Peripheral vision

Whenever I load stapler bullets into a stapler, I like to pretend I'm some sort of secret agent doing nifty spy work with some sort of spy mechanism, like loading a super-important microchip into a specialized carrier to be transported back to headquarters, or maybe just loading a bullet into a gun. But now that I think about it, I haven't done that in quite a while. Does that mean I'm growing up? Losing my inner-child. Golly.

It's hard to name favourite songs, but one that has secured a place as one of my favourites ever is The Killers' When You Were Young. You can love a song, and then you can love a song, and it's the latter for me with this one. I don't know why it resonates with me so distinctively, but when I listen to it it's like I'm listening to heartbreak and sadness and anger and disappointed hopes all wrapped up in a tide of something, I don't know what.


I got a new phone that comes with a qwerty keypad, and I can't help but feel slightly douchebag-ey. It's a phone meant for business professionals who need to email constantly on the run. I am not a business professional nor do I need to email constantly on the run. I'm using the phone to check my email which is usually made up of tickemaster or ticketek newsletters and facebook notifications. Why would I need a phone with a qwerty keypad?

My Kellogs are back with me, giving me a heady sense of relief. What would I do without them?

Scenes from an airport

We take that long drive to the airport. I check in,we go for a drink at Oldtown, and I find it oddly fitting, considering that the first meal I had when I got back was at that very same place. We chit-chat over menial stuff, then it's time to go, so they walk me over to the departure gate and as each of them hugs me in turn, I wonder if I'm going to fall apart but nothing happens and I manage to crack a joke and make my parents laugh, which in turn makes me laugh. I show the attendant my boarding pass and my passport, and I get on the escalator, on which I turn to face my family and start waving and doing the salam malaysia gesture, until they're out of sight.

Then I get through passport control and am walking towards the departure lounge, and as I do so I get pinpricks behind my eyes but nothing dramatic, so I sit down, take out a book, and stare into space. I map out the series of events that will happen once I land. I will get through customs, get a cab, get to the apartment, beep myself in, unlock the door and wheel my huge-ass luggage through the doorway. I will proceed to my room, dump my stuff, and crash onto bed. Then, I decide, the most logical thing to do would be to crumple up into a ball and cry my heart out. Sounds like a decent itinerary.

Later on when we're allowed into the waiting room for the actual departure gate, I properly read the book, occasionally glancing around to take in my surroundings. There's a girl with long, gorgeous, healthy-looking hair, and I mentally compare it to my own tresses, which I've just cut and can't decide whether it looks pretty cute or like the hairdo of a failed anchorwoman. There's a cute toddler sitting on his dad's lap, but he's on the verge of tears, occasionally letting out a cry, and I'm just thinking whether he will become one of those Toddlers That Drive You Crazy With Their Crying On A Plane and woe befall those who sit near him, when I suddenly become aware that the guy sitting next to me is sniffling. I thought he was a guy, but judging by the sound of his sniffles, it sounds like a girl. I don't mean to intrude, but I was deeply curious to whether it was indeed a boy or girl, so I try to sneak a sideways glance at him, which didn't really help, because he/she looks like a girl, but would a girl have manly sideburns?

We're being called to board now, and everyone scrambles to get in line, which I don't understand, since our seats are pre-assigned anyway, so I wait for a bit, and so does the girl/boy next to me, still sniffling. It is obvious she/he is still crying, and I wonder why. As I get up to make my way to the door, I'm tempted to offer an "Are you okay?" to him/her, but I know that if it were me I'd rather be left alone, so I just walk ahead without looking.

Je ne veux pas retourner

I am 21 going on 22, and I still do things at the last minute, thus causing myself trouble, like the dilemma I'm having right now over my passport and visa.

Well, I'm learning.

Yesterday was a near slip towards the mean reds, I found the very idea of that flight back to Melbourne on Monday night terrifying. I don't want to play anymore.

But that moment has passed, and asides from this whole passport/visa thing, I can grasp the notion of classes starting, handling apartment bills and doing the groceries again. I think.

After spending almost the whole summer not writing, and in fact, not even opening my journal(I think my lack of journal entries are directly related to my lack of communication with God, if you can believe. Sorry, can't resist the whole spiritual analysis thing), I read through it again, and it felt like sweet relief. I could identify with the things I wrote, and I know that sounds idiotic, after all, I did write them myself. But I think, if I may be ridiculously self-centered and melodramatic; I sort of lost myself. Reading my journal gave a sort of deja vu feeling, I recognized what I wrote as me. It was me.

OH-KAY, now that we've gotten the psycho-babble out of the way.

To friends I've lost
To friends I did not earn
To friends I didn't try for
To friends who've hurt me back
I'm sorry.

Well, I said the psycho-babble was over, I didn't mention anything about psycho-haikus or psycho-stabs-at-poetry.

There was this one moment at Phuket, we were walking around at night, and on our way back to the hotel we passed this Irish pub. I looked inside, there was a makeshift stage in one corner, and right when I looked in I saw this guy, a local, I think, standing on the stage with a guitar in hand. He was smiling at something, and then, still smiling, his gaze swung around, thus meeting mine.

Back at school, I once went for this French festival for SBP schools, and I was standing at the food-stall my school had set up, and up came this guy from some other school, I don't know where, and the moment I turned around I saw him, I got this jolt and I do believe I was infatuated, just like that. Infatuation at first sight. He didn't even have to say anything, wasn't even talking to me, wasn't even particularly good-looking. He was just asking the guy beside me a question, smiling, and that was all it took.

Well, of course nothing came out of that, nor this. But I remembered that feeling, that jolt, and I'll be damned, I experienced it again when I saw that grinning Thai guy, wearing a Bob Marley hat in Jamaican flag colours. He looked at me, I got a jolt, thinking he was gorgeous. So what did I do? Instead of summoning my own 1000 kilowatt smile, I dropped my gaze to the ground(probably blushing my cheeks off), and gave a teeny one. To the ground. What was I doing? Trying to channel Vanidah Imran? Nak jadi Perempuan Melayu Terakhir?

Ultimate flirting failure.

Anyway, my frequent listen as of late has been this song by David Choi. Such a prettily sad sentimental song. After listening to this compared to the original stripped down version with just a guitar, I must say, production can make all the difference. The violins are employed beautifully, and I really like the solitary piano notes played between the lines of the chorus, it sounds so floaty and ethereal, it ties everything up so nicely. Also, I think the video was nifty work, done by the independent Wong Fu Productions.

