minishorts.net

Oh Dear

2004-07-08T12:36:00.000+08:00

Clarification. I had no idea my blog had been suspended. Apparently my host provider owes his host provide money so all the sites are suspended. In the meantime, it's back to the drawing board for me.

Blogspot.com that is.

Anyway, I'm still alive. I don't really have the time to update my blog yes, but fortunately because I still use blogspot, it isn't all that bad.

In the meantime, you-know-who, eh pick up my phone call lah. I'm not about to lamblast you for not informing me about the sudden suspension. If there's anything I can do to help, you know how you can contact me. My number's still the same.

Otherwise, hopefully by next week my site will have it's own domain again.

Muchas gracias. Thanks for bearing with me.

Sneak Peek: Wheee!!! I win!!!

2004-07-05T11:26:00.000+08:00

I must remind myself to turn on my handphone's recorder the next time I get into an unexpected debate with SL dearest.

Oh you know how he is (or how most men are), they absolutely hate losing. And how women are, they just absolutely must win. Wait, the two situations aren't entirely the same. Men hate losing, women just must win. No no, they are not the same thing, they're not paraphrases of each other. Understand that one first. Next you should also know that SL is such a man, and I'm such a woman, so always, always, he hates losing, and I must win.

Ready?

Now I can proceed. So SL and me, we argue a lot, like most couples do. Fortunately most of our arguments end in the car and the next day when we meet we're fine, until the next time we argue again lah. Oh we argue about strange things, stuff like

SL: If I'm a cat, and you're a cat, then we are...
Me: I'm a human being.
SL: Wrong! We are CATS.
Me: No you nut. We're human beings. Cats don't talk.
SL: CATS! The MUSICAL!!!! Meow!!!
Me: Meow.
SL: See! You meow.
Me: Yes but cats don't talk.
SL: I talk.

Stuff like that.

Anyway, the recorder's A MUST. A MUST A MUST A MUST!!! You've just GOT TO HEAR the way SL throw up his hand in exasperation and screaming, 'Ok ok YOU WIN YOU WIN YOU WIN!!!' And then I'll try to fish out my recorder to tape up that priceless moment.

'Wait wait wait!!! Say that again. Who won???'

And then he'll just go, 'Nooooooo!!!!' and then sit really still. And there it goes. Poof. That priceless line.

Friends who know SL KNOW very very well that HE WILL NEVER LOSE. That last time he was going on and on and on crapping on a train, it got so bad he almost got another BRAT banging his head against the train windows just to shut him up.

That 'You win' line is reserved for me.

MUAHHAAHAHHAH. I feel so achieved. The next time if a debate is imminent, you're going to get it from me. Wheeeee!!

*Muaks* Love you dear.

Well

2004-07-04T15:26:00.000+08:00

Ok. SO I haven't been myself lately. That is, you know me. Logging on on the wee hours of the night and then trashing things out. Or sneaking a post in between work.

Lately life's been such a blast this little thang here has taken the backseat in the drive of life.

Well last night, for instance, there was the Nokia Starlight Cinema do. I'm really in sync with the idea of watching a movie under a bright full moon, breathing in fresh, green air instead of putting up with the very cold stuffy freeze that you get in the GSC cinemas. So my butt was wet and aching, and my back yearned for a really comfortable cushion to lean against... otherwise, seeing Hellboy's red horns grow into shape under a sky that kept on threatening to drench us wasn't all that bad. We're already planning for another hike up the Equestrian Park next year.

My boyfriend and me keeps on argueing these days. Oh, no the relationship itself is pretty fine... except for this tiny weenie part related to the Club. Understand that this is not the first time I'm involved in a society, but this is the first time I'm involved in a society that doesn't give me space to grow naturally simply because my boyfriend happens to be second-in-command officer. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't just sit back and take a breather and appear whenever he needs me to. But usually I'm confused. Sometimes I'm a normal person, other times I'm spoken to as if I've been there forever.

It really makes me marvel at how all those women behind their successful men actually survive and keep the flame alive, so to speak.

I'm learning. Learning. An author has told me that keeping your mind focused on 'learning' as the ultimate goal of your life makes things a whole lot easier. She didn't tell me that the process of 'learning' is just so hard to adhere to. It was so much simpler as a student, at least you know that your sole goal in life was to gather knowledge. Now that I'm working and $$ figures a lot, trying to focus on learning is hard enough, trying to separate the process and the other things in life is even more challenging.

Enough crap for the week. Night. Yes it's only 3.45 pm, I know. I've been deprived. Bye.

Sniff sniff

2004-07-01T10:37:00.000+08:00

Of course I mean it. I can't be going around telling you all the time how much I'm grateful for your presence.

But I thought you can feel it from me.

Its obvious when I tell you I need to see you.

Its extra clear when I call you in times of need, when tears are at the verge of falling because of the stress I get at work.

When you're the first person I tell about the problems I'm facing in my studies.

It was there all along, how much I'm grateful for your presence. I thought you knew it already. If not for you, I wouldn't be where I am now, I wouldn't be looking forward to weekends, and I wouldn't be begging you to stay a little while longer.

So why do you doubt me?

Burnout

2004-06-25T07:50:00.000+08:00

I suppose that's what this is all about.

Help Needed

2004-06-23T15:55:00.000+08:00

Dear all

I know you're ingeniously creative people. Minishorts has just ran out of her resources and needs your help. Could you please all help her think of a very good 'reason' to tell her Mummy something otherwise? There's this thing at the end of this week that she simply has got to go to but Mummy mustn't know for what. But you already know. Shhh... its an all expenses paid weekend getaway by SL.

Sounds romantic, huh?

But it won't work unless she's got a very valid reason.

So think away and help her play.

Gah...

2004-06-21T17:21:00.000+08:00

After a week, you'd have thought that there's more sense to all these. Unfortunately, the Earth chooses to continue on its drowsy mechanical spinning on its axis, and here she is wasting away.

I fell ill again.

Four MCs in two months. Hip hip hurrah. Here's health, or what's left of it. *sigh*

I've grown to hate the things that surround my very 'well-being'. That, that and that. They all fall into place like dreaded bombs, waiting to explode all at once. I deplore the attention that is given, and yet have no choice but to accept.

Look, you. I know you're older, more seasoned. I'm just trying to do my job. Look, you. I hate talking on the phone for hours, so can't we just get over this in a civilized manner without me having to here you drone on and on about your years of experience and slam me off for 'undermining' your capabilities.

The point is, I HATE DOING THIS. So let's just get this over and done with and head on with life. At the end of the day you're the contractor and I'm the worker, and you know what they always say.

You know you've been in the workforce for a substantial length of time once you realise that contractors remain with the company longer than employees do.

Oh well. To health again.

Seeing Double

2004-06-13T01:30:00.000+08:00

*Both photos are taken with the T630 camera phone. Cool eh?

The Other Things

2004-06-12T14:40:00.000+08:00

Apart from work, I have a life too.

Mum and me seem to be getting closer lately. We talk to each other before bedtime, and I'm back to watching those good old TVB no-brainer episodes. They're fun, they remind me of life on the fast lane, and they keep me intact, or at least, suspended. After 10.30 at night me and my mum will be yakking non-stop and discussing the plot. And the pretty girls. And who's more leng chai. (If SL were arond he would go, 'Me dashing and handsome! ?- sorry dear, couldn't resist.)

Speaking of SL, we seem to have been neglecting each other. Grrr... me and my killer job, he and his killer job. The irony, we live less than 1 minute away from each other and yet we only get to meet up once a week and yak on the phone after midnight if we're lucky. What a hateful life we lead!!! Urgh.

I'm supposed to be shopping for another cocktail gown to go to the AIESEC alumni dinner in. Unfortunately, I don't look half as good as I used to this time last year, and those extras that I've accumulated around my waist, butt and arms have got to go. And I've only 1 1/2 months to get rid of them. At the same time I seem to be getting addicted to Coke.

Grrrr...

Oh yeah, since I'm now using a camera phone, I've decided to get a moblog too. Here you go!

Okie. That's about it.

In No Particular Order, In No Particular Form

2004-06-11T12:05:00.000+08:00

I'm not your conventional linguist. (I'm referring to linguistics as in the science of language ya, not as in 'knowing many languages') I like the academia because they allow for freedom of expression, and especially because they accept the 'rojak-fication' of American/British English conventions. I enjoy reading bilingual blogs, and always I marvel at the way how some writers have skilfully blended three or more languages (and slang, mind you) into a single post. Of course, some of these passages may not be understandable to the foreign eye, but I think it's diversity; as long as the majority of your intended outreach understands you... well, you're good to go. I don't believe in prescriptive grammar; I trust that language being a living thing, is subject to change and growth, and negatives and positives are very seldom placed in a black and white situation. I'm what linguists call a 'descriptive grammarian'. And oi, I'm Malaysian and as far as I'm concerned, I don't really care about 'good English', because I don't believe in 'good English'---to me the concept doesn't even exist.

Unfortunately, in my line of work, grammar, spelling, style... is a black and white concept. It's either right, or wrong, and Br/E is the way to go. This is where the problem kicks in.

I can't be unstylistic. Yet I still have to be stylistic. I can't bring in American conventions, yet in spoken British English even, they have Americanisms seeping through and 'polluting' the language, as purists maintain. I have to be very cautious about spelling, have to watch out for the 'z's and the 's'es very carefully... you never know you see... and you can't ever be too sure. For every preposition that appears in a line, I have to question it. You can't ever say 'I'm calling for a meeting.' It's got to be, 'I'm calling a meeting.' Both are right in society but because we're using British English, the former is absolutely intolerable.

I have to make sure that contractions don't appear at will, sentences don't ever start with the conjunction 'but'. I have to ensure the right use of the Past tense, make sure that the continuous tense should never appear when it's meant to be a simple tense, and mind you, it isn't ever that simple.

It's easy to know all these conventions, you just need to memorize them from grammar books. You just need to 'take charge of your own learning', (well, as if I have the time to), and then convince people who obviously have years and years of experience ahead of you, that you are right and they are wrong.

Now try convincing authors when they have past year examination papers to look back and present proof in that manner. You photocopy the materials from THE number one grammar reference. It's what we're all trained do to, check up your reference, memorize the points and rules, keep them yardsticks and share this gained knowledge with authors. Oooh, authors, they're like dormant volcanoes, rich in knowledge, but when they explode, they really explode.

'Bullshit. I don't care if the grammar books say that, the past year examination paper tests on it, and so I want that line in the passage NO MATTER what you say.'

And so we keep making mistakes (that aren't really mistakes if you're talking about language in the real world), and every year, over-zealous parents and teachers bang the doors of the Lembaga and Majlis Peperiksaan Malaysia complaining about factual and language errors.

Students hardly study for knowledge. They all study to score in the examinations. If you get 2 As, you're not clever, if you get 12 As, you're a genius and you gain national fame. It's terrifying, everyone out there is competing to prove their might, when all our students are ever learning to do is 'pass examinations with flying colours'. The screwed up thing is, the examination questions aren't even accurate in the first place, if you really checked up British English (which is what Malaysia is supposed to be using). Wait, wait, not only are the examinations thick with errors, even the HSP (Huraian Sukatan Pelajaran, the national syllabus) for English is strewn with grammatical errors, incomplete sentences, and 'colours' is spelt as 'colors' in some pages, 'colours' in other pages.

Well, this is only about English. Ever wonder what happens in other subjects that our poor students have to study and sit? By the way, it's supposed to be 'sit the examination' not 'sit for the examination'.

Now excuse me while I go and mark out all the 'but's' in the sentence openers.

Caveat

2004-06-10T23:51:00.000+08:00

If you burn out I won't have the energy to go see you.

I can't be a candle forever, I have my own problems to look after. I've got a weak body made of wax, and when the fire gets too close, I melt. My wick is rather useless, blow and I'll go out, I'm left in darkness. The last time I lost my flame, you came and lit me up all over again... but now, I'm really worried.

I'm worried that you can't keep your own flame. Your own body's getting weaker. I see you getting stumpier. I see the wax dripping down, you're getting short, your own wick's becoming unreliable.

Do you get this?

If this goes on, who's going to light me up when my flame dies out again?

Here's A Good One

2004-06-09T23:09:00.000+08:00

'The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof shit detector. This is the writer's radar and all great writers have had it.' -Spring 1958 Paris Review

I think there's a writer in each of us who blog. Anyone who's intrigued enough to set up a blog and post that very first entry would have had that imagination, and that tiniest bit of aspiration... 'Here goes nothing.'

