i feel like i can't breathe. i take a deep breath but the air is not reaching into the finer bronchioles of my lungs. i am gasping for breath. i feel like i am drowning; the lapping water is reaching to the bottom of my nose. my chest is tight.

i am tired. i can only seek solace in sleep, letting time pass, trying to gain strength from the respite but i wake up in a jolt. i think i'm too stressed. i feel like i'm always the one picking up the slack when the rope goes limp. the fact that i had to google for the word 'rope' just now affirms my fatigued condition. my brain is shutting down.

it is always me, the cry of my name when things need to be done. me, this. me that, me this and that. for once, just once, i wish someone can take over the lead and i will just follow. i feel like i am doing more than i can take on but i am only human.

'punctuality' is not in the dictionary

i'm sitting at coffee bean, writting down the lyrics to 'according to you', eventhough i already have a printed copy at home. i need to do something to keep my mind occupied; the dumb moronic kindle chose an inopportune time to die on me. my pen hang in midair, i look up in frustration and i feel like shouting at the top of my lungs. i'm so sick of mediocrity. it's the story of our lives, of our generations. i'm sitting there, 24 minutes into the appointed time. i can't remember the last time someone was ever on time, or god forbid, early! nobody strives to be punctual anymore; that word should be struck off the dictionary.

i don't dislike the person, just the attitude. i seem to be forever waiting, be it relating to professional or leisure. yesterday i was late for an appointment myself, something that happens in a blue moon and not as a matter of habitual regularity, being held up by unexpected parking problems but even then, i was still facing an empty chair and equally empty air when i manage to reach the venue. knowing that they will be late, for they have never been on time, i was deliberately laggard myself, but apparently many people have gprs tracking devices implanted into me so that they are able to be fashionably later than me. why is late even fashionable in the first place? i have no freaking idea.

it's a lack of respect, i opined. maybe a presumption that other people have nothing better to do than wait around for you, that a few minutes wouldn't hurt. a few minutes turn into ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour. categorically, a lack of consideration. it's always the same story, i was busy or caught up in something else, that most times the excuse is not even said anymore. yes, i'm late, so? seems to be hovering in the air. i'm busy too, yet i'm sitting here, for a good half of an hour, waiting for you to show up.

strangest thing is irritated as i am with the attitude, the lackadaisical disposition, i am not angry at the propreitor of such demeanor. how i manage to separate the flesh from the seed boggles me but perhaps they are all friends of mine, dear and near. friends for a very long time. so, that's why i am still here, sitting, waiting. even after the millionth times.

nothing doing

ah, friday. friday like it hasn't been in a month of fridays. in many months of fridays.

today's friday has been very leisurely, very relaxing. even the dark overcast sky agrees with me. no stressful glaring rays from the reprimanding sun. no hurried schedules to rush off to, no deadlines to meet. na dah. nothing that i want to be doing today and can't wait until next monday, anyway.

it has been so long since i stop that i think i am a little rusty at that. stopping to smell the flowers and feel the breeze, take in a good book and not just skim the words, rushing to get to the end. not exactly rocket science stuff but it is amongst one of the hardest thing to do.

i started the day, after driving for an hour to send the kids off to school, with breakfast at my favourite haunt. no, not coffee bean. that over-commercialised place is for quick afternoon romps when i neither have the luxury of time nor mood. whilst it sells itself as the place to let your hair down, to stop and smell the coffee, it is superficial at best and a little too much like other coffee-places to bring comfort; almost like churning out identical factory moulds of coffee places. ching chang, chug-a-chug.....poof! another xerox copy of the place for you to relax. chillingly eerie. like you are in an alternative reality world. you turn the corner and you see another one that looks like the one you just had tea in. strange. wait! there's another one!! are these things stalking me?!

anyway, this little one that i always like to sneak off to and hide for a little while is cosy beyond words. i love their little library of travel books and light readings, all carefully cover-wrapped with love. i wish all my books at home are like that, but i will need a book-fairy to execute that for me with a little wave of her wand, and a little shake of her bum, because there is no way i am spending hours after hours doing that. as i chose a book and stepped on the little foot-ladder to take it off the shelf, i feel like i am intruding into someone else's library, complete with a fireplace in the corner, albeit fake. apparently, i am getting a warm glow from breaking and entering, trespassing and 'borrowing' people's books.

coupled with an egg, turkey ham muffin and a cup of warm tea, my morning was perfect.

