Five Days to Go *hic* Almost done. *hic* Feeling light-headed, and that's a good sign. *hic* Am in a better mood today, and I think tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and the day after the day after tomorrow I'll be like this. *hic* Laughing over the tiniest details, but I believe laughing is anytime better than wailing. *hic* No I'm not drunk!!!! Am just bordering hysteria. *hic* DEADLINES!!!! I run high on them, can't live without them, but with them my life is a total havoc. Oxymoronic situation, I know. *hic* I suppose that's why I provoked a concern person to frickin' sign my guestbook saying that I'm 'frickin wallow(ing) in self-pity'. *hic* Nutcase!!!! You can't even read between the lines and I've never been an advocate for self-pity. *hic* Well most of you know better. *hic* It's a case of living the life of the work-addict, you see. *hic* Sorry to blur your eyes out, am not pretending to be cute or anything but then again, your mind belongs to you and speculate what you will. *hic* Tonight, for the first time in the week I'm going to go home at 5 and rest and have my usual Friday night out. *hic* That's very, very good indeed, considering I have to work during the long weekend holidays. *hic* Did I say *hic*? Wait. I forgot. Oh well, you know what they say about writers and wannabes, they all die early deaths. I'm part of the latter group of people, but I have writers who're in their early seventies and still very health looking, thank you.

I just don't like it when people who don't really know me as a person start to advise me on things that they side-guess just by the way I explicate matters on the blog. You are privileged to be able to read snippets of this person's life as she sees it, she is honoured to have your attention, but at the same time, there's a fine line between knowing, commenting, advising and saying your opinions. Which one were you already? If I wanted advice I would ask out loud, thank you very much. Only 5% of you who read this know me as a person, the others, please do me a huge favour, don't start giving me advice on how to live life right because it 'fricking' doesn't apply to the opinions that I'm posting here you nutcases.

Ok. That's all I have to say. Oh yeah, one more thing. I'm seriously very angry that you kenakan my friend also. I thought that line he said was very true and very funny and then you had to go and kenakan him like that.

I dunno lah you all.   ¶ 11:40

  Quote of the Day 'Blogging is mental masturbation.' —Cowboy Caleb  ¶ 09:24

  Hello? I'm lost.

I don't know what's happening anymore.

Everything's crammed into this silly place and I don't even know how to breathe anymore.

I miss you.

I can't find you, I don't know where you are. I've lost touch of everything. I just wonder, and wonder, and then I wonder again. I hate to say this, but...

Where the fuck were you?

Forgive me for the profanities, but I told you I'm not in control these days.

I'm so out of control that I have to hide myself in a 3x7 toilet cubicle just to quietly sniffle my woes away.

Shit.

It's good shit, it tastes good, my colleagues saw me putting the shit into the microwave and one of them puked. The other said it would taste great with black kopi-o.

I told the remaining that I'm on a failing diet because I will never be able to lose the excess because of this stupid, absurd project.

It's all pointless.

Because at the end of the day, we're all fighting a losing battle. The 60%, hah. It's actually 80% and no one wants to admit it.

You, you, you.

If you can read my blog, you can understand the English (just the English, not the content, because the content's NOT made to be understood), you've been warned. You're sitting in an ivory tower, you think just because you speak fluently you're head and shoulders above the rest. The truth is, there just isn't a 'rest'. They're all down that drain, and the whole country's living a lie.   ¶ 23:11

  The Bride Stripped Bare Am stealing short reads of the above title in between breaks now and then. The lessons in here define 'honest'. If any woman were in so much denial as to refuse to admit the complexities of her un-simple life, then this is a must buy. Must keep. Cannot borrow one. Because it is sooooooo stripped, you just go on and on and on.

On another note, here's a disclaimer. HElllllllloooooooo!!!!!! I'm not in denial. If you think my stupid posts don't cohere, its just because I'm a normal human being who doesn't think in a single straight line. My worries get jumbled up with my happy thoughts, and in real life, I can prove to you that I'm a very normal person who skips in the office and hums to Norah Jones over the radio. If you don't trust me trust the people who know me in real life at least. The weirdest thing I do nowadays is say, 'Meow! I'm a cat!' to my darling and do the Victory sign to my colleagues everytime they look up.