You type what you will. It's go from that very first click of the 'enter' key. After that, there's no looking back. Whither or not you continue blogging, that's another matter altogether. I know of friends who profess to want to write one day but have not the discipline--yes as much as the inappropriacy of this word here, its necessary here-- to go beyond the first week.

But for those who continue, for those who go through the various stages of a blogger's life, you've had it before. You've felt the excitement of seeing your own creation bounce to life on the word's biggest free publication ever, you've gone through those stages of learning up basic html and maybe css to customise your presentation space, and then you've surfed the net for inspiration, read dozens of other blogs and found friends along the way. You've join communities, perhaps, sometimes, attended blog-dos. And you've had comments trolls leaving footprints in your little 'home', some stalkers perhaps, you've even ticked off some other people, sometimes. You hang out all your dirty linen to dry in public, and usually you get 'sympathy', yet you know shit's going to be remain shit all the same.

It's good shit, by the way, all these, these things that come with this practice. When I was in AIESEC a senior used to tell us that shit actually means 'Special High Intensity Training'. Okay, so this is going to sound so cheesy but, you know? Blogging is S.H.I.T., in that sense. Before you know it your language skills improve (it doesn't matter what medium your blog is in), and then you start to gain stylistic methods as well, and of course, you become more sensitive to the things around you.

Suddenly the Internet isn't so much about chatting or checking e-mail anymore.

Go... Gone

2004-06-08T15:41:00.000+08:00

My brand new Sony Ericsson T630 went up in flames today. Literally. Actually, the phone is still intact, but the charger zonked out on me and decided to call it a day, after three days of being my property. It was sitting comfortably in the socket for about 15 minutes, while I worked on the computer, and then suddenly, there was this loud and abrupt buzzing sound and the whole computer died.

I thought my Mac decided to die an early death.

See, at first I was almost in tears because the computer is FILLED with work, compiled over a period of ... many many months lah. And then I thought, okay, cool, I'll get a new computer come July... but then, the work gone! The things lost, and the things I'll have to do.

But it wasn't the computer you see. The technicians pulled out the plugs and there it was, my Sony Ericsson charger?FRIED. The computer's okay, everything is intact... just that the electrical plug-in sockets are now obsolete and awaiting attention.

So there goes my NEW PHONE. Grrr... and I thought the worst was over.

Ooh. But you know it already. That's like so fun! Astounding, but still. Fun.

It's just the things I like?well, they're really quite common. Things like: freshly washed hair, gel-less please, ooh, haircream off too! I like the smell of clean after shave, and that unmistakable scent of antiseptic soap... I like dry carpets, devoid of damp musty whiffs, and clean car floor mats that don't remind you of public buses or taxis. Things like that. Very simple, yeah? Easy to do. See, how easy to please I am. Smell nice, look nice, clean up nice.

Grrrrr....

2004-06-07T08:34:00.000+08:00

What the fuck is wrong with you, dudes? You have a problem? You walk right in here and rub the mudstains off your soles on MY carpet, MY floor, you don't even say thank you for giving you a window to my world, and you start criticising me for the lousy drapes that I hang around the house?

But then again, I forgot. Oh well. You're forgivable. You know why? Because you're not even a friend. Heck, I even forgot why you're not a friend in the first place. I realised it, in an afterthought. I remember that you're not a friend because you refuse to choose me. The irony is, if you refuse to choose me, why the heck are you commenting on the upholstery and the tea that I serve for guests?

But never mind.

I was told this years ago: on sunny days, there's the sun. On rainy days, there's the rain. It's always been simple. The difficult thing is realising that things can be simple. I'm jotting this down to remind myself.

Sigh

2004-06-05T09:54:00.000+08:00

I'm been struck with a very bad bout of luck this week. You know, when things seem like they're not going to get better, they really won't. Or ... Oh well.

First, I have that silly thing that's been happening at work (which leaves me in a fix really, because I have no idea what's going on at all), and then, just as I thought I could have a relaxing holiday with friends and loved ones, my handphone got picked. This was in the cinema yah, while watching Harry Potter.

So anyway, those of you who know me personally, please note that I'll be out of contact until Tuesday or Wednesday.

Don't We All Know It Already

2004-06-01T07:07:00.000+08:00

My life for the next few weeks is set to be living hell. It's because of this immense project that's been (so-called) handed to me on a platter, that I have to take up, whether I like it or not .

It's times like this that I really, really miss being just a student, and living in the times when mistakes are forgivable.

It isn't nearly the same as the time when pet projects are just what they are: pet projects. This project, you see, clashes completely with my principles in life, that is, to look up, look forward, look beyond. This absurd, absurd project, instead, tells me that we need to take a step back, learn from the past, and veil our eyes to the atrocities of the world.

It forces me to teach our children to be ignorant. That 'ignorance is bliss', that rape cases don't occur, that stress is a non-occuring phenomenon, that there is no such thing as a body hugging t-shirt, and school uniforms that accentuate the shape of a girl's body are non-existent.

It tells me to ignore the presence of diet pills, of the fact that the gender gap is closing up, that boys and girls should not be seen in the same photograph together.

This project, leaves every single person on the team, disillusioned, and hampered by the mis-screwed minds of the people 'up-there'. It leaves us reeling in shock over the explicit details of the Noritta Shamsuddin and Canny Ong cases, and cursing ourselves in horror that knowing that the might of the pen is in our hands, we can't yet do anything to save our future generation.

Bureaucracy is a horrible, horrible thing. That red tape, you don't know how far the line goes, or how many red tapes there are ... but you know, the scariest thing is: it's not the biggies who are making the decisions, its the smallies who think they're biggies.

But don't we all know it already.

Of English. And Chinese. And Being Upper Class.

2004-05-30T02:02:00.000+08:00

Disclaimer: This is a very personal rant, and many of the opinions here are really very personal and emotionally written. Most of them may not be politically correct, and I didn't bother to check the authenticity of the claims. And its a very long post.

At 2 am I have a sudden realization of why the Brits think they're so much better than the rest of the world. They have English, the language that's THE Lingua Franca, THE language of economics and money, and of course the Pound Sterling is very very huge in value... and they have ... you know what? Hordes of followers who supposedly are anti-English and yet sing such high praises of 'ENGLISH 'O Ye ENGLISH you are the most beautiful language in the world', to the Extent that other languages are just, merely Second class.

I'm not slamming shit from the soles of my boots onto a Language which I work every day with.

It's just amazing, I think, how a single race like the Chinese seems to be divided into two, the ones who come from an 'English educated background' and the ones who went to 'Chinese school'. I'm talking about Malaysia, mind you. Of course. Oh well.

I had a very 'enlightening' argument with a friend who doesn't read nor speak Chinese, and I'm still very enlightened. It started innocent enough, this little chat, talking about changing our tones when we speak in different circles, and my friend said that he changed to a lower level when he spoke to his friends from the Chinese schools.

I was atrociously astounded. You know? Terasa. Eh, Minishorts is from a Chinese school, yah? So does this mean when you talk to me you 'Talk down', so to speak?

We went on and on and on... until I believe I lost my train of thought, especially as my friend was nitpicking on the pernickety details and he just floated on and on and on just to win the little 'argument' so to speak... (oh well, you know how guys are, they're SUCH winners)...

Usually I let such things go...

But when you touch something that's very close to my heart... something which I have been caught in between for almost 20 years of my life on earth, and you start talking and forcing me to accept your opinions as is... I get VERY agitated.

It took me a whole lot of effort not to just stand up and walk away.

I could go on about how I was stuck in Primary school not knowing a single word in Chinese, not knowing how to write my own name also, and trying to run away from school. I could begin with the years when I was with my Chinese school friends, and they had these term for kids like me who spoke better English than most people, 'Speaking', they would say. In Chinese, hushed tones, they would say I was a show off... just because I spoke better than them.

In high school, those speaking English ... we were huddled together at the back of class, singing songs from classic musicals, and knowing that people thought we were show offs.

Trust me, the term, 'show off' never ever occured to us in the group. Until of course, the year we branched away from just the school circle, the years that we met people from the 'Elitist' schools.

That's when I learnt the phrase, 'Ah Beng and Ah Lian.'

You know what's it like to be a 'stuck-between'? We become chameleons. We move around so easy, that putting on and taking off masks become second nature. And it's not easy to 'fit in' when you're a stuck-between. With the English educated people, you call ppl Ah Lian and start laughing about it. You endure jibes when people start saying that Subang Jaya is more high-class than Puchong Jaya (and then start thinking that hey, I stay in Jalan Klang Lama, now isn't that such a low-class area?), and then you agree, 'Yeah, I talk down to people from the local universities. After all, UPM isn't nearly as good as UM, and Oxford is of course the BEST place in the world.'

With the Chinese school kids, we mix with the English educated people's 'Ah Lians' and bang your heads to Jay Chou's rap renditions and scream crazy over Ah Lian channels like TVB and dream of meeting those singers. We actually LIKE Twins and S.H.E. because they're cute, but you can't speak English too naturally. You'd be a show off. You can't even like clothes from Esprit sometimes, they're such expensive stuff. Oh oh, I forgot about the richer Chinese educated, (or English educated, I forgot). Buying branded clothes became a must. The bigger the label, the better.

I was caught up in it once. So caught up that once my Dad went overseas and I asked him to get me a Guess T-shirt (when we were kids, Guess was pretty BIG okay?), and I told him,'Make sure the logo is huge.' But Once. Once only. That's it.

I'm grown up.

I've just had enough of being a stuck-between I guess. If you ask me. To hell with English/Chinese educated kids. I think Chinese who don't know Chinese ought to try to learn Chinese, or please, at least be proud of your heritage. And the Chinese educated Chinese who don't speak good English, stop labelling people who speak proper English as show offs.

It's quite sickening how that what's supposed to be a unifying language can disunify a people.

I really feel like walking away everytime you talk about local uni/overseas uni, semi-gov/full-gov/private school, Chinese/English educated ... you know the list goes on. I think you already know I'm the perfect example of a cross-breed, I've got a bit of everything in me. I feel attacked both ways, and it's not nice to be attacked. And today, I really, really felt like walking away.

I'm just disappointed that many people are still very green. Oh dear.

Of Blockbusters and Corny Lines

2004-05-29T23:45:00.000+08:00

SL and me went on a self-declared holiday today. We watched two shows back-to-back: The Day After Tomorrow and Shrek 2, with a half an hour break in between. The first movie actually scared me... well, after all the worst part of the movie was knowing that global warming IS a very real problem that we're all facing, and what happened to the characters in the show could very well happen to us!

Notice the storms we're having these days? I'm sure they're worse than they ever were, and every year the winter (in places where they have winter) seems to be worse than the last. Or the heatwaves seems to be worse than the previous... oh well, maybe I'm exagerrating... but the movie is kinda scary... although there were many corny lines lah. Stuff like the US president saying, 'We were wrong, I was wrong.'

Now that's just one thing I don't get about blockbusters. That thing about CORNY lines. There's this scene in the show where Tamyln Tomita tells Dennis Quaid that she can help him with something, and Quaid just goes, 'Walk with me.'

I was like... 'Oh no... there it comes... the corny lines...'

Corny lines are just ... so maize-y you know? They make everything sooooooo predictable, like those rows and rows of yellow stubs down the cob, corny lines just make a good movie BAD. Oh yeah, if you thought the CGI in the show was good, well, yeah it was good, except the opening scene... I thought it was so blatantly CGI... but it probably its difficult to make an Antartic scene look impressive with all that white.

Anyway, The Day After Tomorrow could have been a good movie... it sure had very noble intentions (I'm already more environmental conscious already), BUT unfortunately... the corny lines.... oh the corny lines...

Well, Shrek 2 WAS good, and I'm not going to repeat what the others have said... but my favourite parody was the Mission Impossible one, though the trip that Shrek and Fiona took on that little onion coach that really resembled travelling scenes from LOTR were really hilarious.

And yeah. At least Shrek 2 didn't have corny lines... or where the lines were meant to be corny, they sounded GOOD. That's only because the movie did make a parody of the corny lines from other movies, I guess.

