I suddenly got this flashback of a memory from when I was 11, I think. I had chicken pox, and was itching like crazy all over. I remember my mom helping me put some balm all over the spots, and she switched on the air-conditioning to help provide some relief. Then I remember her reading a storybook to me, though that seems odd, because isn't 11 too old for bedtime stories? Nevertheless, I can very vividly recall cuddling up to her shoulder as I listened to her.

I like how sometimes, as I walk back with Logs on the way home from the library, or go makan with him and Kelly, I still get that feeling where I am genuinely pleased to be in their company, and there's this warm, chocolatey sense that I am grateful, beyond grateful, for their friendship. And it is not pretentious, or fake, or insincere, it is not hard. I'm not saying it's effortless, but with them there is an ease that is so hard to find with others, with them I'm not a social retard.Their friendship redeems me.

And when things go wrong, when I do several things wrong and feel like fuck, as I do now, I'm going to use these two separate pieces to cheer myself up.

Stroopwafels (Kelly, I love them!)

It is very likely that I will become, or at least attempt to become, an auditor after I graduate. Sometimes I see this as a rational, logical, idea. Sometimes it freaks the shit out of me. Sometimes it makes me wonder whether this will mean I will end up a spinster. Other times it makes me think maybe I'll meet someone at a client's place (like how my mom met my dad whilst she was an internal auditor at Esso, isn't that so delightfully optimistic?).

I told one of my ang moh classmates I was doing a commerce degree, and she gave The Snort. The OMG-why-are-you-doing-commerce snort.

Another time, I can't remember why, but I was in the library thinking about various disciplines of learning and what their respective students must be aspiring to achieve in light of their studies. I suppose an architecture student would go ga-ga over a beautifully and immaculately designed building by some renowned architect. A bio-med student would probably be motivated by the most recent findings on cancer cures, or something like that. Then my focus shifted onto my own studies, what would an accounting student get excited about? The latest financial reporting framework standard released by the standards board? Then I snorted, and went back to work.

The other day during my Financial Accounting tute, we were discussing executive compensation and employee stock options, and when it wrapped-up, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had actually enjoyed the tute. It was genuinely stimulating, and yes, I know that sounds very bleah and personal-statement-worthy, but betul, I was just as puzzled by the idea that things like employee stock options could maintain my attention for more than 20 minutes. And that wasn't even the first time I had that ah-ha moment, Financial Accounting as a whole has been my most interesting subject this semester, I believe. Rock on.

I hate, I really do hate, when I encounter people who think that a commerce degree is easy. I get vivid daydreams of severely injuring such people for a couple of minutes, but then that anger deflates and I find myself glumly realizing that maybe the reason I get so upset is because the the notion is actually true? It probably is easier to pass accounting than it is to pass anatomy, or molecular biology, or some obscure engineering subject or whatnot. On the other hand, screw all you naysayers. Selagi kau tak buat subject aku dan dapat H1, SENYAP KAU!

The idea of working as an auditor, doing the whole 9 to 5 thing, the sober work outfits, the employee benefits, the occasional work event and office gossip, the struggle to climb the ladder, the chaos and lack of sleep during the busy season, the whole corporate shebang, it seems a reassuringly predictable route. You get an office job, one that comes with a fixed pay,benefits, 15 days of paid leave, etc. You work, you get paid, you gripe about work, you get promoted, you get paid more.

On the other hand,I'm scared that I'll be someone who hates my job but am too chicken shit to go out there and find greener pastures because I don't have the guts to go without the security of a steady paycheck. What would I do anyway? As of now, accounting's all I know.

I think I could be a competent auditor.

But anyway. How are you doing, folks? I feel a bit older this time around.

Remember Peterpan? The Indonesian band? Whatever happened to them ah? Lama tak dengar cerita. But I recall buying a pirated copy of their CD from Petaling Street ages ago(I'm sorry, I was a student with no money. I'm still a student with no money), and I really did like it. My favorite song was Ku Katakan Dengan Indah, I thought the lyrics were heartbreak in a bottle.

Tetapi hatiku selalu meninggikanmu
Terlalu meninggikanmu
Selalu meninggikamu
Membuat ku terjatuh dan terjatuh lagi

At the moment, I have decided to go to the root, the mothership, the big kahuna of all chick lit, and read Pride and Prejudice. So far it's proving to keep my interest piqued, but it's early chapters yet. We'll see how it goes.