Small talk

Phuket was:

1. Incredibly hot, with blue skies.

2. A Mat Salleh haven, with everyone walking either shirtless or in their bikinis, positively tanned like roasted chestnuts. I felt so overdressed in comparison.

3. Not wanting to go back to Melbourne.

4. Watching drag queens dance on stage. Some very pretty, other just plain scary, all with better bodies than I'll ever have in this lifetime.

5. Wanting to scratch my eyes out at the sight of topless old ladies and man-boobs. On one hand, I like how they are very comfortable with their bodies and don't give a rat's ass about what other people think, on the other I wanted to screech "WHYYYYY????".


7. Seeing all the massage parlours, with the girls sitting outside. I was morbidly curious to see the sex industry in Phuket. Well, I didn't. The closest I got was seeing a lot of scantily clad girls outside bars and these massage places, with the idea that at least some of them offered 'happy endings'.

8. Spending Chinese New Year there. A lot of food offerings and fire-crackers. Seeing a truckload of lion dancers pass by, banging on their cymbals and drums.

9. Yearning.

10. Eating lunch at a halal restaurant in front of a mosque, hearing the azan and seeing guys in singlets and shorts(quintessential beachwear) drive up on mopeds, park, ambik wuduk, and toss on a jubah or kain batik to do their prayers.

10. A stamp on my passport.

11.Only an hour and a half away.

Swagger

Fact: When there is an acquaintance sitting in front of me, smoking, I can’t help but want to stare. I'll try not to, I'll try to find somewhere else to look, but it's kind of hard. Especially when that acquaintance is talking to me. Every time I look them in the face to address them, my eyes are automatically riveted to the cigarette. Fail.

I want to stare because I am genuinely curious. Growing up, I was never in direct contact with smokers, just the few relatives on my dad’s side. None of my friends smoked (well, none that I knew of anyway). My dad used too, but that was a long time ago, and the only memory I have that can affirm this belief is one of my sister and I stealing his pack of cigarettes in order to hide it. In college, only a couple of people I knew smoked, and they were guys, never girls.

It’s only since I started doing my internship that I’ve continuously been in close proximity with smokers, and I have to say, I am almost embarrassingly intrigued, more so by women smokers(jakun, I believe, is the accurate and term). When they take out their pack of Dunhill menthol lights and plonk it on the table, or surreptitiously pull out a single stick from their bag, I have to resist the urge to stare unabashedly. I like watching the whole process, from the pre-smoking rituals, like hitting the box against the palm of their hand (why do they do that? So that the cigarettes won’t stick together?),to pulling or tapping one out, to searching for a lighter, holding their palm over the flame as they light the cigarette. Then, that first long drag, and that first exhalation of smoke. Wah.

I’m not for smoking, I’m quite heartily against it. But I do appreciate the aesthetic quality of the whole thing. I think it makes the person doing it look cool.

Wait, I take that back, I've seen some people smoke who don't look cool. Let me rephrase: It can make a person look cool, if done properly.

Well, can't it? The way the cigarette is dangled between the second and third finger, the leisurely manner in which it is done, the way some people gesticulate with the cigarette while talking.

Technically my last day of work tomorrow. I'm smiling. On the inside.

hi

Hark at me being all religiously confounded and shit.

I need some new music man, because I have seriously overplayed most of the songs in my music player, which weren't that many to begin with. I need new songs to adore. My sister is of course a reliable source, but lately she's taken to mumbly french music, which, while very sophisticated and cool(somehow anything french automatically gets two extra notches on the bedpost of coolness), doesn't appeal much to me. K-pop is all very fun and bouncy when you're watching their music videos, but I don't think it's as much fun to just listen to the songs over my headphones.

I was reminded of Placebo's Song to say Goodbye a few days ago, though, and it gives me tingles. The opening lyrics are dynamite, it is hate and bitterness and venom and exactly how I feel sometimes.

You are one of God's mistakes,
You crying, tragic waste of skin.


Does it ever occur to you to start doing a sexy dance whenever you listen to Muse's Time is Running Out? Sort of like the video but without the army uniforms. I do. Whenever the song comes on, I think 'OOOH, this song is perfect for a sexy dance', and I say the term "sexy dance" like how Jermaine says it in Business Time, and then I mentally start stripping or pole-dancing or whatnot.

Pop pleasure of the week: Cheryl Cole featuring Will.i.am., 3 Words. I like it, simplistic lyrics and will.i.am's tendency to spell things and all. I like how it starts with those repetitive notes, and how the beats pile up in layers, die down and then start up again. It makes me want to be all floaty and move in slow motion with a melancholic face (very much like the japanese music video) one second, and break out dancing the next.

bye.

On the way home just now, we passed a mosque, and I caught sight of a man praying. For some reason it gave me a great sense of comfort, and a pang of what seems to be regret or remorse.

I've pondered about it, I think this is the farthest I've been from Allah. This is dangerous territory. I asked Him to please not let anything bad happen, because I don't know if my faith can hold steady against it.

How messed up is that? Me, who's never had any proper cause of despair, how can I be so weak that my faith is challenged even when nothing remotely bad has ever happened to me?

I think I've said this before, it's lonely when you don't allow yourself to properly turn to God. When you don't have a solid grip on your iman, when your faith is slippery. My arrogance gets the best of me, I forget God except in times of need, I get angry at Him for petty reasons. At the same time I realize that I'm being ridiculous, beyond ridiculous. Sometimes I realize this and try to apologize. Other times, I feel apologizing is futile, because I've done this too many times, and Allah can't be bothered with me anymore.

Then, the dangerous territory. When you start wondering about the foundations of your religion. The logic of heaven and hell, of muslim and kafir, of dunia and akhirat. I question the workings of what I believe in. My cockiness turns me into a cynic.

For all that cynicism though, I realise that in the end I always turn to Allah. When I am scared, and find myself asking Him to protect me. When I am apologizing to Him right before I commit a sin.

I can't bring myself to properly talk to God anymore. Maybe it's shame.

But I can remember kneeling in front of the Kaabah. I remember that now. How did I get from that to this?

The worst times are during the mean reds. Life usually keeps me adequately occupied that I can forget about this, but then at one point I will suddenly be terrified for no apparent reason, and I will scramble around for something to hold on to or something to distract myself with, but it will be useless. I will once again get that feeling of dread where it seems like the end. At that moment, I will realise I am not ready to die, that I am scared shitless of the idea of death and what lies beyond it.

Why is it so hard. why is it so hard to feel God?

But I caught sight of a man praying at a mosque tonight, and something clicked in my heart. I'll try to remember to hold on to that, and to remind myself of the steadfast conviction I had kneeling in front of the Kaabah.