Otherwise, I'm just being me.   ¶ 00:05

  Walking That Road I honestly am trying my best but sometimes, I just can't see the light at the end of the tunnel, even though it promises to be there. See, there're diversions all the way. A sign here, a sign there, and you know what?

I've often come to points where I'm really tempted to try another route. The problem is I have my responsibilities to cover up for, and I honestly love carrying out my responsibilities. But sometimes, many times, I get sidelined, because there are possibilities that really tempt me to wonder, 'So what's up?'

I'm convinced that I'm one delusional, confused person who simply don't know what she wants.

Maybe if it were clearer, the words on the road signs, things that will spell out what lies ahead if I choose to walk that path, it would make things easier. It would definitely be great if I were given the opportunity to actually try things out, and if things at the end of the path don't satisfy me, I can take a quick short cut to the old huge highway, and still find that light at the end of the tunnel waiting happily for me.

But then again, nothing comes easy in life. You make one choice, and you've got to stick to the outcomes of that single decision. You choose something and you've got to sit in it to discover the good and bad of that decision. That's definitely an oxymoronic situation, but knowing it's either good and bad at the same time, well, that's just the whole point, isn't it?   ¶ 12:23

  Grrrrrr..... I always fail miserably at my earnest attempts to be funny. My lame jokes fall flat, like pancakes that go 'slap slap' on a non-stick pan. After a while, the novelty falls out.

One shouldn't complain at all when at least there are still followers.

But I'm getting pretty good at pointing out to professional writers on possible methods they can employ to 'spice up' their piece of art, literally.

As I plod along clumsily in what must be my career for a very long time to come, I suddenly realise one thing, if I weren't idiotic enough to realise it a long time ago.

None of the people you read out there are people they are if it weren't for the horde of people working round the clock to make sure what they write gets presented to you in a reader-friendly presentation. Or method. Or style of writing. So Stephen King would not be King if not for some unknown people behind him like the editor (whose job is to ensure his Subjects and Verbs agree with each other, and to ensure the chapters flow and make sense, and sometimes rewrite particular sections when the author-almighty is no where to be found), the designer of the cover of course (most of us would have experienced that one time when we bought a book because of the cover alone), and the typesetters (typesetters, baby, they make a page flow relevantly and ensure that chapter one sticks within the pages of chapter one, chapter two in chapter two and so on).

And this group of people behind that one book that helps King makes his bestselling millions probably earn less than 10% of what he is making. They probably work round the clock on Saturdays and Sundays like how the designers, typesetters, illustrators and myself work just to get a book completed on time. At the end of the day when the book gets out, our names dissappear into oblivion and the author gets 'famouser and famouser' and credit goes to his sheer genius. No one calls the book cover designer a genius, no one even admits to having two to three editors to work on one single book.

This world ain't fair.   ¶ 13:41

  And Thus It Begins The end of several no-weekend weeks for me has finally commenced. Today I am in the office. Tomorrow I will be in the office. Monday I will be in the office, until Friday, and on the 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th of the month, I will also be in the office.

A designer was telling me, 'Eh, labour day also must come to office hoh?'

Her manager panted, 'Eh, that's why it's called 'labour day'!!!'

Semua jadi kuli.

Okay lah, got one month bonus and performance incentive, but not like I can do anything with that meagre sum also.

I'm just recalling the not-too-long-ago time when I was still a full-time student in school uniform and wondering how come time was taking such a long while to fly. Now I'm wondering, what the heck happened???

All of a sudden it becomes a norm to look into your cupboard and wonder what to wear to the workplace. Last time it was bloody easy okay, I had three sets of pinafores and all I had to think about was, 'Okay, today have to iron this one so that tomorrow can wear.'

Now ah, every sale becomes an opportunity to splurge. And sometimes, splurging becomes a necessity, and clothes really maketh the person.