one hour later, however, i was restless. i was ready to close my book, go and face my day. a part of me wanted to stay, to hide some more, but another part of me wanted a change of scene. looks like i still haven't perfected the technique of 'doing nothing'. i am going to need more practice.

legit triad

do you know what is the most difficult thing to do in the world? apparently, it is trying to close a bank account. it is almost like joining a triad group; once you have put your feet into it, don't dream of pulling yourself out again. at least not without a lot of hassle. that is what i am goinig through at the moment. the legitimate triad members are very unhappy that i will no longer be banking with them.

why do you want to close the account? can i interest you in this other investment that i have? puhleaseeeee let me go, let me find my own happiness. i know that you cannot bear to see us part, but we can not be together forever. this much you should know, even from the start. i was honest and straight-forward from the beginning. i told them i wanted to close the account, that my very intention was closing the account. there were no lies, no misleading. i wasn't the cheating philander. my lover is not as clingy!

still, they wouldn't let me go. can i make an appointment to see you? will next year be soon enough? i want to close the account, why do you still want to see me? i gave them a date so far in the future, long after the account has been closed, cold dead and buried six feet underground. hopefully, they will have forgotten about me by then. i'm not keeping my fingers crossed though.

people out there, you need to take out your crumpled dollar notes from under the mattress, from the cookie tin, from inside the toilet tank and put them into our banks. these people need more clients to hassle.

sense of humour required

so, tell me, why is it that women don't have a sense of humour? well, if they do, they are keeping it very well hidden. veeeery well hidden. most women i know don't crack jokes. at least not on a regular basis. i don't know about after they have downed a series of tequila or took some magical mushrooms but on a daily basis, in their regular lives, women just don't crack jokes. now you know why women cry almost over everything and are crabby all the time. and you thought it was pms.

gasp, did you just call me fat?! , eventhough you may be discussing about the weather.

are they talking about me?! *peering with slitty eyes at the next table*

sounds like i'm dissing on my own kind, but it's frustrating how women are so uptight about everything and super-sensitive all the time. you need to see the funny side of life. loosen up a little.

for some women, men with a great sense of humour is a point-scorer. so, what do you like about him? he makes me laugh. laughing is important, who wants to cry, right? sorry, i wasn't talking about you, mr depressed psychotic man, you can continue to indulge in your misery. so, for women, being funny is one of the things that we will definitely appreciate. some perhaps will value money more, then comes good looks and big attachments (haha, i'm just adding that in there for the kick of it, how do i know if size matters or not?!?!), but shallowness can only go so far. a good sense of humour will be somewhere on the list; number 99 out of the 100 basic requirements perhaps for some.

on the other hand, no man looks for a sense of humour. it's like they want to be facing this crabby bitchy ms universe-lookalike with big boobs for the next four decades! seriously! ask any man! first on the list, if they are being really pretentious, will be a good heart and a nice smile. then comes big boobs, sexy figures, legs to die for, shapely bum..... and that's about it. see? if you want to be shallow about it, shallowness is what you'll end up getting. no matter how a man says they want someone with good character, you will never see a slightly-below-average looking woman on the arms of a proud-looking man. mine has beautiful sexy character! the other day, she fed a stray cat and saved some homeless folks! nope, it only works out if she's pretty, or at the very least, pleasant on the eyes, as well, so they all say. ya, pleasant on the eyes turn out to be ms. america lookalike.

anyway, back to the list, shallowness or not. a sense of humour is never on the list, above or below that imaginary good heart and wonderful character. why is that not important for a man? because he already has enough sense of humour for the both of them? i can just see that happening. dahhhling, why did the chicken cross the road? what chicken are you talking about? did you take the tesco chicken out of my fridge again and played with it?!?!? you are in serious trouble! see what you are getting yourself in? i guess men are a really tolerant lot, as long as they have eye candy to look at.

oh, for goodness sake!

i called to ask if she has a canvas in a particular odd size. after all, i have checked out the last few shops by foot, or almost by foot, this is after all malaysia, and it's getting to be tedious.

oh, we have so many types here, you will have to come look for yourself, she replied.