Seeking Potentials

2004-05-27T13:36:00.000+08:00

Its funny how at this point of time some people are looking more attractive than others ... on the market. Going to fairs and conferences has allowed me to meet A LOT OF nice guys, and hmmmm... yeah, well... it's quite a pity I'm no longer 'a commodity on the market' (SL's probably going to kill me for typing this in).

Maybe when you're nearing your mid-twenties and having just entered the society as an individual owned by herself, people look at you in a different light? In school, I was never a hottie, most of my friends were guys, yes, but that's only because I was 'one of the guys'. Did I tell you about my good friend whom every guy wanted to date? Almost every other month she would receive a bouquet of flowers from an admirer! This was from Form 1?we were only thirteen, ya?

I only got my first serious admirer nearing the end of form five. Well, at least I had ONE admirer that I knew of during the whole of my secondary education.

But back to now... to be bringing up small talk in the little circle of colleagues and rivals in the publishing world, to have innuendoes slipping in here and there, with casual invites to dinners and movies.

Or is everyone already in their mid twenties to mid thirties, moving around the world WITHOUT a significant other, seeking 'potentials' everywhere?

Maybe I am already with Mr Right. Or maybe Mr Right will come tomorrow. Or maybe there will be several Mr Rights. Whatever happens... well, I belong to myself, ultimately. Obviously that's how things are supposed to be.

Well, Hello

2004-05-24T22:38:00.000+08:00

This photo has nothing to do whatsoever with the rest of the post. But when I was in Malacca and Leonard took me to eat their Satay Celup, I shocked the guys out of their wits by dunking in 15 sticks of shelled cockles and then eating them all at one go. No, the high cholestrol doesn't bother me, at least, not yet.

Anyway...

Right now blogspot users get to post photos and have them hosted for free!!! Except for the domain name, and the advertisement-free privilege, this whole 'I own a domain thing' isn't really that cool after all!!!

Nope, I wasn't paid to do an ad for blogger.

Okay, so I didn't use hello, that new service from picasa that's supposed to 'work seamlessly with blogger'. But that's only because it messed up my so-called very neatly filed up folders in the server.

But I used the client to chat with a friend and share photos, and trust me on this one. It's really excellent. And every time you do a conventional smiley face, a huge face will fall from the top of your menu bar. Cool!

Well, since I am not a techie, my little review is from a very layperson's point of view. I really liked the blogger templates, but this photoblogging function is really nifty.

Growing Up...

2004-05-23T14:14:00.000+08:00

When I was just a girl, I hated being young. Like many other kids I would trot up and down the living room in my mother's high heels, and when chances came that she wasn't looking, I would be painting my face silly and destroying Mum's lipsticks and blusher cakes.

When I was 13, I would go around telling people I was 16... and for many, many years I was 16. Birthdays for 13-year-olds don't sound nearly as cool as 'sweet sixteens', and every year I was counting the months till the day I would become 16 year old and finally... the 'happy sweet sixteen' would become genuine.

So now I'm almost 25, have my own car, have a job and earning my own cash. Being grown up never felt so terribly wrong. Last night I went to my form five class reunion, and well, everyone's really an adult now. It's awfully strange to see old friends from school (some whom I've know since I was 6) all grown up, dressed up in adult clothes, behaving like very experienced women, soaking up the scent of broken cigarettes and puffing and drinking whiskey-coke while playing hand games with the guys.

It just didn't feel right.

Suddenly I feel so old.

You Thought She Forgot

2004-05-22T19:10:00.000+08:00

But you know what?

She didn't.

She still enjoys sitting at the bar, watching a skilled bartender shake out six shots of Illusion. She still enjoys sipping them up at one go, enjoys looking around the crowded, smoky scene, scrutinizing nice people. Nice men.

She still likes it when men walk up to her, buy her a drink.

Except, they don't do that anymore.

Somehow, when a woman gets married, people know about it, even people who don't know her personally. Maybe it's the look that envelopes the wife, that gives her that 'untouchable' mark, or that ring. But even when she takes it off, they still won't come.

Except the very, very brave.

'So are you very, very brave?'

'Maybe.'

She smiles. He smiles.

'A drink?'

'Yes please. Illusion.'

'That's really six.'

'I know.'

'Him?'

'On business. You know. The stress. It's killing me.'

He laughs.'

'Don't we all know that.'

And then, she knew he knew. He thought she had forgotten, but really, there's nothing worth forgetting.

Back To Basics

2004-05-22T00:44:00.000+08:00

It's back to basics this time, I've taken out the Guestbook link as well.

That just wasn't me. Someone asked me why I'm still on Blogger even though I'm hosted on my own server. I tried some of the new features, but you see, my blog isn't made to be reader-friendly. It's supposed to be thought-friendly, and there's a vast difference between the two. After all, everything here is pretty personal, and if you'd really think about it, the site's really dedicated to one person only, that's me. Of course, whether fortunate (or unfortunate, depending on how you'd see it) minishorts.net has become pretty public. Yet tear away all the fancy decorations, and what's left is really a whole load of jargon, not ever, really comprehensible by the layperson, perhaps 60% understood and emphathized by friends who know me personally... the remaining, is really, quite, clearly, inexplanable.

So all those functions. Buh-bye. No point, really.

Well, you could also say that I got lazy. But hey, at least I tried.

There Isn't Ever A Theme Here

2004-05-19T15:48:00.000+08:00

Obviously you would have known that a long time ago. The focus goes with the waves, up, down, up, down. At times it gets volatile, the motion gets rather rough, and you're left wondering. Well, most of the times.

On the other side of the screen, life goes on as usual. In reality, it's quite normal, she still wakes up at 6 every day, heads off to work and reaches the office by 7.15. Jokes with colleagues, tidies up her desk, checks her e-mail. Lunchtime, and its off to the restaurants, there's a good relationship between the friends-at-work, but it doesn't mean she isn't relieved when the clock strikes 5 and she knows there's no need to work overtime tonight. She heads home, does some chores here and there, takes an hour long nap. At night, there's there call from the boyfriend, and then it's off to bed.

Fingers go on pecking at the board, the words transcribe the innermost urgencies that crave to be expressed first. Which is why they all get confused, and misled. Not delusional, not schizophrenic, for goodness's sake! Quite normal, absurdly normal, really. But none of you would have that, I bet.

There's no cooked up hocus pocus here, though. I can bet my bottom dollar that everything present is the truth, or part of the truth... but does that really matter?

It's all personal, deep, deep, deep. And if you don't understand a thing, it doesn't bother her at all. Not meant for you to understand, at all. That's why, there isn't ever a theme. Not here. Not ever.

Being Sensible

2004-05-16T16:37:00.000+08:00

I sometimes hate being sensible. I've never been more sensible than now, these days of my life as I slowly but surely approach my mid-twenties. When I was younger, I was hardly sensible, I would be rational, yes, but just in thoughts. Most of the things I did was hardly sensible... stuff like opting for a course that everyone said was not going to be good... you know? Back in those days where everyone smart enough to get straights As ought to become a doctor, take up a pure-science course and all that... well I ditched that... and opted for Arts.

So look where that choice has taken me now.

Work on Saturday nights. On Sunday mornings. Dragging my sleepy body out of bed at 8 am on Sunday to check my e-mail for incoming tests written by teachers who work overtime on Saturday nights (under my command, of course). It's sensible to wake up early on Sunday mornings, because the sooner I get the work done, the sooner I get to go to bed. SO that I can wake up earlier the next day, so that I can perform better at work.

OK, OK, so most of my posts here are nothing but work, these days.

The point is, having a stable career at a stable company is being sensible. And I'm beginning to dread this life. Jeesh, I'm too young to be sensible... but then again... The money. Oh yes, the money.

Remember when you were kids and all you needed to do when you were out of stash was to reach out your palm, ask for it with a solid and justified reason? And pout if Daddy or Mummy said, 'No, not today?'

I understand Daddy and Mummy now. See if it takes me such hard work just to get my monthly salary, I just DON'T WANT TO SEE THAT MONEY going away to a silly kid who'll spend it on Twisties and Pringles.

You know what? I don't think I want kids anymore.

I Miss...

2004-05-15T02:03:00.000+08:00

The smiles, how we used to sit beside each other and tease the other for blushing or so. He's cute, she's cute, and then they smile at each other, and the rest of the world fades into oblivion.

But nature is a cruel victor, it always takes it course. It sweeps upon you violently, and the pressures of life just afix themselves quite comfortably onto your life, eating into the most stable of relationships.

And things just break, break, break, crumble.

But I miss the smiles, the brushing of our fingers against each other. Your breath down my collar when we kiss, the soft warmth of your lips when they touch mine. I miss the carefreeness, and the happiness that comes with knowing you belong.

I trust everyone misses all that too... but sometimes, sometimes, all these just fade away. And it takes patience to seek them again.

Well, I'm not worried. I have the patience. You, don't frown, I think you have that strength in you too, more apparent than mine.

It Snapped

2004-05-13T22:39:00.000+08:00

My silver chain has a very flimsy hook. This morning, the hook decided to give way, so the whole chain fell to the floor. I fixed it up and then put it on again. It stayed on my neck until a necessary moment when I was feeling very frustrated, and then it dropped of again. So, I fixed it up once more and placed it around my neck. And that still didn't cease my frustration.

Maybe I'm getting more demanding but it doesn't help when the frustration just goes higher and higher each day. I have clenched fists and seething anger, and my teeth are chattering against each other.

The heatwave doesn't help.

She wished she met him tonight, instead someone else told her it was ladies night and wonder if he cared. Oh he was flirting all right, that someone else, and then he had to bring up him. She smiled, she thinks it's funny. And then she waited. But of course she's not worried because it's been done before, so typical of him.

Like that, like that.

Stupid chain. Grrrrrrrrrrr......

Hmmmm...

2004-05-12T23:14:00.000+08:00

See! I've done the unthinkable.

I've wanted a new template for such a long time, and the new blogger readies are just in time. Oh dear... this is sooooooo un-me, but with all the work and my 'life'... I just can't seem to find the time to sit down and do a design at all.

Maybe sometime at the end of the month or in June.

Oh well. Don't flatter me because it's a ready-template. Flatter me only when I make my own.

I'm Back

2004-05-12T18:46:00.000+08:00

I've never driven for more than one hour at one go, so the trip to Malacca was terribly exhausting. Going wasn't at all that bad, since Helen was there to accompany me. Well, I know I dozed off at 9.30 pm that night, whilst my two colleagues were venting their anger at the co for making our lives a miserable hell. As much as the topic was interesting, I suppose the drive to an alien place left me quite worn out.

Today was worse: I wanted to get back earlier in order to check some mails that my authors had urgently posted, so I left earlier. Almost dozed off on the highway... see driving alone really is taxing. I got home, totally exhausted despite waking up at 8.30 am this morning, and took a three-hour nap. I don't think sleeping tonight is going to be a problem at all. Am still feeling quite snoozy and... well...

Actually I don't quite like the idea of going back to work tomorrow at all. Going on this trip has led me to new insights: I've learnt A LOT of things. And, I know that the work that's going to welcome me at the office tomorrow will be completely overwhelming, even for a self-professed workaholic like me.

But anyway, met up with people from the M'sian educational publishing industry (the Cambridge Uni Press sales guys were hot cute!) and also the who's who in ELT (that's English Language Training). Pearson's a terribly frightening company, Thomson Heinle's got terribly cheap workbooks and the British Council has an amazing range of give-aways. Guys who are involved in ELT in the international arena aren't wimps at all, in fact some of them can be quite hunky... urm... well...

Anyway, I'm back.

Going Soon

2004-05-09T00:33:00.000+08:00

Honest. Going soon.

Just that... I'm so tired. You know? The late nights and all... and what I trust to be duties... sometimes it gets really taxing on me, and my physical health just can't take the long hours.... and shorter hours... I never seem to be able to compensate on what I'm losing out on... and it's making me drown.

And my patience is honestly going, going, going. I don't know when it will be gone, but this I can vouch, that patience will prolly be gone by the time you realise its missing.

I just hope I don't hurt myself in the middle of waiting.

Oh well.

See you.

You Think, You Think

2004-05-08T18:14:00.000+08:00

And then the jolt comes, he sighs, she sighs, they both sigh.

It's over.

He rolls off her, turns away. She feels a tear trickle down her cheek. And she closes her eyes. His breath is heavy, deep... she knows he's fallen asleep, everytime, he falls asleep.

