Saturday, November 26, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Thoughts as of 21/11/2911
1. I had an alarming dream yesterday, where I was going to kill myself. And it was all condoned and official, there was a sense of of an institution or authority presiding over my planned suicide, there were official figures who were going to help me carry it out. These authoritative figures had just helped a couple of other individuals shoot themselves in the head, I watched them do it. There was another person, a boy, who was going to kill himself the same time as me, as if there was some sort of schedule of suicides going on, two people at a time. Our method of ending our lives was supposed to be by jumping off a building, but after I saw the two people before me shoot themselves, I decided I wanted to go for the gun method as well, because it seemed quick and painless, so I arranged for the mysterious officers to help shoot me in the head, right at my temple. And I recall in my dream waiting for the deed to be carried out, and suddenly it occurred to me that even though this felt right, there was a niggling feeling that God might not think so, and I could be doing the wrong thing. As much as I wanted to die, to obtain the relief that comes along with it, maybe I wasn't ready, maybe I wouldn't be getting what I thought I would. But it was too late to change my mind, I couldn't back out now.
And then I woke up.
2. Contrary to how morbid the dream was, I woke up feeling quite cheerful and eager for my oatmeal and coffee.
3. I've been doing my packing, and it's coming along nicely. It turns out I can fit 4 years in about 3 boxes and a suitcase.
4. I've never been one to have a life motto,daily mantra or wise words to live by, and I am far too cynical and in fear of sounding preachy to proclaim I do now, but one thing that occurred to me recently was that I have to do by right by myself to be able to right by others. And of course that sounds obvious to the rational mind, but it was surprising to me when I realized that. I had forgotten somewhere along the line.
5. Friday's Body Step class at the gym is conducted by this really nice American lady. And I enjoy her class, she's fun, and her routines are good. But then she started incorporating circuit training into the class, and the long and short of it is that circuit training involves burpees. Needless to say, I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, I still hate it after having done it a few times. I hate this nice instructor every time we do circuit training, I hate her guts for those few minutes. In that one particular track that involves the burpees, we do them interspersed with pulsing on our feet from left to right, but at the very end of the song, the nice instructor will encouragingly yell at us to do burpees continuously, on and on until the song ends. I always have to laugh at this moment, because every time, without fail, half of the class's reaction(myself included) will be to stop and stare at her in disbelief for a few seconds before grudgingly getting down and doing them.
And then I woke up.
2. Contrary to how morbid the dream was, I woke up feeling quite cheerful and eager for my oatmeal and coffee.
3. I've been doing my packing, and it's coming along nicely. It turns out I can fit 4 years in about 3 boxes and a suitcase.
4. I've never been one to have a life motto,daily mantra or wise words to live by, and I am far too cynical and in fear of sounding preachy to proclaim I do now, but one thing that occurred to me recently was that I have to do by right by myself to be able to right by others. And of course that sounds obvious to the rational mind, but it was surprising to me when I realized that. I had forgotten somewhere along the line.
5. Friday's Body Step class at the gym is conducted by this really nice American lady. And I enjoy her class, she's fun, and her routines are good. But then she started incorporating circuit training into the class, and the long and short of it is that circuit training involves burpees. Needless to say, I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, I still hate it after having done it a few times. I hate this nice instructor every time we do circuit training, I hate her guts for those few minutes. In that one particular track that involves the burpees, we do them interspersed with pulsing on our feet from left to right, but at the very end of the song, the nice instructor will encouragingly yell at us to do burpees continuously, on and on until the song ends. I always have to laugh at this moment, because every time, without fail, half of the class's reaction(myself included) will be to stop and stare at her in disbelief for a few seconds before grudgingly getting down and doing them.
Monday, November 07, 2011
Winter
Hi.
For some reason, I fell flat off my face onto the wrong side of the bed and I was in a bad mood. Nothing life-altering, just one of those brief phases of grumpiness that are unpleasant while they run their course. In this particular case, I'm not quite sure if it was a reason for the bad mood or a consequence, but I wouldn't stop eating. I seriously wouldn't. I'd eat until I felt slightly sick. No pleasure derived from the act of eating, I would just eat, eat, eat until I literally couldn't shovel anything else in.
Then, it manifested in irrational irritation. For example, while I was out walking just now, I wanted to punch the head of the girl in front of me teetering in wedges who couldn't seem to decided which way she wanted to go. Yes. I wanted to punch her in the head.
This bad mood peaked at the gym, where it fueled a rage-induced work-out(and I'd like to believe it made me rack up herculean efforts during my work-out, but in truth it was just the regular routine on the stationary bike and a slow jog on the treadmill. Nevertheless, it felt like I was on FIYAH and all awesome!) , but thankfully, it petered out as adrenaline kicked in, and by the time I was on the rowing machine it had simmered down. And when I was walking home from the gym, the bad mood had subsided to the phase where I listen to melancholic, defeatist music such as Creep by Radiohead and Your Ex-Lover is Dead by Stars.
Speaking of melancholic songs, when I was going through my shitty phase a few months back, I had a theme song. I played this constantly while trudging through the cold weather and being all miserable. The fact that it was winter at the time was a satisfying coincidence. I share this with the hopes that if someone out there is trying to get through some sadness, maybe this song could be your theme song too.
I wonder if it's the heat getting to me. Summer's practically here y'all, and it's getting uncomfortably hot. The kind of heat that melts your face when you walk outside and makes you actively search out routes that are shaded. The kind of heat where you have to sleep with the sliding door open and toss frustratedly in bed in the middle of the night, kicking off the quilt, trying to find the coolest part of the bedsheets.
I haven't been home in almost 2 years. And I've been thinking about that flight back home, from the mundane customs of checking-in and going through passport control, to getting through the actual flight and touching down in KL and that moment where I'll exit the aircraft and get a whoosh of warm air to my face.
Home, home!
For some reason, I fell flat off my face onto the wrong side of the bed and I was in a bad mood. Nothing life-altering, just one of those brief phases of grumpiness that are unpleasant while they run their course. In this particular case, I'm not quite sure if it was a reason for the bad mood or a consequence, but I wouldn't stop eating. I seriously wouldn't. I'd eat until I felt slightly sick. No pleasure derived from the act of eating, I would just eat, eat, eat until I literally couldn't shovel anything else in.
Then, it manifested in irrational irritation. For example, while I was out walking just now, I wanted to punch the head of the girl in front of me teetering in wedges who couldn't seem to decided which way she wanted to go. Yes. I wanted to punch her in the head.
This bad mood peaked at the gym, where it fueled a rage-induced work-out(and I'd like to believe it made me rack up herculean efforts during my work-out, but in truth it was just the regular routine on the stationary bike and a slow jog on the treadmill. Nevertheless, it felt like I was on FIYAH and all awesome!) , but thankfully, it petered out as adrenaline kicked in, and by the time I was on the rowing machine it had simmered down. And when I was walking home from the gym, the bad mood had subsided to the phase where I listen to melancholic, defeatist music such as Creep by Radiohead and Your Ex-Lover is Dead by Stars.
Speaking of melancholic songs, when I was going through my shitty phase a few months back, I had a theme song. I played this constantly while trudging through the cold weather and being all miserable. The fact that it was winter at the time was a satisfying coincidence. I share this with the hopes that if someone out there is trying to get through some sadness, maybe this song could be your theme song too.
I wonder if it's the heat getting to me. Summer's practically here y'all, and it's getting uncomfortably hot. The kind of heat that melts your face when you walk outside and makes you actively search out routes that are shaded. The kind of heat where you have to sleep with the sliding door open and toss frustratedly in bed in the middle of the night, kicking off the quilt, trying to find the coolest part of the bedsheets.
