i was just struck by how sweet she is. that eyes. that face. she was just so pure.

as far as i can remember, i don't think i've ever been to an orphanage, especially one with disabled children. the very idea of it scares me. new place. new environment. new situation. i feel like someone who has some degree of cenophobia, but not merely new things. the very idea of seeing kids who are helplessly lying around, unable to change their lives, unable to do anything for themselves pulls me into greater depths of gloom. i am not one to bounce back easily from depressive mood swings and so i rather send my well-wishes through a third party or through our boys in the snail mail service all this while.

however, i can't let my fear and apprehension hold me back forever, or more importantly, i can't let my fear and apprehension hold me back on educating my kids. they need to see, they need to witness with their very own eyes other children who are less fortunate and they need to cultivate their generosity and emphaty. no lesson is greater than living it.

i've put off visiting the place for more than half a year, but it was something that i wanted to do this year. yesterday morning, we gathered all the toys that they no longer played with, the books that they no longer read and with some money that they have saved from their allowance, we finally visited the orphanage.

before i went, i was afraid my cynicism will spoil everything. my hardness, my aloofness, my apathy. will i be very unhappy afterwards? will i cry? will i know how to interact with them? do i have to pretend to be nice? if you've ever seen the sweet, soft-spoken, patient, gentle and kind type, you'll know that i'm not it. but i've always let things run in circles in my mind for too long and thought about things too much. i decided to just go with the flow this time. que sera sera.

when i walked into the office, my cynicism in full gear as usual, a little girl on the floor, flipping through her magazine, waved at me. she had on a very sweet smile. it was like a scene from a typical donor's account. having read so many people's similar story, i was like living in a play-act. scene one, take one. she waved at me again when i was talking to the person-in-charge. i left the others and went to talk to her for a little while. i just couldn't resist her smile. at first i didnt know whether to converse in english or chinese, but i realise it didn't really matter. i liked talking to her, eventhough she has no idea what i was saying and i have no idea what she was saying. she said something, which i interpreted to be asking my name. i pointed to myself and said my name and i asked her hers. i heard her repeating the last syllable of my name softly. she couldn't quite tell me hers. she is 16 but is almost the size of a 12 year old. i have no idea how old her IQ is. her back bents forward as she sits on the floor because she has some back bone deformity. i talked to her a little more, and flipped the magazine with her. the man told me that they call her 'girl-girl' and explained to me patiently about her condition and the progress that they have had with her. i believe.

i looked up and saw my mother standing in the corner, lost and waiting. i stood up to leave and bid 'girl-girl' farewell. she waved back in return. i don't really want to leave. i want to spend a little bit more time with the girl that stole my heart with her smile. i can't remember the last time i've seen another smile so pure, with no hidden agenda or complications. i hope i will be back.

goodbye 2011. 2012, can you hide in the corner and wait for a little while? i'm not quite ready to greet you yet.

2011 saw my eyesight taking a sudden turn for the worse. my hubby has jested that hyperopia will hit me when i turn 40. i was still shaking my head with laughter when i suddenly find myself holding my reading material 2 inches further. exactly at 40. it's like the warranty period on my eyes just ran out. sorry madam, you have hit 40, time for your eyes to start breaking down. and sorry, it's not covered in the warranty. you didn't realise that it was not under lifetime warranty? then you should have read the fine print, dummy. the worse part is, my myopia isn't too hot either. i guess they forgot to tell me that. i can't see near and i can't see far. so, stand in between when i talk to you, ok? maaaaaaybe it's reading late into the night on the ipad. or the long hours in front of the computer screen. or the television to unwind. i seem to be moving from one lighted device to another. still, it's a lifestyle and it's not something that can change just because we want to.

2011 saw me saying goodbye over and over and over and over again. things are finally changing. life is impermanent, i get it, but i suck so terribly at change. outside i am cool, aloof, undisturbed but inside the little me is kicking, screaming and holding on to wall corners to stop from being dragged on to the next chapter. friends, relatives and even my nephew who i have watched growing up with my very eyes are all moving on. if i were to maintain a semblance of rationality, i will know that their one step away is one step closer to their future, and perhaps i should be glad for them. but not unless you drug the emotional 'little me' first.

2011 saw me breaking little traditions. i didn't bring her daughter for trick-or-treating this year as a result of circumstance. i see others physically moving away, but i myself am unconsciously taking one step further. did time soothe the wound or am i just hiding and pretending that it does not exist? i find myself needing an excuse to visit. did i need one then?my christmas tree is shorter this year. honey, i shrunk the tree. instead of the usual 3 parts, i only put up 2, and only because my daughter insisted on it. reflective of my mood for the holiday season perhaps. new year's eve will also be quiet and different this year. used to be warm with friends coming over and chatting through the night into the new year. this year, with all of them gone, i feel a little piece of my energy, my spirit, also gone with them. all i want to do is crawl into warm cozy bed and cover my head with the blanket. but i will not. i will find new traditions.

2011 saw me lost my son for several minutes and reminded me not to be lackadaisical about his presence. 2011 saw me holidaying with friends. it matters not where, when, how, why or what. it is always the who. i am one who craves human interaction. the sound of friends chatting, or simply being present, are soothing to my soul. 2011 saw a lot of frustration. life is more complicated because of one person. i am tip-toeing around her presence so as not to spark any fire or cause any turbulent waves. perhaps outside, in the dynamic world, but not at home where life should not be so tiring. but i don't like to dawdle on such and i turn the page in a hurry.

2011 saw a lot of people moving on. that perhaps is how i should sum up the year. the year of moving on.

the person who gave me this

also gave me this

strangely, i'm more excited about the second gift than i am about the first. the feel of the paper. the smooth lined surface. the black sophisticated cover. pure empty pages. a fresh start for the fresh year. thinking of it makes me tingle.

the electronic photo frame, i have absolutely no idea what to do with it. it's just another thing occupying space. to actually put photos in and hook it up 24/7 means electricity and good money wasted. the power companies must be rubbing their hands with glee when the smartass inventor came up with the idea. i have another one just like that lying in a box at home, collecting layers after layers of dust. it seemed like a brilliant idea at first, but after the first two days, you remember the photos that you loaded and don't need to be reminded of it 24 hours 7 days a week.

so, i guess it must be really hard shopping for someone with a weird sense of priorities like me. i think simple is always better.

it's the very first time in my life that i've ever watched a football match from start to finish, without falling into a comatose state within the first five minutes. you can hardly blame me, the right left right left running up and down the field is like a hypnotic pendulum. the brain just turns off at the slightest suggestion of it.