*rolls eyes*, which she can't see :-p. you can't have a look and call me back when you are free? i have been to many shops and they did not carry those sizes. i don't want to travel all the way there for nothing.

have you been to our shop?

is it the latest addition to our country's tourist attraction?!? i don't want to unless you have what i am looking for. duh! i didn't say that as you can see because it is not in bold but how fun life would be if you can say what you wanted to deep down in your heart. she will probably slam the phone down on me but it would still have been fun. too many years of proper upbringing is so constraining, and boring. *more eyes rolling*

no, i haven't. see how lame the answer will be if we don't speak our mind?

you really have to come. we have so much art supplies and canvases of all sizes.

you can't have a look and tell me? i'm pleading here, give me a break, won't you? you call this service?

no, i'm really busy. ya, i can hear the conversations in the background. you really have to get back to your chatting. *more more eyes rolling*

fineeeeeeee. so i made the trip there. all the wayyyyy there. her shop turned out to be half art supply and half copying-slash-photo-developing place. half! it wasn't even a proper art material shop. i could punch her. i seriously could. in the end all i did was gave her a pat on the shoulder. wished it was harder, for giving me the round around, but... (read the part above about all the years of proper upbringing). several hard smacks even, like trying to help her dislodge an imaginary bone stuck in her throat. that would have been satisfying. violent? you'll have to be in my shoes.

the conversation that followed wasn't really important because it was more of me not speaking my mind. i would have asked after her well being but i'm not inclined to curse. i would have done some of that eyes rolling, in her face!, but i'm too nice. please kindly note, if you only carry a few measly art item in the back of your photocopying shop, do not, i repeat, do not call yourself an art shop. my corner indian newspaper vendor carries more art items than you do.

i am too nice for my own good.

price of not paying attention to details

sometimes i think i am a man. or at least a man incarnated into this life. i do not pay attention to details. i do not retain tiny bits of information like most women do. for example, i do not remember what colour shoes i have at home, nor can i tell you what type i have. i know many women who can go into details, very minute details about the different types of shoes that they have living in their closet. ahhhhh, but i do have more than one pair of shoe. at least that part i have retained my feminity. it's more practicality than anything else. we really do need so many different types of shoes to go with our clothes.

another thing, i can't differentiate between the different shades of colour, like beige, cream, cosmic latte, eggshell, ivory, pearl. *rolls eyes* try arguing with a woman about the colour that she wants her wall to be painted and you will understand in a jiffy what i am saying. to me, they are all white! you want cosmic latte, and then when the sun shines on it, it turns out to be ivory! gasp!! whatever will you do? tear down your wall?!

i don't remember faces either, though i think that is more of a 'me' thing rather than a male thing. another tiny detail that i can't seem to remember is what's wrong with the clothes that i wear. i can never remember that the dark blue shirt needed to re-sew one loose button, the white dress is way too transparent or the turquiose dress is a little too low-necked, no matter how many times i have worn it. i don't think women, well normal women anyway, will forget things like this and end up fidgeting here and there trying to hide their all-too-showing knickers or pulling up the neckline, for the umpteenth time. i always remember at the wrong timing, and usually that's when i'm already out and about, that a certain clothing need a pin here, or to sew up there.

today, in a lesson never learnt, i wore something that is too short, too low and too bright. i tugged my dress down to make it less short... and more decent, which ended up pulling my already low neckline lower, giving the people having tea at coffee bean a big eyeful of my bra and probably causing a few to spurt their teas like water-spouting whales. i immediately pulled it back up, of course but unfortunately, the inconsiderate shopping centre doesn't dig holes in the ground for people who intends to hide in them, and so i walked nonchalantly passed, knowing very well that i do not know those people nor will i be seeing any of them anymore, so darn if i care. sigh, some people never learn. thank goodness that i have a fairly thick skin to compensate for that.

barb wires

"where is my bag?! are you trying to steal it from me and bring it home?"

those words were like barb wires piercing deep into my heart. coming from my nearest and dearest, the thorns twisted and turned deep into my vulnerability. i would never have expected those words to come forth from her mouth. never in a million years. she has never ever spoken like that to me.

in that very moment, i knew, i realise that she was in pain, in extreme frustration; about the things that could have been, should have been and the things that are. i understood. i sympathised, but it did not lessen the sting one bit. i have been with her almost round the clock for as many days as she needed me. i was there for her, when others weren't. i served, i helped, i anticipated, i listened. i gave of myself because i love, and never expected anything in return, least of all hurtful words.

still, i comprehended, and because i comprehended i let it flow in from one ear and out the other. i forgave her as soon as the words were uttered. four years down the road, i still remember. once in a blue moon, of the words uttered but not meant. it does not hurt. it does not mean anything. but it is still there, in my memory. i guess some things, once said, cannot be erased.