Arm-looper

Some girls are natural arm-loopers.

You know what I mean, right? The kind that like to loop their arm around yours when you’re out walking somewhere. For them it’s a natural thing, to encircle your arm with theirs and hold on. I think it’s an expression of trust, of familiarity. Sometimes, if you encounter a chronic arm-looper, you may find that they do it to you even when you’re not that well acquainted.  But in essence, people don’t loop arms with someone they don’t like.

For some reason, I am not one of nature’s arm-loopers. In general, I don't think I am quite accustomed to physical acts of affection. Hugging someone more often than not feels contrived, don’t get me started on air-kissing, and the only usual form of physical contact I initiate is restricted to placing a hand around or on someone’s shoulders.

Lately however, I am slightly alarmed to find that I want to loop arms with someone. Actively, positively want to. How bizarre. Can you freak someone out by coming up behind them and then suddenly attacking them with a determined latch onto their arm?

Regardless, I am a very willing arm-loopee, and still feel bursts of gratefulness and warmth when someone does it to me. So come one, come all. Let's loop.

These things are fathomlessly out of our hands

I’m sure some movie or book must have introduced me to the concept that we are the sum of our actions. That what we do signifies who we are, regardless of our thoughts, our intentions, or our words.

When I get caught up in the contradicting versions of the person I think I am in my head with the person I think I’m portraying externally, I echo this sentiment and think of myself in terms of the things that I do. I am my habits, my routine; I look for the familiar in what I do.

I am the attempt at harmonizing along to songs playing on the radio in the car when I’m driving alone.

I am the heavy eyelids I have when I’m reading in bed at night and don’t want to stop.

I am the same repertoire of songs I play on the piano, because my level of competence is stuck at grade four.

I am the pleasure of folding flour into cupcake or muffin batter, or the kneading of dough to make cinnamon rolls.

I am the volume I mute or the eyes I keep covered when watching something scary on tv on in the cinema.

I am the stunning exhibition of awkwardness when interacting with acquaintances; I am the bits and pieces of conversations that make me groan when they revisit my thoughts.

I am the sweaty mess I become when I exercise, I sweat like a mofo.

I am the things I write, I am the pages of my journal scribbled with my often ugly handwriting.

I am the embarrassment of starting to sing at the wrong moment of a song, or singing the wrong lyrics, embarrassment I feel even when I’m alone and no one’s there to witness my gaffe.

I am my slight obsession with Nigella Lawson.

I am the fuzzy warm feeling I get when the cat comes to my room and curls up next to me on my bed to sleep.

I am the disappointment that I feel at times.

***

Side-track. Side-track. Side-track.

Today I was out all day on this work thing, and my phone bloody died on me. I returned home to charge it, and when it restarted there were a slew of emails. If there’s anything these past 4 months of working have taught me, it is this golden nugget: The higher the number of emails, the higher the chance you may have screwed something up. This time around, I thought I screwed up again. So I did what anyone of my disposition is apt to do in these circumstances, which is to say “Fuck”, very quietly, and grabbed my laptop to rectify things. And as I was doing this, with that now familiar subtle tone of panic and distress underlining my actions, there was a moment where I was freaked out by the idea that this may be the rest of my life – work, the fear of having done work wrong, the heavy sighs of realizing that I have messed up again, that I am accountable to my bosses. Then it turns out it wasn’t so much a screw up after all, false alarm, and I was relieved, and I decided to blog instead.

Pretzel

When I say I like to dance, I am thinking of my tendency to shimmy around somewhat crazily on my own in my room, or occasionally in public. I know very little about structured forms of dance, so I grasp dancing as an extension of my enjoyment of music. I do it when I listen to a song that makes me want to move.

I went to the Future music festival a while back, and the thing I loved most about it was the fact that at a few points, it didn’t really matter who could see me, or that I looked like a hot mess, or that I was dancing alone at the back whilst people were up front near the stage. It did not matter, nothing mattered! I was dancing underneath a night sky lit up by stage lights, and the music was so loud, and I had as much space as I could please. I don’t think I thought about much, I did not worry about work, I did not dwell on where I was with God, I was mercifully distracted from thinking of people that have been on my mind, my insecurities and self-doubt did not matter. How blissful it is at times to think of nothing. I am, moreoften than not, grievously far too self-conscious to let myself go completely, so when I am able too, it’s brilliant.

I screwed up at work the other day, and as a result I am mortification personified. I try not to linger on the matter, but I still feel like I’ve been hit with a pie in the face every once in a while when it crops up again. I’ve come to think of my mistake as a sly little creature with pointy ears whose chief motive in life is to remind me of his presence and throw pies in my face, the sneaky little bastard. He did pretty well yesterday, I left work feeling like an incompetent idiot, and I was disappointed to find that going for a run did not work its magic this time; I was still emitting audible groans whenever I was unfortunate enough to remember the whole shebang after I finished. I have to ride this godforsaken incident out, and I suppose 6 months from now I’ll be humorously recounting this incident to whomever. But in the meantime, I shall resort to food, because I feel glum and want a pretzel.