It's so hot. It's so hot and my air-cond is blowing lukewarm air. I tried the air-cond in the living room and it was blowing lukewarm air as well.

Conundrum: What do you do when you are hot and your air-cond, which, for lack of servicing, fails to cool you?

Solution: You sneak into your brother's bedroom, which has a newer air-cond and is thus still capable of fulfilling its duty honourably.

My brother's asleep, so I'm sitting here in his dark room, depending on his tidur-matiness to not wake up from slumber and accuse me of disturbing him. But he's tossing and turning rather too suspiciously, so I better skedaddle back to my room.

You know what scares me? The fact that I dread work. I don't want to go to work tomorrow. Would I want to quit if given the chance? yes. And that scares me, because is this what it all comes down to? All that turmoil during SPM, and the conflict over the correct educational path, all my parents' money wasted, it all boils down to a qualification that allows me to work in a job that makes me unhappy? Can you say SHITCAKES?

I'm getting ahead of myself, though.

I stumbled across a blog which managed to hit the jackpot of emotions, in that it evoked that feeling. The one where I feel like life is muffled. There's the world out there, in all it's Technicolor glory, but I am in a hole. I don't think I wanted to be in here in the first place, but I am, and the older I get, the more I don't want to get out.

So yeah, that was one pretty damn interesting blog.

Thank God it's Friday.

Ryan Adams, Call Me On Your Way Back Home

And I just wanna die without you
Oh I just wanna die without you

I was Fat Charlie

I am just an extra body at the office today, so let’s talk (i.e. read my time-wasting writings). Fair warning: This is an overly-extensive and rambling narration of my day yesterday.

I wake up late as usual.

It takes me two hours to get to the office. I become like all those other drivers who look as if life has been sucked out of them via traffic jam Dementors. On the way I encounter some kid (yes, suddenly all P drivers are kids even though they are only about a couple years younger than me) who won’t let me get into a lane, thus making me angry to a point I am driven to flash a finger at him (don’t worry, I don’t normally do this, and he could only have seen it if there had been an amazing coincidence between him glancing into his rearview mirror and me sticking my finger out). I notice that my teeth and jaw have subconsciously lock into gritting position.

I get to the office, inquire where I’m suppose to go, and find out the client’s place is right smack in the middle of KL. I google map the place, get directions, and choose a route that’s supposed to get me there in 20 minutes. Sprint highway, Duta highway, Jalan Duta, Jalan Kuching, Jalan Sultan Ismail. Easy enough.

40 minutes later, I find that I’ve ended up at Batu Caves. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

I am a horrible, horrible navigator.

*Cerita selitan: After I was done mapping out my route, I started packing up my stuff to go, and that’s when I noticed the right corner of my laptop bagpack was wet. My water bottle had miraculously uncapped and spilt quarter of its contents. Awesome.

I finally get to the place, park, struggle with my things, sign in at reception, and make my way up. I do some menial work, go have lunch with two people who speak a different language, then I have to transfer my stuff to a different part of the office. I walk with my senior, in front of me is some guy talking to a salesperson. He starts walking away, while still talking to the salesperson, and bumps into me, treading heavily on my foot. I hold out a hand to steady him, and say sorry (even though it was his fault!). The fucker doesn’t apologize nor does he acknowledge mine.

I spend the rest of the day holed up in a room, trying to match interest rates to bank contracts. I screw up a few times, miss a couple of obvious points in front of my senior, and generally feel like an incapable twat.

Work finally comes to an end, I’m let off, and I start walking back the carpark. On the way there I pass a Starbucks and make a beeline for the counter to get a ridiculously priced but fantastic-tasting frappuccino. It is a waste of money, but it has been a trying day and I cannot deny that once I’ve drunk a dark mocha frappuccino, I tend to have a stupid grin on my face for at least an hour afterwards. I suppose it’s the whole combination of coffee and chocolate, it stimulates happy hormones.

I pay the ridiculous sum for my drink, go to pay for my parking ticket at the machine, and discover that I have spent the major chunk of my small change on the frappuccino bertuah and don’t have enough left to pay for the ticket. MANGKUK AY-

No matter! The frappuccino begins to work its magic and I cheerfully disregard this mishap and go to a handy ATM nearby to withdraw.

I cross the deserted carpark towards my car(casting a weary eye around, of course. The combination of a silent carpark, newspaper stories and an active imagination keeps me adequately vigilant, hopefully).

I drive off, and try to figure out how to get back. By that time, it’s getting dark, I see the bright lights of the city, I see what are presumably tourists walking around, I sing along to the radio, and generally all is well with the world (I told, you frappuccinos are magical). I end up using the Sungai Besi way to get home. I drive, I drive, I miss the exit heading to Puchong. I drive, I drive, and reach the turning to the lumba kuda roundabout, see congestion, impulsively decide to drive pass. I miss another turning, there is no u-turn, and somehow I end up in Bangi.

BANGI???

I am a horrible, stubborn navigator. BANGI?

I desperately turn back, follow all signs to Puchong, get led onto a different highway, waste petrol and toll money, and finally end up at that familiar stretch of road in front of IOI mall. I follow the familiar road, get to the correct residential area, wave to the security guard who lifts the divider up for me, and reach home.

Home to kickass Mom-cooked bayam masak sup and udang masak sambal. All is well.

Swedish people must be awesome

I am sometimes such an embarrassment, just by being. When I am, I feel like I want to burst out laughing, I can't stop smiling.At the exact same moment, I want to walk into a wall, or at the very least bang my head repeatedly against it.

Hi anna, happy belated birthday! Sorry for the late wish, and sorry I'm too much of a confused chicken shit to email you personally. I chose the pathetically open medium of a blog instead.

TGIF tomorrow! Last weekend, I spent my Saturday sleeping 13 hours, it was beautiful.

In a nutshell:

1. Attacks on churches:not cool.

2. Sleeping in on Saturday:cool.

3. Watching korean pop videos on Channel V:Cool.

4. Traffic jams with soulless people who speed up when you want to switch into their lanes: Not cool.

5. Fynn Jamal's Balada Jiwa Perempuan Gila: Cool.

6. Conflict over the use of 'Allah':Not cool.

7. Kings of Convenience coming to KL: My God cool tak tahan.

8. The fact that they're coming once I've gone back to Melbourne:Not cool.

9. Rais Yatim: Not cool. (though if you were to ask me to demonstrate a solid foundation for my dislike, I probably wouldn't be able to do so. Which makes me a twat unfairly prejudiced against Rais Yatim. Sorry Rais Yatim!).