Yah, work sucks.


  ¶ 15:33

  More Dumb Facts (You REALLY SHOULD KNOW) Men don't suit third person references. It is horribly unbecoming and un-cute. Worse if you're trying too hard. Dying an early death. So quit it. Cos its puke inducing and if continue any further my blood pressure will drop again.

SYT, Babe, Chick, Sweetie, Sui Char Boh ... Sure fire way to become a reject. It only works on brainless tweeps who're equally desperate as the men on the road, wearing thin patchy singlets and whistling at every female who walks past. And it's not funny.

Why you can't get a girl? Because. She don't like you. Because. She likes somebody else. Easy as that lah. Cry so much for what???

Why can't you get a guy? Because. He don't like you. Because, he like someone else. Because he is with someone else. Because he loves somebody else. And maybe because, you cried too much.

Why so angry today? Because work sucks.   ¶ 22:51

  On Finances I overspent yesterday. That MPH Warehouse Sale lah, now I'm running on a deficit salary for the remaining eight days of the month. This means that next month things will be tighter still.

Now isn't it funny how the more we earn, the more we seem to be spending? It's very annoying, very, very, very the annoying. Back in my secondary days, it was perfectly okay to live on RM50 a week and still come up with about RM10 of savings at the end of every week. Now I get ab out 10 times more than that a week and still run a deficit.

You know I've actually calculated all these, if I manage to (ideally) save up to RM1000 a month, I will still only save up RM200 000 after twenty years. That doesn't even equal a decent sized house in these times (and you see how property prices will be going up in the future with the increasing cost and standard of living?).

These things, they're getting increasingly worrying.   ¶ 13:06

  Dumb Facts (That You Already Know) About her, those things that you must have suspected since the start.

We all think alike. Outwardly, 'I am not as clever as you are.' Inwardly, 'Wtf? Of course I'm cleverer than you are, that is the most stupid piece of crap I've ever heard from someone, now if you would only do it my way....' Wait, actually, that's me.

They're all bitches. Out to pounce on my belongings. Hands off, you, you, and you. I seem to like saying 'you, you, and you' a lot recently. Oh well.

She's prettier than all those beauty queens. Didn't you know already? I stare in a mirror and I see a really pretty face, devoid of make-up, smiling back at me. Heh. That's me you know. I know I'm a babe.

We're all narcissists. Otherwise we wouldn't own domains with our official nicks or even real names in them. I'm talking about him, him and her. Girls usually choose cute monickers to add to their dotcoms, men usually go for myname.com. You know I speak the truth.

I'm a Pretender. She pretends to not pretend, but actually she's always pretending. To pretend, is to live life with peace. To be not a pretender, is to pave your own quick grave. Deny it, but you know inwardly this is a fact.

He doesn't know anything. Of course he doesn't, he's always blur, always doing the wrong thing. Even when he's doing something right, she'll find a way to pick a wrong in it, so that she feels a whole lot better. The trick, as usual, is to say, 'I'm sorry,' and sound as if you mean it, even though you know you're right.

Actually, we don't know anything. Seriously, what the heck are we all here for?   ¶ 10:45

  Don't Give A Damn You won't want to believe it, or maybe you want to speculate, but you know that this is me, bare, stark naked, well, almost. You can't see the images, you may be able to visualize, but here am I, before your very eyes. You ought to trust because, I'm honestly, honestly, myself, all over again. The words flush over me like the gushing rush of a waterfall, and I feel the heat building up within myself as the skin and surface of everything else is cooled.

You squint your eyes because you don't understand. But can't you see? Don't you understand what this is all about?

None of it is meant to be open, none of it is meant to be dissected. You are required to fantasize, between the lines, you imagine yourself part of her, yet you are but a figment of what is real to this person, this strange being that seems to grow suddenly open yet suddenly closes her petals right before your very eyes. Just as you thought you knew her, she shys away from the spectrum of light, no, no not into the darkness... just into obscurity. No she's not being difficult, can't you see, can't you see. She's just sorting out what's happening in her life.

All because of a troubling dream.