i caught my very first live football match a few weeks ago. technically, we didn't really watch it to the full 90 minutes; we decided to leave 10 minutes earlier to avoid the other 39,996 people that would soon thunder after us like a huge herd of hungry wild boars. unfortunately, another 996 or so people had the same brilliant idea. i don't know if you have ever tried huge gathering of adrenalin-charged people but 996 people feels exactly the same as 39,996 people, especially within your immediate surrounding. you still get the push, the shove, the smelly armpits (thank goodness it was winter!) and the hot sticky stale air. it was still a mad rush to the nearest underground station, and we were still squashed closer than a tin of sardines inside the train. the people of london, i must say, are definitely more gentlemanly. my derriere and other body parts came off unharmed and unmolested despite the crazy squeeze.

anyway, back to the game. i am not, and have never been a football fan. i basically tune off when people discuss the game. some ladies watch football for the tall handsome players. me, i can't even keep up with where the ball went, forget about anything else that is above their quick skilful legs (er, let's keep our thoughts clean). i know that many are crazy, mental even, about the game. i can't find the passion within me. that night, however, i couldn't keep my eyes off the 22 players for even one minute. the whole atmosphere, the shouting, the sound of chairs clapping shut simulataneously when the crowd stands up to catch the action when they were attempting to score a goal, the singing, the pure exhiliration oozing from the air highly charged with energy. i've forgotten the last time something was so new and exciting for me. i can't tell who from who but watching them pass the ball from one to another, head butting it away from the goal, i was in total awe. as it lurked later into the night and the temperature drops even more, pulling on all my winter gears, and more, couldn't keep the chill away. trembling in my seat, rubbing my gloved hands together to keep warm, the crowd chanting and singing, bright stadium light making everything seem surreal. it's definitely one for the memory chest.

it's that time of the year again. merry cheer, disillusionment, wariness and all that the season calls. time to fish out the cheque book and go through who is naughty or nice. not for well-behaving nieces and bratty nephews but wading through the humongous pile of letters that i have received and accumulated from charity organisations throughout the year.

life would be simpler if everybody was honest, if you get what you see. everybody knows right from wrong, yet they manage to exercise some kind of logic from practising what is correct, some kind of contorted delusion that they are virtuous. charity is such big money that all types of pests and scum hide themselves behind the apron, portraying themselves to be wondrous mother teresa's out to save the world. it's sad, it's pathetic that some will take money meant for others in greater need, and i wonder if there is any karma for them in the end, but that is just how the world turns.

some donation letters came in colourful glossy papers, pages after pages thick. the stamp and printing alone would have fed a few more mouths for the year. one purported to be contributing to third world countries; water and sanitation for cambodia, indonesia and.....malaysia. i have always thought that our government was doing that, albeit not the best job in the world, but i now learn that a well-known international organisation is canvassing for donations so that you and i can have better sanitation and water. no wonder everybody doesn't pay indah water. others do nothing more than visit international schools in the name or promoting education. what little they do is not strange, but to actually show it in the newsletter is a little strange. the least they could do was grab some sad looking children from the streets and take some pity-wrenching photos with them.

charitable organisations sprout like mushrooms, purportedly representing the blind, the disabled and the handicapped in malaysia. what have they done? where do the money go? everybody wants to be seen helping the needy, cream of the society heading the trustees of the board, datuks and datins acting as patrons of charities, lending a sense of credibility to its name. don't kid yourself that the rich do not cheat. each year you turn a little more cynical, a little more jaded with the things you learn, with the things you see. still, pages of the cheque books are torn, names scribbled and envelopes addressed. for the little that you can do, whether to assist the needy or simply appease your mind.

the things that they don't tell you. that your heart will break when your daughter's do. that you can't smile and the day is so gloomy when she is crying in her heart. nobody tells you that motherhood is so tough. it's not enough that you had to go through all the heartbreak, nose stuffed from all the crying into pillows and loneliness the first time round, now you have to live through it all again through your flesh and blood. if only i could hold her close, if only i could tell her that it's ok, that they'll be many more heartbreak to come but in the end she'll find the perfect one. but she never tells me stuffs, so how can i tell her back? thus my heart weighs heavy in my chest. fathers have it so easy, they are forever lost in the world of their own, does he even know?

cinderella can not eat. wise people say that when the elderly cannot eat, their time is near. it's inevitable, we all know. she has been claiming that she is going to die for more than a decade now and yet she had lived strong. now, suddenly we don't hear her profess as often, but her thin body says it all.

whenever i receive news such as this, i always ask myself the same question: has she ever been close to me, as if to summarise all our interaction in a lifetime with but one answer, and to gauge how much it will hurt this time. as if it can be so easily foretold. she was somebody to me, yes, but she wasn't exactly the type i fantasised. she never held me by the hand and led me to the park, never spent hours telling me stories, both fabled and real, she never bothered about my life, never asked beyond 'where are they now' and she never knew me at all. but still, she was somebody to me. she brought me cookies and candies whenever she visited, and i think she was the best somebody to me in the way that she knew how.

the last year has been less than lucid, and answers were as readily replaced by the same questions, again and again. yet i did not feel the tinge of annoyance like all others. i don't know why. i just felt comforted. perhaps, sitting there beside her, i could sense her grasping on, trying to still care, trying to hold on to the meaning of our words. and perhaps it was because she WAS still seating there beside me, in flesh and blood, and i could touch her cold hands that it felt right. i just wished that others had loved her as much and was as kind to her. it will only be too soon before their turn will come. if only others can also understand that, and spare the harsh loud words, and look at her one more time before she is gone. if only they can remember what she had done, her kind words, her generosity, her love, and smiled at her one more time, held her hand one more time before the sun sets.

when you give someone $14 to pay a bill, and that someone banks in $20 into the utility company's account at the nearest bank, forking out another $6 from his (yes, the male sex *rolls eyes*) pocket, simply because he can bank in through the automated teller machine, and then doesn't mention even one syllable of it, not even a peep, but quietly returns the bank-in slip to you, what can you call him? self-motivated? generous?

so many names spring to my mind, but i'll just call him ....an idiot! not everyone should exercise their brain, least of all those who do not have the entire picture and think too highly of themselves. i have a hundred reasons why his thoughtless and lazy action have messed up things but at this point in time, it doesn't really matter. all i can do is sigh, grumble in this blog, and go about with my rectification operation. it started out as a very simple instruction. take the money. pay at the utility company. return the bill. the ways that it can turn out however is countless. it just goes to show that a mind's a dangerous thing. if everybody in this world started exercising their power of independent thinking, without first having all the facts in hand, we will all be in chaos.