10. Jonna Lee & Ed Harcourt's And Your Love

Cool like awesome ice cubes. Enlightenment credits go to Kakak, of course.

11. Kelly back on Malaysian soil: Cool tak tahan jugak.

Ok. Bye.

Insaf! Insaf!

Good grief.

The next thing you know, I'll be writing sappy love songs that were meant to be sung by Siti Nurhaliza circa 1997, with titles like Penjara Percintaan and Kelambu Kasih.

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.

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.

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.

I must repent. again.

I was lying on my bed, reading through a blog, when suddenly I saw out of the corner of my left eye, something fluttering up. A moth.

Now, I don't know if you know this, but I am scared of moths, butterflies, cockroaches, and anything yang sewaktu dengannya. Which turns even me off sometimes, it's such a clichéd girly fear. But fear them I do, even if the moth/butterfly/etc in question is about 25 times smaller then me. As long as it has wings that can make it fly around erratically, I'm a goner.

So I saw this moth, and my first instinct was to swear(a whispered "mother". Why "mother"? Well, some scattered remains of propriety stopped me from saying a longer, particularly foul word. Why whispered? because my roommate's asleep).

My second instinct was to grab the nearest thing that could act as a shield as well as an offensive instrument(I may be a coward, but when push comes to shove I can swat like nobody's business). Pencil box? No. Student diary? No. Packet of tim tams? Good grief, where's a weapon when you need one. I finally grabbed a decent implement(French exercise book), and held it over my head. The moth, which had been fluttering about near the ceiling, suddenly veered to the left and crashed into my blinds before sliding downwards. I can't see it now, my table's blocking my view. It hasn't made any movement since, so I suspect it's dead now(unless it's just sitting there quietly, which, if you think about it, is a pretty creepy thought). Now I have to pick up a dead moth tomorrow.

On an almost unrelated note, I find it peculiar and at the same time pathetic how susceptible I am to developing blog infatuations.(Did I just type that? Blog infatuations?)

I am so screwed for Corporate Law.

The next time I post I'll be at home!I want to screech out some ancient tribal cry of excitement and gratitude, but my roommate's asleep.

ok bye.

Edit: BLOODY HELL THE MOTH ISN'T DEAD IT'S SITTING THERE QUIETLY! Serious mangkuk ayun lah.

Bum like you

Aku dah buat dua exam, tinggal dua je lagi.

Sekarang dekat Melbourne tengah panas. Panas ya rabbi. Semalam aku punye first exam, buat masa sesi petang, pukul 2.15. Ntah kenape aku pergi underestimate how hot it would be in the exam hall, jadi aku pergi pakai jeans, a blouse(tapi warna merah, sebab aku taknak pakai baju hitam yang serap haba), kasut, pastu aku pergi lepaskan rambut. Sebab rambut aku panjang, kiranya aku macam pakai scarf. Exam aku dua jam. 120 minit. Aku rasa 20 minit daripada masa tu aku sibuk fikir “panas ya rabbi”, sambil lap peluh.

Hari ni aku exam petang lagi, jadi aku pun ambik lah langakah-langkah berpatutan untuk menghadapi kepanasan dalam exam hall. Aku pakai three-quartered jeans aku dengan t-shirt, even though t-shirt tu gelebeh and dia punya collar dah bentuk pelik sebab basuh banyak sangat kali. Lepas tu aku pakai selipar dan aku ikat rambut aku biar bonjot atas kepala. Kesimpulannya, aku nampak macam orang gaji masa tengah buat exam tadi.Takpe. Aku dah biasa.(Ye,aku selalu keluar rumah nampak macam orang gaji, ape masalah kau ?)

Masa aku tengah nak jalan pergi exam hall tadi aku ada nampak seorang kawan(kawan ke? kenalan lah kiranya) aku ni tengah jalan kat depan aku. Aku boleh cam belakang dia, serious terrer. Anyway, kalau ikutkan,melainkan aku kenal orang tu secara baik, aku selalunye akan jalan perlahan-lahan, ataupun ikut jalan lain, dengan harapan aku tak payah tegur orang itu dan dia takkan perasan aku, sebab aku ni socially retarded like that. Tapi kali ni aku pegi kat betul-betul belakang kenalan aku seorang ni pastu aku pegi tepuk bahu dia. Dua benda muncul kat dalam kepala aku saat-saat aku tepuk bahu dia, iaitu:

a) Tinggi jugak dia ni, kalau nak tepuk bahu dia aku kena angkat tangan hampir separas dengan muka aku.

b) APE PASAL AKU TENGAH TEPUK BAHU DIA NI??

Aku sibuk sangat fikir pasal b), sampaikan bila kenalan aku tu pusing dan nampak aku, aku tak mampu nak senyum kat dia dan cakap ‘hi’ ke apa. Tak. Aku sekadar naikkan bulu kening sikit. Tak boleh naikkan mulut untuk senyum, naikkan bulu kening pun jadilah.

Apa kejadahnya aku naikkan bulu kening ? Gila sombong. Or just gila, fullstop.

Magdalene

My love affair with my studies is going through a rough patch.

Maybe it's just because of exams? Exams, the loathsome creature that mocks my immaturity, my lack of hard work, my stupidity. Perhaps. But this semester has been a sort of blur for me, and the only classes I felt like I was attending body and soul were my french classes.

How can you have a love affair with accounting anyway? It sounds downright laughable. Have you ever met a person who is genuinely fascinated by it? I was reading someone's blog, and the passion and innate interest she has for what she's learning, her enthusiasm about her studies and her course work, it shone through, and it killed me a bit, because I don't think I've ever felt like that about my studies. Yes, what I learn can be stimulating,I acknowledge its due importance, but my interest for my studies is parked at the end of classes, and I don't integrate what I learn with my life. I wish I could be more... emotional, I suppose, with my studies. But it's kind of hard to get all worked up over the joys of learning things like the existence of separate financial reporting obligations for different-sized companies, or directors' duties to shareholders.

Why did I choose a commerce degree? Because I felt a certain satisfaction in working out how accounts balance, and was stoked when they actually did. Because economics fascinated me in a way physics and biology couldn't. Because I thought I was good at it, that my intelligence was meant for these subjects, because I could see myself becoming a kick-ass accountant.

Now that I don't feel that I'm good at it anymore, and that my intelligence seems non-existent, and half of my lectures bore me to tears, what does that leave me with?

I want to come home so badly, I am ultimately tired of this place for the time being.

