Cornucopia

Friday night. Well, Saturday morning, to be honest, but let's play pretend and still imagine it's Friday night. I'm reluctant to go to sleep, because sleeping means waking up to Saturday morning, and aside from breakfast(which I wholly look forward to), Saturday morning means homework and a couple of assignments.

I don't understand why I complain so much about studying, because:
a) I'm a student. It's my job.
b) It's my job, but I shouldn't think of it as one. I'm acquiring knowledge! It shouldn't be a cause for whining.

Fleet Foxes' Meadowlark has to be one of the prettiest songs I've ever heard. No wait, don't skim past this part,please. I love it so much, I love listening to it before I go to sleep, I love listening to it in the library while I'm taking a break, it makes me stare wistfully out the windows at the trees and the glimpse of sky. I love how simple it is, and how that simpleness is heartbreakingly beautiful. I hear Robin Pecknold singing the opening notes of the song, and it melts my heart. It's a song that reminds me how much music has an affect on me, even if I'm not musical in the sense I'm in a band or play an instrument. It reflects how songs I love make up a part of me, they touch me in a way nothing else does.

Shit, I sound like I'm high. I suppose it's the same for most people, albeit with different songs? Ok, skip past the crazy talk and just try give it a listen.

I'm hoping to make pancakes tomorrow, but if that plan flops over, I'll probably end up making french toast. Again. Ever since Kelly taught me her way of making them(the secret: condensed milk!a-ha!), I've been eating them like nobody's business. Good for waistline? No. Good for taste buds? Yes.

For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
on that starry,starry night
You took your life as lovers often do.
But I could have told you Vincent
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Inilah dia. Sitting on your bed in a dark room at 2 in the morning makes you listen to playlists of acoustic, sentimental songs and quote random lyrics.

I saw someone wearing what looked like yellow canvas shoes the other day. They looked pretty cool. On him, anyway.

Number entah-ke-berapa of random things that make me feel pangs of what must be homesickness: seeing price tags in ringgit denomination.

So Alive

I woke up this morning feeling ugly. You know how it goes. You feel fat, what you wear doesn't look flattering, you can't get your hair to look right, you're a hot mess. So I wasn't feeling too chirpy about it.

Then, I was getting ready to go to the library now, so I brushed my hair and walked over to the mirror, and the image that greeted me was horrendous. There I was, shiny forehead, messy hair(despite all my efforts to control it, my hair is rebelling against me, I sense it), zits, dry nose. I took one look at myself, did a sort of mini mata-terbeliak-gasp moment, and spontaneously choked out "I'm so ugly!". And then, wonderfully, something about it seemed funny straight away, I started chuckling while going off to blow-dry my hair(in vain, it still looks horrendous), and I started feeling a whole lot better.

I know it's a stupid thing to mention here, but it isn't often when feeling ugly elicits cheerfulness. It's a contradictory phenomenon, it is. I don't know. Maybe it worked out that way because I had just been thinking about meeting Kelly for jazz class tonight, and accompanying Shao Min to buy something that is quite awesome. Maybe it's because two mid-sem tests went ok yesterday, and I have only one left on Friday. Maybe it's because I was safe with the knowledge I'd done my Subuh prayers(even if it was a bit late), maybe it was the idea of calling my mom and explaining the concept that she has to be online on Skype(not just have an account) for me to call her. It could have been the fact I'd just remembered Ryan Adams' So Alive(which somehow disappeared from my player) and was re-listening to the kickass tune. Maybe it's because I just had coffee and a pb&j toasted sandwich for breakfast.

All good things, all nice things. So what if I'm ugly? I have good things to look forward to. I think I can handle ugliness today.

I have a date with a Cost Management textbook now, so I'll see you guys later.

Paper, paper, obsolete

I've been watching La Blogotheque videos for the past hour.

It's so unbearably sexy how Zach Condon can speak French fluently. Tolonglah.

Bon Iver's performance for Skinny Love is gorgeous.

I have to go mandi. And then I have to go study. I look forward to the walk to the library, I'll take slower steps and see some leaves falling.

I'll talk to you soon. I'll try to cheer you up. I might have a surprise for you.

I'll try and be the friend you need me to be.

I'll be better than you, I won't stoop to your level.

I'll try to be more enthusiastic, I'll look forward to seeing you.

I'll smile, and I'll be happy.

Small grievances? Bullshit.

Belly laugh

Friends who keep me sane, friends who drive me crazy, friends who make me laugh, thank God for you, thank God for you, thank God for you. Have another laugh with me.

A few nights ago, I dreamt I was pregnant. I was pregnant and I was wearing a white dress. My water broke, everyone was fussing over me. I was apprehensive, I was weary about the pain I would face giving birth to this child, but at the same time I knew that that pain would be trivial in the grand scheme of things. I felt grateful for the attention I was given. I felt my baby kicking.