I haven't been home in almost 2 years. And I've been thinking about that flight back home, from the mundane customs of checking-in and going through passport control, to getting through the actual flight and touching down in KL and that moment where I'll exit the aircraft and get a whoosh of warm air to my face.
Home, home!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Wahai lalat-lalat yang terbang masuk apartment,
Kalau korang boleh terbang masuk, kenapa korang tak reti nak terbang keluar? Aku kesian bila aku tengok korang terbang langgar semua tingkap and sliding door. Tapi bila aku jerit dan cuba beri hand signals directing tingkat yang terbuka, aku tak diendahkan.
Lagi genting, I tend to kill you guys bila korang tengah duduk senyap-senyap. I'm sorry. Tapi aku takut korang bertelur dekat tong sampah kat dapur. Kelly and I, we don't do maggots.
p/s: Out of curiosity, waktu winter korang gi mane? Korang jadi macam itik dan terbang ke warmer climates ke?
Kalau korang boleh terbang masuk, kenapa korang tak reti nak terbang keluar? Aku kesian bila aku tengok korang terbang langgar semua tingkap and sliding door. Tapi bila aku jerit dan cuba beri hand signals directing tingkat yang terbuka, aku tak diendahkan.
Lagi genting, I tend to kill you guys bila korang tengah duduk senyap-senyap. I'm sorry. Tapi aku takut korang bertelur dekat tong sampah kat dapur. Kelly and I, we don't do maggots.
p/s: Out of curiosity, waktu winter korang gi mane? Korang jadi macam itik dan terbang ke warmer climates ke?
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Dan Sebagainya
I was in a grumpy mood a couple days back, and was even grumpier when Zumba didn't seem to be alleviating the irritation. What DID help, however, was when were in the middle of a song that required us to do a specific hand movement, and I accidentally hit myself in the forehead. It hurt and annoyed the shit out of me for two seconds, but then I had to concede with a rueful snort that I was getting pissy for no reason and maybe smacking myself in the head was what I needed to rise above my grumpy cloud.
I've become reacquainted with the stationary rowing machine at the gym, and for some reason, I like it very much at the moment. There is an almost meditative quality to just lightly rowing over and over again, allowing me to zone out or have my thoughts wander along as I cruise nowhere. Before finishing up my time at the gym, I find myself thinking "Oooh, let's go rowing!", as if I were donning a nice spring outfit, about to go out for a leisurely row on the lake that borders my property, instead of going on a stationary rowing machine.
You know what makes me happy? Food. My cooking leaves much to be desired, and I'd be the first to admit that that whole 'balance of taste' thing still eludes me, I still have trouble figuring out a good mix of coffee grounds, creamer and sugar to make a cup of coffee, apatah lagi balancing out the saltiness, sweetness, and sourness of a dish. Which is why I cook following recipes, rather than going with the flow and tossing in things that seem logical. But I thoroughly enjoy exploring the unfamiliar, albeit slowly. What have I learned so far on my culinary endeavors? That I really like couscous. Totally smitten. And I dig eating firm tofu as is, I snack on it as I'm cutting it up into pieces to cook. Same goes with tempeh(shout out to Kelly, the original tempeh queen! She got me hooked). Greek yoghurt is a rich and creamy as they rave, but I don't know, its tang is a bit too much for me, I think I'd choose regular plain low-fat yoghurt over it. I also now have cumin up there as one of my go-to spices. And quinoa is nice and nutty and so far my favourite way of eating is is via stir-frying it with some fish sauce and soy sauce. And soba noodles! I LOVE soba noodles!
I'd like to believe that exploring foods and cooking more has made me better appreciate food in general. I try to remind me to eat more slowly and to properly savour the food. Which I fail at sometimes, there are still moments where I gobble down, but I always regret it afterward, and I feel unsatisfied and sad over an opportunity of enjoyment lost.
Today in the kitchen I have a tub of fresh mozzarella, basil and tomatoes, and a loaf of ciabatta. Needless to say, I'm excited to have lunch later. What shall it be? Bruschetta? Caprese salad? No idea. But I am having it for lunch! And it shall be good! Because you can't go wrong with tomatoes and mozzarella and basil and nice crusty bread!
I've become reacquainted with the stationary rowing machine at the gym, and for some reason, I like it very much at the moment. There is an almost meditative quality to just lightly rowing over and over again, allowing me to zone out or have my thoughts wander along as I cruise nowhere. Before finishing up my time at the gym, I find myself thinking "Oooh, let's go rowing!", as if I were donning a nice spring outfit, about to go out for a leisurely row on the lake that borders my property, instead of going on a stationary rowing machine.
You know what makes me happy? Food. My cooking leaves much to be desired, and I'd be the first to admit that that whole 'balance of taste' thing still eludes me, I still have trouble figuring out a good mix of coffee grounds, creamer and sugar to make a cup of coffee, apatah lagi balancing out the saltiness, sweetness, and sourness of a dish. Which is why I cook following recipes, rather than going with the flow and tossing in things that seem logical. But I thoroughly enjoy exploring the unfamiliar, albeit slowly. What have I learned so far on my culinary endeavors? That I really like couscous. Totally smitten. And I dig eating firm tofu as is, I snack on it as I'm cutting it up into pieces to cook. Same goes with tempeh(shout out to Kelly, the original tempeh queen! She got me hooked). Greek yoghurt is a rich and creamy as they rave, but I don't know, its tang is a bit too much for me, I think I'd choose regular plain low-fat yoghurt over it. I also now have cumin up there as one of my go-to spices. And quinoa is nice and nutty and so far my favourite way of eating is is via stir-frying it with some fish sauce and soy sauce. And soba noodles! I LOVE soba noodles!
I'd like to believe that exploring foods and cooking more has made me better appreciate food in general. I try to remind me to eat more slowly and to properly savour the food. Which I fail at sometimes, there are still moments where I gobble down, but I always regret it afterward, and I feel unsatisfied and sad over an opportunity of enjoyment lost.
Today in the kitchen I have a tub of fresh mozzarella, basil and tomatoes, and a loaf of ciabatta. Needless to say, I'm excited to have lunch later. What shall it be? Bruschetta? Caprese salad? No idea. But I am having it for lunch! And it shall be good! Because you can't go wrong with tomatoes and mozzarella and basil and nice crusty bread!
Sunday, October 09, 2011
I've had some experiences in the past couple days that have me a bit shaken up, not in the sense something dangerous happened and I was threatened physically or anything, but more in terms of thought processes and reflections. I am, at present, in the dangerous mode of wanting to get all philosophical and conduct public biopsies of my emotions, all it would take would be for someone to press an unfortunate trigger and you'd see me combust into a flurry of babbling, swear-words, tears, or all three.
Nasib baik dah ngantuk sangat. I'm so sleepy I can't think straight.
Nasib baik dah ngantuk sangat. I'm so sleepy I can't think straight.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Mangga
How awesome is this?
Here in Melbourne, it can rain quite a bit as per the season, but in my opinion, there are rarely thunderstorms. Showers plenty, lots of drizzling and light rain that makes you give the sky a stink eye as you debate whether it's heavy enough to require getting out your umbrella or whether you can just stick it out. Occasionally it rains hard enough for you to to get the lower half of your jeans soaked whilst you cower under an umbrella, cursing its flimsiness and praying that the wind won't blow it inside out, all the while regretting not having worn sneakers as your ballet flats made out of canvas squish audibly with each step.
But not that many thunderstorms. The kind that turns day into a darkened, gloomy mass, and you have no idea what time it is, no sun to give any clues. The kind where rain beats down with a vengeance, there is lightning and growls of thunder, steady streams of water gushing down the sides of roads, puddles forming within any indentation in the ground. The kind that when they happen, your ideal activity would be to be indoors, preferably with a hot beverage or snack, lazing about gloriously as the rain mutes the outside world.