She closes her eyes, and tries hard to will herself to sleep.

'So what do you want? What do you hope?'

All gone, everything's amiss, nothing is right.

Except.

She doesn't know what's going on anymore... it's just duties, duties and more duties.

Minishorts will be away for the week on business. Thanks for the love and kisses. Muaks.

What would you do?

2004-05-08T00:23:00.000+08:00

If you found your boyfriend's porn, on the bottom-most shelf of his cupboard, while he is sitting just beside you talking about what had happened during the rest of the day?

Anyway I thought the whole episode was crazeeeely hilarious especially when SL started to blush really badly and started closing and opening his eyes.... as in shutting them really tight everytime I pushed the pages of naked women doing naughty things to themselves with huge foot-long sausages, and trying very hard to run away...

Plus the fact that a few minutes later, his sister walked into the room, saw me flipping the pages, took the magazine from my hand, and started to comment on the contents of the book.

Totally weirded!!!

You're Almost There

2004-05-05T15:57:00.000+08:00

She hears the grille roll. The lazy brush of his footsteps, his loud breathing at the front door. She trembles as the stirring continues, the sound of popping bubbles arising from the boiling of his favourite soup. She waits.

And waits.

She hears the door of their bedroom closing. She hears the shower facet being turned on, the house isn't that big after all. She hears the water gush out. And she hears him singing, singing in the shower.

The sound is horrible.

She closes her eyes.

She remembers. In the first month, the excitement of sharing a room legally for the first time. She remembers how she used to eagerly await his return, how she used to make sure she left the office earlier so that she could arrive home earlier than he would, so that she could make him his favourite dishes. She remembers how, when she heard the grille roll, she would be standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup, and how he would walk to the kitchen. She would pretend to not know he had arrived home, and his arms would encircle her waist, his lips would stamp their mark upon her neck, and she would gasp, turn around, playfully beat him on the chest.

And they would emerge breathless.

She closes her eyes. If she tries hard enough, what she remembers and imagines could almost be real.

Almost.

One More Day

2004-05-04T20:23:00.000+08:00

We're almost there. Finishing up the lot. And then it's back to normal, for about 5 days, after which the rush will return again.

Funny how you hate anticipating, yet can't wait for all of it to be over soon.

My boyfriend bought me a nice silver and white gold pendant yesterday. Now I've got a problem. I'm used to wearing my jade pendant, it an heirloom from my Godma. It hangs from a gold chain, and my Mum bought matching earrings to go with it. From the lucky draw I won a gold bracelet, but you've seen it already. See, right now, my accessories don't match. You're always taught to wear just one type of metal.

On Monday I'm taking the day off, a break from all this havoc, before I return to chaos on Tuesday. Maybe I'll be able to snag myself a nice pair of matching earrings, and then convince Mum to get me another bracelet.

Oh yes, I'm very spoilt.

You've Been There Before

2004-05-03T18:39:00.000+08:00

She opens her door to an empty house.

The settee looks the same, the television is turned off. On a display table, photographs of him and her smile back at her.

Her heavy footsteps bring her to her favourite couch, she drops her briefcase, and slumps onto the cushions. Her eyes shut, she wills herself to rest, to dream, to imagine. And then they snap wide open.

'Dinner. He'll be back soon.'

Reluctantly, she makes her way to the kitchen, to the stove, fills a pot with water, lights the stove, throws carrots, onions, potatoes into the water.

'I know you feel it too.'

She remembers the words, she smiles to herself.

'I can be attractive too.'

She remembers the words, a long time ago.

'You're very attractive, you know that?'

She smiles again, she remembers the moment.

'You'll never have to work another day.'

And now... she's working in the day, she's working in the night. She's working for the money, the money goes to the food, sometimes she buys nice things, but she never finds the time to wear them, because there's always other things to spend the money on, for now, for tomorrow. And then a few days later, she's got to rest, other times she's got to iron the clothes. Yesterday she had to sweep, wash, mop.

He said she'll never work again. But now?

She's so tired, she's so, so tired.

'I know you can't feel it, damn it. You don't know a thing.'

She remembers him peeking at her across the room, and she smiles. She feels guilty, at the same time she feels evil. After a while, the guilt subsides. She likes the evil thoughts, she thinks they are good. After a while, she has decided.

You Get Confused

2004-05-03T01:15:00.000+08:00

Sometimes, under the glare of the computer screen, she could feel his eyes on her. She hears the buzz of her telephone and picks it up, as she does so she could sense him putting the phone down.

She reads the message, she's expected this all along, and yet she's still surprised. Those words, allowed yet forbidden, fun, yet, not really sure. She refuses to think, and yet she still feels the eyes upon her.

She looks up, she senses that he has buried his head frantically.

'I know you feel it too.'

And then she grimaces as she sweeps away the feeling that she knows she is not supposed to feel. She looks at her screen again, and the lines on the document seem but a blur. They cease to exist, except for the quick drumming pace of her heart that seems out of control.

It's loathsome.

She feels bad, evil. Because she feels good about the words she's just seen, she feels happy that she sensed the right thing, but she feels evil because ...

She's confused.

You've Felt It Before

2004-05-02T18:21:00.000+08:00

I know it. She knows it. We've both been through it before. The exhilaration of the senses, that incontrollable want to kiss him flat on the lips, except before they both acknowledge it, that want seems almost intolerable.

And then acknowledgement comes, oh she knows she was looking for it, yes it finally comes... he tells her he loves her too, and then they both laugh shakily over the lines that they've shared for so long, 'We've both wasted so much time, why didn't you tell me earlier.'

When it gets in reach, steadily that excitement starts to pale. Like a drying tap, it diminishes; optimistically they call it 'comfort', realistically, we both know it happens, sooner or later. She needs perseverence to maintain feelings, and feelings don't stay in touch. She gets affected when other people smile at her, she feels almost naughty when she looks at someone else, discriminated as she and him become 'old news' and then she watches acquaintances hooking up and becoming the 'lastest news' and she feels that sincere burst of happiness for them tinged with that tiniest dash of jealousy.

She knows because she's felt it before, and she's dying just to feel it again.

And then she feels it returning as she looks at someone else and she suddenly has that urge returning to her, 'I want to kiss you flat.'

But she remembers she's not allowed to, not supposed to, because she's in love with him already, and that love is honestly sincere.

Four Days to Go

2004-05-01T16:52:00.000+08:00

Presentations are akin to 'Learn How to Fry Crab' live shows. You walk right up to the sales people, with onions, garlics, oil, chillies, *crabs* and start to fry, fry, fry and fry. Goreng sessions!!! And like what they all say about experience, the more you practise the frying, the better you become at crapping. And the 'crab' also would taste better and more believable.

Model Compositions that you find in examination guidebooks are oft written by little kids who think that they write extremely well, no thanks to their teachers who sing high praises of them. What these students fail to remember is the fact that like everything else, even compositions and writing skills lie in the eye of the beholder. What you believe is good, may not be good at all. I've spent half the day reading a book filled with model compositions that are not worthy models at all. But then again, who am I to question high and mighty authors who slap in essays written by the irritating teacher's pet who at the end of the day *urgh* do end up being 'better than the rest of us'?

How do I decide? Easy. If I think you're good, you're good. If I think you're bad, you're bad. Anyway, don't fret. That's how the rest of the world works anyway. It was never about how you think about yourself, regardless of what those self-help books say. At the end of the day, important decisions that determine the outcomes of your dreams are never made by you.

Oh yes, it's all about luck. Such as mine. Where got people come to work on Labour Day one. Grrrrr.....

Okay stopping the complaints and back to work. As for you, you, you and the rest of the M'sia: Happy Holidays and be good!!!

Five Days to Go

2004-04-30T11:40:00.000+08:00

*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.

Quote of the Day

2004-04-29T09:24:00.000+08:00

'Blogging is mental masturbation.' —Cowboy Caleb

Hello?

2004-04-28T23:11:00.000+08:00

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.

The Bride Stripped Bare

2004-04-28T00:05:00.000+08:00

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.

Walking That Road

2004-04-26T12:23:00.000+08:00

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?

Grrrrrr.....

2004-04-25T13:41:00.000+08:00

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.

And Thus It Begins

2004-04-24T15:33:00.000+08:00

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.

More Dumb Facts (You REALLY SHOULD KNOW)

2004-04-22T22:51:00.000+08:00

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.

On Finances

2004-04-22T13:06:00.000+08:00

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.

Dumb Facts (That You Already Know)

2004-04-21T10:45:00.000+08:00

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?

Don't Give A Damn

2004-04-20T18:08:00.000+08:00

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.

I Don't Know Myself Anymore

2004-04-19T23:37:00.000+08:00

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.

But Of Course

2004-04-18T13:03:00.000+08:00

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.

Private Note

2004-04-16T19:26:00.000+08:00

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.

To A Very Good Friend of Mine

2004-04-15T12:41:00.000+08:00

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?

That Genting Trip

2004-04-14T09:25:00.000+08:00

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.

Making Sense

2004-04-13T14:51:00.000+08:00

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.

On Her Rights

2004-04-12T12:18:00.000+08:00

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.

Today (As You Can See, I'm Running Out of Headers)

2004-04-08T23:39:00.000+08:00

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.

You Know...

2004-04-07T23:26:00.000+08:00

... 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.

Lost

2004-04-06T23:03:00.000+08:00

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.

Dances, Bracelets and Flowers

2004-04-05T15:28:00.000+08:00

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.

Rant

2004-04-03T09:29:00.000+08:00

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.

So It's April Fool's Day

2004-04-01T09:38:00.000+08:00

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*

I'm Okay Now

2004-03-31T23:03:00.000+08:00

Ladies and gentleman,

I feel okay now. Thank you for your kind attention. Today I shall resume into the normal me. As in, not so generous with bad words.

Okay. Running off now.

See ya.

CURSE THAT IDIOT WHO STOLE MY PARKING LOT

2004-03-29T22:32:00.000+08:00

AND WHOSE WIFE SMILED AT ME AND CLAPPED HER HANDS IN GLEE. AND WHO, AFTER I HAD MADE A PATIENT ROUND AROUND THE CITRUS PARK BLOCK TRYING TO GET ANOTHER PARKING LOT, IN AFTER LESS THAN 3 MINUTES, DECIDED NOT TO BUY ANYTHING FROM PARKSON AKTIF, AND INSTEAD GET BACK INTO HIS CAR, AND MOVE HIS CAR OUT RIGHT BEFORE MY VERY EYES AND GIVE THE STUPID LOT TO ANOTHER IDIOT FUCKER.

I HOPE HIS BLARDY COCK GIVES WAY JUST AS HE TRIES TO FUCK HIS STUPID WIFE TONIGHT.

yes i'm perfectly capable of profanities and i mean it about the cock dying. idiot son of a bitch, he looked blardy educated i tell you.... that bastardized smirk that his wife was having on her face as she lightly clapped her hands in glee while staring into my eyes, MY EYES, boy oh boy, one fine day, if our paths ever cross again she's going to hope that she was never ever born.

back to me.........................

WHY SO USELESS ONLY CAPABLE OF SAYING BAD WORDS ONE? in the end here i am wailing at home over an unfulfilled craving for a chocolate banana cake slice. and then stupid tears just won't seem to go. I feel like a 6 year old, now the best part is I know its being childish but I can't seem to control these stupid tears .... dunno what the hell is wrong with me.... idiot idiot idiot... shut up shut up shut up....

BOY I HOPE THAT GUY IS SNEEZING SENSELESS NOW AND HIS WIFE IS INFERTILE OR SOME STUPID SHIT.

ok. my vocabulary sucks shit when i'm pissed. i'm reduced to shit shit and more shit.

*WAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL WaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa bbbbbbOOOOOOoooohhhhhhhhooooooooooo I WANT MY CAKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE*

What's Different About Her

2004-03-29T19:00:00.000+08:00

There's this little bit in this person here, here this girl, the one's who's typing out all this crap. Okay, honestly, honestly she is NOT schizophrenic... she's finally learnt how to trust her instincts and at least accept herself for who she is. Okay, okay so once in a while she gets all those things like how on Saturday a friend told her, constructively, 'You know, sometimes you can't be all that honest.'

Or, quite a long while ago, another person she loved so dearly told her before, 'You need to learn how to be less direct, less straight, less .... well, you need to twist and bend the corners slightly.'