every year i hear it, from different mouths and different places; we're apes to mimic the cultures of our western counterparts, halloween has no place in the pages of our lives. it's a little sad when you think of it, how these people have closed their minds to possibilities, formed judgements before partaking and shut the door to their hearts. it's pointless to argue about assimilation of cultures and introduction of new experiences. when people have closed their mind their ears are seldom open.
i've celebrated halloween for close to a decade now, and i don't know at which point of time it qualifies to be labelled as my culture. it started out as an excuse for a get-together of close friends with little kids, and nothing spells more fun than good food, a safe warm place to hang around and chat and an excuse to dress up for treats. seriously, what other time can you dress up in whatever your imagination fabricates? please don't start telling me stories of what happens in your bedroom behind closed doors, that is another matter altogether. we've had french maid, queen amidala from star wars, school girl, mickey mouse, 60's a-go-go girl, pirate and a whole long list of imaginary characters. we've done it through clear night skies and heavy rain. we've done it through our galoshes, umbrellas and mosquito repellants. every year, with an array of delicious food that each has contributed to the dinner table, we took a little time off to sit down, catch up with good friends and let our hair down for a little while. from my place, to my cousin's, back to my own on last sunday night.

the little one has his final year exams this week and so we couldn't carry out our annual trick-or-treating without him exchanging all his candies for the lessons in his brain. we decided to stay home and partake in the quiet affair that was going on in our block of apartment. a few households have signed up for trick-or-treating and we were one of them. came the bewitching hour, i dressed up in my white cloak, messed up my hair and "floated" out to greet the little ones who were ringing the bell for some candies. i was trying my hardest to keep on the scary solemn look whilst reaching my hand out beyond the grill door to beckon them closer. after they left, and behind the closed doors, i was jumping around with glee, like the madness  that i am. lol. you don't know the thrill of being able to act scary and frighten the little ones without their mothers thumping on your head with a frying pan until you have tried it yourself.

so, really, when you say it isn't in your culture, do you mean it's not in your culture to let your hair down for a little while and have some fun?

many many years ago, never in my wildest dream will i dare to imagine that i will one day be able to have lunch with him. just that hand's length away from him, talking about casual things in life, chatting, joking and laughing. once upon a time, my dream was just to be able to find him again and know how life has been for him, if he went on to become the doctor of his ambition and whether his eyes still twinkled like so. that dream came true, someone found his contacts and i thought that was where the story ended. but sometimes the powers that be smile kindly down at me.

that day, that lunch was more than i could ever ask for. actually, it was the second lunch. the first, some years back, was too ackward, too forced, too unreal. it left me with many regrets. this time round, maybe because i was caught off-guard by his eleventh-hour invitation, i had no time whatsoever to run it through my head. i'm usually better when i don't use my over-analytical head :-p

lunch was simple, the conversation casual. we talked about our lives, past and present. perhaps it was age that mellowed me. what struck me was that he seemed to understand. that it was easy talking to him. i guess some things never change, no matter how many years in between. i can't even remember clearly the things that happened, many memories have been erased with time. i doubt he can remember too. we were both too young. whilst he was my first puppy love, sweet and memorable, i was nothing more than a passing fancy. still, it was alright. it didn't really matter. life is about our memories, our feelings. just because it was not earth-shattering and deeply etched in the heart for him, it does not make the memory any less sweeter.

what that one and me had was sweet memory. and now, a casual friendship. neither wants anything more. i want to say a word of thanks, but only in my heart. thank you for staying so pure and good. thank you for staying you.

shovelled the older one out of bed today to keep me company for my sporadic 30-minute morning walk around the neighbourhood. i never did like the leery stares from strangers that hang around by the side of the road for no apparent reason than to freak you out with their trailing looks. maybe i am just delusional when released into the wild.

barely 2 minutes into our walk, we strolled straight into a dense fog. right in the early morning sun, a fog out of nowhere, so thick that you can barely see beyond. it would have sounded like a scene from a ghost movie if not for the smothering fume of pest control spray.. despite holding our breath and using our shirt as a filter when our breath could no longer hold out, we couldn't help but inhale some of the toxic fumes. why they are carrying out the spraying during rush hour peak traffic time when most people are on the streets, i assume they are trying to reduce the population of pests, as well as human residents, in the area to improve traffic conditions.

barely 15 minutes into our walk, we made a planned (hers, not mine) detour into the neighbourhood big M for her breakfast. i get the vague feeling that i have been conned from the word go. my morning exercise is very rapidly turning into a stroll to get her favourite breakfast. she settled on her breakfast menu in a jiffy; sausage mcmuffin (without egg), one milo ice and a cup of hot coffee for dear ole mummy to sip on whilst the little bunny gnaw at her food at the speed of grass growing.

apparently, mcd doesn't have 'service with a smile' on the menu anymore. we were offered it's latest introductory menu instead: 'service with a scowl'. there was some friday fashion thing going on: the man stacking the utensils was wearing a shocking pink plastic party hat whilst the fries man was wearing bunny ears. the lady behind the counter serving us was wearing the latest face-black-like-the-bottom-of-a-pan look from paris' winter fashion look. whilst we were halfway through saying our order, she turned her attention to her colleague. i looked straight into her eyes but it didn't bother her one bit. perhaps she's used to getting stares from people. our order turned into one sausage mcmuffin, with egg of course and the coffee turned into a cup of tea. they do magic with mcd breakfast now too! quickly we took a table and started on breakfast before she started pulling a rabbit out of the milo. no drama whatsoever. i seem to mellow with age.

the walk back took another 10 minutes. my half hour morning exercise turned out to be a one and a half hour outing with 25 minutes of exercise and almost an hour of dawdling in between. the day didn't turn out as expected but it was still a good break from the monotony. daughter and i had a nice time together to add to our little memory bank. this is probably the first and last time she will wake up at 8am to have a walk with me.

i remember there was a time when her gift was the most precious thing ever. a beautiful glossy-paged story book from london with the most amazing pictures. i can't remember the name of the book, nor do i have the book anymore, but i still remember the awe and wonderment when i flipped the pages. a book like that was rare and a real treat to the eight year old me. my shelves were lined with enid blytons in black and white and pages so coarse you could sand the table. so, to the little girl back then, it was the most beautiful book in my possession.

now, so many years later, a branded handbag worth so much more than that book echoes with emptiness. is it because she didn't mean to give it to me but only upon seeing that i was around, sent someone to scurry down to her car to retrieve it that the sincerity is absent? i can't help but think that there are many more such gifts of convenience sitting comfortably in the back boot. or is it because it is not the first time?

has she changed? or have i changed? or is it because the time, the place and our roles have changed? life was simpler when a gift was just a gift and not innuendos of intention. perhaps, it has always been, and my mind was too childish to recognise it. then again, aren't all gifts a tool for exchange of your affection? so why should i look at this with a more cynical viewpoint that the others? perhaps because this was not an attempt at my favourable consideration. perhaps because this was more.

