accidental meeting

have you realised something?

that we always seem to bump into people whom we have absolutely no desire to bump into. fate seems to play its hand in the strangest way, making two people who are bordering on detest (this being after the millionth accidental meeting), or at the very least, oblivious of each other, see each other's face everywhere they turn. oblivion can very quickly turn into a stronger and distasteful feeling.

why is it that we never bump into the people that we hunger to see....like mr tony leung would be nice. i don't mind mr takeshi kaneshiro either. infact, there are probably a few thousand people out there that i wouldn't mind meeting on a regular basis. but i always seem to chance upon those that are scrapping the barrel on the list, if they are even on the list for that matter.

my ex-classmate being one of them. and my neighbour being the other. from all my years of studying, i probably have a whole army of friends, many whom i have formed a close bond over the years. some, like this girl that i remember very fondly, have managed to slip through the fingers of time and all contacts have been severed. left only with a name and nowhere to look, i often think of her and wish there weren't so many jacquelines in the world, making my hunt just that little bit easier. he, on the other hand, i don't even recall being fairly close to during my college days. i can't even remember if he was even in the same class, who he hung around with or whether he attended classes on a regular basis. but when i started bumping into him, i never seem to stop. so much so that our conversation starts with, 'you again ah? bye!'. there was always the compulsory 'we must get together one day, with the old friends' but in the many many times that we have since encountered each other, we have still not circled a date in the calendar for that elusive get-together. we could be more than acquaintances i guess, with fate playing such a purposeful role in our meetings, but sometimes destiny withholds just one more playing card up its sleeve and there is a missing link.

bumping into my neighbour should not be a part of fate's manuevers for after all, we live under the same roof so the likelihood of meeting up is always there. this man, the one that asked 'how much did you renovate your place for?' the very second he saw me and pounced on me with questions of my imaginary investment each time he sees me, which caused an instant irremediable distaste for his character, has since moved to another property. he comes back every once in a while, and i'm beginning to believe that i bump into him each and every time that he comes back!, for reasons i have no interest of learning, during all hours of the day. the strange thing being, despite it being all hours of the day, i still bump into him all the time. it's not like a regular peak-hour-meet-in-the-lift type of accidental meeting, it's more of a are-you-stalking-me genre! am i being dramatical again? let me put it this way, if i see his back again, i'm calling for the asylum myself.

*looking out the window* he says he doesn't live here....but there are clothes hanging out the window. i'm starting to sound like the neighbour from hell. but seriously, how can fate be so free as to manipulate my life like so? it's one accidental meeting too much. it would be nice if he was that handsome boy i talked to once during my primary school days many eons ago......wait a minute!! maybe fate is telling me that THIS is that boy! that boy who has evolved into a fat balding middle-aged creepy insurance agent!!

saltish pork knuckle, anyone?

2nd day of new template. doesn't look like this one is going to stay either. i'm not crazy about using a foreign comment whatchamacalit (should i be saying this? will haloscan cancel my membership and take away all remaining contact with my readers?) but i don't have a choice because the original template didn't come with one. pray tell, who will write a template for a blog but not add the comment or title part?!? even the blogger banner at the top is missing; i've got to go to blogger's main page to log in. nevermind, ignore the itsy bitsy sticky pieces. quick, meditate. ohmmmmmmmmmm! overall, i think i like the white background and the clean lines but the right side does look a little empty, a little incomplete, yet if i were to add things in there (and i still haven't gone into the part whether i know how to add things in there in the first place) it'll just be too.....too.....packed. a little like living conditions in hong kong. and it'll drive me crazy again.

nevermind, just concentrate on typing the words and ignore the surrounding. ohmmmmmm! i'm achieving another plane of peaceful existence through the 'pretend all crap doesn't exist' meditation. ohmmmmmm!

last saturday, decked out in spaghetti strapped tees and a skirt, i terrorised the local market. cheated myself a few 'lenglui' from the market vendors but no one thought it appropriate to give me an extra serving of food or an extra cut of meat. sheesh! not mesmerising enough for their standard, it will seem. no one scrambled to my feet to offer me some free vegetables or kneeled and begged me to take their offerings. on the other hand, i wouldn't be surprised if my poultry, vegetables and meat were hiked up to take into the account the free but oh so shallow compliments.