Hey, hey, she's got those words written down in Chinese in my graduation booklet, signed, yours sincerely, yours eternally ... well well... what's past is past.

So it took her quite a bit of learning to trust the person in her. Or to trust people, newer, actually, mostly older, friends, real real friends who could honestly accept the evil sharp-tongued person as who she really really is.

'I love you for the person that you are...'

You know she remembers his favourite song, Secret Garden, that line that was his favourite, that one line where Renee Zellweger says, '... I love him for the man he almost is.'

Surely, that's what it's all about. Nothing else matters?!

Right now, what really matters is herself, herself putting that little bit of faith in herself, trusting the world when for once, she's finally being told that she doesn't really need to pretend, or 'not be so honest' anymore. For every ten people on earth that hates her guts, there's got to be one person who loves her for having them.

And that one person is ever so worth being herself for.

Mamak Weekend Nights

2004-03-28T12:52:00.000+08:00

I've turned into this Mamak-must-go-girl on weekend nights... Every week, for the past 4-5 months, I've been a permanent fixture at Steven's Corner, near the bubble tea blender area, feasting on either puree or roti tissue tambah gula, sometimes I get more adventurous and order a plate of sotong goreng *yummy* and yak the night away. I usually don't leave the place until it's about 1 am.

Last night was the same (yes, and despite a resistant pain in the throat that doesn't seem to want to go away). My ex-coursemate, Shu Liang, was in town, trying to finish off his annual leave days, and there we were again, wagging off our tongues with gossip and more gossip, 'Don't you wonder if so-and-so is sneezing terribly now that we're talking so much about her?'

Well, let's put it this way, we're all friends, and you know? This really isn't about gossip. At the end of the day, we do care for each other and we're just ranting out our feelings about that person, also putting out frustrations that we otherwise can't express because that person just won't be able to accept direct face-to-face criticisms.

At the end of the day... we're just tired of masks, and it's nice to let them down, if only for one night. That's why these Weekend Night Features are so vital.

Work on Saturday

2004-03-27T09:26:00.000+08:00

Hello! It's the last Saturday of the month and here I am blogging from the office. Look, there's the renovation guy walking all over the place, they're fixing up Design to make way for more editors, or so I heard. some of the cabinets have been brought over to just outside my cubicle, allowing me more privacy, BUT, less breathing space. My body seems to be heated up internally, but if you put your palm over my forehead and neck, you'll say that there's nothing wrong with me. The sore throat hasn't gone yet, it goes every time I take the doctor's prescription though. Otherwise, I'm pretty ok, that's why I'm here today.

Mum has been notified that for the next few months I'll be seeing less of her, become more edgy, become more sensitive and more prone to tears of frustration. The more sensitive part came yesterday when I almost yelled at my colleagues on the phone when I found out that they had hid my pillow. Well, yell I didn't. Tried very hard to sound nice (I knew it was a prank), but the moment I put the phone down, I felt tears ... Oh dear, oh dear. Minishorts, you're not being in control of yourself. Not anymore.

Me? I blame it on the weather. That has caused this horrid cold. I want to get well soon because I want to be all nice and happy again. And then the whole world will seem to be a better place to live in. Because I'm nicer to talk to then!

Sick Again

2004-03-26T07:33:00.000+08:00

Something is definitely wrong with this body of mine. I seem to fall ill once every week. The first attack came four weeks ago, on a Monday morning, when I suddenly had this horrible bout of vomiting (even without having breakfast). The next day I was diagnosed as having LBP and after that, it was very dizzy-fying week... Just on Sunday, while doing the cha-cha, the world suddenly started to twirl before my eyes... a few spins later and I was out, when I woke up Mum was worried sick, 'You're getting really sick, girl.'

I thought I would be fine. Well not so.

Am now down with a terrible sore throat and a flu. Something's gone awfully wrong with this husk that I call my body... And the worst thing is, I have an MC but because work's so terribly heavy... I can't leave anything behind... I need work and work and work... otherwise nothing's ever going to get done.

I miss my holidays, I miss the time when I could have month after month of bumming around, I miss the time when a holiday meant going out and having fun until the wee hours of the morning. Now, a holiday means time for rest and sleep.

See... it's so sad being in the workforce. But can't complain. I heard it's worse not being in it.

Here's Another Incoherent Post

2004-03-24T10:01:00.000+08:00

A while ago a friend mentioned something about how Chinese mothers don't like their daughters dating men with longer hair. I remembered how I agreed 100 per cent with her, how I used to slightly smile, how I had that great feeling of internal victory you get as that little rebel within you cheers whenever old-fashioned friends remark casually, 'Eh he's got long hair!' And then she was saying that a sign that your man was really in love with you would be when he changes drastically to fit you. 'Who knows, he might even cut his hair to make you happy!' That particular friend had said.

My perceptions on both parties changing for each other are now a far cry from what I used to think before I broke up with my last boyfriend. So have my views on love. Oh yes, I was really idealistic, very optimistic... Of course it never did help that my closer friends at that time shared those same thoughts (most of them are still single now...) Maybe we were brought up with the opinion you've got to have standards, and if you can't really acquire those standards, you make do with what you have, and then try to move that person 'you love' slowly into models that are more akin to them standards that you had. No compromise.

Not to say that change in a person does not occur... but instead of modifying a simple A into the A that you really want, you find that you're never easily satisfied. After you've achieve point 1, you want point 1a, and then point 1b, and then more... Maybe both me and my ex were trying too hard to move ourselves into the models that we have each set up for each other... I wanted him to become the ideal person that I would marry, he wanted me to behave like the ideal trophy wife. So we changed, but in the end we couldn't take not being ourselves anymore... and we broke apart. Now we're not even acknowledging each other's existence. I mean. He's not acknowledging my existence. You all know I acknowledge his.

The point is, if you're going to say that when you fall in love, you will unconsciously change for the other person, but let's be honest here, how much are you really willing to change? How much will you be aware of changes or be unaware of them? And then how much as you willing to admit that you're actually conscious of those changes?

Now back to my bf's shorter hair. Ever since my bf cut his hair, I've been trying very hard to get used to that new image of his. He looks almost 6 years younger now. On the day he cut it, I sat into the passenger seat and stared at him. It was almost like dating a different person! Okay, so I'm slightly or maybe, very bothered by his new look. All of a sudden I feel years older. Maybe that's why I'm becoming more and more child-like in the office. I don't know. I like it more when it was longer. Oh boy, I'll just have to get used to it I guess, although he consoles me saying that it'll take a month to grow again...

Here It Comes

2004-03-22T23:09:00.000+08:00

Okay. So everybody on the team was quite dreamily optimistic about the would be outcome... one of us was so excited she had a stroke, the other day I fainted while twirling to some cha-cha beats... and get slightly more irritable lately. I've been re-reading 'The Yellow Wallpaper' and suddenly, all the cryptic things in Perkins-Gilman's masterpiece just made perfect sense; who are we to assume what she was trying to say as she wrote that story?

Oh well...

I've just acquired my very first remarkable achievement in my career path, and henceforth, my workload will increase triplefold. That's good news and bad news at the same time.

Oooooooh....... snippets of a very private conversation. No prizes for guessing who is who.

'If you bully me my blog readers will bully you in return one...'

'I didn't bully you also.'

'I say if mah...'

'I never say you were bad luck mah.'

'I know.'

I'm Being Honest

2004-03-21T23:23:00.000+08:00

Honestly. You know it. When I say it breaks my heart to talk like that. But sometimes, I don't know what happens, I just can't control my feelings. Or all that bottled up pain and hurt... that usually, whenever sometime 'tiny' happens, I think, 'look, its a miniscule detail, it doesn't matter.'

Of course that fear of being hurt again always haunts me at the back of the mind...

But then I always thought that my tear ducts could be sealed shut, at will. Yucks. I'm such a wimp. I need to be in control, as my mother always tells me.

Just that, I don't want to feel like I'm some sort of jinx or bad luck charm. And whenever you say the things you said, you keep me up the whole night, wondering if I'm really good for you. When you look happy, I'm happy, because I feel that I'm good for you, but if things like this happen, it makes me sad, because suddenly, I think...

'What am I doing here?'

Because I don't want to be a jinx to anyone. That's all.

No, no. It's not what you think.

At the End of the Day

2004-03-21T15:15:00.000+08:00

It boils down to this. Puking my very guts out. Wallowing in un-admitted, disallowed self-discrimination. Not that I love to shove my lowly soul down to a corner, but you know what? Those taunts, oh boy, those taunts ... though unintended, can really get to you.

After an unplanned course in crypti-logy of course, one truly gets better and better at this. Sometimes you have that distinct smell of his very male scent breathing down your collar... girls, you know how her head would snap up, mouth slightly open, teeth exposed and that slight baring of her tongue as she pants, and she pants...

And you're just right, you know? It is erotic.

You know it when you feel the icy cold taste of sparkling fruit juice roll down your throat, feel that sweet taste of grapes envelope your sense as you sorely nod to yourself, 'Yes, yes, of course this tastes better than fermented grapes... wine just tastes horrible, it's usually for wannabes who want to pretend to be classier than others.'

But she is classier than others.

Or so she thinks.

At the end of the day, you realize just one thing. Everyone's a bloody hoax. Even though she hates to admit it. That woman on the bed, she moans, yes you know how she moans as his body grinds into her, animalistic, like that, it hurts but she tolerates the pain because, because, it is welcome. 'Pain'.

I don't like tolerating pain, but I don't seem to have a choice, dearies.

You, dearies, did you do your civic duty today?

These Are a Few of My Favourite Foods

2004-03-20T18:48:00.000+08:00

And You Wondered Why They're Jobless

2004-03-18T10:51:00.000+08:00

Someone please tell those dudes at the government offices that implementing English zones needs a little more than posters and nice words. There's also the thing about dedication, and sincerity. And everything needs effort.

You were wondering why 50,000 of graduates are jobless? I'm wondering why the heck does a government office need so many employees when private MNCs are carefully selecting the 'right person' for the job. I suppose its probably really a matter of creating jobs for the market. And you know what? I really don't think these people appreciate the fact that jobs have been created for them. You ought to see them walk, they just saunter down the corridor while people like yours truly are waiting agitatedly for the documents to get certified.

'Cik boleh tak tolong dik...'

'ezcuz me this is English zon...'

'Oooh... okay could you help me... I've got this thing here that I need to get stamped and signed by an official...'

Stares blankly at me. Looks at my documents... 'Why is this in ... BI .... errr ... not in .... BM?'

Like WTF??!!! 'Errr... it's in BM. See..'

'Oh... eerr... yes.... errr.... sorry...'

'You know you've got an error in your English zone posters. It says Selected Service Counter instead of Selected Service Counters.'

'Errr...cakap sekali lagi?'

'Never mind.'

You know what's funny? The swish swish swish of the woman's baju kurung really gets to you you know... and then you wonder why on earth are you bothered with taking a whole day's leave, rushing to god-forsaken ends of the earth trying to get your documents certified when there's so many people in the office walking around, laughing around, all you need is two signatures on two xeroxed copies, you walk into the official's room, he's looking mighty busy at an almost empty desk and that guy asks you to, 'OK. Tinggalkan kat sana, pergi kaunter, nanti I bagi.'

And then you wait for a WHOLE fucking hour just to get two pieces of xeroxed copies stamped and signed. And then they say things about the private market not willing to give them chances and opportunities to prove their validity... when here I am, a recent entry into the private working environment, visiting a government office and getting frustrated over something so simple.

I know why there's bureaucracy now... there's just so many people they're employed, they've just have to create little flow in chores for them. Otherwise, what's the point of paying them?

The scary thing is, we're paying them. That's where our taxes go mind you. If I wanted to be racist, like how some people would go, they'll label them 'Malays', it's typical of them to be lazy. Maybe eight months ago I would say the same thing, because, now, let's be honest here, 99% of workers in government offices are Malays, and who's going to argue with me that they do seem terribly lethargic and slow-mo?

Maybe you'd like to come to a publishing firm, where there's no time to stoop for a rest even. The Malays in my company are the most hardworking people I've ever seen... and these people ARE certainly not jobless. Then, I see the great big divide... those people and these people. And I'm left hapless flailing in the middle as part of a more 'privileged' minority, so privileged that I'm not entitled to better education rights.