i know i shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, just in case i find things there that i do not like. a gift is a gift, whatever the intention. i should take it as that and be grateful for the things that are given. sigh. it's easier to be grateful when the things are less materialistic, and comes with less attachments. a simple hand-drawn card, a sweet text message, a voice of concern when you need it, a hug from a friend......these things touch me more.

somewhere in my closet, i have a bag. beautiful as it may be, i am reluctant to look at it.

i wish i am less of an idiot.

facebook is the place where we can get all excited about finding friends that we have lost for many decades, names that we can barely remember and faces that have changed so much since we last laid eyes. it's really an invention that should win the praise of millions, just like steve jobs, only nobody is ever grateful for things that are still around. there is also the fact that millions of manpower hours are lost on cooking food we will never get to eat, farm produces that are only virtual and will never help the world poverty and poking people for no apparent reason than to remind others that we are still alive. those annoying parts perhaps we do not need.

through facebook, i've found many old friends, and many old friends have found me. people that have coursed through my mind on and off over the last few decades, i am finally able to look at their family photos, their vacation pix and know how they are faring now. it's like being able to scratch an itch somewhere deep inside, a peek at the pages that come after the 'happily ever after'. however, after the initial euphoria has died, you slowly realise, wonderful as it may be to finally see your best friends when you were in school, interesting as it may be to see how some of them have changed, that these people are actually strangers to you now. you may remember all too clearly some of the conversations that took place then, but it is no longer the same person that you befriended again on facebook. the little boy with the sweetest smile who had a crush on you for the longest time is now cold and distant after an unhappy divorce. the little girl whom you spent every school hour side by side with is a pleasant and sweet acquaintance at best. the friendships that you have lost to time, it is lost forever. if you turn back to look, nothing stands in place. only emptiness, a memory of what had been and a smile in reminiscent.

a few days ago, i had lunch with someone from the distant early chapters of my life, someone i knew since i was 11 years old but rarely had much contact in between. i started by asking him a very simple question, which seemed to have confounded him; perhaps he was reading too much into it. does he know me at all? undoubtedly we have all changed over the years, and he does not know me now, but did he know me then? a strange question perhaps.

i tried to remember if i knew him then. faint memories fluttered by. guitar strumming melodies that i did not hear. long calls that lasted into the night. letters that have evaporated with time. laughters and voices. the cheekiest and brightest grin. i looked up from across the table and the grin was still there. those were the past but did i really know him? his principles, his values, his desires and his ideas? i shake my head a little, as if to clear up the cobwebs and dislodge memories tucked in some corner of the brain. i didn't know much of him, but i knew him. he was a nice guy. he is still a nice guy. someone with the correct values and principles, whatever they be. someone whom you can rely on and talk to. someone who is a friend.

apparently, people from thailand eat bugs. cicadas, crickets, cockroaches, beetles, bamboo worms, silk worms and ant eggs. they fry them crispy and brittle and they are just like your favourite crisps or pretzel. goes wonderfully with beer.

well, we all kind of knew that. so, that's nothing new. but what i wonder is whether thai people really buy bugs from their neighbourhood market every week and eat them as part of their healthy wholesome diet everyday, or is this some huge gimmick to attract gullible tourists. for all you know, each time you buy one pound of those stuff, they are laughing so hard inside that they want to roll on the floor whilst pointing at you, and saying 'you guys really fell for that?'

i have some friends from thailand, and frankly speaking, when they visit i really don't see them salivate whenever a cockroach run past or hear the sound of crickets at night. i have also never seen them put anything that resembles such matter in their mouth. so, when you say thais eat cockroaches and crickets, how many percent of the population are you really talking about? 0.01? 0.00001? and how often are they eating it? whenever the blue moon pops up? i want hard convincing data. not that i'm going to pop one of those things in my mouth anytime soon. there's a reason they are known as pests. they are not your everyday poultries and sea products.

i put this theory to my cousin when she told me about thais eating these stuffs and she looked at me as if i was some crazy delusional maniac. but really, do most of the thais eat this everyday as part of their meal?

i'm gullible, but not that gullible.

please excuse me whilst i grumble and bemoan, for what use is a blog if not to unload all the crap that you pick up in your day.

all i want is gas. simple, not that sweet smelling, natural gas. sometimes, when things are going your way, all your have to do is drop by the nearest gas shop, fill in a few forms, pay the money, make an appointment and mr. gas guy will come a-hooking up your gas connection. IF things are smooth sailing and your good karma meter is right to the top.

life for me is never that straightforward. character building i think they called it (rolls eyes). it started out just like everybody else, but when mr. gas guy came knocking, he said that the piping from the wall is not long enough to connect and i will need to contact miss management. which of course i did in a jiffy, and miss management promised to have it done in a jiffy. jiffy, in case you haven't looked at the dictionary for a very long time, means to forget about it and leave it for a couple of months. so, i harassed miss management some more and one fine day, she waved her wand and it was fixed. naturally, the next step was to make another appointment with mr. gas to get him to swagger his bottom over to connect the gas. i must give credit to mr. gas guy because he always call when you ask him to. nicely, of course.

so, mr. gas guy came today and connected the gas. hey presto, and i have fire. definitely easier than our ancestors, the caveman. the fire, however, was too small to cook with and pretty much too small to do anything with but stare at it and go 'ooooooo' and 'ahhhhhhh', like grandpa caveman. mr. gas guy said it was miss management's fault. she needs to modify the nozzle. let's skip the technical bits because i wasn't really interested on the how, why, what and when. i just wanted the solution. anyway, mr. gas guy said miss management will fix the problem, again, and they will come back after that. sigh. this sounds like a never ending story.

i called miss management, and she said that it wasn't her fault. it was mr. stovetop's fault. i have to call mr. stovetop directly and he will come and modify the nozzle, free of charge. after some sweet-talking and whimpering, miss management said she will call mr. stovetop herself, explain the problem and get them to call me. sounds like the beginning of another horror story. i don't get. the same problem probably applies to all the units there. why didn't they just get someone to come in and fix the piping AND the modifying in the very first place, instead of waiting for each resident to call them individually and settle the case one at a time. can you imagine how much petrol, car trips, manhours and time are wasted just for one simple thing? each installation takes so many trips by so many people but yet nobody does anything about it until they are asked. sigh. malaysia at it's best i want to say, but i'm told this happens the world over.

so, anyway, to end the story, mr gas guy then tells me that they can do the job. you probably want to clobber him with the head at his point, or at least i do. the catch is that it will cost me, instead of foc by mr stovetop. if you want to wait for mr. stovetop to call you, wait for them to turn up for their appointment, wait for them to actually modify it, call mr. gas guy and wait for another appointment again, wait for them to turn up again and wait for them to solve the rest of it. and you wonder why there is progress is slower in this part of the world. my head of hair is growing whiter as we speak. i do want gas sometime this century.