I'm now going to go eat a a biscuit in the shape of a Teddy Bear and go to bed.

Heartbeat

Houston, we have a problem.

It is 11.39 pm. I have just eaten toast and had a cup of coffee. My roommate's asleep, I wince every time I cause some sort of noise. I have a whole bunch of documents open, the outline for an audit assignment, the meager beginnings of a french script for a short film, readings on going concern issues and auditing standards. I have a half-eaten chocolate egg sitting on my table, it's pretty big. I haven't done my EPM homework, I haven't studied french, I haven't proof-read the outline, I haven't I haven't I haven't. It's my own fault though, it seems as if for the moment I've lost momentum, and I can't be bothered with things. To use a profanity, I can't be fucked.

Sometimes my heart wells up with things, things that I think are important, things that I think are superficial, things that are perhaps meaningless. And I think about how we all do this, our hearts all well up with different things, and I like that. Somehow it's comforting to know that everyone, even the people I can't stand, or the people that intimidate me, or the random person standing at the corner, have this menagerie of thoughts and longings and feelings that are too complex to be deciphered.

I love listening to Dhiyanah talk about art. She knows what she wants to do, she is innately passionate about it, she wants to revolutionize the Malaysian art scene. She talks wistfully about places like Abu Dhabi, and she has a moleskin she carries around half-filled with sketches and random drawings. Her route is so refreshingly different from my own.

Life is muted
Life's on hold
Life goes on
I'm getting old
And can't be arsed to do my work
I'd rather find out what is Plurk
Well, not really.
I just said that so it'd rhyme
And I could waste even more time
Writing this.

Nak makan pengat durian lah. Serious.

Don't make frowns, you silly clown

Hi kittens!

I want to blog, but I'm supposed to be doing work. But suppose I had nothing to do and could blog at leisure, I would have talked about addictions and how I've been fortunate enough to not be dependent on things like drugs, or alcohol, or cigarettes, but somehow through some twisted working of fate I have become almost scarily obsessed with Big Bang and 2NE1 (both are Korean pop bands, by the way).

And then I would have crapped at length about how freaky this is because I've always seen celebrity crushes for what they are: stupid. I mean, yes, I lust after Edward Norton and young John Cusack and Erlend Oye but I know perfectly well it's all just for fun. But somehow the commercial genius of YG Entertainment (the South Korean talent company responsible for the two groups) has managed to pierce my armor of rational thinking and now I can't stop watching videos of said bands and squealing over how cute they are and making unfounded declarations of love("Oppa saranghaeeeeeeee!!!"). HOW DID THEY DO IT?!

At first it was funny, then I spent a whole weekend doing it and didn't do my work, and it wasn't so funny anymore. But now I think I'm starting to regain my scattered pieces of common sense, so it's slightly funny again. Adoi. How la. I am a casualty of the Korean wave.

OK! SUDAH! SUDAH! No more crushes on hairless boys who can dance well and girls who are so cute yet have swagger.

So kiddies, today's mantra will be:
I will be productive today.

I will be productive today.
I will be productive today.
I will be productive today.

God, it's one of those days where I want to apologize to anyone I've ever hurt with my actions or inaction, and where I sincerely hope everyone's doing well.

FIGHTING!

Time flies

It only occurred to me after I had left the apartment to check whether the library was actually open. It is after all, a public holiday.

Well, that's what you get for being a melon-head.

So I kept on walking, and I was wearing my new earphones, the ones which impaled my wallet, making it bleed money, but compensates by providing sweet,sweet pleasure for my ears. It goes so far as to make me chuckle sometimes, because when I'm listening to music it's as if I'm in a movie with a personal soundtrack, and that, my friends, is a dangerously lulling experience. All the more so when it's autumn and leaves are falling, it makes you start to think you're in a Korean movie.

I walked and I saw things like pretty flowers and the people from the Chinese Theater Group doing their chalking. The sun was out at the time, it was quiet, and I played the same two songs over and over again. and I thought about things like how this is probably the last year I'll be here, so I better look around uni and see all the nooks and crannies I haven't seen yet. I thought that my book-bag was too heavy and how silly it was of me to be lugging it around. I decided not to do any work today, even though I knew I'd come to regret it, and I was bitter about that for a couple minutes.