Today there was a thunderstorm that roughly began while I was having lunch. A lunch that, among other things, included a mug of lovely, hot, not-too-sweet coffee and a ripe, juicy mango(favourite tropical fruit, possibly?) I got for 2 bucks at the market yesterday(you know warmer seasons are a-coming when mangoes start making a comeback! Damn, so excited). Curling up in my room all warm and cosy with yummy food watching cooking shows while it's raining cats and dogs outside? Why hello, nikmat.
Here in Melbourne, it can rain quite a bit as per the season, but in my opinion, there are rarely thunderstorms. Showers plenty, lots of drizzling and light rain that makes you give the sky a stink eye as you debate whether it's heavy enough to require getting out your umbrella or whether you can just stick it out. Occasionally it rains hard enough for you to to get the lower half of your jeans soaked whilst you cower under an umbrella, cursing its flimsiness and praying that the wind won't blow it inside out, all the while regretting not having worn sneakers as your ballet flats made out of canvas squish audibly with each step.
But not that many thunderstorms. The kind that turns day into a darkened, gloomy mass, and you have no idea what time it is, no sun to give any clues. The kind where rain beats down with a vengeance, there is lightning and growls of thunder, steady streams of water gushing down the sides of roads, puddles forming within any indentation in the ground. The kind that when they happen, your ideal activity would be to be indoors, preferably with a hot beverage or snack, lazing about gloriously as the rain mutes the outside world.
Today there was a thunderstorm that roughly began while I was having lunch. A lunch that, among other things, included a mug of lovely, hot, not-too-sweet coffee and a ripe, juicy mango(favourite tropical fruit, possibly?) I got for 2 bucks at the market yesterday(you know warmer seasons are a-coming when mangoes start making a comeback! Damn, so excited). Curling up in my room all warm and cosy with yummy food watching cooking shows while it's raining cats and dogs outside? Why hello, nikmat.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Thoughts as of 21/09/2011
1. I want to make strawberry crumble to use up the huge-ass punnet of strawberries I bought at the market.
2. Hari tu panas, hari ni sejuk. Hari tu matahari sinar dengan penuh gemerlapan, semalam hail kejap.
3. How I think I look like in my head doesn't seem to coincide much with how I actually look like. Also: Is the pursuit or the desire to look good inextricably linked with vanity? Can you really just want to look good for yourself, and not for others?
4. In the midst of all this free time, when I can get myself to shut up for a moment and seriously think for a bit, I've been trying to figure out what I really want to do. What do you want to do, Ayang? Do you really want to do accounting? Do you really want a corporate job, is a job offer at, say, one of the Big 4 companies REALLY what you want? Superficially, that seems like the thing I should and suppose am,aiming for. But something is telling me to think harder, look beyond the ingrained belief of securing a decent paycheck at a notable firm. Like a lot of other targets I've had in life, I place too much faith in the idea that I'll be automatically gratified by achieving said targets, while conveniently forgetting the possible shit that comes along with it.
5. Zumba classes. Whenever I do Zumba, I feel slightly stupid. Something to do with my lack of swag and general self-consciousness. But it's fun. And my instructor's cool, he's funny, looks like a hip-hop dancer and as an added bonus doesn't wear any of those baggy track bottoms with bits of string dangling as favoured by Zumba instructors you see on youtube.
6. My sister was the bee knees as usual when she gave me a couple of new tracks to listen to. This song by Real Estate invokes something pretty and nostalgic, like basking in a sunset or riding in a car with the windows down with your hand out to surf the wind.
7. I've been telling myself to not be so afraid, in a very general sense. Stop being scared of everything, anything. Just plunge in and do it. Get started. Be brave. Go. Fly.
2. Hari tu panas, hari ni sejuk. Hari tu matahari sinar dengan penuh gemerlapan, semalam hail kejap.
3. How I think I look like in my head doesn't seem to coincide much with how I actually look like. Also: Is the pursuit or the desire to look good inextricably linked with vanity? Can you really just want to look good for yourself, and not for others?
4. In the midst of all this free time, when I can get myself to shut up for a moment and seriously think for a bit, I've been trying to figure out what I really want to do. What do you want to do, Ayang? Do you really want to do accounting? Do you really want a corporate job, is a job offer at, say, one of the Big 4 companies REALLY what you want? Superficially, that seems like the thing I should and suppose am,aiming for. But something is telling me to think harder, look beyond the ingrained belief of securing a decent paycheck at a notable firm. Like a lot of other targets I've had in life, I place too much faith in the idea that I'll be automatically gratified by achieving said targets, while conveniently forgetting the possible shit that comes along with it.
5. Zumba classes. Whenever I do Zumba, I feel slightly stupid. Something to do with my lack of swag and general self-consciousness. But it's fun. And my instructor's cool, he's funny, looks like a hip-hop dancer and as an added bonus doesn't wear any of those baggy track bottoms with bits of string dangling as favoured by Zumba instructors you see on youtube.
6. My sister was the bee knees as usual when she gave me a couple of new tracks to listen to. This song by Real Estate invokes something pretty and nostalgic, like basking in a sunset or riding in a car with the windows down with your hand out to surf the wind.
7. I've been telling myself to not be so afraid, in a very general sense. Stop being scared of everything, anything. Just plunge in and do it. Get started. Be brave. Go. Fly.
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Hari Raya
Selamat Hari Raya!
I was an un-raya as could be yesterday. I had called home a couple days before, and hearing my family talk about raya preparations and such was like a sucker-punch of homesickness to the stomach, one-two, POW-POW!
There wasn't anything going on for raya here on the day itself, what with it being a weekday, with the kids at uni having classes, and things going as per usual. I decided to drag myself to the gym, so I got changed and headed off, swinging the shoe bag holding my sneakers. I was walking along the alley in front of the gymnasium when suddenly a guy turned into the alley from another lane up ahead and he was wearing a pink baju melayu, sampin and all. BAM! I suddenly realized it was raya after all. I couldn't stopped grinning, and I think at some point I was actually hastening my steps in order to keep up with the guy(he was walking rather briskly) and making sure I had him in my sights for as long as feasible. As if I were a kid, and he was Father Raya himself. Like I was Alice(Alia?) in Wonderland following a sampin-clad rabbit. A pink rabbit.
My sister's birthday was the day before raya in Malaysia, that's when I called home and wished I could be there, even if it meant fielding unnecessary questions and striking up awkward conversations with relatives. I had wanted to do my Annual Tribute in the Form of Poetry for her, but inspiration ran dry this year, and the only thing I ended up with was one verse plagiarized from 50 Cent, cross-sectioned with the fact that her birthday intersperses with raya this year.
Go Kakak
It's your birthday
It's almost raya but it's your birthday
You sibuk kemas rumah but it's your birthday
So jangan sedih sangat because it's your birthday!
For shame, for shame.
I had met up with a friend for dinner a couple nights back, and she introduced me to a classmate of hers, they were taking a cigarette break before we headed out to makan. And this classmate was as laid-back and as nice as could be, utterly mellow, and all I could think about while making her acquaintance was how stiff I was, I could almost see the awkwardness radiating from me in waves, vague but persistent waves that pulsated off me and bumped into this person in its path, I bet she could tangibly feel it. Jeez, ayang. Tak reti-reti lagi.
Have you see the new Wong Fu Productions short film? I thought it was romantic,the colours beautiful. I have a crush on Chris Dinh. But I especially loved the soundtrack, a song by Jesse Chui.
Selamat Hari Raya! :)
I was an un-raya as could be yesterday. I had called home a couple days before, and hearing my family talk about raya preparations and such was like a sucker-punch of homesickness to the stomach, one-two, POW-POW!