what can you do but pay the bugger? well, if you look at it one way, it's efficiency - helping you to solve other people's problem. another way to look at it is....thief!! do you get the feeling that mr stovetop, mr gas and miss management is in this whole big conspiracy? at $45 per unit, i think that they are raking up a fair bundle and enjoying abalone every night.

with all these running around, albeit not physically, who needs exercise? :-p

today is 14th october 2011. it's a very special day. i need to mark it down in huge red letters on my calendar so that i will remember each year's 14th october. today is known as the international-everybody-ignore-me day. hurray!! yippee!!! break out the balloons and champagne and we'll have a grand party!!

no emails get answered. no sms receive a reply. i think it's the way the stars, moon and the earth are aligned today. i'm invisible today. i sent one person 2 smses, but he ignored me until i called him up and press him for a reply. i called another 3 times and she promises to send me a form by email, but until now.............4.09pm, i'm still waiting. i've been waiting since early morning. i've sent a few other texts but apparently they've been re-directed to the bermuda triangle. i've got a list (yes, i'm getting old and i need many of those) of 11 people who have not come back to me despite my many haunting reminders. sigh. i don't blame them. i blame the world, the stars and the galaxy. today is not a good day for working. and so, i shall be getting off work now.

i will also not be working on the 14th october of every year! :-p so bite me!

tired of scrolling down and looking at beautiful women yet? (who am i kidding!?!?!)

anyway, let me tell you a story......

once upon a time, very very long ago, in a faraway land known as The Kingdom of Doongoos, there lived a very famous bag designer. Back then, there wasn't any job vacancy for bag designers because people carried their belongings with them in a piece of cloth, or hide, tied up with a knot and held up by a piece of stick.

i've even included an illustration for those lacking imagination. what a nice little blogger i am. as you can see, there wasn't really any need for a bag designer like him. he was a man ahead of his times. so, he was really more known as 'the-crazy-guy-who-goes-around-sketching-silly-little-animal-skin-thingy". quite a long name, i am sure you will agree, but that's how people back then give out names, so who are we to argue.

anyway, this little guy has a lot of pent-up frustration and anger, because his creativity and ingenuity was not recognised. trapped in his little dark cave, holed up with all the animal skin, he finally went berserk and wanted to carry out revenge on mankind. (insert crazy mad-scientist kind of laughter)

the little guy spent days and nights, and nights and days, and days and nights, well you get the picture, drawing and sketching, sketching and drawing....and then drawing and sketching some more. he finally came up with the masterpiece, the creation to end all creation, his tool for retaliation on all who mocked him!

are you curious what he came up with? wait, let me google for the illustration again.......

a handbag! ahhhhhhhhhhhh, not just any handbag mind you. a handbag with a handle that is too short for you to carry on your shoulder, and yet too long for you to hold on your hand. so, how do you carry it around? yes, like the beautiful ladies you were oogling over at the very top of the post, in a frozen v-shaped-arm manner! like a mannequin that escaped from the shop window.

in his crafty and cunning manner, he made every person who carried them look silly; one arm hooked upward in  an awkward manner and the hand, empty waving around listlessly in the air. some try to hide the gawkiness by holding something in that hand; a handphone, a piece of tissue or a wallet, whilst others perfect the technique by holding their hand out elegantly like the queen, waiting for her subjects to kiss her hand. sticking out the last pinky is optional, depending on how delusional you are.

he sold the idea with such success that the ladies loved it immediately, and it carried on throughout the ages. nobody noticed anything wrong with the design and women scrambled over each other to get a piece of his designs. until this day and age, if you look closely you can still see some of his works on the street. and if you see one, just remember that little crazy man, eons of years ago, gloating and laughing wickedly, screaming in his dark cold wet cave......."REVENGE IS SO SWEEEEEEEEEET!"

apparently, at age 40, your father still dictates what you should and should not wear to dinner.

sigh.

doesn't it just incense you? well, it certainly does to me. burns me so deep that i just couldn't resist exploding here.

just received a mail from someone i know. a mail in our national tongue, complete with pictures of this poor little 4 year old child who is in the hospital who needs our most heart-wrenching financial assistance. the poor child's head is fixed in position with metal nails all round to keep it still so as not to hurt the neck further. he is suffering from a weak neck as a result of down syndrome. a most distressing picture, one that you cannot look at long without feeling depressed.

i am cynical, no doubt, but i remember someone saying somewhere that sometimes it's better to be deceived rather than to ignore. to believe that there could be a chance that it is a lie but still extend your assistance rather than sit back and be cynical and lose the opportunity to help. strange thing is that there is no mention whatsoever of where to donate the funds. no account number, no bank name. only the poor little boy's name. so, how exactly are you suppose to help? how are those heart-wrenching pictures circulated all over the internet suppose to help this child?

apparently, by forwarding the mail, you can contribute 1 sen. hello?!?!! how gullible can people be? how can anybody get any money, much less 1 sen, by hundreds and thousands of people circulating mail? i've seen so many examples of chain letters but i think this must take the cake in being the most shallow, most despicable, most contemptable. hurray, you win a title, whoever you are! you must be gloating in your seat. how can anybody ever circulate such a post in the hope of making it into a heart-wrenching chain letter? whatever happened to scruples and morals? forget that! whatever happened to human decency? whoever can exploit this situation must really be the bottomest of the scums.

searching through the internet, there is indeed this poor little child, whose case was disseminated all the way in 2008. that was 2 years ago. somehow, i don't think that poor child is still in that same position all these years. either he has gone for the surgery, or he hasn't. all these years and people are still circulating his photos. i wonder how does he feel about that? how will you feel to have your photos plastered all over the internet? for nothing more than just milking the pity cow.

the person who started the chain-letter is so despicable, but what of those that plainly forwarded them without giving it a second thought except to rid yourself of the guilt of not being able to do anything, or perhaps to cocoon yourself from such bad things happening to your own loved ones. this denial, this lack of responsibility for the things that you send to others, is what kept this mail circulating for 2 years.

dear people, please read and think before you hit the send button. this mail did nothing more than milk people of their emotions and serve no purpose except to.

i know i'm anal by nature, but i didn't realise just how much so until i decided to google the proper way of using a paper clip. huh? did i lose you there? how many ways can there be to use a paper clip, right? well, hundreds, it will seem, or so google tells me. lest you forget there was the trade paper clip for a house story but that's not the point of mine. i'm talking about really using the paper clip as it should be; to hold papers together.