I thought about friends who let me realize, via their friendship (no dramatic proclamations or confrontations needed), that melancholy, while delicious, is a passing thing. And that is definitely a good thing.

Allez-y!

In another dimension, Atiqah is not doing an inadequate job of studying for a couple tests she has, nor is she guilty about having eaten wholly unhealthy foods the whole day.

No. As a matter of fact, she is taking a quick shower. She is going to wear her favourite pair of jeans and a comfortable top, slap on some moisturizer, and wear the necklace her mom bought her for her 21st birthday.

And instead of picking up her book bag filled with her heavy slab of a textbook and and her notes, she is instead going to dump everything out onto the floor, and stuff her bag with her music-player, camera, journal and colour pencils. She'll pop in a pear just for the sake of it, slip on her most comfortable pair of shoes, the red flats with the bows on them, grab her wallet and keys, and high-tail it out of the apartment.

Since the library's closed, she'll make a pit-stop at the bookstore and choose a cheap paperback or magazine, and since she's at the shops, she'll get snacks.

Then she'll go somewhere, she's thinking of the beach. She'll go there, find some ideal spot, kick off her shoes, and just sit and stare at the ocean, for at least half an hour. The rest of her time will be spent listening to music, writing in her journal, and reading whatever it is she brought along while munching contentedly on some form of food.

This dimension's Atiqah will not worry about tests or growing-up or becoming a corporate robot. She will not ruminate about things she would like to do over or regrets she might have. Even if she does, it will be okay.

And in this dimension, Atiqah can eat whatever and however much she wants, minus the guilt.

Where thrills are cheap and love is divine

Every once in a while I come up with awful, simplistic poems, the kind that kindergarten kids could do. In their sleep.

For example:

If you were staring at the stars
Well, hey,hey!
I was staring at them too
And it's cheesy, I admit
But I was thinking about you
And this onerous to-do
Of not forgetting
Not forgetting you

And while the poems are mostly for private amusement(and also private bereavement, as they are reminders of how I can't write even halfway decent poetry), sometimes I imagine that these are the lyrics that will be incorporated into a lovely, generic, guitar-strumming pop song (I was thinking Colbie Caillat). The song will be a hit, the kind that becomes the soundtrack of a pivotal scene in the season's hottest tv series, is the week's most downloaded song on Itunes, and remains in Rick Dees' Weekly Top 40 list for months. As the official lyric-writer, I'll earn my cut of profits, which will be massive.

And therefore, while I have no poem-writing talent, I can console myself by thinking about all the millions I'll make.

I was walking home from the library with my MP3 player on shuffle, and Kings of Leon's Dusty came on. I have to say this, and I am sorry if this is inappropriate, but it is one helluva sexy song la wei, tolonglah!It's just the whole vibe of the song, the blues-y feel, the repetitive drawl of the guitar,the complementing bass, fuh. It had me thinking slightly mischievous thoughts, I couldn't stop smiling at my shoes. Must have looked like a total idiot.

Great song, great song. Infinitely better than any of those try-hard songs that try to shock you with their explicitness.

Cuaca sekarang semakin dingin
Aku sering ditiup angin

And those will be the first two lines of the song that will be sung by Siti Nurhaliza and be the smash ballad hit from her umpteenth album, which will make it to number one on Carta Hot FM, win Anugerah Juara Lagu, and lead to a sequel concert at Royal Albert Hall.

Excuse me while I bask in my imaginary wealth.

You! Me! Dancing!

There's a song by Los Campesinos with the title as above, and I do believe it is one of my favourite song titles ever(the song itself is pretty catchy too). In an ideal world, this title would be my ultimate pick-up line. Me and the guy I'm crushing over would be in the spastic dancing club as mentioned in one of the previous posts. He would be standing alone by the free water counter, upon which I would sidle up to him and perhaps just look at him silently for a moment. Then, I would shout "You! Me! Dancing!". And then we would go spastic dance together. Habis cerita. So rudimentary, so straight-to-the-point, so concise.

Too bad it's not an ideal world.

