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.