Anyway, I stopped complaining the moment I saw the Malays in my company. Right now? I'd respect that waiter working at the Chicken Rice Shop over a government service counter officer anytime. At least (s)he knows what 'service' means, and doesn't make my stomach wait.

No, Really

2004-03-17T13:07:00.000+08:00

I wasn't trying too hard you see. It's something I abhor too much, so I try my best not to do it, if possible, not ever. And, no, really. None of it was intentional.

I just wanted trust, and all of a sudden, it hit me that I wasn't being trusted as much as I thought I was. That's why I got sensitive, and that's why I cried.

But I'm okay now. And you've got to give me that much. When I say I'm okay, I'm okay, so do your best and please please please don't dwell on it. Because, like what I told people in need, the past, no matter how good, isn't worth focusing on too much. Because thinking too much about the past, will leave you no time for the present... and then what about the future. I'm not telling you to look in the future as well, because you've got to place your eyes and head right on this very, exact moment.

Because, now, that's all that matters. Now.

It's Happening Again

2004-03-15T21:40:00.000+08:00

Isn't it?

I told myself that it won't, at least I promise that I will try not to make it happen... but here I am, falling into that very same trap again. Maybe you know already, that it's just what I am, by nature, I'm terribly clingy... when I found a nice wall to lean against, I just can't leave it as it is, I have to leave my paw prints all over it, scratch it sometimes, and hug and press myself against it over and over again.

Ideally, walls that you lean against stay stationary; they don't run away, they don't get angry at you. But in my reality, the walls often find me too hot to handle. Of course, initially, I'm terribly exciting to be with, hey, she's your wildest dream come true, surely you would have known it by now. But my walls are alive, and they have feelings too, and they can't handle hot, burning tongs. When I burn a wall too much, there are marks, and the wall looks ugly. If I hit against the wall too hard, the wall cannot take the pressure, and you know what happens?

It falls down. It crumbles.

And suddenly, she's standing again, the wind strongly heaving against her, no wall to protect her. The storm and the lightning threatening their blows at her, no wall to hide behind.

I've been stranded in an unwanted storm before, when the strong walls I built around me suddenly decided to cave in all around me. That pain was intolerable, and I don't want that to happen again. I keep telling myself, I know I built the wall, I know I pulled the wall down, and I know the mechanics of how you can pull a wall down, how you can make the wall stronger. I don't want my new wall to crumble around me, I want to make it strong, and tall, protective, and reliable... so that I can run to lean against it when I need support...

I just cannot bear to see my walls falling around me again.

But somehow, somehow, I have that feeling that, that thing, that thing, is really, quite inevitable. Because like what they all say, 'That's expected of you.'

What Do You See?

2004-03-15T09:48:00.000+08:00

No one was being provocative. Why did you assume? No one said anything was bad. Why did you say bad things?

Does it pleasure you to see people quarrel and fight? Now that you've gone and done it, I seem to think so. Some jokes are NOT meant to be made, some minds are NOT meant to be read. You know she's said it before, many times before, it's her house, and she's entitled to strip in it if she likes. If you catch a glimpse, well maybe you're lucky. But in the first place... how'd you know that when she's stripping, she's not merely just looking forward to a good tumble in bed with those that she holds close to her heart? Don't tell me you're always in a black T and tattered jeans even as you enter the bathroom.

See we all strip to cleanse ourselves... but the irony is, I'm not even allowed to clean myself in this place.

It's a curse, my dears, a terrible curse... but I can't seem to pull myself out of it.

And remember, you think you know her, but really, you don't. What you know, is only that five per cent... and even then, that five per cent, belongs to you because she says it can be yours.

Otherwise, scoot, go away, and don't even come back.

Am I being cryptic?

I want to make love to you

2004-03-14T23:05:00.000+08:00

That's the first thing I think of everytime I see you. I look at the lines, and I think... okay this makes me glow, this makes me happy, and then it comes...

That urge of wanting to make you smile, sigh, moan, grin sometimes... maybe cry, when I'm depressed.

I want to tell you you're oldly yellow, but yellow is good, yellow is bright... I imagine your hair falling all over me when I tell you these words, 'I want to make love to you.'

I want to, I don't try to, and I guess that the thing that makes it so real, isn't it? You, knowing that I mean it, when you look into my eyes...

Or read between the lines.

But then again, you think you know me, but you really don't.

I Am Still Yours Truly

2004-03-13T15:54:00.000+08:00

I am still the girl you knew when she was only 12. You knew me as that 'tall for her age' girl who used to strut down the old canteen walkways, holding a soaking oily, crispy chicken drumstick in her right hand and shouting at the top of her voice over the din of the recess crowd, 'Uncle, uncle make it 1.50 lah, every day I buy from you one.'

Exactly 12 years later it's the year of the monkey again, and chicken drumsticks don't go for 1.50 a piece anymore. My tastes are still the same, I still like soaking oily, crispy chicken drumsticks a lot. I go to McDonald's and I ask for my favourite Crispy Ayam McD, 'No breast meat, give me the thigh and drumstick area please,' and boy, I wish I didn't have to give a damn about fat and cholestrol.

I still like sprinkling lots of salt and pepper on my large fries, and I still talk at the top of my voice sometimes. They used to tell me to lower my voice a little, an index finger to the lips and eyes wide open like that. When you do that I will still wave my hands around my head, because an imaginary film of heat seems to have enveloped me in that moment.

I'm independant, yes, but I'm also dependant. I like to rest against a passenger seat headrest, and close my eyes and soak in that momentary bliss of peace. I'm assertive, yes, but I also want you to assert your rights. I want to be asked, not initiate movements to be asked, I want to really say no, not pretend to say no and then smile so that you'll beg me to say yes again.

I still like strolling down crowded pasar malam walkways and smell the horrible stench of chao tau fu at the end of the road, I still like looking at sparkling zircons that they display on dark velvet-like holders, and dream of the day my destined one would give me a 20-carat piece, hair spilling down from his forehead, and eyes, really meaning the things that he will say to me. I'm still that dreamer, I do believe in love at first sight, and watching too many HK series makes me still hope that one fine day, a nice and really cute guy would approach me at a fast food restaurant and ask for my phone number. Okay, so I'm older now and those dreams usually come true if you're still 16.... it never did happen when I was 16, but I still imagine.

I still write sad things, as we grow older experience makes us wiser and more frequently melancholic; but I write happy things too. I still plan to say things like this, and then end up saying other things at odd angles... and usually, still, I won't even know what I'm saying when I'm done saying things.

I want to be yours truly, and then when I really think about it, there's no need to want for anything. After all, I am still yours truly.

Me Goodi Goodi or Notti Notti??

2004-03-11T19:20:00.000+08:00

minishorts : me <---- goodi goodi or notti notti
darren : ?
minishorts: me <---- goodi goodi or notti notti
darren : what is that? are you ok?
minishorts : me goody goody or naughty naughty??
darren : goody naughty
minishorts : what is goody naughty
darren : in between
minishorts : i blog this chat can or not?
darren : can... nothing's secretive what
darren : are you ok?
minishorts : why me not okay izzit
darren : sounds kinda ... are you on something?
minishorts : on what
darren : drug
minishorts : what drug
darren : ... cough syrup

Cough syrup where got make ppl ask this question oneeee............ Bleh

Lost in Myself

2004-03-10T09:53:00.000+08:00

My site was down for 1 1/2 days.

While that happened, I was diagnosed with having low blood pressure. I was blurring my way through the masses that hit the road at mid-noon, and when I arrived home, the bed just didn't look like a bed... it looked like heaven to me. By the time I woke up, it was already 5 pm, and Mum thought I had died in my sleep.

Right now, my BP's at 94, the doctor says that I need to push it higher. I still have this severe distaste for people who pretend to be who they are not. And then I like to think that I can sniff out these people through their writing. I'm not forgiving, nor am I kind to you. You know who because you wrote a whole post on it. You know who because you wrote me an e-mail and then ... yadda yadda ... I don't want to pretend to patronize you because I'm not your every day, 'oh let's just pretend to be nice' chick. Because most of the time I don't feel like being nice, and if I pretend to be nice, it sucks shit and I hate sucking shit. Its gross and disgusting and it makes me sick.

By now I'd understand why they're all going to label her a hypocrite, because heck, she herself, is always, always pretending to be who she is not. That's probably why you didn't like that past post? Well, hun, I loved it to bits because it is who I am. You see, in real life, usually I'm not being me. And I'm so good at not being me that I don't even know that I'm not being me.

Well maybe, that's true. I told Daryan with a great big sigh that I'm sick of putting on different masks everytime I talk to different people. I'm sick of being all traditional when I talk to my mother, I'm sick of being this educated, in-the-academia book-ish nerd when I face my authors and the tonnes of work I have to look at (I mean tonnes, after a 2-day MC it doesn't look like work is going to get done very soon). I'm sick of being the local-uni educated chick who behaves like a local-uni educated chick from a Chinese education background when I talk to my local-uni friends, I'm sick of being the BRAT you all know from the 1997 heydays. I'm sick of being very CHS-y when I talk to my friends in CHS and I'm sick of being jumpy and hyper whenever the need calls for me to be jumpy and hyper. I'm sick of it all because times like this, I forget who am I and I get all lost and depressed. I sighed and asked him who is the me that he loves, and he told me it's the 'real you'.

I asked him, 'Who am I? Who is the real me?'

He told me the real me is the person who sounds like Minishorts.

I'm still digesting that thought.

'You're you when you start to sound like Minishorts in the flesh.' Or something to that effect. When I speak in real life, when I sound exactly like Minishorts, that's ME, spanking clear, crystal loud.

That's probably why the day I was diagnosed with having low BP, my site had to be down too. Talk about freaky coincidence, how many people you know actually has her bodily physical health tied to the physical health of her website?

Be Natural, Be You

2004-03-07T23:51:00.000+08:00

I was telling Ed about how annoyed I was about certain people who go on PPS and ping their blog posts several times in order to get more hits. Wait, wait, I understand there's the thing about editing your posts and then when you hit publish again, you ping PPS again, that's why some ppl get multiple listings of a single post in PPS...

But multiples just don't count if that ping is about two or three hours apart. We know... no-lifers like yours truly who has PPS on the screen like most of the time, we do visit interesting sites and we do know if anyone edits anything.

Both Ed and SL know how much of a judgemental bitch I am most of the time. Okay, it's not just them. I think a lot of people would paste that word 'judgemental' right flat on my head, and even myself. *Hands up* yes I make judgements, and I do them all the time.

Well, darlings, it doesn't help when you're doing what I do for a living. Every other day I deal with other people's writing, and it doesn't take an idiot in my line to sniff out something that doesn't sound right. Doesn't sound you. Doesn't sound real. Before doing what I do now, I didn't have this sensitivity, but now I deal with authors every other Monday to Friday, and maintaining originality just isn't that easy anymore when everybody is trying too darn hard. And I get to read letters from wannabes a lot...

'Dear XXX,

I have before you a sample of my work. I am certain that it will make a very good book. I am a bla bla bla, bla bla bla, bla bla, enclosed also are certifications of my qualifications and bla bla bla bla bla...'

Regardless of how fluidly fantastic and how grammatically fluent you are, you want to be famous and you suffer at the hands of judgemental bitches like me. Who are forced to become bitchier and bitchier with every single passing hour. And if you try too hard, oh boy, you try too hard, and we can sniff it out like how a cat sniffs out a fresh/dead rat.

You got to be FRESH. You need to be ALIVE. You can't fake yourself.

This is precisely how academic professors can sniff out plagiarized work.

And also precisely how you may get listed on my blogroll. All you have to do is NOT try, and be original. You don't have to write very well at all, because if you are original, you're you. It's like how we marvel at a 5 year old kid's artistic interpretation of a cat, even though it doesn't look like a cat at all.

Rant ended.

Now you might be interested to know that Dina Zaman (Yes, THE Dina Zaman) has joined the blogosphere. Her blog is excrutiatingly natural and you've just got to go.

Just A Day

2004-03-07T02:17:00.000+08:00

Absence for a day. I'm sure it won't do much harm right? I know I'm supposed to do a 30-day archive... but then by the time I got home from the mamak it was already 12.35. So sorry.

Of course, the day was long, starting with my overdue meal that I promised SL, in conjunction with meesh's impromptu blogmeet. I'm not a very Minishorts person, eh? Now you know she's your everyday 'blah' kinda girl, who walks the tiled pavements with a little leap and a tiny skip to every step she takes because the person who adores her is just next to her doing some other 'short-term memory' thing, 'I'm blur because you're beside me.'