as i was looking at the produce, i felt a finger brush against my tushy. marketplace being usually crowded and packed with people, although saturday's market was hardly that crammed, the clanging alarm bell inside my head that goes 'wolf! wolf!' didn't go off. still, i turned and threw invisible daggers with my eyes at the back of the indian man who strolled leisurely past. if my eyes were equipped with bazooka employment technology, that guy would have been blasted to mars. having finished with my visual world war 3, i returned my attention to selection of the produce. few minutes later, at another spot, i felt the finger brush against my tushy again. hello?? twice? i turned to confirm that the finger indeed belonged to the saltish pork knuckle hand. the man was just leisurely strolling past again, with nary a plastic bag of purchase. he stopped a few feet away, looked around with no intention whatsoever to buy anything, then proceed to walk his catwalk back again. that colour wolf!! he was targeting the market for his victims, doing a slow leisurely catwalk up and down, touching tushies wherever he went. i looked straight into his eyes and started grumbling very loudly in chinese. why chinese? whatever language would have been wasted on him anyway, so why not choose something that he has no idea what i am saying. the effect of the unknown will be more pronounced. hubby as usual, being as blur as he normally is, was blissfully ignorant that his wife was outraged and fuming, clueless that she was grumbling away.

the man, seeing that he has ticked me off, immediately folded his wandering hands, which further confirmed my conviction that his acts were indeed purposeful. mr pork knuckle decided to postpone his cheap thrills for another day and walked off into oblivion.

no blog templates here

for those who have been wondering, i am fine. ever get into a situation where you were just rambling on and on and on, then you needed to stop to catch your breathe, because with each story you tell you feel a little emptier, only to find that you don't have the inertia to start again? omitting blogging from my daily routine was beginning to feel too comfortable, so much so that i thought i should make a conscious effort to post something before i vanish into thin air.

have i ever told you?

template hunting is extremely exhausting, simply because of the lack of choices out there. am i fastidious? i will like to think i am a simple person with simple standards. all i ask for is a template that won't drive me nuts after logging in for the thousandth time, something that won't have readers reaching out for their spectacles or the closest rock to smash the monitor. i was this close to choosing a template with a gigantic, albeit mesmerising and beautiful, eye staring at you. i can just imagine the goosebumps popping up at that one, reading my posts whilst having the most uncomfortable feeling of someone staring at you. well, it looked good at first impression but by the end of next month, the men in white coats will be ready to come and get you. i've probably clicked on all possible links to the search 'blog template'. no, i HAVE clicked on all the links. it is virtually impossible to find a fuss-free simple and clean format. out of sheer frustration, i nearly clicked on a shrek 3 template, or worse, a hello kitty one. *rolls eyes* can you imagine coming here everyday then? there are fate worse than death.

damn! i just realise i don't have post title under this template! *picking up my screwdriver*

there! fixed it.

the taste of almost

yesterday i came sooo close to the eggs benedict that i've been dying to try. i can almost feel the taste melt in my mouth ....when it was cruelly yanked away from me. bah!

finally, found the time and opportunity to visit jarrods & rawlins, the famous sausage place recommended by cocka to have my drool-inducing treat. people keep telling me of the most delicious breakfast they serve there, so i jumped when a friend suggested to meet there for breakfast. arriving 9.30am, it was the only shop which was not barred by metal shutters in that entire row. anyone who knows the mont' kiara-sri hartamas area well can tell you that the people living here are not early-risers. it's almost impossible for the early birds to find their worms, save for the mamak stalls serving roti canai and the resident 24-7 macdonalds. probably what they did before you move into the area was to make you attend a compulsory briefing to ascertain whether you are an early or late riser. sorry, you wake up at 6am on a weekend? you belong in the kepong district.