There wasn't anything going on for raya here on the day itself, what with it being a weekday, with the kids at uni having classes, and things going as per usual. I decided to drag myself to the gym, so I got changed and headed off, swinging the shoe bag holding my sneakers. I was walking along the alley in front of the gymnasium when suddenly a guy turned into the alley from another lane up ahead and he was wearing a pink baju melayu, sampin and all. BAM! I suddenly realized it was raya after all. I couldn't stopped grinning, and I think at some point I was actually hastening my steps in order to keep up with the guy(he was walking rather briskly) and making sure I had him in my sights for as long as feasible. As if I were a kid, and he was Father Raya himself. Like I was Alice(Alia?) in Wonderland following a sampin-clad rabbit. A pink rabbit.
My sister's birthday was the day before raya in Malaysia, that's when I called home and wished I could be there, even if it meant fielding unnecessary questions and striking up awkward conversations with relatives. I had wanted to do my Annual Tribute in the Form of Poetry for her, but inspiration ran dry this year, and the only thing I ended up with was one verse plagiarized from 50 Cent, cross-sectioned with the fact that her birthday intersperses with raya this year.
Go Kakak
It's your birthday
It's almost raya but it's your birthday
You sibuk kemas rumah but it's your birthday
So jangan sedih sangat because it's your birthday!
For shame, for shame.
I had met up with a friend for dinner a couple nights back, and she introduced me to a classmate of hers, they were taking a cigarette break before we headed out to makan. And this classmate was as laid-back and as nice as could be, utterly mellow, and all I could think about while making her acquaintance was how stiff I was, I could almost see the awkwardness radiating from me in waves, vague but persistent waves that pulsated off me and bumped into this person in its path, I bet she could tangibly feel it. Jeez, ayang. Tak reti-reti lagi.
Have you see the new Wong Fu Productions short film? I thought it was romantic,the colours beautiful. I have a crush on Chris Dinh. But I especially loved the soundtrack, a song by Jesse Chui.
Selamat Hari Raya! :)
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Another cookie always seems like a good idea until you reach cookie number 4
Back when I was filling in application forms, I was always slightly stumped when they asked me to describe my hobbies or interests. That was the first time in a while where I really assessed what I did for leisure, and I was slightly surprised to be so self-conscious about it.
When I come across music that excites me, or read a book or the news, or follow bits and bobs on the internet, it doesn't feel like nothing. It feels substantial. But when it comes to filling a form asking about my interests, all of a sudden it seems very embarrassing to merely type in 'Reading books,listening to music, surfing the internet'. When I was in sekolah rendah it was always perfectly legit to write down 'Hobi saya adalah membaca buku cerita', why not so much now?
I'd often itch to say my interests include tennis, going on safari, photography. Collecting viking paraphernalia, scuba-diving, painting batik. Training seeing-eye dogs, learning sign language, volunteering at national parks. Fencing, origami, subtitling foreign films. Horseback-riding, rock-climbing, jamming with my Fender Stratocaster. Yoga, contemporary dance, doing triathlons.
Oh well.
***
Weather today is drop-dead gorgeous, I must say. From my room I can see nothing but blue skies, with a hint of a breeze indicated by the lightly billowing Australian flag on top of the Royal Melbourne Hospital. If I were to pick a day to feel like I could do anything, today would be it.
Yesterday was pizza day. I love how yeast makes dough grow, it's freaky, but in a good way. We went a bit crazy towards the end, scattering toppings willy-nilly, and Kelly had the insistent belief that the best thing to do would be to formulate a stuffed crust for one of the pizzas. So we did, stretching the dough over shredded mozzarella all around the edge, forming this barrier of cheese-filled bread. AND, Kelly baked her crack-cookies again.Damn, son.
It all backfired this morning though, when I had 3 leftover slices for sahur, followed by 4 cookies. Apparently even gluttony has its limits, that being the confines of my stomach. Feeling too full for too long a time had me groaning in discomfort, why, Atiqah, why? Insaf, insaf!
***
Kpop musings.
I have to admit, I'm pretty hooked on Teen Top's No More Perfume on You. It's catchy, very reminiscent of Chris Brown's Forever. Even when I learned the song was about a boy asking his older love-interest to not wear perfume lest it rubs off on him and his girlfriend smells it and catches whiff of this illicit affair, I was all the more charmed. It's amusing to see these cute hairless boys playing Casanova, and besides, what cool chick would seriously fall for a 17-year old? She was probably just having a bit of fun herself.
But as with their other material, this song has Niel, as the most dependable singer, being given the lion's share of its lines, followed by Chunji who gets the leftovers, while the rest get, well, bits and pieces of the carcass. I am always slightly annoyed when groups get promoted in this fashion, I dislike having some members merely as backdrops. Niel is, in essence, the Nicole Scherzinger of Teen Top.
When I come across music that excites me, or read a book or the news, or follow bits and bobs on the internet, it doesn't feel like nothing. It feels substantial. But when it comes to filling a form asking about my interests, all of a sudden it seems very embarrassing to merely type in 'Reading books,listening to music, surfing the internet'. When I was in sekolah rendah it was always perfectly legit to write down 'Hobi saya adalah membaca buku cerita', why not so much now?
I'd often itch to say my interests include tennis, going on safari, photography. Collecting viking paraphernalia, scuba-diving, painting batik. Training seeing-eye dogs, learning sign language, volunteering at national parks. Fencing, origami, subtitling foreign films. Horseback-riding, rock-climbing, jamming with my Fender Stratocaster. Yoga, contemporary dance, doing triathlons.
Oh well.
***
Weather today is drop-dead gorgeous, I must say. From my room I can see nothing but blue skies, with a hint of a breeze indicated by the lightly billowing Australian flag on top of the Royal Melbourne Hospital. If I were to pick a day to feel like I could do anything, today would be it.
Yesterday was pizza day. I love how yeast makes dough grow, it's freaky, but in a good way. We went a bit crazy towards the end, scattering toppings willy-nilly, and Kelly had the insistent belief that the best thing to do would be to formulate a stuffed crust for one of the pizzas. So we did, stretching the dough over shredded mozzarella all around the edge, forming this barrier of cheese-filled bread. AND, Kelly baked her crack-cookies again.Damn, son.
It all backfired this morning though, when I had 3 leftover slices for sahur, followed by 4 cookies. Apparently even gluttony has its limits, that being the confines of my stomach. Feeling too full for too long a time had me groaning in discomfort, why, Atiqah, why? Insaf, insaf!
***
Kpop musings.
I have to admit, I'm pretty hooked on Teen Top's No More Perfume on You. It's catchy, very reminiscent of Chris Brown's Forever. Even when I learned the song was about a boy asking his older love-interest to not wear perfume lest it rubs off on him and his girlfriend smells it and catches whiff of this illicit affair, I was all the more charmed. It's amusing to see these cute hairless boys playing Casanova, and besides, what cool chick would seriously fall for a 17-year old? She was probably just having a bit of fun herself.
But as with their other material, this song has Niel, as the most dependable singer, being given the lion's share of its lines, followed by Chunji who gets the leftovers, while the rest get, well, bits and pieces of the carcass. I am always slightly annoyed when groups get promoted in this fashion, I dislike having some members merely as backdrops. Niel is, in essence, the Nicole Scherzinger of Teen Top.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Atiqah
What are you capable of, Atiqah?
Hmmm.
I rarely think of myself as Atiqah, and now that I am, it seems like a separate entity. There's a distinct "Holy crap, I AM Atiqah!" feeling.
Hmmm.
