment, I start panicking and can't bear the idea of doing this for the rest of my life. It's a toss up.

Mengantuk la wei.

Let's have a conversation. I'll ask you things that have nothing to do with where you study, or where you stay, or what are your plans for new year. You will actually look into my eyes and tell me things you would like to share, things beyond shallow obligatory information. There will be no awkwardness like invisible nooses around our necks, no polite chuckles or forced enthusiasm. Neither of us will think that the other is a self-centered twat. You will not berate me for swearing. I won't be uncomfortable when you take out a pack of cigarettes and start smoking. It will be the best goddamn conversation of our lives.

Mengantuk la wei.

Wednesday, December 02, 2009

A middle finger to my flaws

I went to the dentist the other day, and I had a couple cavities(so horrible,I know, but trust me, if I were to tell you the number of cavities I've had in total throughout my life, THAT would be a disaster). I used to be scared shitless of going to the dentist (the fear of facing the number of cavities I had probably had something to do with this),but now it's fine. The only uncomfortable part is when the dentist drills my teeth in preparation of filling up the cavity and the drill gets dauntingly close to the nerve. That's when I grip my fingers and try to think of other things, like wayfarers, and certain people (I'm really not sure whether it's a compliment or an insult to tell someone I thought of them while having my teeth drilled).

And for some reason it just dawned on me on how intimate the whole thing is. I had someone else's hands in my mouth! Why did that not ever occur to me before? Luckily, my dentist is this really nice lady. I wanted to punch(ooh, urges to physically assault) her assistant who tended to painfully jab the saliva sucker thingamajig into the floor of my mouth though.

Most of the extended family and then some knows about my internship, which is funny, considering the fact that I am somewhat dreading work and the inevitable screw-ups that come along with it. And the 'orientation' period? Aaaack.

I was watching Before Sunset again(well, a portion of it before the DVD got stuck and I couldn't be arsed to eject it, re-insert it, and skip beyond the stuck bit), and I wished I could be someone like Celine-opinionated, involved in something cool and noble like working to improve international laws concerning environmental issues, someone who's worked in India and done a stint in Warsaw, things like that. Being French is a plus too. I would settle for just being opinionated for the time being, because at the moment, I don't have opinions on a lot of things, which bothers me. I don't have an opinion on whether Chin Peng should be allowed back into the country, or about the MCA fractions, or the BTN revamp, or islamic banking. I am disinterested.

I wonder when I stopped being afraid of the work 'fuck'.

How are we doing spiritually? Not good, not good. I have deviated from the straight and narrow(though it was never straight to begin with, if you know what I mean), and I do so sheepishly, knowing that I shouldn't be doing this, that I will end up on the road to fucked-upness. I will either crash and implode spectacularly, or something will click quietly and I'll be able to slip back into something better than what I am know. I hope it's the latter, and I hope it's soon.

I've been playing a bit on the piano since getting back, which brings me a small secret sense of pleasure. It occupies my time, I like to see my fingers move across the keys, and it's nice to hear a tune take shape. But, as my sister kindly pointed out, the extent of my playing repertoire is limited(I keep playing the same 4 songs over and over).

I miss my Kellogs and half wish you guys were here just so that we could go lepak at a mamak or something.

For some reason, I really hate Giuliana Dipandi(am I referring to the right person here?) and the other kumquats that make up the panel on the stupid E! show that judges red-carpet looks.