Ah, that troubling dream, of him, him, him and him, in a bar, where he calls her baby, tells her he misses her and refers to himself as papa, but in a previous life, not too long ago, I thought we shared a bed, we share something much more precious than that?


I see it now, I see it clear right before me, I willingly admit it, yes it was fear, more of fear, more of embarassment, those tears that ran and ran like they never wanted to end... I listen to the music playing on the stereo and I weep, two streams forming down the apples of my cheek and I remember the hatred I felt for my weakness, and how now, she's proud because she's acquired some degree or recognition, but last night, she saw it, crystal and clear, it's all spelt out. No, that wasn't admiration, that wasn't love, that wasn't soulmate-ship. That merely was, something. But she feared.

She wakes up, a floppy blue mongrel smiling his beady eyes at her, she gives it a hug and smiles at the pretty world. Darling, aren't you pretty today? Where's your master? Oh but I miss him. Oh but I wish he weren't such a busy boy. Oh but I wish he weren't so bothered about the serious discussions we have. Don't you see, I'm just trying to sort things out, but why do you think I'm picking a fight? I really am not. Honestly, honestly, I'm being me.

Honey, you know me, I know you, but the rest of the world doesn't know the either of us, so ignore their prying eyes. Let's not give a damn. But shhh... you, you, don't say a thing, don't speak a word, you'll just disturb the peace. I think there's peace for now, so give her that much, don't give a damn.   ¶ 18:08

  I Don't Know Myself Anymore I don't know how to write anymore. I don't know how to read anymore. I don't know how to speak, I don't know how to sing, I don't know how to dance, I don't know how to cry even. I look at the sky and I smile because the clouds look happy, and then I look at the shadows and I think I'm sad because the darkness suddenly overwhelms. I understand that you don't understand me most of the time, but I think it's all right, it isn't all too bad, because I don't understand me myself. Most of the time we're all playing a guessing game, and the outcome doesn't really matter on the right or the wrong. The outcome just is, and that's what we take it for.

I hold your hand, and I feel comfort, and I feel it glowing out. I talk to you and we talk to each other, after a while we start a little debate, and you suddenly close up. I think you're annoyed, but I'm annoyed too, although I don't know who I'm more annoyed with; is it you, or is it me? I think it has to be me because suddenly I'm lost as I've let go of all courage the moment I'm with you.

Then again, I lose it because it suddenly feels right all over again, although many times I feel it's wrong.   ¶ 23:37

  But Of Course This whole Internet/Real World thingy is kinda cute. What's totally unacceptable in the real world has become a total 'first way to acquire fame and popularity' method. Things like being controversial, for instance. Look, look, minishorts does not condone controversity ... but apparently, she gets controversial sometimes, apparently, she told me just minutes ago, it's never been planned. Or perhaps, by nature she's one controversial person, and the words that plonk out on the keyboard just tip the scales on one side.

Not balanced, that's what she is.

That's why she won't ever fit in the real world. In the real world, being controversial is hushed upon, you get odd stares at you every other fleeting minute when you're not looking, and you hear murmured whispers just at the corner of your ear. You walk into a chattering horde of 'friends', who obviously switch to a very awkward topic the moment you say 'Hi' to them.And you get such unreal flattery that sound something like this: 'I like you, you're so terribly direct.' Whereas another who professes to be 'you one true friend,' tells you in a very serious and low tone, 'You know, sometimes you need to learn how to be not so direct.'

Now try being cryptic on the Net and see where it takes you. Try being civilly acceptable and suddenly, you'll be labelled 'such a bore'.

That's why I think the two complete opposite characters of the Net and the Real World is really, totally, so cute.   ¶ 13:03

  Private Note You know I don't actually beat about the bush, just that when I get really comfortable with somebody, I tend to talk in the way that I'm most comfortable with, at an incredibly high speed of what is probably 6-8 syllables per second and my point-of-view shifts all the time, I'll go from 'I' to 'Her' and 'You' all at one go. In a way I suppose it's like how I tell people I'm not the person who writes these posts, but in fact everyone feels that I am, and no one seems to understand completely what I'm trying to say either.