you arrange the papers and then you just shove the thing in. what gets under my skin is that some people use it with the small curve facing up, whilst i usually use it with the big curve facing up. you can really get the gist of how anal i am now, right? well, the thing with sticking the small curve up is that the curved tip goes inwards towards the paper, making it impossible to add a new piece of paper to the stack, unless you take out the clip again and re-clip it. it probably doesn't happen to other people much but i seem to wasting many minutes of my life taking out paper clips and re-clipping them just because some other people are not using the paper clip right. however, as i am not the authority on the proper way to use a paper clip, i decided to consult my best friend in the whole wide world; mr google.

it took me a little bit of searching because who else will also be so weird as to post something on the proper way to use a paper clip, but nevertheless, hard work pays off. however, i don't think i was quite prepared for what i found.

that one continuous piece of metal has 10 parts!!!! (just in case you can't hear it, this is the part where you visualise my jaw hitting the floor)

i will bet that you were yawning at this boring post a few seconds ago, but what do you know, you learn something new every single day. as long as there are weird obsessive people like me around you. lol. so, coming back to the proper way to use a paper clip, it will seem that the moon loop, which is the longer curve, is meant to "ensure the rear-side of the paper does not slide backwards", which means that the long curve should face the back!

i have been getting it wrong all these years and being pissed off at others when they are right. still, i wasn't convinced. how can someone design something so that you can't add more papers in without removing the clip and re-clipping it again? aha!! (that's where the light bulb above my head lights up in 1500kw) that's when i discovered that this little paper clip is really a nifty design. the person who designed it really is ingenious.....or are we really dumb for not knowing how to use it. paper clips should come with an instruction manual as thick as a phone book :-p

if you hold the paper clip with the short curve facing you, then proceed to attach it to the paper, you will have the curved point facing out, which means you will have absolutely no problem in adding more papers to the pile. however, if you are holding the paper clip with the long curve facing you, and attempt to attach the paper clip so that the short curve faces the front, then the pointed tip of the short curve will face inwards to the paper, making it almost impossible to add another paper to the front page. if you don't get my dribble, just play around with your paper clip and you will get it!!

so, now, not only do i know how to properly use the paper clip, i also know the names of the different parts of the paper clip. who am i kidding? besides the moon loop which i paid attention to, i didn't really bother about the other parts. still, that's one part more than almost everybody else. :-p see? you really learn something new when you read my blog!! :-D believe me, it's not something that you will be able to google for anywhere else in the world wide web! (insert reader's feeling of privilege here) :-p

by the way, i think the above is only relevant for triangular paper clips, which i think was invented just to annoy the hell out of me :-p

however, what really blows me away, is not the design of the paper clip, nor the proper or inproper use of it, but really how totally anal i am!

i do not know, i am at a lost. there is no manual to living your life, you learn as you go and do the best that you can do. but why is there no manual to life? billions of people have lived their lives, billions more have documented them. why is there none that teach us the best way forward? why is there none that can teach me what to do?

i had a dream when i was pregnant, i had a hope. it was exciting being able to create something, someone, whose character, looks and behaviour are waiting to be molded by your very hands. daunting definitely, but finally i can put out there something that is right, something that is good. i can teach my child to be the best that she / he can be, to be a good person.

two kids, two very different characters. the same person teaching. why are they turning out to be two very contrasting person with opposing values and principles? i've taught the little one, not one time, not two times, but so many that i have lost count, copious that i am repeating myself like a broken record, endless that i am beginning to grow tiresome, values that i know to be correct. don't lie. don't be lazy. don't leave things until the last minute. don't take things that belong to others. don't be unwilling to work for what you want. don't take things and people for granted. don't waste things. values that form the very core of who you are and what you become. principles that are the skeleton of your character. but it's not sticking.

what am i doing wrong? if he was a piece of blank white paper to begin with, what he turns out to be should be what i have imprinted on it. yet he is turning out to be totally different from what i have written. if monkey does what monkey sees, we have tried our very best to talk the talk and walk the walk. we are nothing like what lies before my eyes. what can i do? where have i gone wrong? it is most frustrating that there is nothing in life that can answer my questions. the one thing that means the most to me, the one thing that is of any importance, and i am not doing it right. there is no going back, there is no second chance. i need to bring up my child into an adult with the correct principles. but not everything that you want to do so very badly means that you can do. i do not know how to do. no books in the world can tell me. no brochure, no class, no website in the world so big. each person is so different. please tell me what will work for him. everyday is one day wasted.

i have never brought up a son. for all i know, they reach a certain age and then they understand. the light bulb lights up over their head, their brain matures and all of a sudden, they know. what is right and what is not. what is important and what is smoke. but can i afford to leave that to chance? can i look back and just say that i have done my best and sigh resignedly? this child of mine, my very flesh and blood. how will i ever be able to look him in the eyes if so?

such is the anchor that weighs in a mother's heart.

some think that i do not have a story to tell, that life is peaches and that the world is my orchard. Looking through from the other side of the glass, my life is short of nothing but perfect.

I do not deny that i wake up every day thanking the powers that be that i have my most prized possessions in the whole wide world; my loved ones close and safe and that is my only pre-requisite for a perfect world. however, everyone has stories to tell, be it dramatic or mundane. how can one go through life never touching others, never being touched.

i have stories to tell but i have none i can tell.

if you are my friend, won't you tell me what is it that is so wrong with me? if i know what is wrong, i can at least try to change. but if i don't even know what is wrong, where do i even begin?

i wonder

sometimes i wonder, is there some inherent fault within me? am i someone that leaves a poor taste in the mouth of others? maybe at times insincerity leaks through and others are painfully aware of the high walls that i put up. not insincere, i don't think, but cold most certainly; guarded and perhaps protected. i do not reveal my innermost feelings, or opinions, to say the least. why should i? most people are not interested in what i really think or do, they are only interested in the reflection of their mind and action. i am no longer twelve or twenty-one, i cannot afford to speak my mind and act like a rash teenager. life has consequences. but surely, being amiable and pleasant is not displeasing?

i promised an elderly woman two weeks ago to accompany her for an errand. i told her from the very start that i could only make it 2 weeks later, when there is a comfortable lapse in my schedule. 2 weeks down the line, i texted her early in the morning to fix the date for tomorrow. she called me in the afternoon, to say that she was already on the way to run the errand. it left me with a very funny feeling. did i do something wrong? or am i thinking too much? if 2 weeks was too long a time to wait, she wouldn't have waited until that very day to go. if she didn't want my company, she wouldn't have responded so warmly to my suggestion that i accompany her. yet, she chose not to reply to my message until she is finally on her way.