I rarely think of myself as Atiqah, and now that I am, it seems like a separate entity. There's a distinct "Holy crap, I AM Atiqah!" feeling.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Hare Krishna
The Hare Krishnas here in Melbourne run this canteen in the city, where for 6 dollars, you can have unlimited helpings to vegetarian fare. I was walking around the city about a month back, when one of the Hare Krishnas passed me a small leaflet advertising the canteen. On the back of the leaflet was printed:-
Chant
Hare Krishna
Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna
Hare Hare
Hare Rama
Hare Rama
Rama Rama
Hare Hare
and your life will be sublime
I somehow find it amusing every time I read it. Sublime ah? I don't know the first thing about the theology underlying Hare Krishnas, nor their structure or belief system. But I like how this small leaflet reaffirms my idea of its followers and intertwines with memories of seeing them dancing and singing while walking around the busiest parts of the city. There was always something so oblivious and joyous about them, so carefree.
***
The London riots, in all its horribleness, have been quite transfixing to follow. I feel very sorry for the victims(with Asyraf Haziq standing out amongst them), and at the same time I am also intrigued by how rioting manifests in general. It's amazing, in an awful way. It's as if all social conventions are suspended, there are no rules.
Is there really any one reason a riot starts? I supposes it's a cocktail that can include various things, from racial tensions, to the socio-economic landscape, to deep-rooted problems within a community, or any number of unfortunate circumstances. But you have to wonder what combination of any of the above could mix and bubble and boil until it leads up to people behaving so frighteningly primitively. What pushes them over the edge? Would I act the same way if I had been in their shoes?
And what is the triggering factor, what is that breaking point that makes something click in the heads of people who are angry and makes them resort to violence? At what point does a crowd protesting the death of a man suddenly turn hostile, and at what point does that hostility segue into breaking into shops and looting and general chaos?
Articles I've been reading about the riots have phrases like 'mob mentality', 'marginalized by society', 'troubled youths', 'pent-up anger'. One of them stressed that irregardless, at the end of the day people had a choice. God knows there is enough evidence of people who have done bad things in this world for me to understand that there are those who choose to do wrong, but I am still astounded when I see things like that footage of people helping Asyraf up, only to open up his bag and steal his stuff while he's standing there bleeding and disoriented, it just boggles the mind that someone can choose to do that.
Kesian dia. And kesian mak bapak dia. I think every parent who has ever sent their kid to study far away(or just any parent, really) worries most about their child getting hurt in some way, and this must have been a sort of nightmare come true.
***
Day 11 of puasa.
Chant
Hare Krishna
Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna
Hare Hare
Hare Rama
Hare Rama
Rama Rama
Hare Hare
and your life will be sublime
I somehow find it amusing every time I read it. Sublime ah? I don't know the first thing about the theology underlying Hare Krishnas, nor their structure or belief system. But I like how this small leaflet reaffirms my idea of its followers and intertwines with memories of seeing them dancing and singing while walking around the busiest parts of the city. There was always something so oblivious and joyous about them, so carefree.
***
The London riots, in all its horribleness, have been quite transfixing to follow. I feel very sorry for the victims(with Asyraf Haziq standing out amongst them), and at the same time I am also intrigued by how rioting manifests in general. It's amazing, in an awful way. It's as if all social conventions are suspended, there are no rules.
Is there really any one reason a riot starts? I supposes it's a cocktail that can include various things, from racial tensions, to the socio-economic landscape, to deep-rooted problems within a community, or any number of unfortunate circumstances. But you have to wonder what combination of any of the above could mix and bubble and boil until it leads up to people behaving so frighteningly primitively. What pushes them over the edge? Would I act the same way if I had been in their shoes?
And what is the triggering factor, what is that breaking point that makes something click in the heads of people who are angry and makes them resort to violence? At what point does a crowd protesting the death of a man suddenly turn hostile, and at what point does that hostility segue into breaking into shops and looting and general chaos?
Articles I've been reading about the riots have phrases like 'mob mentality', 'marginalized by society', 'troubled youths', 'pent-up anger'. One of them stressed that irregardless, at the end of the day people had a choice. God knows there is enough evidence of people who have done bad things in this world for me to understand that there are those who choose to do wrong, but I am still astounded when I see things like that footage of people helping Asyraf up, only to open up his bag and steal his stuff while he's standing there bleeding and disoriented, it just boggles the mind that someone can choose to do that.
Kesian dia. And kesian mak bapak dia. I think every parent who has ever sent their kid to study far away(or just any parent, really) worries most about their child getting hurt in some way, and this must have been a sort of nightmare come true.
***
Day 11 of puasa.
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
Wolf Like Me
This song is so good.
In the midst of being a complete wreck, there was this moment some time back where this song made me get up and dance alone in my room in a way that was so hideous and for a minute felt completely awesome. Head-banging, legs kicking, jumping up and down. Dancing dengan gaya yang boleh menakutkan orang. Menari macam lupa dunia.
This song sometimes pushes me to pick up my feet when I'm on the treadmill. Power song! The drums sound like my feet pounding the pavement. It makes me feel like I could fly(even though I actually jog so slowly). It feels like I could run my frustrations away.
This song makes me want to experience it in it's fully glory at a gig, jostling in a crowd screaming the lyrics(especially the part that goes Gonna teach you tricks that'll blow your mongrel mind!, I want to punch the air with each syllable), the music deafening my ears. Blinding lights and a natural high.
So good. SO GOOD! When the trumpets(are those even trumpets?) come in around the 1.45 mark, I'm blown, I'm a goner, I'm euphoric. You know I'm a sucker for trumpets.
Then there's that moment where the song slows down, and I get slightly disappointed each time, but then it picks up again and escalates into the crescendo. Heck yeah.
This is a song I love to get lost in.
Friday, July 22, 2011
It is cliched to turn to a blog when you think you are sad, but I don't know what to do.
I have been trying to trace back my footsteps, trying to pinpoint the exact moment or decision that has brought me here, to this very moment. What made me decide to stay here, anyway? What phase of my life has shaped me into becoming the shit-scared, ambition-lacking, messed-up lost person I am now?
Have you ever suddenly realized that you have become someone you didn't think you were, and people you thought were worse than you are actually better?
They were showing Fight Club on tv, and there's this scene, the one when Tyler kisses the narrator's hand and then pours lye over it. And there's Edward Norton screaming in agony, and Tyler Durden's trying to make him see. "Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you".
Things have not gone my way, and now I've become someone who doesn't bother trying. I am chicken shit a lot of the time now, and screwing up has become expectation. I never thought I'd be someone who'd roll over and play dead.
You see, I know what I'm supposed to be doing. I realize that I cannot think that my continuous string of failures are acts of punishment by God. I realize I must take responsibility for my own outcome and not blame it on external factors, divine or not. I am supposed to be aware that my problems are actually okay, and I will get through this like I get through everything, and things will not seem as dramatic as I paint them to be in my head. Two hours from, two days from now, two weeks from now, two months from now, two years from now, things could and will be different. I am supposed to take charge of my own misery and bounce back with a fierce resilience. I am supposed to get up and do something, goddamnit. And above all, I am supposed to get over myself and just do the best I can.
But fuck all that for the moment, and let me get this off my chest. I don't have a job. Six and a half months as a graduate and no fucking clue what I'm going to do. I have a PR application pending on a medical exam that just won't come together, thanks to blood pressure issues I seem to have acquired. I stopped trying somewhere along the nth rejection, and I don't know how I could have lost all sense of confidence, in myself and my ability to do anything right. I have tried to keep this in, because I know I don't have the right to complain, not until I can say with absolute certainty that I have done everything that I can, but as a result I have never felt more alone than I do now.