I suppose I'm being completely ignorant of the rest of the world, that's when I get too comfortable. 'But' I guess I'm annoyed that suddenly I don't feel all that special because being deemed 'common' and like 'every other person'... well, for someone whose ego is the size of what mine is (go figure), that's a pretty heavy accusation and label, and that can be quite a stab.

Oh well. I absolutely hate debating into the night over nothing in particular, but what I'm more upset about is the fact that you're upset because we're 'fighting' so say you. What's the compromise again? I'm noting it down in case one of us forgets, which is very likely to happen. Don't argue to win... there's no point winning when at the end of the day, if we keep on going on over something as miniscule as 'commonplace' and 'special' and debating both our reasonable arguments over the issue... we're both probably going to end up losers. I don't know about you, but I definitely do not intend for that to happen.

That compromise was to give the benefit of the doubt for the person who provoked the argument, however ludicrous it is. Because at the end of the day, it's the person who picks up the start of the argument that starts the engine. Now why should we let the car race to the finishing line when we can kill it before it grows out of proportion? I'd rather make peace.   ¶ 19:26

  To A Very Good Friend of Mine I know precisely what it feels like to be left out cold. It's worse than the weather—that feeling. You first feel numb all over, not knowing what had struck you at first. And then when the realization dawns upon you, you feel a terrifying chill overcome your body, that's when the tremors hit you. Wave after wave, they beat against your weakening soul as it threatens to crumble. Like broken bricks, crushed into hoarse sand, you feel the whole world fall about your feet as you break into weeping tears that promise never to end.

That feeling was not too long ago, and then last night. I understand completely what you are trying to do, I understand your disposition, I understand you have lost your faith, that feeling that you once so wildly and insanely treasured. Now that you've opted to let it go, I understand that you appreciate and welcome the release and the strength that you've suddenly acquired now that you've broken free. And I understand how it is wonderful to be finally let loose again.

But what he doesn't understand, ultimately, it that it isn't about him, or his happiness. Because at the end of the day, he'll be happier than she is, in the beginning. But whether or not this beginning will outlast what is to come, well, you're smart enough to envisage what is to come. So haven't you gave thought about the right thing to do? You've spoken to me about this, many months ago, and you had your principles. Your words and your zest for what you believed was important was what had drawn me to treasure the friendship that we shared and admire your for your attributes even thought I detested those that I deemed were irrevocable faults.

Now you're destroying my respect for you.

Is that instant feel of relief and destress reasonably more precious than what will come if you choose to be more civil and humane about the thing that you have done?

Only a month or two, that's what she begs of you. Don't give her too much, but give her what you can. No empty promises, and keep it short and sweet. After all, we all knew it was never going to work, neither did she ever see a happy-ever-after fairy-tale ending. It's impossible, and unrealistic... we all told you.

Many times have you expressed your wish to be powerful. You now hold that power to determine several people's happiness, include that happiness which is most precious... that one that belongs to yourself. So won't you choose to use that power wisely, for once, and prove that you are indeed mature beyond your years?   ¶ 12:41

  That Genting Trip Yes, yes, I know I was supposed to take shots of the dolphins, but just couldn't find the time to do so. Was up in Genting during the weekend when the HK Leos came to visit, had a tiring but fun time. It's nice to take a break from life and work (that make you feel years older than you really are). The weekend gave me spirits to be 'teen-ish' again... So here they are, the important snippets. And some snaps of what we had for the dinner on Sunday night.

  ¶ 09:25

  Making Sense Honestly most of the time I make perfect sense. That's why I just don't get the reason why they're always hammering on some non-existent fact about me going on and on about nothing in particular and being overly sensitive. See I thought last night was pretty hilarious after a long distance call and another not-so-long distance call. Of course I know you meant it. I'm sorry too. There you have it. A public apology. Now aren't we all a big and happy family. What was that song again?

'I love you, you love me, we are happy family.'

It irks me to remember that nothing, nothing lasts forever.