another friend was moving back to her hometown, after staying in the city for more than 15 years. i asked her to give me a call before she moves back, thinking that we can have a last farewell dinner before she leaves. one day i suggested having dinner, in anticipation of her upcoming birthday. she texted back to say that she was leaving the next day. again i was left crestfallen. she's leaving without informing me at all, and not giving me any time to say my last goodbyes. did she not want to see me one last time? has our friendship turned unpleasant without my realising? exactly what am i doing wrong again and again that people are turning away from me? someone please tell me!!

i just don't understand it. at times like this, i miss having a best friend, a sister, someone to open up my heart and analyse the situation for me. someone to tell me what i did wrong and to see it all from a bystander's viewpoint. perhaps it is because i never had such a person in my life that over time, i find i cannot open up to any single soul and can only voice out my true feelings in black and white. someplace hidden, so that others can not see. it has been a lonely journey, but life such as it is, goes on.

my world is a quieter place recently. the days go on and the nights rush forward but it is less one warm friendly voice. one familiar friendship made comfortable by decades of interaction. one closeness that cannot easily be replaced.

a friend has moved away. i feel like it is the beginning of the end. we do not share the kind of friendship that sees girls bowing their heads close together in laughters over a secret shared, or chattering non-stop on gossips of others, because neither of us is like that. we do not talk to each other for weeks on end, sometimes months. yet the knowledge that the other is around, a phone call away, is more than comforting; it's assuring, for want of a better word. it's knowing that a friend will always be around. someone who has your back, someone you can trust. sadly, in this time and world, we cannot say that as often as we will like. how many 20-year friendships can you cultivate in a lifetime?

so many times we have spent counting down the hours to the end of the year and the minutes riding up to the new one; what started out as impromptu has turned into a ritual of sort. waiting for the clock to tick to midnight, trying hard to keep awake, initially just the few of us in the dark quiet night has evolved into a small party to say goodbye to an old year and welcome in the new one. spending the last few hours with someone you care about, it brings a glow to the heart and a meaning to the new year. it is saying, 'it's alright that the year has passed so fast, it's ok that i didn't do all the things i said i wanted to, i had a friend with me'.

this year it won't be the same. this year it will be a lot quieter. i don't want to see the same waiting up for midnight, the same counting down, the same street party and not have that friend beside me. i don't want to start the year with sad memories. i will need to be making plans to spend the new year in a new place and a new environment.

do you believe in a miracle?

apparently i've asked that same question five years ago, for the same person, in the same situation.

the answer remains the same. i never did. very long ago, i've given up on supernatural events happening, once-in-a-lifetime marvels, just because you want it to so badly. bad things happen to good people, so deal with it. that's life and my black-tinted glasses view on it.

yesterday, someone fed me a little piece of hope. something i will never dare to conceive on my own. i could feel the wings of expectation flutter a little in my stomach. not enough to break through my thick walls of cynicism. could it be more wishful thinking on the part of the bearer of news? but yet i saw with my very own eyes the smile that greeted me, the eyes that turned slowly in my direction. was that for real or conjured up by more wishful thinking on my part.

i remembered tears falling a very long time ago, which i had to ultimately resign to involuntary body functions. too much time has passed. i had given up and accepted the fact. now someone is telling me that it's alright to hope for it again. the smile of a friend. the warmth of her sound. do i dare to even imagine? the echoes in my brain answer 'only in your dreams' ..........but i want to hope. i want to believe. i want to wait.

give me the strength to believe once again.

not knowing when to quit

the frustrating thing about life is not knowing the ending. not the final goodbye, which is inevitable, but the endings of certain stories. like whatever happened to certain friends in your distant past. or what happened to certain things that you have misplaced. it's not like a fiction story which has a proper beginning, and a proper ending to tie up loose ends. whether the good guy wins in the end, or the bad guy triumphs, such is the satisfaction of losing oneself in novel. there is an ending.

i was most frustrated for months when things started to disappear. besides being shovelled with all the blame which i had no way to prove one way or the other, it was most frustrating (there is no other word in thesaurus that can substitute frustrating because frustrating is ........well, so frustrating. be prepared to hear this word over and over and over again :-p) to not know what happened. where did the car key go? what happened to the document? where is our wedding tapes? yes. i am someone who can lose my wedding video tapes. so sue me :-p it's frustrating enough without that shocked look on your face, so let's swiftly proceed.

it's not like i'm leaving things in the most inappropriate of places. no phones in the shower cubicle, no wallet in the rice bins and no car keys in the freezer. i don't have alzheimer....yet. i leave them where they should be.....usually. but they disappear. that's the frustration that i am talking about. when you just want to hit your head against the wall because you will never know what ever happened to it. not for your entire lifetime. doesn't that just gnaw at you somewhere?

well, life is usually fair. even for us hardcore cynic. over time, after months of knocking your head on the wall, baring impossible circumstances, things that disappear will turn up .....one day. maybe's it's just me, maybe life likes to play with me like that, but my stories do sometimes have endings. like the document that was slipped between other documents. and like last night, the car key that was found between the gaps of the car seat. and with that my long-lost innocence is uncovered. justice pao would have glowed with pride. i can hear all the ooooooo and ahhhhhhhhh from his court. i can finally discard my scapegoat skin. and yes, i am broadcasting with glee. the satisfaction of having an ending AND having my innocence restored. so that i can rub it in for decades to come. :-p :-p life is sometimes good.

now, i just need to know where the damn video tapes went.

just when you think you know it all, just when you believe you can scatter a few seeds of wisdom to others, you have to go right back to the very first rung of the ladder and begin again. such is life.

i forgot how to eat. i forgot how to drink.

i'm re-learning how to live my life again, from the very basic steps of eating and drinking. something that i've taken for granted that i know from the very moment i took my first breath outside the womb, but over time i've done it all wrong. a basic instinct for survival yet i don't know how to do it, and i'm paying the price now. i know if i don't reject all i know now and learn from scratch all over again, the price will be much dearer years from now.

it's a lifestyle that i've picked up from nobody knows when. i don't know when my clock started to tick faster than others, and time is that much limited for me. i don't know when i started to pour food into my mouth, not stopping to chew, nor waiting for it to cool. it feels like i'm always on a race against time. i don't know when i stopped having time to take a break for a sip of water. i've dispensed with all that i thought were time-consuming.

with a new page everyday, i have to remind and re-remind myself. to be aware of each mouthful i put in. to be aware of every hour that i'm not drinking any water. perhaps the knocking in my heart serves as a reminder. who would have known that the heart is not related to my heart skipping a beat, but my digestive system. i'm abusing my body and i know it. i know it but i suck at it. each meal is a test, each test is a failure. it's harder than i thought to unlearn 40 years of habit.

one day at a time.

one bite at a time.