u-turning back to the story, i walked into the place and approached the only breathing soul there. wearing a rather apologetic face, he informed me that they only open around 10-ish. with a pout and a 'huh?', sadly, i walked out again and waited for friends by the side, hoping against hope that by the time my friends arrive, the shop will be open (yes, my friends are typical malaysians with watches that don't quite work and a sense of punctuality that stinks. hehe. i get to take a dig at them here. the joy of having a blog). when they finally did, and it wasn't lunchtime yet thank goodness, with the power of three we whined a little until the man finally seated us. actually, he was really sweet and upon seeing us, or rather cute little me, return, he immediately offered to sit us. until his chef arrives. that's good, i can wait. i don't mind waiting a little for my eggs benedict. yes, didn't forget my goal.

the first thing after hitting the seat with my bum was to grab the menu and flip through its pages for the word 'eggs benedict'. there!! on page...i don't know. yes!! looking closer were the words 'only served on saturdays and sundays'. apa macam lah! stupid cocka, why didn't you tell me that. (hehe). i took the menu to the kind gentleman to confirm that i will not be able to order eggs benedict. *sob* yes, though i have absolutely no idea why they will only cook a particular dish on the weekends and not on any other days. also don't understand why they only open the place and serve breakfast at 11am. who eats breakfast at 11am??!! (in this area, i think i'll be surprised!) that way-too-kind man was just reaching for the phone to call his chef. i wonder what he told him...'hey, man, there are a couple of lunatics here who insist on having their breakfast before we even open and obstinately refuse to go to any other place. i think you better get down here before their hunger pangs strike and they burn the place in protest. hurry, man! one of them has that crazy shiny look in her eyes'.

without the eggs benedict carrot dangling infront of me, we decided not to stay. i wonder what the chef said when he finally arrived, in his hurried half-dressed uniform and uncombed hair, and saw no one sitting there.

crisis imminent

it's getting to a very serious stage, the oil crisis.

the educated people in the field will tell you that the supply of oil worldwide will come to an apex very soon and downhill from there on, if not already. all the possible places that they have investigated for oil, from deserts to the deep seas and big basins, have been dug and whatever profitable has been brought out from under the ground. the undiscovered region is finite and with china and india's booming consumption of oil, we are already utilising more than production capabilities every day.

can you imagine a world without crude oil? all transportation will come to a standstill. no big deal, i'll just stop driving, you say? ALL transportations will come to a stop. no more buses. you can't get to your nearest supermarket to replenish your food. forget that, farmers won't even be able to deliver their harvest to the middlemen. supermarket racks will be all empty. no more rubbish truck. your front lawn will be piled up high with waste and decaying organisms. no more ambulances. you can lay there bleeding to death, one drop at a time and nobody can get you to the hospital. doesn't matter, because no one is working in the hospital. no more going to work, hence no more pay. no indah water truck to discharge your waste so your wc is stuffed full of crap to the brim. EVERYTHING comes to a standstill.

sounds a little scary, doesn't it? well, i'm telling you that the end is very very near. almost round the corner.

and you know how i know?

because all the drivers infront of me refuse to step on the accelerator!!!! why else will they crawl like a tortoise on the highways and byways if not for petrol conservation??!!! *conspirative voice* i think they know something i don't.

move it, tortoise!

bamboozle

the world is becoming such a scary place to live in.

everywhere we turn, we hear of elaborate cons and victimisation, people being deceived and falling prey to scams and schemes. the dailies recently exposed a 'chinese speaking lady' who calls to inform people of their 'winnings' and in turn tries to fleece them for 'handling charges', which amazingly can run into hundreds of thousands.

i must be quite happening because i received such a call. i'm on the list, though it's not quite the list i will like to be on. can transfer my name to a more prestigious list ah? you have to wonder how these people can fall into such a dumb trap. anything that wants me to pay money before i actually get money must be pathetic. handling charges? deduct that from my winnings, ok? *rolls eyes* i was rather patient with her at the beginning but anything that requires this banana to converse more than 5 minutes in mandarin has me raising both hands in defeat. i just lied and said i was in a meeting. :-p

when i heard 'can you speak mandarin?' for a second time a few weeks later, i realise that she has no inkling whatsoever that she has targeted me previously. it was only then that i realise it was a scam, my patience shredded to a million pieces, and i just hung up the phone on her. wasting even a single minute more would have been a sin.