*** Very sorry for this, I tried very hard to avoid doing an emo exam post this time around. I was initially supposed to blog about things like witty(if I do say so myself) retorts to weight-gain comments, tim-tam slam orgasms, my imaginary t-shirt shop ambitions, etc, but somehow this was what came about. I is failure.

I have to go get groceries

My compensation for studying as of late has been videos of korean boybands.

Betul.

Despite the demise of the boyband in negara-negara matsalleh(or its evolution to the Jonas Brothers), it has been perfectly preserved in South Korea. I mean, we're talking about the traditional formula here:

Good looking guys(or disturbingly pretty, depending on your view) + catchy pop tunes + dancing + videos with close-ups of them singing with emotional faces = bunch of fangirls squealing

South Korean boybands are wonderfully unapologetic about it, the boys are all so pretty(nampak macam semua baru hit puberty, but withouts zits. No body hair to be seen!) utterly metrosexual, good dancers(I now appreciate the intricacies of good blocking), and they have a tendency to go for band names in the form of letters.

How can I not be cheered up watching them?!

So if I don't do well for this exam, you know why. I was too busy watching hairless boys singing and dancing simultaneously.

tell her nothing if not this

Someone must have slipped me the happy drug today, because I was giggling (that's right, giggling) at the most random things. I giggled thinking about the french dialogue I had to listen to for my listening test. I giggled while I was walking behind a couple of acquaintances of mine who had recently become an actual couple. I giggled after I pretended not to see someone(I'm sorry,I can't help it! Avoiding a conversation just seems easier than actually having one), I giggled reading the scribbles on the tables at the library(I love scribbles!). I giggled thinking about some regrets,I giggled thinking how frumpy I looked, I giggled while replaying recent events and conversations in my head, I giggled watching videos on Youtube. It was a lot of giggling, occasionally followed by periods of perplexity over what was it I found so damn amusing.

Remember this one?


I should be sleeping.

Riot on an empty street

"Elle est amoureuse!"
"Je la connais même pas".
"Mais si je la connais".
"Depuis quand ?"
"Depuis toujours. Dans tes rêves".


***

Having been reminded of the existence of this blog, I am somewhat pleasantly surprised by how much I miss it. I miss it like I miss a pal, as if the few people who read it have molded into one big lump of friend, a friend I just so happen to be at ease with to tell embarrassing things to. It hasn't been that long since I last blogged, but it sure feels like it, and I have all these things I want to tell you, what I've been up to, and what I've been scared of and what I've been excited about, what has been making me feel guilty. I'm sorry it's all about me, but that's just the kind of friend this blog is.

But first order of business. I got King's of Convenience's Declaration of Dependence, and here I must stop and take a deep breath because I'm about to burst with the joy of telling you how much I love it. Few things make me as happy as when I finally get a CD I've been anticipating and it turns out as good as you hoped it would be(and my hopes were pretty high).It is so lovely. KAKAK KAKAK KAKAK JUST WAIT 'TILL I COME BACK THEN YOU CAN LISTEN TO IT!

Second order of business. I was in my macro tutorial the other day, lost as usual, and suddenly Voice in My Head quipped: "and to think you tried applying to Cambridge. Ha-ha!Ha-ha-ha!".I almost joined in laughing out loud.

Third order of business. Being in the dance production for Flare reminded me of some long-lost childhood trait: I kind of like performing. It's a bit intoxicating, that adrenaline rush before you get out on stage, the swell of watchamacallit if your performance goes well.

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home. I don't mind that I'll have to meet up with relatives saying I've gained weight, or if my family gets annoyed with me, or the cat doesn't recognize me, or even the dread of work and the inevitable screw-ups that come with it. I want to get home.

Now, all I have to do is contribute towards a kickass show tonight, sober up tomorrow and get cracking on the studies. and say sorry to God. again. and stop eating out and cook more. and do the exam papers. and look forward to my flight back.

sounds like a plan.a plan that does not account for freaking out.

In which I tell you embarassing things and make you cringe

I am perfectly comfortable admitting I am a social retard. You see, the thing is, most times, I don't mind. Sure it can be uncomfortable at moments, I've complained about them often enough. But I seem to have accepted it and am content with the fact that this is who I am, that I will not make friends effortlessly, that I will not be a social butterfly. I've figured out I will always be uncomfortable at parties, that I'll be the quiet girl in tutorials, the one who sits alone at lectures. I'm not happy that I don't easily connect with many people, but as corny as this may sounds, it makes me happier when I do manage to connect with someone, I like to delude myself that its worth more. I'm such a hard person to be friends with(I'm sombong, I'm quite crazy,etc), so when someone does manage to do so I am eternally grateful.

But sometimes, like when your french partner ditches you(Jonathan has gone missing), and your french teacher asks the rest of the class whether they'd want to partner with you and it remains silent, you are reminded that you are a social retard in the most painful way possible. And so you wonder.

What if I don't want to be fucking sociable?

mad? yes.
Ashamed? yes.
hungry? Yes. I'm going to go makan.

"I've been feeling like a fox with sad old eyes"

One reason why I like Breakfast at Tiffany's so much is because it had that part where Holly talks about the mean reds, about suddenly feeling scared without knowing what you're afraid of. It made perfect sense, because sometimes I'll be in the shower(this feeling usually occurs either when I'm in the shower or sitting on my bed at sunset, I don't know why), and I'll suddenly find myself dreading something, like it's the end and I have nowhere to run to. I'll have no idea why and start listing all the possibilities for this feeling, starting with whether I've prayed. Sometimes it feels like the end, the end that no music or pretty film can prevent from coming. I'll rest my head against the bathroom wall,(sometimes I'll be wearing a flowery shower cap as I do so), and will the hot water to wash the feeling away.

Either way, I like the fact I have a name to call it now.

This song makes me feel things.

And though our doors may knock and rattle in the wind
I'll just hold you tight and we'll not let those fuckers in

Listening to Bloc Party, I was struck by a line from Two More Years.

I've become crueler in your presence

While the song in its entirety wasn't relevant to what I was thinking, that line alone struck a chord. I know I often behave appallingly, sometimes with specific actions like making spiteful comments or pretending not to see someone, sometimes just with sheer arrogance. I don't know why I still do it, and I don't know how to reconcile the different parts of myself with any of it. I'm sorry.

But enough about that. I've booked my flight ticket home, yay! Beacon of light. And I've had a serving of vegetables today, which always makes me feel good(never mind the fact it was cauliflower, not some green leafy vegetable). You know you've crossed a certain point in your life when you go looking for sayur, as opposed to avoiding them like the plague(picking out the mixed veggie your mom puts in nasi goreng, anyone?).