Jijim

All of sudden I want to blog a lot, where is this enthusiasm coming from?

Maybe it's from the fact that today is the last day of class before a week-long break for Easter! Sure, I'll finish late, around 7pm because of my Audit lecture, but imagine that feeling of sweet, sweet joy I'll have when I walk home knowing I am going to do NOTHING AT ALL for the weekend except fun stuff and I can sleep guilt-free without worrying about homework, at least for the next couple days.

Speaking of guilt, I woke up late this morning and skipped one of my lectures, and it made me feel guilty.

That irrelevant confession aside, I feel slightly breathless. Not literally out of breath, but more like I have that tak-sabar feeling to blog, as if I have tons of good news to announce, or useful information to share.

I actually don't. As usual, much of what I'll write here will be incoherent nonsense, and I suppose it's a morning-after effect of having too much cake (the amount of cake and ice-cream I had yesterday was SINFUL, I tell you), but whatever.

Have I ever told you about my brother? He just turned 13 yesterday. My brother. When he was a toddler I used to love holding out my arms and see him running towards me for a hug. My adorable brother, the one who managed to inherit long,pretty eyelashes, a genetic trait that skipped past the daughters of the family(kakak and I both have the straight, downward-slanting-macam-bumbung kind). He used to be all round and pudgy, with a perut buncit and chubby cheeks and curly hair, and he would do things like talk embarrassingly loud while using the public toilet, and he loved trucks, tractors, forklifts.

My brother's now a teenager, and he's no longer pudgy, he's thin and lanky, and I suppose his height is shooting up even as I type this, because 80% of his pants always seem to look senteng on him. He is intelligent, he can be eloquent when he wants to be, stubbornly opinionated, obnoxiously annoying, very cynical, knowledgeable on all things military.

My brother, my teenage brother. When I was in my mid-teens, going through my crazy years and thinking that my family disliked me, he was excluded from that bullshit. Maybe because he was still small. Even as a crazily emotional time-bomb, you don't doubt the love and intentions of kids, you're not paranoid with them as you are with adults. When he got older and started having some troubles of his own, I thought I recognized some of them as mine, and I felt an affinity with him. Although I was at loss at attempting to say "I get it",that feeling of understanding and wanting to make things better made me feel like a big sister more than anything else.

My brother, whom I think my sister and I are trying to sub-consciously develop into becoming our best version of a man. We want him to be smart, respectful of women, we want him to be kind, open-minded, brave, and everything good, with the bonus of having good taste in music and books.

He loves to read, he loves cats, he loves iced lemon tea, he likes Kings of Convenience and Radiohead. He's learning to play the guitar, he's an avid gamer, he wants to buy a gas-mask off ebay, he now has facebook. Girls are starting to show an interest, he sometimes feels isolated at school, he's doing choral speaking. He's not that much into sports, he has a sense of humour, he can be the typical teenager with a sullen expression on his face and a mono-syllable answer for every question, but there are times where he will crack a smile, burst out laughing or become wildly enthusiastic over something.

He's growing up.

Renewal

There was this one time I was sad, and I ended up blogging about three things that make me happy.

As of now, three things that make me happy:

1. Dipping a cookie into cold, cold milk, popping it into my mouth, and getting that perfectly divine ratio of crisp cookie to soggy milk-soaked morsel.

2. Being with someone and realizing that I am thoroughly enjoying their company.

3. Making my family laugh.

The last time I did this, I asked(more like, begged.coerced. Manipulated) you to do the same. Do you remember? You were kind enough to oblige my ridiculous request.

1.
woot woot!!What makes me happy is knowing my friend has my back and still cares about me(You are one of them my dear Ateqs)
2.going back to Malaysia for know(almost 1 year)..
3.and knowing others are makes me happy as well:)

2.
Lets see, well for me I guess it changes, but here are some of them.

1. Kids. There is just something about their innocence that just tugs my heartstrings. They never fail to make me smile stupidly, and at times go "where do I get me one of those!" (up until the point where they get bratty and hyperactive and start screaming senseless). But nowadays we can't stare at them too long for fear of being caught as pedophiles.
2. Bookstores. This one never fails to make me happy. Especially the large ones with high bookcases covering every inch of the wall.
3. Random but meaningful conversation with strangers. I don't get this very often, but when I do it lights up my day.