I like people who smell good. Does that sound creepy? Maybe it does, but I’ve been riding the train to work this week, and I like how in the morning, people have just sprayed themselves with one perfume or another, and everyone smells so pleasant.

I have to admit, I like to people watch. I was taking the train last Saturday, and it was filled with young people heading for a day out. There were a couple of girls sitting opposite me, and they were dressed up, with their jeans and trendy tops and warpaint on. The girl on the right was wearing wedges, she was plump and her outfit was mostly over the verge of being too tight, but there was something slightly glorious about her. Her hair was long and luscious, and she wore casually flipped over one shoulder. Her plumpness seemed curvy and voluptuous, and she came across like the kind of girl who would be mischievous, with a sassy attitude and a sort of playfulness. You got the feeling she would know how to flirt.

On the other end of the train were another group of girls, a couple of them fashioning the Yuna-style of wearing the tudung(is it officially called tudung Yuna? I’m imprudently assuming Yuna pioneered that particular style) and clutching handbags, and they looked young, maybe form 3? They were giggly, and I noticed a man standing nearby smiling at them appreciatively.

I suppose I was watching these girls with a sort of fondness, because I did the exact same thing at their age, and have various memories of my mom dropping me off at LRT stations so I could meet up with friends at KLCC or Midvalley for a movie. Dressing up, going out at 10.30 in the morning, excited at the prospect of hanging out with friends or perhaps the idea of who else we might bump into? On the whole, I felt glad for them and I felt old, but at the same time I had an acute sense of relief.

There are times.

There are times.

There are times, when I feel like despair is wrapped tight around my heart, and I cannot breathe. I cannot breathe, and it will not get better, and I will choke.

I would be the first to contend my sadness is bullshit. Sometimes I think I would be happy to have my sorrows validated one day, to have some sadness-verifier take a look at me and say "This one's legit, folks! It's real. Her sadness is real. Her tears are not a waste of our time". But in the meantime, I wrestle with the belief that I am a stupid, selfish, self-centered idiot who finds trivial reasons to feel the blues over.

But. There's that choking feeling. Goddamn. Tell me it's real.

I have to admit, I still wait for my soulmate. I hate the vulnerability of that, how pathetic it makes me feel, how self-conscious I am because of it. I have to grow up and get that shit out of my system,man. I've embarrassed myself one too many times because of it, looked for it where it doesn't exist, get my fucking hopes up for nothing.

But sometimes, when it seems like I can't feel God, and I don't know what to do, I do think of this soulmate, and I wonder if I'm placing too much faith in the belief that things would be different if this soulmate were here.

I am so tired of being unrealistically sad. I am sick of these unlikeable parts of myself. I need to bloody relax.

The first time I can clearly remember misplacing my academic confidence was when I was thirteen. There was a test. Up until then I had taken for granted that I was smart. Sure, there were times I had trouble with science, and BM seemed to pose challenges once in a while, but I had always assumed it was my lack of effort that caused those complications, not my intellect.

This test I had was a maths test, of all things. Maths! I had considered maths a perfectly doable subject, so long as you learnt the material and did exercises. Maths was hard to screw up. I was more than confident I had done well in the test. My teacher was handing back our test papers, and I remember one of my classmates asking me what my score was. I glanced airily at my paper, expecting something in the mid-80s or maybe even 90, and that's when I saw I had actually scored something in the low-70s. A big, fat, jarring B.

And then I wasn't sure anymore.

High school was the first place I realized I may not be as good as I thought I was(yes, I was that pompous beforehand). And it was where I first encountered what it's like to be in a conversation where the person you are coversing with doesn't find you particularly clever. It's not anything obvious or intrinsically mean of course, it's not as if they point at you shouting "bodohnye kau ni!". But it's things like not fully taking your word on something the teacher was explaining in class the other day. Doubting your capacity to fully grasp or understand the subject material.

I don't know why, but I've gotten so paranoid with what other peoples' perception of my intelligence may be. It kills me to think that a particular person may find I am.....not exactly stupid, but lacking, somehow. Not up to par. Slow on the uptake. All that jazz.

It shouldn't matter, I know it shouldn't. At the end of the day, it depends on the effort you put in, and what you strive to learn for yourself. People's supposed opinions about you? Fuck that. It doesn't matter. Just do right by yourself, and learn for the right reasons.

But somehow my paranoia manifests in my abilities. I feel stupid, and I end up acting properly idiotic. I lose faith in my ability to reason, to do things, to think. And I end having no clue what the fuck I'm doing, and I seem as stupid as I am utterly scared of being.

I must have faith in myself. I must not be scared.

I am now working with a bunch of amazing people. They are intelligent, they are eloquent, they are smart cookies. And it's scaring the living daylights out of me. My incompetence was on display for the past week, and I have not felt as stupid as I did then in a particularly long time.

So you know what? Shit's gonna go down, but in a positive way. I'm going to work my ass off this year. And I will conquer this paranoia. And I'm going to learn, because I want to be kick-ass at what I do.

Wish me luck.

P/S: AND I MUST NOT BE AFRAID TO ASK QUESTIONS! For God's sake, tanye jelah. Don't be bodoh sombong can or not?