i have also been approached by those gullible 'salesmen' hawking near carparks who insist that you scratch a ticket for some electronics lucky draw. it is very amusing to see their fake surprise and even fake-r joy at your 'winning'. can you imagine their response when told that i was simply not interested in following them to redeem their prize? it's a big microwave wohhh! sorry, got already. don't want. also got some cash prize wohhhhh! sorry, not interested. sheesh! all those oscar-winning acting performances for nothing.

yesterday, i was reading mamapumpkin's latest brush with the shadowy side when my handphone rang. someone from telekom, wanting to update their records. hmmmm.....have you ever known telekom to be so diligent? the one that requires ten people to stand around whilst one is testing the connection at the box? if you can call me, you've got my records, ok?

he: i will like to confirm your records.

me: hmmmmm.

he: is your company name xyz?

me: mmm hmph.

he: is your company address 786, jalan blabla, 22222 kl?

me: mmm hmph. (where does he get all these information anyway?)

he: is the manager's name mr gobbledook?

me: mmm hmph.

he: what is his handphone no.?

me: i don't know his handphone no.(hullo? you can call here, contact him here lah)

he: what is his e-mail address?

me: we don't use e-mail. (kekekeke)

he: (undefeated) what is the handphone of your contact person?

me: huh? i don't know mr goobledook's handphone (thinking he's either deaf or really dense)

he: no, i mean your contact person.

me: *sigh* mr goobledook is the contact person lah (otherwise why would his name be in your record, duh!)

he: what is your contact person's e-mail?

me: he doesn't use e-mail (i'm pretty patient, don't you think?)

he: (seeing that he was getting nowhere, finally throws in the towel) ok, goodbye.

i don't know how his scam goes or whether there is really a person working in telekom who is fuming right now at a damn uncooperative client. wasn't born yesterday, sorry (yes, yes, my readers will readily testify to the fact that i'm aging and has been talking about nothing except aging. :-p).

rule no. 1: never volunteer any information to strangers over the phone.

Note 13/9/07: today, another malay lady called from telekom, wanting to update information. either this is genuinely a very pathetic exercise by their company to update the records, or this scam is indeed very fully-staffed, perhaps even better than telekom itself. still, before she could finish her sentence, i told her someone has already called and i've given him all the information i could give...which basically amounted to zilch. hehe. i'm growing increasingly cynical.

as a matter of fact

as you grow older,

you realise that there is no such thing as fact.

only one person's interpretation of it.

and that there are also other interpretations.

the story within the egg shell

another rant? this place is after all the one where i come in to shout, to scream, to hide and to download, so humour me.

they forgot. after 36 years of existence, countless friends, numerous relatives and a handful of precious ones, they forgot. my chinese birthay. oh, it's very easy to remember the other one, with the flip of the table-top calendar and a scribble of the pen, it takes but mere effort to remember one's english birthday. to even fail that miniscule effort is pathetic to say the very least. yet, that's okay by my books because you label your friends by that very action, or lack of action. those who can hardly be bothered about wishing me a simple greeting definitely will not have more concern about my well-being on other days. i do not grieve about the lack of love from people i don't love.

the chinese birthday, on the other hand, requires a little more work, but still no rocket-scientist task, which is usually only expected from very close relations. it is more than a little depressing to realise that after 36 years of existence, nobody has bothered to make that little effort. which perhaps goes to show your weight in their life.

a husband of 12 years. a partner of a span so long i've since lost count. when you come to the realisation that even someone like him has never bothered to note down a date that is so much a part of you, it's very hard to ignore the ache that vibrates from the very core. with all his talk of love and actions, in all the 17 years.....it never come across him to take a few seconds to pen down a fact that will probably be erased the moment my mother passed on. taking for granted that someone will always be around to shoulder his responsibility of loving me. a detachment from the very things that mean so much to me. how do you go on and pretend that it is alright?

a brother since i have taken my very first breath in this world. a sister-in-law that has become a part of us. little nieces and nephew that i have spent countless hours lavishing love and entertained. a little boy and a little girl who cries 'mummy' and spoke of a love so great. a mother-in-law that i once thought loved me more than my own family did. all of them forgot. a more accurate way to say it will be, all of them didn't bother. to them, it was just one more day, no different from the rest. no love communicated.