It's silly, isn't it? If it wasn't this, I bet it would be something else. In an alternate universe, I have a job I'm miserable in, one that would still result in high blood pressure, and a bunch of co-workers who tolerate me, and maybe I'd be fed-up with how I do my work and be pressured by my boss such that I lose confidence in myself and come up with this exact same post, only in different terms.
We all have to hit bottom some time.
Should I give up with this disastrous endeavor? Cut the chord, accept defeat. Sell off furniture, apply somewhere back home, explain this 6 month gap as a failed attempt, laugh it off, ruefully explain it didn't work out when someone asks. Consider all of my parents' money spent sunk into an investment that flopped, start work somewhere new, put aside minuscule amounts for them each month in an attempt to even begin to say how sorry I am to have wasted their time and money. How sorry I am that I wasn't as good as I made them think I was, that I overestimated my ability to make it here. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.
I understand I'll be okay. This is unemployment and a severe lack of self-esteem, not the end of the world. I'm sorry for writing it here like part of some celebrity tell-all autobiography. I just feel like shit at the moment.
I have been trying to trace back my footsteps, trying to pinpoint the exact moment or decision that has brought me here, to this very moment. What made me decide to stay here, anyway? What phase of my life has shaped me into becoming the shit-scared, ambition-lacking, messed-up lost person I am now?
Have you ever suddenly realized that you have become someone you didn't think you were, and people you thought were worse than you are actually better?
They were showing Fight Club on tv, and there's this scene, the one when Tyler kisses the narrator's hand and then pours lye over it. And there's Edward Norton screaming in agony, and Tyler Durden's trying to make him see. "Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you".
Things have not gone my way, and now I've become someone who doesn't bother trying. I am chicken shit a lot of the time now, and screwing up has become expectation. I never thought I'd be someone who'd roll over and play dead.
You see, I know what I'm supposed to be doing. I realize that I cannot think that my continuous string of failures are acts of punishment by God. I realize I must take responsibility for my own outcome and not blame it on external factors, divine or not. I am supposed to be aware that my problems are actually okay, and I will get through this like I get through everything, and things will not seem as dramatic as I paint them to be in my head. Two hours from, two days from now, two weeks from now, two months from now, two years from now, things could and will be different. I am supposed to take charge of my own misery and bounce back with a fierce resilience. I am supposed to get up and do something, goddamnit. And above all, I am supposed to get over myself and just do the best I can.
But fuck all that for the moment, and let me get this off my chest. I don't have a job. Six and a half months as a graduate and no fucking clue what I'm going to do. I have a PR application pending on a medical exam that just won't come together, thanks to blood pressure issues I seem to have acquired. I stopped trying somewhere along the nth rejection, and I don't know how I could have lost all sense of confidence, in myself and my ability to do anything right. I have tried to keep this in, because I know I don't have the right to complain, not until I can say with absolute certainty that I have done everything that I can, but as a result I have never felt more alone than I do now.
It's silly, isn't it? If it wasn't this, I bet it would be something else. In an alternate universe, I have a job I'm miserable in, one that would still result in high blood pressure, and a bunch of co-workers who tolerate me, and maybe I'd be fed-up with how I do my work and be pressured by my boss such that I lose confidence in myself and come up with this exact same post, only in different terms.
We all have to hit bottom some time.
Should I give up with this disastrous endeavor? Cut the chord, accept defeat. Sell off furniture, apply somewhere back home, explain this 6 month gap as a failed attempt, laugh it off, ruefully explain it didn't work out when someone asks. Consider all of my parents' money spent sunk into an investment that flopped, start work somewhere new, put aside minuscule amounts for them each month in an attempt to even begin to say how sorry I am to have wasted their time and money. How sorry I am that I wasn't as good as I made them think I was, that I overestimated my ability to make it here. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.
I understand I'll be okay. This is unemployment and a severe lack of self-esteem, not the end of the world. I'm sorry for writing it here like part of some celebrity tell-all autobiography. I just feel like shit at the moment.
Saturday, July 09, 2011
One thing that bothers me these days is how angry I can get. It comes swiftly and with an intensity that is disturbing, when did I get so bitter? And as of late it seems to manifest itself more often through physical action, through gritted teeth and clenched fists and a desire to destroy. I punch walls and kick bed frames and slap surfaces, something to ruin, something to hurt.
**
Guess what? Tadi aku keluar pergi makan dengan kawan aku. Bila aku balik rumah, tengok-tengok mak aku dah siap lipat baju aku yang baru basuh. Terharu siot. Clean laundry, all folded and ready! Magical.
**
Guess what? Tadi aku keluar pergi makan dengan kawan aku. Bila aku balik rumah, tengok-tengok mak aku dah siap lipat baju aku yang baru basuh. Terharu siot. Clean laundry, all folded and ready! Magical.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Thoughts
Thoughts, thoughts.
The Tour de France is on at the moment, I stumbled across SBS broadcasting it live a couple nights ago while tv-surfing before bed. And while I am absolutely lost in regards to competitive cycling, it was mesmerizing. I don't know why. Something about the repetitiveness of all the legs pedaling, I guess.
I have to admit, reading the Tour de France's wikipedia entry didn't exactly enlighten me on how exactly it works. I ended up googling 'Tour de France for dummies', which yielded some reads that shed a bit of light, but it's all still very vague and confusing. Oh well. I'll just take advantage of the hypnotic qualities of watching it, I guess. It helps me fall asleep.
***
My mom's visiting me at the moment, and I am thankful.
I have been feeling low lately. Its cause is nowhere near severe as something like a terminal illness or an unspeakable tragedy, and I suspect it is merely fueled by self-pity and nothing but my own mistakes. Nonetheless, I have been sad. And while I am no stranger to bouts of self-centered blues(have you read some of the shit I've posted here?), it has been feeling like I'm in a rut I can't quite get out of, that I've screwed up too much or have been screwed with, that I can't do anything but keep numb and have the decency to keep it tightly capped, as much as I can, anyway.
Before mom came, feelings of relief that she was coming was smothered by notions that as much as I want mom to come and make things okay, I am an adult now. She can't clean up the mess I've made of things, and I can't ask her to save me anymore.
But right now, it feels like she has, like she is. Not in the sense of literally resolving my problems, but in a way that feels like I have found a bit of faith in myself again, like I can do something. She's kick-starting me. I hope to God the feeling's not temporary. I hope to God it doesn't go away.
The Tour de France is on at the moment, I stumbled across SBS broadcasting it live a couple nights ago while tv-surfing before bed. And while I am absolutely lost in regards to competitive cycling, it was mesmerizing. I don't know why. Something about the repetitiveness of all the legs pedaling, I guess.
I have to admit, reading the Tour de France's wikipedia entry didn't exactly enlighten me on how exactly it works. I ended up googling 'Tour de France for dummies', which yielded some reads that shed a bit of light, but it's all still very vague and confusing. Oh well. I'll just take advantage of the hypnotic qualities of watching it, I guess. It helps me fall asleep.
***
My mom's visiting me at the moment, and I am thankful.
I have been feeling low lately. Its cause is nowhere near severe as something like a terminal illness or an unspeakable tragedy, and I suspect it is merely fueled by self-pity and nothing but my own mistakes. Nonetheless, I have been sad. And while I am no stranger to bouts of self-centered blues(have you read some of the shit I've posted here?), it has been feeling like I'm in a rut I can't quite get out of, that I've screwed up too much or have been screwed with, that I can't do anything but keep numb and have the decency to keep it tightly capped, as much as I can, anyway.
Before mom came, feelings of relief that she was coming was smothered by notions that as much as I want mom to come and make things okay, I am an adult now. She can't clean up the mess I've made of things, and I can't ask her to save me anymore.