I'm no longer that idealistic child of those innocent yesteryears, when love spelt love minus the acronymities (yes I'm coining up words of my own), no -ologies nor -isms in between the fine lines; when fine lines never did exist. Now it's all getting complex, you see.

Don't mind me. I'm just learning how to maintain an optimistic outlook in an all too realistic world.
  ¶ 14:51

  On Her Rights I previously believed that a woman has her rights to be independent, at the same time she also has her rights to choose when not to be such. In discussions with several male friends, they all tell me the same thing, they find an independent woman more attractive than one who is not so independent, but if that woman is over-independent, then she becomes unattractive.

Which leaves us 'liberated' females in fix, doesn't it? How do you actually determine that extent of which you ought to be accountable to yourself only? What makes independentness attractive or not?

In my mother's time I guess it's easier, more or less, that is. Despite being marginalized as a subordinate, at least it was clear cut that the woman's job was in the home, in the kitchen, to feed the babies, cook the dishes and other such domestic duties. Nowadays, we're expected to do the domestic chores and still be financially and mentally independant. We're expected to account for the little accidents that are our unintentional faults, and we're expected to say sorry too. We can't, anymore, expect the man to carry our bags because we're supposed to be 'independent,' nor should we fret about walking alone at 11 pm to a not-so-deserted parking lot which is just about 300 meters away. We should not expect him to remember details such as not being able to take caffeine after 4pm, and then we need to learn how to swallow our rising temper when we feel that we're unjustly wronged, or when someone raises a voice at us. We have legs, which justifies why we should be able to walk up to the counter and ask for things ourselves. And then we've expected to say thank you for everything else in between, while we need to learn how to preserve a saintly composure and accept that not everyone appreciates the little things we do for him. We ought not to expect 'I'm sorry-s' for no apparent reason, because EVERYTHING HAS GOT TO BE ACCOUNTED FOR. About twenty years ago, a wife can hope that the guy she marries will provide for everything, CAN HOPE! Now? Hah... the guy she will marry will hope that she will be able to share part of his financial burden.

BTW, I'm definitely not a feminist, nor am I an advocate for equal rights. I tell, this equal rights thingy, none of the clauses will benefit us women. It's going to be a 'take some, provide some more' exchange.
  ¶ 12:18

  Today (As You Can See, I'm Running Out of Headers) Today was a pretty normal day. I spent about 3 hours trying to compose a three page commissioning letter. Headache, I tell you, checking clauses and all that. On usual titles a commissioning letter with a template takes less than 10 minutes, today I spent the whole morning discussing with my senior editor and my direct boss as well as the upper management on the finer details. Shucks.

Today also I ate too much. One of the designers brought her month-old-baby boy to the office... an entire hour was spent staring into Isaac's sleepy eyes. He is soooooooooo cute eeeeeeeek I want one too... well, some time in the future I hope, not so soon lah.... but one day, I want to get one of those... waddaya call 'em? Babies. Yah, Very cute. He's got the softest velvety skin and hair (so nice hair!!!) and the sleepiest eyes... I want I want. The hair. Mmmmmmm....... and then the Mummy bought a lot of pies and cakes so we were all stuffing ourselves silly while taking turns to carry baby Isaac...

Today also, I got a pink and blue dolphin to add to my already expanding family of softies... I told Daryan I don't want soft toy lor... but he still go and buy... anyway the dolphins are really cute, and they're filled with some strange beady material, you can just bend them and they'll turn into whales... which reminds me, I think I'd better take a photograph of them just for you to see... wait tomorrow, fine? After which I'll be going to Genting for a day trip of course.

That's about it.


  ¶ 23:39

  You Know... ... I'm really quite normal, I think. Except that I'm prone to spasms of emotional outbursts, which you're probably going to label this one as one by the time you're done reading it. I'm prone to jumping topics of discussions in the middle of sentences, and that's why if you follow this bowling ball down the alley, you get dizzy when the ball suddenly makes a u-turn and rolls towards you instead of towards the pins. That's just the tip of this iceberg for you. Iceberg! Because I can be incredibly cold most of the time, even though I promise to be warm and enthusiastic with the words that flow out of my mind.