the solitary red egg. the significance so great within its thin shell that cannot be contained within. the fingers slightly marked by the reddish tint, so filled with love, an action so simple yet conveying so much affection. a quiet wish. to the person taking a gingerly bite of the tender white flesh to have so much that is good in his/ her life. a silent hope that he/she will understand the love behind the action so pure. when you have just come to realise and appreciate the very significance of the simple tradition of love, it's excruciating to realise that people around you do not hold you in such high regard.

the realisation was slow but days before, i knew that they would have forgotten. deliberating, musing, i wondered about my choice of reaction. i'm too old to sulk, to scream, to cry even. not that it will bring back the attention of those i love. if i rant, if i shout, they will perform to please, but an action prompted by guilt, is that what i wanted?

having anticipated their impassiveness, i tried to approach the day as equally detached as i could. still, i couldn't stop the splotches of tears that threatened as i made my own red egg. as i took a bite into the love that only i myself had for me, the saltish drops streaked down and acted as condiment for the egg.

realisation for him came a little too late, when he saw me preparing the egg. he tried to make amends but how do you rectify a situation like that? the pain that came from disregard. he cooked the longetivity noodle that usually followed the solitary red egg. without prior preparation, taking whatever he could from the fridge, the past-its-expiry noodle tasted of cockroach droppings. still, i kept my mouth shut. what does it matter how it taste like? it has since lost it's meaning. there was no point in me twisting the dagger of guilt into his consciousness. there will be no joy for me in seeing him hurt. so, i ate the noodles quietly. i couldn't keep the hurt from my eyes nor the pain from my face. but i kept the words from spilling out of my mouth. words will not be able to fill the gap impassiveness has created. words will not be able to turn back the clock of time.

with a clink of the glass

swirling the rose coloured liquid against the smooth shiny concave surface, the feeling was one of familiarity. it has been the longest time since i have last held the cold glass in my hand. i reveled in anticipation of the numbness it will soon bring. i took a sip of the chilean red wine. the blandness of the aroma rushes to greet my olfactory nerves before the cool liquid even hits my tastebuds. a decidedly young wine, perhaps a few more years of aging will add bouquet and richness to the taste. still, i greedily lapped up the intoxicating liquid.

the lights overhead were dim. i sunk back into the chair in our small and cosy booth. as the invisible cloak transcends over me gradually, i looked up into the early dusk that was sitting prettily outside the window opposite my seat. the skies were slowly transforming into a dark shade of grey, just like the somber orchestra in my head that was playing in accompaniment to the fog slowly enveloping my sensibility.

i felt relaxed. i felt the need to relax, yet the muscles in my shoulder stayed obstinately tight. i love the release that alcohol gives me, the unleash on logic, reason and principles, a temporary lapse in holding on so tightly to my emotions. a bite of the rib-eye steak, a sip of the soothing liquid; it's like a balm to my soul. the piece of meat was like chewing on a piece of cupboard but you take what you can get in moments like these.

another sip of the wine.

bliss.

what happens when they forget...

what do you do when the people around you forget to love you? what can you do when they forget to appreciate you and show that you mean something to them, by paying a little more attention to the small details and the little things that matter to you? by not giving another run-of the mill standard issue type of response.

you're a little old to be pouting, shouting, sulking or even throwing a tantrum.

*sigh*

what else can you do?

you love yourself a little more lah.

when will she return

she always had these strange bizarre ideas. when halloween was still just a western fad unfamiliar to the local shores, she started her own community halloween walk. when there was a reason to party, she'll be jumping all over the place to be the one who organises it. any reason to have a little fun. a movie under the stars? she's holding the mats and is the first one at the queue.

that girl was me. i was that girl.

but lately, that little girl is all quiet. i don't know when she left. i didn't even realise her silent departure. everything is like a playback from the black and white silent movies era. along the way, she lost her spirit. did the departure of her friend bring away her spirit? or was it the recent string of events unfolding before her eyes? perhaps it was a combination of all things, one after another. i don't know, i can't tell at which point exactly the world was muted.