I have a mess of observations and ideas inside my head. I've been having trouble methodically sorting through them, so I'm taking the desperate measure of puking out random points and thoughts in writing.

It is a sad truth that I've had a lot of friendships that faded away purely due to geographical reasons. When I came back home and walked into my bedroom for the first time in a couple years, I saw that the pictures in the frames on the walls were taken about four years ago, and some people in those pictures weren't relevant to my life anymore, not because of anything dramatic, but just because our friendship wasn't the kind to survive once our lives didn't overlap. It felt peculiar. I haven't spoken to you for ages, have no idea what you're doing, and yet there you are, smiling on my wall. You meant something to me back then.

I have a bit of bitterness lodged in my chest, and it is aimed at a particular person, which makes it harder to let go. I have tried rationalising through it, and when that failed, tried coaxing it to go away. I then attempted to prune it out of my thoughts altogether. At certain points, I optimistically believe I can overcome it with humor, but then it bubbles up again, and I feel it, vitriolic and hateful. I am disappointed with myself over this, I understand it is not right, this harboring of ill-will. I also grasp the concept that sometimes it's no one's fault, shit just goes down, and yet I still find myself frustrated, and I bounce between blaming myself and finding ways to justify my anger.

I start working next week, and I have all the regular fears of starting somewhere new. What if, what if, what if. At the top of the worry list, you have the classic, never-gets-old fear of "What if I don't make friends?", and as I work my way down, there are things like "Will rush hour traffic suck my soul out?" and "What if it takes me longer to learn and pick up things than the others?", and also some new ones, like "Can I trust myself to manage my money wisely?" and "Holy crap, ,macam mane nak pakai make-up?".

My brother is 15 this year folks, percaya tak? I was so surprised when I saw him at the airport, he's grown so tall. And he eats constantly, but remains lanky and thin. I, on the other hand, have only been back about half a month, and already I can tell my shorts and pants fit snugger around the waist. Food is yummy and plentiful, and while the sure fact that I've gained a bit of weight makes me unhappy, it's the sort of unhappiness that makes me sigh glumly for bit but then I brighten up while reaching for another piece/slice/helping of goreng pisang/cake/nasi/shepherd's pie/anything edible.

Oh, and I think my brother has nice handwriting. It's nicer than mine was at that age, or ever will be, as a matter of fact.

Ok bye.

Hi.

My friend Hui Ying just enlightened me on the kickass Up remix by Australian DJ Pogo. I can't stop listening, it makes me want to float in sunshine, if that description makes you any the wiser. It makes me bob my knees while waiting for the elevator, or for the pedestrian light to turn green.


A group of friends chipped in to buy me this lovely, lovely teapot (with babushka dolls on them!) and teacup/saucer set for my birthday. My life's mission at the moment is to make sure I pack it and transport it back home all in one piece.

It's coming down to my last week in Melbourne and being fortunate enough to have had sufficient time on my hands to take care of all the administrative details of shifting my life back home well in advance, I find myself with free time to absorb my last moments in this city as I see fit. Sometimes I feel like I can't leave this place fast enough, sometimes I feel a sense of regret pondering all the changes that will occur in this city once I'm gone; if and when I come back next time, I know a lot will have changed, this city shifts and morphs so rapidly. The snapshot of Melbourne I have in my head will be outdated. I go to the market and some part me wants me to remember that North Atlantic Salmon was $24.50 a kilo, that there were blackberries and blueberries and cherries and yellow and white peaches and nectarines all piled up, that bananas were finally cheap again after a year that saw them priced ridiculously high due to the cyclone that hit Queensland. Avocados and lemons, delis and bakeries, organic sections selling all the good stuff, things I probably won't be able to find easily back home. I worry about all the things I haven't tried yet, the nooks and crannies I've never explored, the food I've never eaten, the places I've never been.

There was a recent point in time where I was cresting at an all-time high, it seemed like things had fallen into place, that I had finally figured out how to live, and how to handle life, and while I fully realized I wouldn't cruise on this high forever, it felt like I had gained that level of maturity that enables you to ride out anything you face with a facet of grace. But of course that illusion came to an inevitable end, and I went through a particularly graceless period, and it scared the shit out of me, because it made me realize that I will never have everything figured out. Getting older and wiser doesn't equate to not making mistakes, and the possibility of fucking up is perpetual. I suppose that's just life, we're meant to do our best and stumble through, but I'm so scared of the stumbling and my ability to pick myself up after each fall.

If there's anything I wish for, I pray so hard that this year, this year that felt so fucked up at times; made me a better person for it, that I learned something, that I grew a new coat of resilience, that I have a better appreciation for my family and my friends, that I am less cynical, that I am less pretentious, that I am braver, that I am fitter, that I properly think before making a decision, that I smile more, that I am better. That I am better.

I pray I have the guts to own up to my mistakes, and that I am less selfish, less spiteful, and more sincere.

I am 23.

Have you ever replayed a conversation in your head and realized how unlikeable you sounded?

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.

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!

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?

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 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.

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.

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.

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! :)

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.

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.

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.

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.