3.
I like:
1) receiving long letters/emails
2) lazing on the grass in a park on a brilliantly-blue-sky day
3) when a good song unexpectedly comes on the radio and i can loudly sing along to it

4.
let's see.. 3 things that make me happy:
1. personal achievements. who wouldn't be right ;p
2. a good time with friends, new or old. it doesn't matter whether we were close before or not.
3. playing videogames. hahaha.

5.
Yo Atiqah babeh, haha :) 3 things that make me happy:
1. receiving kad raya.
2. knowing that I have great friends.
3. mary poppins.

6.
ateqs! here's what i owe you.
the things that makes me happy huh? hmm, i have a lot but this are the ones that i could actually mention it here. heh.
1. currently i finished watching this one anime called ouran high school host club. and i laughed like crazy. of course, i watched it alone in my room. no other cartoon had ever make me laugh like that. nor anyone or anything before. haha.
2. blues skies and sunsets (they are of one categories heh). i know this is kind of random and cm jiwang. but i dont know. i just feel enlighten staring at them.
3. the aftermath of cleaning kitchen or toilet or my bedroom. it makes me kind of satisfied when everything smells great and looks sleek.

7.
im in there! :O here you go, since my blog's on a hiatus now haha.
1. sleeping on the monkey bars in my area's playground. no, really, i do that :P and i don't fall, because im just cool like that. haha. reminds me of happier times.
2. -real- libraries, the old cambridge sort where there's kind of a musty smell of old books and you feel like there's just this.. presence in the whole place. man i could stay in one of those for the whole day and not even read and i'd still love it.
3. listening to people talk about their dreams, whether it's the ones you have at night or the real ones you want to achieve someday. i dunno, it gives me a nice warm feeling inside, and i feel quite trusted. :)
can i add another one.
4. shoes
hahahahahhaa

8.
Urm,there r just too many things that can trigger happiness in me.Gah,I sound hopelessly romantic!Anyways,here goes:
1: SMS from friends close at heart.The reason why RM30 doesn't stretch that long to cover a month.I don't like phone calls though...
2: Stuff from previous institutions.I still keep all my test papers at the secondary level.Sentimental huh?
3: A combination of things; a good novel,iPod,and a train ride.

9.
1. I cook something and everyone likes it
2. Discovery of anything: music, places, movies, food, friends etc..
3. Make other people happy
Simple girl with simple needs. Heh.

10.
3 things that makes me happy -ha, thats simple!
1. hmmm..food
2.........story books
3..............when the people that I care is happy!
owh..the dotted line means how much time that I put in to answer it. 1 min/dot..
So, i think it's not that simple after all.^_________^

11.
1. IKEA. It feel like going to the western contries whenever i go there.
2. Travel. I love to travel. Nak pegi semua tempat. wanna feel the 4 seasons!!!
3. When mummy's happy, im happy... heeeeeheeee

12.
1. When elderly couples walk holding hands.
2. When men walk with young daughters carried on their shoulders.
3. Skies,I look up to them and everytime feel some sort of release.

The fact that you bothered to answer my question made me really happy back then. So thank you, if or even if you're not reading.

Spastic dancing

Anjakan paradigma!

I hate speaking up in tutorials. The nerves,man. Stuttering and stumbling over words, forgetting basic sentence structure, the shaking hands, the trembling voice, the thudding heartbeat. You'd think that that one time I won a story-telling competition for my age category hosted by Ribena and held at Cheras Leisure Mall when I was small would have cured the heebie-jeebies. But no,I am loath to participate in class discussion. Perhaps it's the topic matter, perhaps it's the lack of understanding, maybe it's the language barrier (e.g:in french class, I usually spend half the time staring blankly at my teacher, and the other half staring at my book so she wouldn't call on me to try and answer her question because I have nearly no idea what she asked me to do in the first place), maybe it's the self-esteem.

But, I have endeavored in the past week to try and change this. I contributed! Trembling as I did so, I admit, but still. I am trying to overcome the shaking hands. Award self 2 effort points.

I have now established a rule. If we're going to be friends, you're going to have to love this song and have the ability to do some crazy spastic eighties dancing to it. It's either spastic dancing or we can't be friends.