I like to whistle. I didn't know how to whistle until after school, because apparently bersiul adalah perbuatan yang sial, therefore I was told to avoid it. However, after school there was no one telling me not to, plus my parents are both avid whistlers, so there you have it. I practiced until I could blow more than just air.

I like telling you useless information, I know.

Going HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEEEY!

Holy cow!



I'm sorry to sound like a buffoon, but Erlend looks so endearing with his flippable sunglasses/glasses, he has officially joined the ranks of people I lust after but will never meet. Move over Edward Norton, shift aside young John Cusack, give the man some room. Let him sit next to all the Korean actors I've got lined up.

There's even another video already, for Mrs Cold, go watch it.

A friend of mine got tickets to go see Phoenix in Birmingham, apparently, which made me relive the awesomeness of watching them here. The highlight of highlights was the encore, of course, they ended with 1901, which was off the hook! Luckily some person on youtube recorded it, because I recorded squat.


Still my favourite song off the new album, and the lights! Whoo.

One thing that bugs me when I go to a gig is when there are people near me who stand stock still during the show, or only concede to bop their heads or sway ever so slightly. It's their choice, of course, but it sort of defeats the whole purpose, doesn't it? How can you not instinctively want to move when you hear a riff like that? Or, to be more honest, it makes me feel idiotic when I shake around by myself.

I was watching a milk commercial on tv, they used this really pretty song which I couldn't find out by whom, but thanks to the kuasa that is yahoo answers, some nice person revealed that it's a song called Picture Frames by Georgia Fair. Can I be really douchey and just put it here?

I'd convinced myself that I wouldn't be able to concentrate on my assignment without doing my chores first, so today I didn't bother to shower and did some semi-massive straightening up. I managed to khatam my sentimental playlist while doing so, working my way through lovely guitar-strumming-type songs, as the weather bounced between gloomy and sunny. If you'd dropped by you would have caught me in my pajamas, singing out loud as I vacuumed the floor/ironed my clothes/did my laundry/baked cupcakes. I am still in a gross un-showered state(I'm taking a bath after this, I swear), but my apartment floor is pretty clean, whoo. While I'm procrastinating, I might as well pop in a picture here.

Gambar!

A muhibbah aidilfitri

Hot

Hello. It's been a while but it feels like it's been much longer. I have an essay due for when I meet my group assignment members tomorrow but I still haven't finished, and funnily enough, I don't want to. I'm not worried it's late and that we're meeting at 10, that I still have 700 words to go. I don't want to do this, and therefore I won't. What's wrong with me? I don't know. But selamat hari raya.

I've been really enjoying dance class, have I mentioned this? Leaves me exhausted, but in a good way. and I've also really been enjoying this weetabix cereal Kelly gave me to try. It's got berry bits and stuff in it,annoyingly chewy and they get stuck in my teeth at times when eaten with milk, but still delightful nonetheless.

We've got a gig this weekend(woo!), and secretly, I find it thrilling. Very glad I'll have my Kellogs there with me. I'll tell you something, dancing is empowering, man. All the hair flicks, body rolls and hand swishes entail some sort of diva-esque quality that you have to deliver to make them work! Obviously all my sexy moves were suppressed during school, so perhaps that gives me all the more reason to swing my hips with a vengeance.

I really, really, don't want to do this essay.

But I don't want dance class to equate corruption. It's that funny split personality again, where you have one side gaping at yourself, going "hello. slut. tolong sikit?" and another side going "Bloody hell, it's not like I'm doing all this to go to a club and grind against some guy, this is just fun and a form of exercise."

Oh well.

700 words. come on, come on!

Vous croyez en Dieu?

Thanks for sticking by when I go crazy. For that, you deserve some sort of baked good, so come see me to claim it.

Got my oral over and done with, and I've submitted my assignment. Two points!

My oral partner appeared to be on some sort of mission (unintentionally, or so he pleads) to test my patience. Had he been deployed by God to uji my kesabaran during these last few days ramadhan? Either way, I failed. I would like to believe I attempted to be accommodating the first few times, but at some point you would just like to smack someone across the back of their head and say "Dude. You just can't function like this if you expect to live in an interdependent community, which we do".

I think, if I may be so indulgent to make a self-describing statement; that I am one scary bitch when I get mad. I don't scream in your face (though 9 times out of 10 I probably imagined it at some point), but I choose the shamefully cowardly method of being mad: I get moody, I give you the silent treatment, the death glare, the imaginary thunderbolts. Sometimes I resort to sarcasm and the occasional scathing word, but mostly I go for a vision of frostiness. Which may just be annoying to some (never rubbed well against my parents, I tell you), but sometimes the Machiavellian aspect of my soul is vindicated and achieves its objective to scare the bejesus out of the object of my contempt.

Which just goes to show how dysfunctional I am as a person. This whole thing came to light as I was talking with my partner, and I realized I was having to resist the urge to stop talking and just GLARE at him. Machiavelli was saying "Insult him! Disregard common courtesy, make him weep!". Vlad the Impaler, who often surfaces when I'm angry and want to physically assault someone was with Machiavelli on this, asking me to "IMPALE HIM! Find a pole!".

On the other hand, another side of me (Mother Teresa side?) was going over the fact that he had apologized each time he made a mistake (which is more that what some would have done), he was scared enough as it is, and the fact that he likes to put smiley faces in his messages. You can't pick a fight with someone who puts smiley faces in their messages, it just doesn't seem right.

I was internally arguing all this in my head while he was asking me things I believe in ( We were learning the verb 'croire' today). At what point can you disregard the need to be the bigger person and have the inherent right to show that you're irked? I suppose, ideally, you're not supposed to show it at all. You're supposed to take it in stride, realise that this person made mistakes but then again so have you, etc. The frosty treatment would only end up with both of us being discomfited. Kesian dia. I knew what I should have done but didn't do it. I didn't pick a fight, but I wasn't exactly making him a friendship bracelet either.

No matter, no matter. We'll pick up where we've left it in two weeks. Two weeks of holidays! This calls for a happy song.

Triste

I need to put on my thundercloud earrings.

I have an essay due on Wednesday and I’ve misplaced my assignment partner, who probably thinks I’m an unreliable ass by now. My French oral partner has yet to email me his part, every little thing is getting to me, and it pisses me off to have to use PMS as an excuse. My internet quota’s finished and I’ve exceeded my phone cap so I can’t call my mom.