Oh yes, he is, isn't he?

So later we did our own labelling of the Longhorn Beta systems... there's the X and the P and I'm your favourite OS X because, because, and because... I'm aesthetically pleasing and I hardly ever crash. Longhorn seems to be tickled to bits, while there's another fours to this OS that remains hidden or yet to be discovered... that which someone said he'll spend 'a lifetime' to discover.

At the end of the day, we celebrated someone's birthday. Our chum didn't look too good, his hair flatter than usual, his face paler than usual. And he wanted to borrow my favourite sidekick for the night to fight the pains away, so to speak. I'm astounded, flattered and utterly proud ... but like SL tells me, we've only got so much time in a week, we're both ultra busy people, and 'I only have one weekend every week.'

We want to spend it with the people we love. We only have that much time. We only want that extra half an hour, and we promise we'll listen. After all, we're only human.

My Exams Are Over

2004-03-05T20:42:00.000+08:00

Hip hip hurrah! Now I can concentrate on making money and making life make sense because money makes life make sense (I sound materialistic, don't I?).

Little plea to He-who-must-know-all: please let my mum loosen up a little. I'm only still young and have no intention of marrying the first guy I date, wait...I meant marrying the next guy I fall in love with... I have my whole life ahead of me and right now all I need to concentrate on is to get my priorities right. First things first, I need to complete my master's dissertation ASAP so that I can... concentrate on making money and making life make sense because money makes life make sense. Urm, okay I'm repeating myself. I think too much caffeine and a severe lack of sleep makes people do that. But still. I want to concentrate on making life make sense by making more money.

Now I sense bombs flying my way. *Ducks*

BTW, who was it who said he was going to KLCC tomorrow?

Crossed-Eyed Headaches

2004-03-04T19:45:00.000+08:00

Stephen C. Levinson's Pragmatics has got to be one of the driest texts on the subject around. I can't imagine how somebody can actually imagine that long paragraphs of commentaries on single utterances will enable the fellow student or researcher to actually understand what he is trying to explain in simple terms. Of course, I have always believed that academic study is in fact the study of 'how to plagiarize cleverly'; which other field emphasizes so much the importance of the literature review as the academia, I ask you? And then you have scores and scores of pages teaching students how to 'paraphrase', i.e. plagiarize legally.

Levinson, you're smart, I'm not so smart, and its a hell lot of pain trying to transcribe whatever it is you are trying to say, which actually, in fact, we all know, not really what you say, but a paraphrase of what Austin and Searle have recorded.

I'm supposed to talk about life, relationships, sex, bla bla bla...but obviously, the entire day has been spent, helplessly, trying to decipher the higher, academic-stylized language of linguistics. And Levinson is begging to be clawed. I can't wait till the clock strikes 12 tomorrow.

The Rooms in My House

2004-03-03T20:40:00.000+08:00

I had a pretty strange dream a few hours ago. It's one of those dreams that keeps you on your feet, keeps you wondering whether it was real, and what was the significance of it. You know how it is that you remember some dreams, and you don't remember some. The idea is that some dreams are purposely built to be remembered, and the fact that they stay in your memory so fresh, there must be something about them that has to be significant.

And you know what? It probably is. Dear me, I ought not to be talking about dreams, after all, being freshly accused of being unaware of the real world and all that shit... plus the fact that some people actually walk on in and tell me that the fact that I blogged that particular chat shows that I'm concerned about SL not being the right one. You know what? Maybe you are right. Maybe you are wrong. But more importantly, the morale of the story was to tell you that people like myself do not appreciate loving help from people who walk out of your lives, and then all of a sudden walk back in pretending to know all there is to know about you. Because that's NOT NOT NOT true.

It's really true. Look, me, September 2002. Different from me, March 2004. Time flies. 22 years old vs 23-going-on-24. That's a one and a half year of difference, and with the events that I have sped past, undergrad thesis, graduations, breakups on Valentine's Day, false alarm alerts, the many-time changing of the blogging domain... well, well, THAT's my real life. Now who are you to argue with me, you, you and you, you who have only begun to know Minishorts in the short few weeks that you've stumbled on me, you who've only begun to synonymously identify Choo Ki with Minishorts, you who have maybe known me for the past 3-4, you who are so smart, OMG I simply sympathize with you for saying something such as, 'I don't know everything about you, but I know everything that can be seen.'

Friends, Family and Countrymen (was that the tune? wtf it doesn't matter)... I don't know everything about me, but I reveal everything there is for you to know... and you know what? Thank you for your time, thank you for taking a look... and welcome to my house, but please don't tell me the carpet is dirty. There is no carpet, if you see any it is only an illusion, and there are rooms that I forbid you to visit.

That sorta applies to every other facet of life you know. Things you can and cannot say. To friends you hate, enemies you love, and lovers you detest. Give us our space, and we will give you your respect.

My Friends, You've Just Been Insulted

2004-03-02T11:15:00.000+08:00

This stupid conversation somehow ALWAYS, ALWAYS crops into the picture when I speak to this certain friend of mine, he of the gang that I used to hang out with when I was still with PY. And everytime, it ends up in a stupid senseless debate, where I'm left fuming because I always feel as if my friends have been innocently insulted. In the first place the manner the conversation was carried out was insanely rude, he accusing me of not choosing 'the right person'. Boy am I pissed, and if you're my friend, I think you'd be too. And yes this is a very long post.

Friend: there's a possibility ur emotional feeling now is being manipulated by the new person because of the last breakup? you see..... when a person cycle of life is at its lowest.... people around will seem to accept anyone who can revert that cycle.
Friend: first sign:- u wanna have his baby?
Friend: does he want u to have his baby?
Friend: i tell u this: when i hold my gf hands.... i told myself i m gonna marry her.... do u c it like that?
Minishorts: i know for a fact, that when i was dating py he kept on telling me that he wanted to marry me, but i was never secure.
Minishorts: i know also for a fact, that when i hold my current bf's hand, i feel more secure than I have ever felt in the entire time I was with py
Friend: that's all craps.....py is not a case for you to justify
Friend: its all a nightmare since day one.
Friend: as a friend I see the best in u and I know u can go far more than what u now! is this what u want now? or just another bus-stop? waiting 4 the next right bus to hop on?
Minishorts: i don't think of seeking 'the right person. i think the 'right person' is who you want him to be.
Minishorts: and there's no such thing as 'looking for further'. when it comes to relationships. cos think about it. where do i stop? until i find a datuk's son? a prince?
Minishorts: in your case... don't tell me you keep on looking further for better? now think about it... what if, you get married, and 5 years later you still can't conceive? what do you do? seek another 'more fertile' woman?
Friend: well, its up 2 u 2 decide..... remember, whatever decision u made today, will make a difference to the future

Friend: since we're in this topic... u wanna know ur real friends opinion?
Minishorts: since you're going to tell me anyway go ahead lor.
Friend: the real friends u n py knew did advice u too at some point in time... and I gave an advice that was neglected.
Friend: i said that its gonna be an ugly ending if things goes out of hand
Friend: i made this statement is not for py.... but was more to you, as a girl/woman
Friend: u r the one which need to see more of the real world.

Minishorts: maybe, but true friends support their friends no matter what and where... friends don't feel bad if words of wisdom were never taken
Friend: I may not be the master of love, but i m the one who see thru the real world
Minishorts: if i don't take the road you tell me i should take, you should not label me as not taking you as a true friend
Friend: its not about that.... wat i wanna say is sometimes, as friends, we had to let you decide right?
Minishorts: true friends don't claim they know everything, just only that they will be there for you.
Friend: we may not know everything, but we can see everything can be seen
Minishorts: that is so thick. how many of you actually stooped to find out how i am, if not for me messaging you once in a while to say hi.
Minishorts: i don't recall a moment that you come online, and say hello to me voluntarily.
Minishorts: if i never updated, would i have disappeared, and u wouldn't even know?
Friend: i m speechless if you put it that way.... Its up to you to define the 'true friends' concept. For me.... my hands and mind are open... facing the real world is much more 'ideal' in defining the fundamentals.

Minishorts: i din't say anything about you mah. its just that when you said 'your real friends' to me the impression i got was that you were telling me that my friends are not my friends.
Minishorts: and that's truly, truly hard to swallow. i didn't grow up in a CHS- alone environment you know
Minishorts:i'm just angry that you're accusing my friends of not being true friends.

Friend: nope.... i m telling you that you don't select true friends. they select you
Minishorts: i don't select my friends . they're just there for me.
Friend: think the other way.... why some friends don't accept you?
Minishorts: then they're not friends.
Friend: just remember this, we want u 2 c more things.... the real life.... not just BRATs

Now since he's not here to defend himself, I'd like to say this in public: anyone who really knows me, or even knows me as just an acquaintance, would know that I do NOT worship any of the organizations I participate in, nor in particular that organization that I joined more than 6 years ago. I can't find even the word to describe this particular friend of mine, you may do the honours for me. But he's a friend, and I can give him that much. Just very chauvisnistic, and thinks that the real world revolves around him, while I float blindly in a sea of fantasized, mistaken virtual reality.

Thirty Days

2004-03-01T15:42:00.000+08:00

its about the coming thirty days. please be warned that its all part of a research programme that i've agreed to be a part of. i'm not going to go overboard on the voyeurism, i know someone who will probably be shocked out of his wits if i do. but there's going to be quite a bit of 'cryptology' for the uninitiated, for the initiated you'll probably understand every single thing that i'll be trying not to convey.

on the past post. take that as a starter to the coming days. question: what is your wildest dream?

mine involves mirrors, and lots of mirrors. you know, the flashes of skin and stuff, it doesn't work that well even if you had a DV... but you know, try mirrors overhead. very sexy, very kinky and very addictive. almost like watching yourself in a porn movie.

New Things in Life

2004-02-29T23:20:00.000+08:00

I'm going to be 24 this end of October. As I gradually hit my first quarter of a century on Earth, there are a few things that have changed significantly in life. Today, I should like to talk about the most amazing thing that has shocked the wits out of me.

It is now, still, stupifyingly shocking, how perfectly decent men, whom you got to know when they were still boys, who were nicely decent boys then, have grown up to be hormone-raging males of the species, who now walk around with invicible labels above their head saying, 'I'm a man.'; who now look down at your chest if you terpakai a lower cut blouse, (Think CLEAVAGE), who when they talk now, sometimes stiffen their diction with sexual innuendoes, who now make out of taste flirtatious comments, and who absolutely, absolutely turn you off.

Its a horrifying shocker, because these were the very same people you grew up with, kids that you've known since their voices were a higher soprano than your own.

Or when you tertangkap them staring at your accidental cleavage, girls girls!! Hey, now you get scared and you actually wonder what these men are thinking behind your back. Or talking about you behind your back.

Or what type of images they form of you behind your back.

Gah.

On another note, what do you do when your bf tells you that he doesn't know if he's still in love with his ex? Or when somebody asks you, if you are still in love with your ex? Or when you do ponder on these two questions, and then you wonder, 'Hmmmm is he? Hmmm... am I?'

I'm not entirely sure. Is it possible to be in love with your bf, but also in love with some snippets of the past at the same time?

If I were to weigh the differences, of course I love my bf more. Cos he loves me more than my ex loves me. I recall during the break, my ex told me something along the lines of, 'I'll always love you.'

So doesn't matter. I've learnt to value time in the present only. And the future will fall into place.

Hey You!

2004-02-27T17:50:00.000+08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to make an official announcement that I shall not be writing any Friendster testimonial for anyone that I have only known for less than 10 days. I think its appallingly insulting that I pretend to know you and write a testimonial for you just so that you can have an 'impressive' list of 'friends' who are vouching for you, with stupid, untrue words. If you message me again and ask me to write you a testimonial, please think about how stupidly stupid your stupid sense of humour is.

Don't be so lame to go around ICQing people, and especially, sending me an e-mail, saying 'hi, how are you, long time no see' only to end it with a 'please write me a testimonial for friendster'. Obviously you have no self-regard for yourself, and if you really need Friendster testimonials to boost your happiness and confidence, OMG... please lah at least approach people who you know well.