But right now, it feels like she has, like she is. Not in the sense of literally resolving my problems, but in a way that feels like I have found a bit of faith in myself again, like I can do something. She's kick-starting me. I hope to God the feeling's not temporary. I hope to God it doesn't go away.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Harimau Kumbang
I had come across this lovely song + making-of video about a couple months past, and as much as I was taken by it, it didn't occur to me to save it to my favourites or properly commit it to my memory. As such, yesterday night I found myself wanting to listen to it again, and couldn't for the life of me remember the name of the band, nor the song. All I remembered was that the band name involved two animals, and I had a semi-confident notion that one of those animals was a dog. Dog and something.
Dog and Bear? No.
Dog and Wolf? No.
Are you sure it wasn't Dog and Bear? Hmm.
Maybe it wasn't even Dog. Wolf and Bear?
Punyalah susah aku nak ingat nama dia. I spent a good fifteen minutes consumed with this activity of guessing animal pairings, and tried googling 'indie bands with names including animals', which yielded a facebook group devoted to such bands but without luck.
Thank God for web browser history. It turned out to be Dog & Panther!
After weeks of whining to Kelly that I really wanted to re-watch The Lord of the Rings, I was in enough of a funk today to convince myself a nine-hour movie marathon would, in fact, be ideal. I scouted out the DVDs on my way back from returning books at the library, and I'm watching The Two Towers as I type this. Hugo Weaving! I had forgotten you were in this!
Dog and Bear? No.
Dog and Wolf? No.
Are you sure it wasn't Dog and Bear? Hmm.
Maybe it wasn't even Dog. Wolf and Bear?
Punyalah susah aku nak ingat nama dia. I spent a good fifteen minutes consumed with this activity of guessing animal pairings, and tried googling 'indie bands with names including animals', which yielded a facebook group devoted to such bands but without luck.
Thank God for web browser history. It turned out to be Dog & Panther!
After weeks of whining to Kelly that I really wanted to re-watch The Lord of the Rings, I was in enough of a funk today to convince myself a nine-hour movie marathon would, in fact, be ideal. I scouted out the DVDs on my way back from returning books at the library, and I'm watching The Two Towers as I type this. Hugo Weaving! I had forgotten you were in this!
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Berenang
I can't swim.
Can I? I can propel myself forwards in water via kicking my feet, I suppose. But I don't know what to do with my arms. And I don't know how to breath. Every time I turn my head out of water to inhale I end up gulping water. And I can't do anything but panic if my feet don't touch the bottom.
So no, I can't swim.
I wonder why. I have this very distinct memory of being sent to swimming classes when I was a kid. This was back when we were staying in Kerteh, and mom would bring me to the resident golf/country club for lessons. I have a vague notion of being taught how to paddle my feet while holding on to the sides of the pool, but the strongest memory, the most solid recollection I have of swimming class is being with a bunch of other kids at the edge of the deepest part of the pool. The instructor put a buoy in the middle of the pool, and proceeded to ask us to swim to it and then back to the edge. HOLY SHIT WAS THAT SCARY. I remember swimming and breathing in sputtering motions, wanting to panic and not do it, but everyone else seemed fine and able to. I didn't want to be the only one too chicken to do it(I was six, but I had pride, yo). So I got to the buoy, where the instructor was treading, held on for a while, then sputtered and spewed my way back to the edge. I think he said something about how I could improve, but I think at that time I was just consumed with "TAK NAK BUAT LAGI DAH! TAKUT!" thoughts in my head. I can't remember what happened after that, but I think the way I swim now is exactly how I swam that day, so maybe I stopped going for classes.
Damn. I wish I could swim. I should be able to swim. If I could just do a decent front crawl that can get me from one end of the pool to the other, I'd be happy.
Is swimming something that can be self-taught? Study in theory, go to a pool, practice? One of my favourite Lat cartoons is a scene from Kampung Boy, the one where he depicts how he learned to swim, basically via his dad tossing him into the river when he was a kid. I'd like to believe if someone creeps up behind me and pushes me into a pool my survival instincts would take over and suddenly I'd be a freaking mermaid, but you and I both know that wouldn't happen at all. I'd just flail around and somehow make it to the edge of the pool before trying to kill the person who pushed me in. Swimming skills gained? No. Manslaughter charges? Yes.
Maybe I should coerce someone into teaching me. Kakak? Maybe I could save up money and go for lessons.
Takpe. By hook or by crook, I'll learn how to swim. I'll be a seal in the water someday. A penguin. A water baby. A platypus. A cat with a strange likeness for water. Until then I'll just sigh longingly every time I go to the gym and catch a whiff of the chlorine from the pool.
Can I? I can propel myself forwards in water via kicking my feet, I suppose. But I don't know what to do with my arms. And I don't know how to breath. Every time I turn my head out of water to inhale I end up gulping water. And I can't do anything but panic if my feet don't touch the bottom.
So no, I can't swim.
I wonder why. I have this very distinct memory of being sent to swimming classes when I was a kid. This was back when we were staying in Kerteh, and mom would bring me to the resident golf/country club for lessons. I have a vague notion of being taught how to paddle my feet while holding on to the sides of the pool, but the strongest memory, the most solid recollection I have of swimming class is being with a bunch of other kids at the edge of the deepest part of the pool. The instructor put a buoy in the middle of the pool, and proceeded to ask us to swim to it and then back to the edge. HOLY SHIT WAS THAT SCARY. I remember swimming and breathing in sputtering motions, wanting to panic and not do it, but everyone else seemed fine and able to. I didn't want to be the only one too chicken to do it(I was six, but I had pride, yo). So I got to the buoy, where the instructor was treading, held on for a while, then sputtered and spewed my way back to the edge. I think he said something about how I could improve, but I think at that time I was just consumed with "TAK NAK BUAT LAGI DAH! TAKUT!" thoughts in my head. I can't remember what happened after that, but I think the way I swim now is exactly how I swam that day, so maybe I stopped going for classes.
Damn. I wish I could swim. I should be able to swim. If I could just do a decent front crawl that can get me from one end of the pool to the other, I'd be happy.
Is swimming something that can be self-taught? Study in theory, go to a pool, practice? One of my favourite Lat cartoons is a scene from Kampung Boy, the one where he depicts how he learned to swim, basically via his dad tossing him into the river when he was a kid. I'd like to believe if someone creeps up behind me and pushes me into a pool my survival instincts would take over and suddenly I'd be a freaking mermaid, but you and I both know that wouldn't happen at all. I'd just flail around and somehow make it to the edge of the pool before trying to kill the person who pushed me in. Swimming skills gained? No. Manslaughter charges? Yes.
Maybe I should coerce someone into teaching me. Kakak? Maybe I could save up money and go for lessons.
Takpe. By hook or by crook, I'll learn how to swim. I'll be a seal in the water someday. A penguin. A water baby. A platypus. A cat with a strange likeness for water. Until then I'll just sigh longingly every time I go to the gym and catch a whiff of the chlorine from the pool.
Thursday, June 09, 2011
Parmigiano Reggiano
Yesterday was cold. The kind of cold that provokes the consumption of lots of hot beverages, the exclamations of "Sejuknya!" to the housemate, the wrapping of oneself in blankets, and staring out the sliding door, trying to figure out how many layers I would have to wear to convince myself to go outside(answer:three).
Another one of those telemarketers called. This one talked so fast, trying to get every word of his sales pitch in. For a second I considered (as I always do in these situations) just hanging up on the guy but as always, I never can quite bring myself to do that. I notice that whenever I'm on the phone with someone I am mad with I tend to hang up as quickly as possible, after a brisk "bye", so I suppose hanging up on someone with absolutely no warning or courtesy must be the equivalent of a "fuck you". I haven't mustered enough social rebellion to do that. So I stayed on the line and tried to find some moment I could interject and say I wasn't interested.