My relationship with Allah is not in a good place right now, and I know I’ll get over my stupidity and arrogance in due time, but I can’t seem to do so at the moment. Which is too bad, because it’s lonely when you’re not on good terms with the one you’re supposed to turn to. Everything else I try to seek solace from seems to be falling flat, which may be God’s way of punishing me, but He’s not spiteful (I always keep forgetting and tend to attribute Allah with some qualities of a human, which is just proof of my own folly as a human myself) so maybe He’s just trying to gently nudge me and make me see sense. I’d like to believe that.

I know I’m a little fucked up for complaining like this. I don’t want to have anything bad enough happen before I realise the good things going for me at the moment, and at the same time I don’t want to have to force-feed myself with optimism and cheerfulness. I just want to be sad for a little while before I get up, brush myself off, and move on, ok?

Ok.

The so-called troubles of the nondescript life

Quelle horreur!

I have 3(or 4) assignments pending, a french test, a french oral exam, and the usual tutorials. The tutorials I would like to just disregard, but last week's macro tute had me feeling very inadequate(read:stupid), so I better read the literature and do the work this time.

I shouldn't be blogging, but I've just completed my portion of a group assignment and emailed it off to my group-mates, so I can breathe easy for a bit. I have to do my french oral though, (pour quoi est-ce que tu ne email pas moi, Jonathan?), which is tedious. My topic is that I've had an awful day and am telling what happened to me to my housemate. So I've been trying to come up with all sorts of bad things that could have happened and more importantly, things I can actually find the words in french for. No point in coming up with a wonderfully elaborate tale of how I saw a white rabbit and decided to follow it a la Alice in Wonderland if I don't even know the french word for 'rabbit', is there?

Dance class has been enjoyable. I like dance class. I like dancing. I'm rubbish at it, but there is something ultimately satisfying about hearing a catchy song (even if that song is something as empty-headed and pointless as Krazy by Pitbull. have you seen the video? completely tasteless, the director should be elbowed in the eyes) that makes you want to move. It's intriguing, this natural instinct to groove to the rhythm.

Anyway, I have to go to bed. Esok is the 17th day of puasa!

FIGHTING!

To be honest, I really just want to get this semester done with and go home. There's so much stuff I need to do but I find myself stubbornly refusing to do any of it, even when I've sat myself down, cleared my table, and have my pencils at the ready. Where did my motivation go? I find myself reluctant, and it scares me.

Come on, ayang. Hidupkan enjin, vroom vroom. Doraemon, could you give me a hand?

Doraemon whips out some nifty device from his pocket. Alat menguatkan semangat untuk belajar!!!

Alat menguatkan daya menumpukan perhatian dalam lecture!!!

Alat menguatkan initiative untuk berkawan!!!

Alat menguatkan kebolehan untuk prioritise, seperti mengutamakan pelajaran sebelum membuat kek atau biskut untuk dimakan!!!

I give Doraemon a big thank-you hug and sew some new ears for him out of felt (because I'm not an ungrateful prick like Nobita).

HANANI I MISS YOU TOO. A dose of your offbeat humor and your rational approach would be good for me at this very moment. When you come here, I'm going to take you to my favourite bakery and belanje you makan a chocolate croissant.

I found this very awesome instrumental called Adam by Meshell Ndegeocello(how cool a stage name is that?). It's dark and melancholic and kick-ass.

Leave the party for a joyride
Cause baby time is on our side
Or so we'd like to clai-ai-aim.
-Whitest Boy Alive, Fireworks

Come on, motivation. Inspiration. Semangat. Hit me in the face. Knock me out cold. Batter me senseless.

And mouths gaped open in horror at this tragedy of words

You're 24!you're 24!
So blow the horns and slam the door
on 23, it's now too late
You're 4 years short of 28
And I solemnly wish, and I hope
That you'll have strength to bear and cope
With 24, oh gosh! that age
Seems to proclaim a turning page
For good, you've passed the boundaries of 'child'
And now you're there out in the wild
Where relatives will ask time and again
"Haih Shazana, bile nak kahwin?
Dah ade orang, dah ade pakwe?"
And you'll be grimacing, thinking 'aku tak kuase
nak jawab semua soalan ni wei'
But of course your thoughts wouldn't be in malay
Nevertheless, I'm sure we'd agree
The future isn't all bright and twee
For 24.It has begun!
The race against the moon and sun
To live your life as best as you can
To follow the course that you have planned
Or perhaps to just go with the flow
After all, with life, we don't really know
If things will work out as we think
something something something pink.
You're 24! It seemed to me,
That an adult, you would never be
But the number contradicts my claim
You're grown up now, it's not the same
You've started work, you're earning pay
(and you better belanje me, I say!)

So 24 might seem a bit sad
But then again, I am quite glad
that you're this age, if only for
the fact that it can't be ignored
That you're AWESOME!
And that won't change
Despite the increase in your age range
My God, susahnye nak rhyme semue ni
I see now that it is NOT easy
to be a poet. (even a bad one)

Anyway

Sorry I didn't give a cool present this time
All I could do were these horrible rhymes
But I'm so proud of you, from now till the end
I still brag about you to all of my friends
You're 24, and from what I see
You're a year wiser than 23
And stronger and smarter and more mature
Which adds all the more to your allure
(allure? sounds dodgy, but you try rhyming 'mature')
You're all the better at 24, I think that's true
and now I can say you have great hair too
So have some cake, and eat good food
And don't feel down if your boss is rude
It's your birthday today, hip, hip, hooray!
I wish you all the happiness, more than I can say
So have a great birthday filled with fun and wonder
From you sister who's stuck all the way down under.


**I do not claim to have written this poem. I don't think anyone in their right mind would. However, it IS my sister's birthday today, so I believe a lot of cheer is in order. HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAKAK! Bile nak datang sini?

Paleolitik

Adoi, nak jiwang-jiwang pulak. Ketuk kang.

I can't wait to wear my baju kurung raya, mom sent it via Kelly and it's super orange and deliciously comfortable.

The weather is definitely staying warmer for longer stretches, so I don't think it would be imprudent to say spring is just about here. I telepathically urge any bald trees I see to start sprouting new leaves and flower buds, I'm sure all they need is a bit of encouragement. Today was another particularly nice day, of the ridiculously-blue-skies kind. Such a travesty to stay indoors!

I got The Whitest Boy Alive's new one, Rules, and I'm happy to say I like it a lot. There is a mellow vibe about the music, something light and...I don't know, cool? For lack better adjective, I'd call the music very,very cool. Recommended tracks: Intentions, Promise Less or Do More, Courage.

Speaking of Erlend Oye:

Jangan lupe! Coming out soon.