i long to hear her laughs again. i'm waiting for her to return.

the political arena

do you know how much i hate politics?

not the parliamentary debates, government issues and ruling constitutional parties type of politics but i equally detest those as they are in the same vein.

my nerves are rattled and my blood boil when i'm faced with the back-stabbing, two headed variety of varmint. which is why i shun them. i go out of my way to avoid undesirable companies such as these, no matter how promising the payback may be. i shroud myself in loneliness and maintain a freezing exterior to disuade their interest. but i seem to have this political aiming target marked on my body. they seem to seek me out like some heat-guided missile.

please enlighten me as to why people say one thing infront of one and something totally opposite infront of others, when they know that it takes but one short query for them to be exposed? do you realise that there are never anybody wrong in those political 'she said, she said' bitching? (sorry, guys are equally guilty of the said deed but the statistics against the 'weaker' sex is insurmountable as guys have their heads stuck in the clouds most of the time. most of the time they are too blur to bitch) they all have their perfectly good reasons and explanations. it's just that what they say never matches up under cross-examination. the lawyers will have a field day with people like these. *slams the table* so, are you saying that she really said ..bla bla bla..? are you very sureeee? can you repeat what she said again under oath?

with some, it's more subtle. the storyline takes a slight variation everytime it is repeated. from 'her eyes flitted briefly to the handsome guy as he walked past' to 'she grabbed the man and kissed him fervently' and finally, 'she was caught naked in bed with that man when his wife stormed through the doors'. ok, exaggeration...but that's how the little white lie began.

the marvelous thing about politics is...instead of being the entertained listener, they'll try to rope in the innocent and the weak to support their cause. sound very much like the present election scene, doesn't it? they won't rest easy until they've got you nodding your head and saying 'yes, yes, yes' like the bobbing head doll. a piece of advice; don't move a muscle. don't even nod your head or make a single peep. the perpetrators will tell the world that YOU said such and such, campaigning their cause alongside them and holding their hands for support. forget it! even if you don't say a single word, they'll say that you did! it's a lost cause. all that you can do when you see the political campaigners is.....RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!

do i look like i care what she said or what he did? let me give you two pairs of boxing glove so that you can go fight it out. i'll call the ambulance when there's one person left standing. or better still, i'll make that two ambulance if you promise to fight until both drops to the floor. just leave me out of it.

one more 'she said this.....' or 'but she told me that...' and i'm going to scream in their face. do i look like i care? get lost.

*breathe, breathe, counting slowly from one to ten*

aging issues

a little snip here, a little snip there and i'm reduced from a titanic style seductress to something a little more grown up. i'm still undecided on whether to scream at the blind near-sighted hair-stylist who deemed it fit to chop off 4 inches off my hair or whether i like it, maybe it just takes a little more getting used to. at the very least, i'm enjoying the few minutes reclaimed of time wasted washing that rapunzel locks.

perchance, i came across the blog of an 18yo sweet young thing and was captivated with her flair for writing. it wasn't the rantings of a ditzy blur cranial-vacuumed girl, like her peers which i so shun, but rather the workings of a rather witty, eloquent and definitely very pretty mind. it is strange to follow her footsteps and find that it so matches mine. we could have met. we could have seen each other in the space of time but never realised it. the places she frequent, the names she quote are all so familiar to me.

when i sit quietly at the nearest cafe, musing over my drink, sometimes i look around and watch for a little while the man sitting by himself who is pouring all his concentration and energy into the laptop screen that is blinking before him. or that sweet girl staring mesmerisingly into her boyfriend's eyes whilst whispering sweet nothings. or the group of men talking so loudly about some business deals and pretending to the world that they are somebody important and that their crazy half-baked plans will actually come through. sometimes, when schedule allows, i dream of their lives, who they have waiting for them, how they come about to this point in time and all the little secrets they have hiding in their little closet. by chance, i could be reading about the life of this girl i saw, one day sometime ago. it's like walking past a row of windows by the river on a dark stary night and stealing a peek into the brightly lit rooms to catch a glimpse of what others are doing and a page in their life. the feeling is at once intimate yet distant.