My friend just returned my Mars/Venus handbook and I was reflipping the pages when I found that line which says that women are like waves. See I'm at that low point of the wave now, I suppose, or maybe there's a storm brewing in me somewhere (maybe its already blowing!). I'm having doubts, I'm being uncertain, getting shaky here. There's a bit of chemistry in the air with people I know, not people I'm attached to and it's making me groove slightly... yes there's excitement, and shock, and horror, and 'what the heck is going on here?' and that 'oh it's probably nothing' thing....

Hey you, woman, you know that line 'It's probably nothing' is as good as nothing, because even though you keep reminding yourself that it's probably nothing... you do think about it. Because it is encouraging, flattering and we like that attention. Because we're all female... and nothing makes us more vulnerable than the fact that we 'doubt'.

About what I'm doubting? You've got to dig real deep to find out.
  ¶ 23:26

  Lost Not knowing, what to do, what to write. Sometimes I stare at the blank space that makes up my Notepad and get nothing at all. Times like that I trust that it's the curse of my career, that the more I become nit-picky on the work that I receive, the worse I become at my own artistic credibility. I sense that I've begun to lose it when most of the time all I do is check on teaching points and teaching techniques. I'm settling down finally, and the weight of what I'm going to do for a good part of my entire life as an independant, career woman has just fallen upon me.

Actually, I sense that that heavy burden fell upon me the moment I left school... too naive to admit it I guess.

Well I'm not too naive to question the point of all this crap studying and working. See you study very hard, to get good grades so that you can get into university. At university you study very hard, to get good grades, so that you can graduate with good grades and after which you can get a good job. With a good job... well... with a good job... well... you work work work work work work work so that you earn some stupid meagre sum that they call a salary so that you can pay for your own bills and bills and bills and FOOD!!! So that in the end you live a presumably comfortable life, wear nice clothes, have a nice family car, own some property perhaps and then when you die (regardless of how)... you get a good spot in the ground. Wait, this is deja vu because I spoke of this before.

Oh well. You know where I am. Lost.   ¶ 23:03

  Dances, Bracelets and Flowers We won the annual dance performance contest with that dance I choreographed. RM500 goes into the Editorial entertainment fund bank and we're going to have a celebration lunch sometime this week. Amazing stuff, you know? After practising for so long, well, David and myself did say that with the amount of work that we put into the practice, there's no reason why we shouldn't win the contest, except when the big night arrived, and we saw the stuff that the other departments put up, we became rather sceptical.

Well, we won it. That's all that matters, I suppose. Of course, the praises that go around in the office does make the day seemingly brighter, even with the nagging knowledge that work is slowly piling up in the inbox as I go around saying, 'Thank you.'

I also won a simple gold bracelet from the lucky draw, making it my 4th win of the year. YAY YAY!!! Was strolling the corridors of MV on Friday, and looking at the nice nice things they have up on display at Poh Kong, OTC and Goldheart, while SL kept on going, 'You want? I buy for you lah...' and I kept thinking that I didn't want to wear something that would put an invisible stamp over my forehead labelling me as his property.

'I belong to nobody but myself!!!'

So that lucky draw prize just came right on time, you know, how a woman goes through her phases where she wants something sparkly and shiny to decorate her fingers or wrist. Now I have one.

A colleague received a HUGE bouquet of lilies from an anonymous admirer today.... eeeks that's like soooooo sweet. I've always wanted to receive something from an anonymous admirer (note, ADMIRER, not HATER) ... but somehow I always get evil stuff from strangers, like hate-mail and wrong mails. *SNIFF* A girl's got dreams you know, and now that I'm already 24, I haven't entirely grown up yet, and those dreams still exist.   ¶ 15:28

  Rant I ought not be doing this.