You can obviously see this is one those posts with no intent or purpose but to wander around. I haven't been doing much(except being all jiwang and shit), so there's nothing to report on the home front.

Selamat bersahur, berpuasa, (and especially) berbuka.

Nota jiwang ke-44:

I want to slow dance with you.

Peristiwa Pemberontakkan Medulla Oblongata 2009

Doing an assignment that requires an essay:

1. I start a few days later then when I should have.

2. Reading the question. Heavy use of highlighters, scribbles in the margins of tentative points, sketchy ideas(both written and imagined) of how to go about answering it.

3. Brainstorming. Moderately easy, once you get the flow going. Lots of scribbles, mostly in incoherent form, because after all, it's brainstorming. Plenty of time to sort trough the rubble that is my illegible handwriting and mold it into a coherent and concise essay.

3. Attempt to start writing. Don't know how to begin, I jump to the middle. I start on a point, am stumped on how to elaborate,fit in examples or integrate references, so I start a new one. If I'm lucky, the document will soon be full of one-line 'paragraphs'.

4. Often struggle to make a decent sentence or to write down what I want to say, and find myself thinking "What the hell do I want say anyway?". Fail to switch on the lightbulb that is my thoughts or my (non-existent) academic intellect.

5. Coherence and conciseness commit suicide. Incoherence and long-winded ramblings throw a party to celebrate.

6. I start thinking how much flunking this assignment is going to cost my overall grade.

Aku dah mengantuk la wei! Katil aku dah tunggu aku. Apa pasal otak aku tak boleh keluarkan ayat-ayat yang bernas? Tengok, sampai dah blog dalam melayu, padahal kena tulis essay dalam english. Nampak sangat tengah memberontak.

Well I guess I'm trying to be nochalant about it

Female singers.

1. Bjork(sorry I don't know how to type the trema over the 'o'. Fail)

I have mucho respect for her, even if I haven't explored even a third of her song repertoire. The few songs that I have listened to are amazing. The emotion she puts into a song and the fact that her lyrics are deceptively simple but profoundly meaningful makes it sublime. Been listening to All Is Full Of Love and Pagan Poetry.

2. Lykke Li



3. Mariah Carey.

I think her stylist should be shot. And I didn't really fancy the Touch My Body song. But! Think back to the Mariah Carey circa 1997, when her Butterfly album came out. Specifically, think of the song Breakdown that was in this album. The one reason that still redeems Mariah Carey in my eyes. Such a good song! So well-written, musically and lyrically.

4. Catcall

A Sydney-sider.She was the opening act for Phoenix(who were awesome, by the way!). Haven't taken to many of her songs, but there is one particular tune that went straight to my head and stayed there.


5. Regina Spektor

I haven't listened to her new stuff yet, but it always makes me chuckle when I read a review in a music magazine and they mention how she makes dolphin noises on one track.

6. Sarah Blasko

Australian as well. Very famous here I think, since her new album came out, her face is everywhere; in magazines, in Borders punye windows. Belum dengar many of her songs, but I am smitten by this one from one of her previous cds.

I have an assignment due! Hope you're all doing well.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I want to dance like Molly Ringwald

I. got tickets. to go see.

PHOENIX!

I am so excited cannot tahan. Cannot tahan!

And of course I have to tell you how it was more of an impulsive buy, how I didn't even know they were coming until Ticketmaster emailed me about it. I didn't even know they had come out with a new album! But I do have all of their old ones in my mp3 player(tabik terima kasih kepada kakak), and I do like a bunch of their songs. So I blearily bought tickets the next morning the minute they went on sale(bangun straight from bed, tak gosok gigi ke ape terus keluarkan debit card and ready at the computer).

Whoo! So excited,so excited! Have I mentioned this? Sangat teruja. I cannot breathe, I am so psyched.

Of course kakak introduced me to them, who else I know would listen to some french electronic-influenced alternative rock band? Anyway, I've listened to the two singles off the new album, 1901 and Lisztomania, and they are awesome. 1901 got me hooked right from the opening notes, and Lisztomania is the type of song I hear a while ago and think it's ok, and then listen to it again after a while and suddenly it's fabulous. Someone on youtube made a video to the song with mashed-up dancing scenes from some movies from the eighties, most notably The Breakfast Club, and I must say it's spot on because listening to the song makes me want to dance like that too. The very idea that I'll get to dance while listening to them live(multiplied by the fact that the gig is for standing area only, can you imagine the energy?), ARGH! Too much excitement jammed through my pores, I cannot wait. I'm going to march straight to the record store and get Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix right after I'm done with exams. I am in dire need of some new music, and I think this will be a nice addition after Fleet Foxes.

How can I not put the songs up? Can you picture it? Hearing and recognizing the opening notes and screaming like crazy, swaying as the drum beats kick in, and singing the song at the top of your lungs with this intense feeling of satisfaction and giddiness?


Dancing like it's the eighties is strangely uplifting.

Save Your Scissors For Someone Else's Skin

One thing I remember, and I'll probably always remember, is this: sitting on my dad's lap on raya morning. I think I must have been 7 or 8, it was the morning of the first day of raya, my dad had just come back from raya prayers. We were watching tv while waiting for mom to get the rendang and ketupat ready for our traditional raya breakfast. My dad was sitting on the couch, I think it was one of the two green leather armchairs we used to have, the ones the cats loved to scratch. I was sitting on my dad, leaning against him with all the trust and intimacy that astonishes me when I think about it now. I was watching tv while sitting with my dad , laughing as he ate some nuts and got a weird look on his face, forgetting that it was raya and thinking that he accidentally ate something when he was supposed to be fasting.

Few years down the road, I went crazy.

I got an email from my dad, and the words are careful, so, so, careful. And it made me want to cry , it made me want to hug him and say I'm sorry I went crazy, I'm sorry I drove you away, I'm sorry I couldn't and still can't be a better daughter to see past your words and your demeanor, I'm sorry for the times I gave up and gave in to the idea that our relationship at the moment will be as good as it gets. For thinking God was punishing the both of us. I'm sorry that we are both so stubborn and too alike to compromise, I am so sorry, I am so sorry.

***
Sometimes, thinking about qiamat helps. It puts things into perspective. It makes me look at anything that's troubling me and think 'there just isn't enough time for this shit'. And that includes inconsiderate people, study blues, weight and zit issues, casting failures, flailing crushes, and the like.

Things that have been keeping me sane/happy: Kellogs, chocolate croissants and mochas in the morning, big tables, slouchy black sweater, Arnott's Scotch Finger biscuits, La Vie En Rose.

City and Colour, ftw.