Less said(typed) is better I suppose? I tend to ramble on necessarily when let loose. I'm trying to trim the fat and just write the fundamentals of what I want to say.

I heard Johnny Cash's cover of Depeche Mode's Personal Jesus for the first time while waiting for Dylan Moran to go on the other day, I think it's my favourite version. Speaking of which(this is one of those things that are unnecessary but just have to be relieved), whenever I hear Hilary Duff's Reach Out, which actually samples the trademark riff from Personal Jesus, I 'tsk tsk' figuratively in my head and think that it's a pale comparison to Jamelia's Beware of the Dog, which samples the track as well.

I have a whole bunch of food leftovers in my kitchen now, best gile. Tak payah masak.

Happy birthday again Aina! Sorry we couldn't have pulled off the surprise better(but this was good practice for next year), but at least you got a cake on fire kan?(even though you didn't really get to see it,haha).

Reality has come to bite me on the ass, hard. I have an appointment with it tomorrow morning when I've had my breakfast and realize how much work there is to be done.

Pedantic

When writing, I hope to God that I'm honest.

That I'm honest, that I'm sincere, that I'm not lying, that I'm not exaggerating, that I am making sense, that I am writing down things that are not tainted by superficiality. Because sometimes it's hard to tell. Did I really feel that way? Am I truly frustrated? Did the girl really eat that loud? This idea that I am manipulating my words to fit how I want my blog to be, it slightly disgusts me, it makes me feel cheap and ugly. I want to write from my soul, because writing is the only avenue I have to express myself. I don't draw, I don't take pictures, I don't sing, and I don't dance. If I can't write honestly, if I can't express myself sincerely through my words, then there there must be something wrong with my soul itself. It makes me wonder whether the very core of my being is superficial, and that is a wretched idea to entertain.

But that's fool's logic, perhaps?

Speaking of wretched, I displayed the most appalling behaviour to my friends over the weekend, it did horrify me to a certain extent. I try not to let mood-swings get to me, but invariably I fail, and I'm swept up by this mass irritation I have for everything around me. I feel guilty afterwards, of course, and I try to apologize, but I know I'm walking on thinning ice and I play the guessing game with myself, trying to figure out how many times I'll be able to do this before everyone hates me.

But funnily enough, some good did come out of it. I managed an attempt to explain this bile of bitterness to someone, and while it was a mixture of nonsense and incoherence, it was an attempt nonetheless. The response I got was a combination of attention, kindness, and sympathy, the kind that I'd never gotten from a friend before. So, yeah. Thank you. And now let's run away before I get all mushy.

Plus, I got to try durian crème brûlée as well, which was a delight for my taste buds.

Jesse
I don't know what I have done
I'm turning myself into a demon.
-Fleet Foxes, Tiger Mountain Peasant Song

I didn't do any work during the weekend. I should be panicking.

I think I'll go sleep instead.

Suki

The bundle of goodies that have been keeping me sane:

1. Ben Folds featuring Regina Spektor, You Don't Know Me At All. Echoing a comment on youtube, Regina Spektor's vocals really tie up the song very nicely.

2. Michael Mcyintyre's standup comedy performance live at the Apollo.

3. Rowan Atkinson.


4. Whitest Boy Alive, Burning. I don't know why it never occurred to me to check out Erlend Oye's other projects. The more I listen, the more awesome it is.

5. Memories of the brazilian dance party with Kelly and good company at Czech House last weekend. One of the best times I've had in Melbourne, I think. Read her take on it, and if you're in the city, come join us the next time we go. Often while I'm staring at some obscure formula for calculating the risk of a portfolio, I find myself thinking of it. What tickles me so is the fact I was twirling around. Twirling around! and not in the usual, oops-losing-balance-nak-terjatuh way, in a proper, I'm-following-a-guy-leading-me-dancing way. It was highly reminiscent of the time I was watching people swing-dancing for the first time, except this time I was actually dancing myself! Such a high, such a high.

6. A book to read. I haven't read a new book in what seems like a very long time, so I loped off to the library to get one just now, and I it took me forever to pick it out. I wanted something light, (hi chick lit), but not stupid(bye chick lit), something quirky, something with a happy ending, something poignant. In the end I got an Agatha Christie mystery(my literati equivalent to comfort food), and Big Fish.

I want a banana split. With 3 different ice cream flavors, double the amount of bananas, whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, shards of wafers stuck in.

I want home. I want my family.

There's this certain amount of frustration I have right now, and I find that I'm not quite capable of putting it in words. It's a culmination of frustration for a number of things, for my lack of confidence in doing the finance test, my dismal resume, the sketchy notion that I don't have what it takes to face interviews and impress employers, scholarship application rejections for the nth time, stupid mood-swings, my affairs with Allah, my cash flows, my lease transfer, my zits, my books and files all piled up messily on the floor, my eating habits and in short, me.

But it's okay. I'm going grocery shopping today, so that should be a mood-lifter. I want to buy croissants.