the realisation then struck. she could be me, as i was starting out in life.

the most scary part of growing old (another mention about age? yes, humour me) is not the wrinkled features, the slackening metabolism, the number game or even the mortality of the whole issue. rather, it is the fading of the spirit, the waning enthusiasm and the mellowing titillation. gone are the carefree laughters, the palpitating excitement or even the wrath-induced lioness roar. in its place is a matured meekness, acceptance and a cynical outlook. all lumped under the word 'mature'.

as we age, we forget to be thrilled. we forget to be amazed. we forget to feel.

the most scary thing about getting old is acting old.

and believing this is all that there is in life.

pain

who is dumb enough to leave her finger between two glass sliding doors when she is opening them?

me. i am.

ouch!

happy birthday

the sky is so blue.

i can't get over what a clear and beautiful day it is supposed to be. the weather warm, the cloudy haze gone; it belie the melancholy that rest inside of me. everyone is going about their activities as normal, as if the significance of today escapes them....which is of course, true. some have forgotten what today is, what it is supposed to mean. then again, it probably doesn't mean much, except to us selected few.

today was meant as a celebration of life, for the glory of 36 years of living. we gathered to wish her a very happy birthday. which is such an irony. my wish is not as greedy, i only wish she can look at me and smile. the smile that i once took for granted. the smile that greeted me everyday when i didn't know to appreciate. i ask for one second longer, one minute if i may, or an hour if i can, a day, a lifetime....what does it matter? just one more time for me to tell her i love her. and that the world is quieter without her.

looking my age

3 days of non-celebration. for a country that has lost its meaning to many citizens. for a country that has made us feel like outcasts. i don't want to be a voice in a million. i'm not patriotic but neither trecherous do i want to be, ratting on the country that housed and fed me, so hold my tongue i shall.

i can hardly remember what i did for the last 3 days but it definitely wasn't crying 'merdeka'. perhaps the only significant memory of the ongoing celebration was the fact that i was awoken many times by the countless fireworks that went off that night. zzzzzzzz..... wha? ..... huh?..... ohhh.... zzzzzzzzz.... huh?.... again?..... zzzzzzzzzzzzz..... ?????.....zzz.... !!!!

my brain's cloudy again today. spent half the night catching the sleepwalking little one and the other half dancing hot salsa moves with the stupid pesky insect buzzing around my ear. can someone please inform her that i don't care for another repeat performance tonight?

i'm standing here, on the cliff of 35, overlooking 36 beyond the horizon, wondering when i'm going to pick up the art of covering my face with paint and powder the very minute i wake up to the second before my head hits the pillow. i treasure the minutes i save from not having to remove, wash and tone but the natural glow of a 20s is fading fast (if not already) and screams to be covered. it's amazing what a little black wand and some powder can do....yet i am reluctant to be their slave, succumbing to their demands day and night. still, at 36, isn't it about time i picked up the habits of a woman and desert the whines of the carefree teenager? i don't think i can ever get used to the idea of putting so much show merely for going about my daily chores. HD also probably wouldn't like the idea of waking up to an unfamiliar, smudged and bozo-the-clown overmade face. that says more for my lack of technique than anything else.

maybe it's the dressing that i should be targeting. 36 sounds like the age to be dressed in power suits or matching pantsuits. definitely not ripped jeans, tokidoki bag or colouful croc. then again, i'm turning a year older, not transforming into a boring conforming old stuffy duddy. so, i'll wait another year.

the hair probably should go, though. the till-the-bum length is probably pushing it too much. i'm not trying for the sexy (ok, maybe i'm still trying for the 'sexy' part) sarong party girl look but i just don't have enough hours in the day to sit 4 hours whilst some lady manhandles my locks, hence the length. equipped with a good cup of coffee and free wifi, that's a different question. perhaps starbucks should look into providing some extra services for customers like me. the last time i visited a hairdresser was in feb. the stack of dry hay is probably overdue for some tender loving care now.

a closer and more immediate thing that requires my attention is perhaps the papers on my desk right now. procastination. something that i will still do, whether i'm 35 or 36. that's nice to know.

but for now, i'll be an obedient slave. back to work.