I mean, I do admit I'm somewhat of a Friendster advocate, and testimonials are fun especially if they come from friends who know you well. Most of my testimonials are amazingly honest (Ed calls me a fire-reeking dragon in his testimonial to me, and many have said that I'm very aggressive)... but when someone doesn't really know you, and sends you a testimonial. Ha. That's like totally fake. I know I do, at times, ping my friends and do beg them for a testimonial, but I certainly do not go around pestering a person that I hardly know, and I mean PESTERING, as in, e-mails, messages, IM-messages and what nots, begging for testimonials.

Today, I'm applying some rules regarding this matter.

1. If you voluntarily write me a testimonial, thank you very much.
2. If I voluntarily write you a testimonial, and you write me a testimonial in return, thank you very much.
3. I like to be reciprocal, so if I don't know you very well but you write me a testimonial, I'll probably write you a testimonial that says something like this: 'This is to verify that minishorts is a friend of XXX. Other than that, to know what XXX is like, please do message him/her and be his/her friend. Don't ask me what he/she is like, because I think you can find out and decide for yourself.'
4. If I only attended a 12-day camp with you during which maybe we were close to each other, but after which you do not even bother to keep in touch nor send me news of yourself nor find out how I'm doing, DON'T, I repeat, DON'T ask me to write you a testimonial.

Now excuse me while I be a hypocrite for the last time and go write a fake testimonial since I promised someone that I will. Otherwise, the rules 1-4 above will apply beginning tomorrow.

Toodles.

OooooWwwwwww!!!

2004-02-26T08:21:00.000+08:00

Dum dum dum dum dee dum dum dum deee dum dum dum. Dum dum dum. Dum dum dum. Dooo dooo dum dum dum dum deee dum dum .... dum dum dum... dum dumm dumm .... da da da dee do do do doooooooo... whee wheee woo woo dum dum dum ba ram ba ba ram daram ram da da dum dum dum deee dee doo dooo dooo da da da dee dee doooooooo....

woh ooo woh ooo yeah yeah. yeah yeah woo woo. da rab da rab dum dum dee dee doo doo daaa....

Step. Step. Step. I seem to step on other people's shoes a lot.

Stupid world. What's with you lah, idiot. If you're so confident of yourself, don't lah make such a big fuss if a clumsy nutcase like me terpijak on your big foot. Sorry lah. But most of the time we don't means it. We don't wants it. We don't asks for it.

*Minishorts minishorts*

Ahhhhh...

Over. Out.

Well, well, well

2004-02-24T14:12:00.000+08:00

Today the significance of minishorts.net has struck me like a lightning bolt. The extent of how this blog has shaped my recent past is unbelievably incredible, and for once, I'm quite speechless. For many bloggers like yours truly, you would have had this revelation already, I think... yes yes yes believe it, I am absolutely shocked, after long months of ploughing along in this silly fashion, logging on to blogger.com every day to record the events of the day, or the after-events of the events... I have only begun to admit it.

No lah, I didn't actually think that having a blog would have any effect on my life at all. Previously it was just... blog lor. Record lor. Continue lor.

Now, right...my decisions are actually affected by the comments that you give me. WHOA. I can't believe it.

You see, just three days ago I have had to overcome a particularly minor intrusion into my otherwise reasonably calm life, and because I was quite troubled by this little issue, I blogged it lah (as usual). OK OK, so most of you probably have speculations, and please be assured that most of you speculated wrongly (hoi I'm not dying to get married okay?!)... the point is its my private life... and I have hardly blogged my private life in public ever since you-know-what happened last Valentine's... so obviously readers are not entitled to have too much of a peek into my life...

But the fact is this: Regardless of what you do know or do not know... ever since you-know-what happened, everything significant that I do seems to be dangerously clinging to the b-l-o-g. Like the decision that I made the night before.

I'm not sure if thats entirely a good thing.

Die die die.

Updates

2004-02-23T23:16:00.000+08:00

I went to a primary school reunion on Saturday and was shocked to find out that one of my classmates was already happily married and had a one-year-old son. You know what they say about this? Some Chinese would say, 'Hou meng jao ka yan lorrrrrr'

Means 'if you're lucky in life you'd be married already.'

I'm astounded.

As for me, did I learn to accept things? I've just realized the quality of the words, 'Don't take things at face value.'

So I'm learning to accept. And if you're reading this, and you're wondering why. Don't ask why. I don't know why.

What should I do?

2004-02-22T17:57:00.000+08:00

I'm utterly disappointed. Last night was spent tossing in bed thinking about what I should do.

I'm just so horribly disappointed, I don't see how things can be changed or remedied at all.

The worse thing is, the 'Right Thing to Do' keeps on resurfacing itself over and over again within my mind. There's too many things to keep me back.

What should I do?

You know what? It doesn't matter.

2004-02-21T21:58:00.000+08:00

I'm still figuring out stuff. I think I'm kinda busy these days. Too busy for my own good. I think right, I need relax and really, really be myself for once. Initially I wanted to take a holiday with people I love... but then... people I love seem to be confined to such a small group... So I'm game for Angeline's 17-day holiday in a beachy place.

I'm going to take what's remaining of my leave and really be myself for once. Its an all girl thing, or maybe if we're able to convince good ole' David to come with his miniDV (which is still with me), it could be a really cool get-together. Of course Susan has got to come also. Ah. Or if I think that a place like Langkawi is going to cost me too much, otherwise I might just call FM up and find out if she wants to do a 3 day weekend getaway in some cold hill area.

And you know what? Its times like this that I believe that its a case of bad, bad karma. I suppose its really one huge vicious cycle. What goes around, comes around. And I'm feeling awfully, awfully sorry for myself.

I tell you dearies, no, its not a PMS thing. Maybe its the examinations. Maybe its not entirely a good thing. But the point is. You don't even know what I'm talking about. So don't bother speculating.

And you know what? I'm not going to bother thinking that much after this long weekend is past.

ED: If you read this I really, really need to talk to you.

It's That Time of the Month Again

2004-02-19T10:06:00.000+08:00

I'm having one of those PMS mood swings right now. One minute I feel extremely hyper, another minute my feelings seem to plunge down to the very lowest. When I'm choreographing the moves to the Reach song, I feel exuberantly happy. Then afterwards, I get a simmering murmur down in my stomach, and then I feel as if I'm going to explode. Or all of a sudden I feel my eyes water, the tiniest trickle of a tear forming in my eyes, and I don't even know why I'm sniffing when the air conditioner's turned on to a 'just-nice' temperature.

They're part and parcel of being a woman I guess, these symptoms that probably indicate it's that time of the month again. The trouble with me is, the gravity of the troubles seem to double, even triple, every time I get emotionally attached to somebody.

When all I really have to care about are my family, work and friends, these swings happen, but they don't affect my emotions so badly. Now I feel terribly edgy, and I'm at the brink of bursting out in anger, or starting a wailfest. The best thing is, I'm not even sure what I'm upset about. And for that very 'not-very-sure' reason, I've begun to nitpick. I'm plucking out needles in haystacks, and you know, I do it quite well! I've even perfectly valid reasons to justify my grumbling spirit. And then the awful lines that I make up just replay themselves repeatedly in the mind....

I just wonder how long they would last. Its been long since I last had such an awful PMS. The last time was when I was emotionally attached to somebody else. And now... this. I'm now come to believe that my PMS swings get worse whenever I fall in love. For some unknown and probably biological reason, my body physically moves into 'Listen to me mode!' while my head fights with the rest of the growling self to remain normal.

Urgh... I just feel horrible horrible. Accusative lines are hanging at the tip of my tongue and I'm trying very, very hard to keep them back. *CONTROL! CONTROL IS THE KEY!*

I'm going to get one of those pink pills today. You think they'll help?

Why Minishorts?

2004-02-17T16:40:00.000+08:00

One of the most frequent questions I get from friends and readers would be why I've named my domain (and henceforth, my online alter-ego) 'minishorts'. Somehow, it sounds like a pretty risque pseudonym, possibly giving off some incorrect assumptions about what I'm like... No, I do not fancy wearing hot-pants, nor miniskirts and Minishorts is certainly not that kind of blonde-haired wannabe clubber... I've said it many times, its because when I first started the blog, it was called in a very cliched manner, 'Big Little Thots', but biglittlethots.net didn't sound very cool... plus the fact that I got hosted by the urban-flirt.net people (whose site has since been taken off the net), I chose a domain name that would rhyme with 'thots'. And, since it was a blog, with what would be usually 'shorter' entries... I used the word 'shorts'.

Come to think of it, why must 'minishorts' be regarded as a pair of women's outer garments? Could mini-shorts be considered in another fashion, mini short entries? Mini short posts? Mini short blogs? Mini Shorts. Get it? Faham? Comprendez?

Okay, so most of what I type aren't that short anyway, but the point is, Minishorts is not a risque person, she's not affiliated in anyway to women in ultra high-cut bikinis or great bods (in which case she's trying desperately hard to keep her fat from protruding out of her jeans waistline).

My ex hated the idea of the blog. Read here. He absolutely deplored the idea of the open online outlet. You see, when I first started my blog I was still dating Pek Yong, going to celebrate our third year together... and then I found out about blogging, got hooked on it and eventually became quite The Blogger ... Funnily as I gained momentum in writing my thoughts on the blog the mechanisms of my relationship just ceased to work gradually. And then finally the clockwork broke apart and this is the woman you know now. And I like her more than i like the woman who was dating Pek Yong.

Any regrets?

A colleague of mine passed away in a sudden road accident yesterday... and now that I think about it, life is just too short to dwell on regrets, or think of what could have been. The unpredictable quality of life itself also makes it unreasonable to plan too much on the future, because like what they say, 'You never know what you're going to get.' Life's really made up of little chunks of 'mini' shorts, in many ways... the expected will happen, yes, but always expect the unexpected, and that they always come in little shorts, and however miniscule the details might be, the effects that they might throw on you would always be astounding. And don't be shocked. Or regret too much. Or think about it too much. Or spend too much time crying over split milk. Or about what could have been.

So no. No regrets.

Post-Valentine's Album

2004-02-15T15:04:00.000+08:00

Ooooh lookie lookie!! I didn't do a Friday the 13th post, nor did I post anything for Valentine's Day as so many other people have done, but would a post-Valentine's Day gloat-fest suffice? Okay okay, here's how it went

Romantic dinner at Victoria Station, with clinking glasses of Semillon Chardonnay and strawberry shortcakes in heart-shaped molds.

The customary (overpriced) three-rose bouquet from the Valentine's Day date...

A new addition to the Minishorts' bed-buddies family... Mmmmm come to think of it, I might just make him my SOLE bed-buddy!!!

Plonkering off to the local mamak for the midnight after-dates get-together... where we met up with other couples... Love is in the air; listen hard, and you might just hear the coconut husks lightly tapping each other to some cha-cha-cha beat ^_^

Yedda and Soon Yean!!

Grace and Robert!!

Minishorts and Shadowlight doing their crazy thang!!!

Melinda Wrote

2004-02-12T23:35:00.000+08:00

My old friend, Melinda signed a private note in my guestbook today!

You can't ever imagine how incredibly surprised I am. But yes, it does come with a dash of pleasant happiness, and yippeee!!!!! The incomplete circle's temporarily intact again. Now if people wrote and asked me how is Melinda, I can tell something more than 'Oh I lost touch with her for over a year.'

She did say that she was impressed at the fact that I've made my life an open book.

But its not an Open book, Mel dear...oh well, it was for a while, but now you hardly know what's really going on.

That aside, here's something to think about: what would you guys do if someone did this to your girl?

A Big Thank You

2004-02-11T08:14:00.000+08:00

I'd like to thank Ed, Darren and Edwin for helping me with the retrieval of my photos. I think I've managed to acquire 95% of what was missing, and that alone has left me tremendously grateful. Should I give you guys a huge slurpy kiss?

Muaks!! Smooch!! Thanks a zil.

On another note, he has struck again!!

Him: Who is SL?
Her: My boyfriend.
Him: U told me u were single liao?
Her: Urm... yeah I was single for almost a year...
Him: I see... Hmmmm he is not as leng chai as me!!
Her: Urm...
Him: Yeah so you still have the chance to op for me..
Her: Urm... I'm perfectly fine here...
Him: Don't brag la... If u come quick u still can op for me u knoe?
Her: OMG...
Him: Y not? I'm more leng chai...
Her: I don't like braggarts.

...nor nutcases, nor idiots, nor heartbreakers, nor ...