But anyway. I just wanted to tell her that yes I meant every word said but at the same time I'm remorseful. Yes I treasure my existence and definitely your existence tremendously, except that I don't appreciate the way things are being handled in your manner. I don't understand the hierarchy of systems, nor the manner of the way that you lose your temper and lash it out on me. Perhaps it is my fault for for arousing that anger, but at the same time, I do not appreciate the finger pointing at me all the time, or the two slaps that I receive when I say something that is rude, ungrateful but ultimately, true. The point is, we're all human, and we have feelings. You would have known by now that I'm probably one of the most volatile and volcanic eruptable mount of emotions currently living in Malaysia. That said, and done, I'm terribly sorry for the manner that I spoke my mind. But I'm not sorry for what I said because of my belief in my beliefs and myself. At the end of the day, an education is meant to make me open my eyes and be more rounded when I view things, and when suddenly I'm forced to pretend that the corners don't exist or that jagged lines are in fact, straight, my patience runs thin and I do have my outbursts. At the end of it, just because you think that staying in on a sofa and watching TV is relaxation and does wonders to cool wrinkles, I believe that going out for that weekly dose of limau panas keeps me feeling vibrant and exuberant. Now take it, believe it that we are TWO DIFFERENT INDIVIDUALS and we can both co-exist in harmony.

I miss you, but I wish you didn't land us in this mess.

A little long while ago somebody (who probably is going to read this post, now if you do and we chat on msn or something please pretend that you didn't see this) wrote me two fantastic poems. I was flattered, see it's not every day that you get an admirer, lagi not every day that you get one that writes you poems. I don't know what is it with men when it comes to me. Just because I'm involved in writing and publishing and languages does not mean that you need to be able to write fantastically to make me fall in love. But well, the poem was extremely sweet... except you know how is it? When you merely like a person, when you're just terribly fond of a guy but not in that manner, that poem doesn't warm you up. You feel a squeeze in your chest, and then your jugular starts to throb, before you know the skin on your arms feels prickly all over... but not really in a feel good manner. Sometimes I just go 'eeerrrrr'... and feel really awkward for a day or two.

See I'm human, and I don't look at a poem from an admirer that I don't really like and just throw it aside. I do feel prickly for a day or two, and then I remember these bits and pieces.

But when I received your poem just a while ago... it was really nice. Warm and crunchy, you know? Like how you like to go 'Mmmmmm...' everytime I say something nice.

Regardless, and regardless... its worth it. I look up into the ceiling and see my mirrored image on the glass above me and I go 'Mmmmm...' and then I remember, despite the obstructions, I'm willing to take the plunge, because you're worth it.
  ¶ 09:29

  So It's April Fool's Day It's April, at long last, the co's annual dinner is just the day after tomorrow, and I haven't any shoes to go with my faux leather skirt. Will be leading the dance for Editorial's performance, and after a whole long month of choreographing and practising, I'm terribly spent. Yes, it's a big joke, I can actually choreograph modern dance.

That aside, I am actually looking forward to the rest of the month, even with the humongous work that looms threateningly ahead of me. There's a one day overnight trip to Genting with SL and friends, and then there's also that blogger's eat-out session at Saisaki on the 17th of the month. I heard that many big names will be headed there, and so will I and SL with his short hair, so tell me a big secret, are you coming to watch us all pig out? Or just join in the fun? If you're going you need to update wiki before Grace confirms the reservation.

I last visited Saisaki almost two years ago when I was still with my ex. It was a reunion of sorts for our high school graduating class (that group of friends whom I got close to at the expense of my own high school gang, you know how bf-gf try their best to share friends). Now the food there is excellent, not the taste that is, just that the platter and the assortment of choices that they offer is just amazing. It's lunch, btw, so you don't really have to worry about sleeping on a full stomach. Just come without breakfast, plan not for dinner, and eat all you want. At RM38.50++, I don't think it's that bad. If you're not working, there's a two week's notice for you to save up to 4 ringgit a day (live on biscuitslah) or go beg for some extra allowance. After all, it isn't every day that you get to meet 'greats' like meesh, graceshu, ryuujin, ireneq, khalilur and of course, yours truly.

*Perasan je*  ¶ 09:38