Award self 2 giving-ridiculous-ultimatums points.

I hardly ever actually use the word 'cheers' when speaking.

I wish there was club, a nightclub, that played spastic-dancing music(maybe there already is. Someone take me there!). My dream play list would include 1901 and Lisztomania by Phoenix, Boys of Summer by The Ataris, Keep the Car Running by Arcade Fire, My Party by Kings of Leon, No Tomorrow by Orson, I Feel it All by Feist. The dress code would be comfort chic, high heels would be forbidden(allowing spastic dancing in heels is just hazardous and a lawsuit waiting to happen), people are expected to wear something comfortable that makes them feel good. Water would be provided for free, and there would be ample dancing space, a HUGE dancefloor. There would be no epileptic inducing lights, and plenty of seats. Doors would open early, none of that only after 10pm business.

My sister mercilessly tormented me with stories of how bloody awesome Kings of Convenience were at their gig in KL. I was metaphorically sobbing with jealousy at one point, but it's ok. I know I'll get my chance to see them someday. I am fated to meet Erlend Oye. And he is fated to hear me scream at him adoringly. It's our destiny.

Be happy, snickerdoodles.

Shepherd's Pie

I can see you
Your brown skin shining in the sun
You got your hair slicked back and those wayfarers on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone.

The Boys Of Summer is the shiznit. I’ll always have a special place in my heart for the original version by Don Henley (eighties pop, whoo!), but the version in my head and blasting in my ears now is The Ataris’ cover, which I like because it makes me want to sing along at the top of my lungs and dance crazy, with splayed jazz fingers, head-banging, and the works.

As of late I tend to daydream about books. I look wistfully at the titles in the library or bookstore and find myself wishing I was a more intellectual reader, and a more serious one. I imagine reading obscure books that can’t be found on the bestsellers list, and I have an intense desire to be reading philosophical books. Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Freud. I want to have read something by Vonnegut, and have the enthusiasm to actually finish a classic (it took willpower to complete Great Expectations, and I couldn’t even finish Emma). What about feminist prose? The Female Eunuch. And poetry. I wish I read (and appreciated) poetry. But it seems my desire to be reading all these things hasn’t translated into finding the book and actually reading it. Therefore perhaps this is just an expression of pretentiousness. And why is it my book daydreams are all about English books? So....poyo(clearly the best way to describe it). Oh well. Hopefully I’ll be induced to read such books at some stage sooner or later. Until then I’ll be content with Agatha Christie novels and Nick Hornby.

I love the fact that my siblings are avid readers. My sister has excellent taste in fiction and is notoriously good at picking out books that I like (whenever I choose a book for myself it almost always sucks) and occasionally looks for books that can’t be found back home. My brother is the sort that always brings at least 3 books whenever we go on vacation and will sneakily stay up past his bedtime to read. I don’t read half as much as they do, of course, so they’re always nagging me to read something or the other, advice which I will occasionally listen to (and be grateful when I do).

Tak sabarnya nak breakfast esok. I love breakfast.

p/s: Hi Miss Salmi! If you're reading. Hope you're doing well.

Melancholy's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there

I'm very sleepy, so in effect I suppose I am writing this akin to how I'd be writing if I were drunk.

I was in french class today, wondering how to turn all this around, when I was struck by the brilliant proposition: Considering how I tend to (shamelessly) vomit out my self-diagnosed depressing stories and emotional conundrums on this space, I am creating a vicious cycle of negativity for myself, whereby sad feelings propagates expression of sad feelings, which further triggers sad feelings, etc.

Why, thank you Captain Obvious. I would not have thought of that.

Anyway, brief monologues of sarcasm directed towards one's self aside, I thought that I should do a 180 degree flip. Rather than the usual self-bashing sentiments, I thought I'd canvass my willpower to avoid spilling that hot mess out and instead substitute it with:

a) Any memory where I was properly happy OR,

b) Anything I've ever done that makes me feel good OR,

c) Something that I like about myself.

It may all seem narcissistic, not to to mention supremely self-indulgent. But screw that. I need drastic measures. And we all already know I'm self-indulgent.

So. No more contemplating about social fuck-ups, stupidity, body hang-ups, and sentimental longing.

At least, not on the blog.

Ok. Boleh. Boleh.

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.