I couldn't get a word in, he was careening along the path of a much repeated script. I wondered how many times he must have been hung up on to get up to this speed.I thought to myself, who would want this job? This job that requires you to talk as fast as you can, grasping any extra minute the listener doesn't hang up to stuff as much information as possible, sell sell sell, convince me not hang up just a minute longer, with every minute maybe I'll eventually give in. Maybe the guy didn't have a choice, maybe the job has a good base salary and a decent commission for every customer snagged, maybe he's actually lucky to be doing this. Hey, the guy's actually working. Which was more than I could say for myself.
Suddenly things just seemed weary and sad, so I slumped on my bed, resigning myself to listen. In the background on his end I could hear another telemarketer, probably in the next cubicle, a woman this time. I wondered what the place he worked in was like, was it a call centre like in Slumdog Millionaire, a big room full of people with headsets? I settled myself more comfortably on my bed while letting out the occasional "uh-huh". I wondered what was the success rate of telemarketing.
It had to stop somewhere. In the end, as he was trying to get details from me, I told him thank you for taking the time to explain it to me, but I wasn't interested. I could still hear him trying to catch hold of me, trying to reiterate the benefits of the plan, as I said bye and put down the phone.
***
Every time I go to the market or the shops and pass the cheese aisle, I often resolve to one day save up or cut down on other groceries in order to buy a hunk of good parmesan cheese.
Yeah. I make cheese-based ambitions now.
Another one of those telemarketers called. This one talked so fast, trying to get every word of his sales pitch in. For a second I considered (as I always do in these situations) just hanging up on the guy but as always, I never can quite bring myself to do that. I notice that whenever I'm on the phone with someone I am mad with I tend to hang up as quickly as possible, after a brisk "bye", so I suppose hanging up on someone with absolutely no warning or courtesy must be the equivalent of a "fuck you". I haven't mustered enough social rebellion to do that. So I stayed on the line and tried to find some moment I could interject and say I wasn't interested.
I couldn't get a word in, he was careening along the path of a much repeated script. I wondered how many times he must have been hung up on to get up to this speed.I thought to myself, who would want this job? This job that requires you to talk as fast as you can, grasping any extra minute the listener doesn't hang up to stuff as much information as possible, sell sell sell, convince me not hang up just a minute longer, with every minute maybe I'll eventually give in. Maybe the guy didn't have a choice, maybe the job has a good base salary and a decent commission for every customer snagged, maybe he's actually lucky to be doing this. Hey, the guy's actually working. Which was more than I could say for myself.
Suddenly things just seemed weary and sad, so I slumped on my bed, resigning myself to listen. In the background on his end I could hear another telemarketer, probably in the next cubicle, a woman this time. I wondered what the place he worked in was like, was it a call centre like in Slumdog Millionaire, a big room full of people with headsets? I settled myself more comfortably on my bed while letting out the occasional "uh-huh". I wondered what was the success rate of telemarketing.
It had to stop somewhere. In the end, as he was trying to get details from me, I told him thank you for taking the time to explain it to me, but I wasn't interested. I could still hear him trying to catch hold of me, trying to reiterate the benefits of the plan, as I said bye and put down the phone.
***
Every time I go to the market or the shops and pass the cheese aisle, I often resolve to one day save up or cut down on other groceries in order to buy a hunk of good parmesan cheese.
Yeah. I make cheese-based ambitions now.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
Turning Point
When I start tinkering around with a semi-active(or partially dead?) blog's colours, I can sort of tell that sebenarnya I takde kerja, ni. Well, this wasn't really tinkering. This was just a matter of bleaching all colour and making everything black and white. 2 points for kesenangan untuk dibaca.
The other day I realized I was turning 23 this year. Which means:
a) Jimmy Eat World's song, 23, finally applies to me.
c) I'm practically 25. Well, I'll be damned. It seems like age progression is continuous disbelief over your real age. I see these kids (kids?) who were born in 1994 or 1995 and for some reason I automatically think in my head that they're around 10 or 11, 1994 doesn't seem that long ago, but then I realize it's 2011 and they're 17 or 16, and I'm 23! 23! 25! 30!
***
I know this is one of those mundane domestic mishaps that doesn't need to be shared, but I let my guard down to the monster that is my washing machine and it decided to gnaw off the hooks of my favourite sports bra. Shame on me for being too lazy to hand-wash it and just chucking it into the known terminator-of-delicate-clothing, but seriously. Seriously?
Let me tell you about this washing machine. It's been here since my first year, and I have no idea how old it actually is (I would cut it through the middle and count the rings like I would a tree, but then I wouldn't have a washing machine). It's a front-loader, and it has analog dials on the front. It's loud and clunky, and spasms alarmingly when it goes into spin mode.
It eats bra hooks. Out of spite, I bet.
Monster that this machine is, it serviced our laundry needs adequately, with the peculiar exception that when I set the dial to cold wash, the clothes that came out of it were warm.
Then, in my final semester, the monster decided it had had enough. It went crazy, and refused to run on normal settings, or would start and then stop halfway, and generally was a pain in the ass. Especially when it was assignment/exam season and I didn't have time to worry about not having clean clothes. Boy. That wasn't a fun time. At one point I found myself sitting on the floor, leaning against the monster, crooning Padi's Menanti Sebuah Jawaban to it, in some bizarre, desperate belief that singing jiwang, Indonesian songs to a whacked out washing machine would somehow convince it to work properly.
Flash forward to now, and we're still stuck with this machine (long story). It works, in a way, but obviously is still eats bra hooks. Spiteful thing. Maybe spanish songs next time? Or mumbly french ones. Maybe it's an European washing machine.
The other day I realized I was turning 23 this year. Which means:
a) Jimmy Eat World's song, 23, finally applies to me.
c) I'm practically 25. Well, I'll be damned. It seems like age progression is continuous disbelief over your real age. I see these kids (kids?) who were born in 1994 or 1995 and for some reason I automatically think in my head that they're around 10 or 11, 1994 doesn't seem that long ago, but then I realize it's 2011 and they're 17 or 16, and I'm 23! 23! 25! 30!
***
I know this is one of those mundane domestic mishaps that doesn't need to be shared, but I let my guard down to the monster that is my washing machine and it decided to gnaw off the hooks of my favourite sports bra. Shame on me for being too lazy to hand-wash it and just chucking it into the known terminator-of-delicate-clothing, but seriously. Seriously?
Let me tell you about this washing machine. It's been here since my first year, and I have no idea how old it actually is (I would cut it through the middle and count the rings like I would a tree, but then I wouldn't have a washing machine). It's a front-loader, and it has analog dials on the front. It's loud and clunky, and spasms alarmingly when it goes into spin mode.
It eats bra hooks. Out of spite, I bet.
Monster that this machine is, it serviced our laundry needs adequately, with the peculiar exception that when I set the dial to cold wash, the clothes that came out of it were warm.
Then, in my final semester, the monster decided it had had enough. It went crazy, and refused to run on normal settings, or would start and then stop halfway, and generally was a pain in the ass. Especially when it was assignment/exam season and I didn't have time to worry about not having clean clothes. Boy. That wasn't a fun time. At one point I found myself sitting on the floor, leaning against the monster, crooning Padi's Menanti Sebuah Jawaban to it, in some bizarre, desperate belief that singing jiwang, Indonesian songs to a whacked out washing machine would somehow convince it to work properly.
Flash forward to now, and we're still stuck with this machine (long story). It works, in a way, but obviously is still eats bra hooks. Spiteful thing. Maybe spanish songs next time? Or mumbly french ones. Maybe it's an European washing machine.
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