a lull of silence. the sound of absence. a sign not of inertia, nor of turbulence, but of convenience. sometimes when you switch your brain off, and live each day as it comes, one motion after the next, one chore after another, and you collapse in exhaustion at the end of the day on the sofa, with nary a thought that passes your mind, it's the simplest way to live. the days pass so fast, and so easily. life is uncomplicated.

is it the way to live though? to not think, to not stop for a moment and deliberate about life? at even any point in time? to just let life pass you by? it cannot be right, to let apathy grip you within its claws. as the words pour out, i can feel the warmth coursing through my veins once more. i am slowly relaxed by the therapy that is my writing. i never stopped to think that words could have such appeasing effects on my soul.

but for now, this is enough.

an almost muted music playing in the air. my stomach satieted from a simple breakfast. a book about tales from nowhere in my hand, as i chewed and read about the adventures of a man to journeys far into the middle of nowhere. i can't help but wish i am more courageous, that i am more spontaneous. more of a lot of things actually, of which i am none. it's human nature to wish for things that you have not and are not. for me, i wish i am less afraid, of trying new things, of being unprepared and unsure, of not having a firm grasp on things. would life have been very different if i had let my heart rule my head? would i have been a better example to my kids to love more, to laugh more and to live more? sometimes i feel ashamed. for being a friend, a mother, a partner who lives so structuredly. i look on with envy at people who laugh the loudest, who danced with the most abandonment, whol lived the fullest. and i understand that it will never be me. i will not be happy living that life. i need my deafening peace and loud silence to survive. i need my quiet melancholic moments and everything to fall perfectly into place to be at ease. i need to be me. but still, every once in a while, i look at others and i wonder what it will be like to not be me.

1..........................!

2..........................!

3..........................!

4..........................!

5..........................!

6..........................!

7..........................!

8..........................!

9..........................!

10.........................!!!!!!

as i stuck the key into the hole, there was a distant melody of a handphone ringing somewhere. someone's in the lift foyer, the thought immediately sprang into my head and just as quickly dissipated into thin air. my brain continued with its idyllic flow of aimless musings, as it usually do in standby mode, whilst i turned and locked the door behind me.

still deep in day-dream, i nearly jumped a mile high when i saw a figure squatting at the far end of the lift foyer. staring directly into the direction of the sun behind her back, i was barely able to make out the face and shape of the person. despite my earlier acknowledgement that there will be someone in the lift foyer, i still couldn't shake out the feeling that this was 'someone' beyond our realm. damn those scary japanese ghost movies and damn ringu! those things are usually portrayed squatting eerily in some dark corners whilst the victim walks unknowingly by. i felt like i was the main character in one of those movies. i could even hear the imaginary suspenseful music building in the background.

squinting, i barely made out a maid in yellow cap, busily punching messages into her handphone and glancing up to look up at me for only a split second. really? you couldn't do your texting, and frightening innocent yellow-bellied people, in some other obscure spots? i stopped believing in ghosts a very long time ago. strictly speaking, i do believe that spirits exist amongst us but i am also convinced that most of the time, they are unable to make contact with us or interfere with our daily lives, unless some special circumstance exist. therefore, i have stopped being afraid of things that go bump in the middle of the night and monsters under the bed for a long time now.

still, i couldn't help but take another glance at the figure by the window one more time as i entered into the lift, and wonder if she was really someone from another world. thank goodness she didn't roll out her foot-long red tongue at me :-p

this is the third time. and the final one. when i heard her story for the third time, she has already left the world. six months from day 1, or did she even had that? someone i never knew the name of. someone i have never seen. but i was so close to grasping her hands and pulling her away from death's door. could i have done more? someone who was a total stranger, someone who doesn't even know i exist. how could i?

life toys with us in such cruel ways. there is no answer to the many hurdles in life, no magic book to show us the future and guide us through the present, no gprs to take us on the correct route. it was a miracle this time round; i had in my hands the answers. if someone was to give you a secret formula, a secret method that has been time-tested and tried out, 80% guaranteed to a path of survival, what rationale would you have to push it away? why would you prefer something else that takes you onto path unknown? what reasons will you have to choose death over hope? i will never ever be able to understand. however, what is the use of asking, of deliberating, of being frustrated? she is no longer here.

the ugly things that we see, the hard shoulders that we rub, the unpleasant experiences that we felt..... the little things that make us grow a little jaded, a little apathetic and make us build our walls a little higher. will i reach my hands out again with such passion? will be as distressed when i hear adversity? will i want so badly to help? i really doubt so.

once in a while, we all need a little angel to inspire us back onto the path of virtue. someone or something that shows us beauty lies still in the world. where do i find mine?

knock knock. my heart is going knock-knock-knocking. the doctor says it's alright if you have a structurally sound heart, and apparently without actually seeing it by x-rays or scans, she knows i have a structurally sound one. sorry, did that not come across as sarcastic? well, it was. an ecg and a stethoscope tells her that, and god knows what other superpower she possesses. i assume i have a sound one by the way she sends me on my way and told me that i am alright, if i do not drop dead. ok, fine, i added the drop dead part. she just sent me on my way, without even telling me when i should make a second visit. one hundred eighty dollars for a few minutes of chat and a cold stethescope tapping across my chest and back. damn, i am in the wrong line. should have gone into medical.

frankly, i suspect that doctors know little about hearts skipping beats and doing tap dances in your chest. according to what's written on the world wide web statistically people have been known to live long and healthy if it's benign, despite that particular organ doing breakdances and street dancing every now and then. so my doctor was very certain, and dismissive, when she told me that i'll be alright if it's a benign ectopic heartbeat. IF being the keyword here. if it's benign. if you drop dead suddenly, then what do you know? it's not benign :-p

actually, despite all the talk, i'm not so worried about the drop-dead part. i'm so lazy it's not surprising that my heart will take the easy way out and beat one less time if it can. heck, it'll even skip 10 beats at a time, if i can still breathe and survive. however, it is very very uncomfortable. do you know the feeling when you are frightened out of your wits? when someone / something pops out suddenly from out of nowhere and your heart drops to the bottom of your chest? that's how it feels like, except that it happens every minute or so for a span of maybe 30 minutes to an hour, and then it disappears again, waiting for the next thing to trigger it off again. not a great feeling to have your heart crashing to the floor at supersonic speed and leaving you gasping for air, is it? most distracting and unpleasant.

yet doctors tell you that it's perfectly alright, without so much as the batting of her eyes. i don't know what's alright with my heart not beating every so often. she tells me to come back if it continues. it's continually happening for more than 3 weeks now. how else is it suppose to continue before she examines me beyond that stethoscope? one week, one month, one year, 10 years? she didn't say. doctors. when will they have more empathy for their patients beyond ...it's benign, so live with it.

i feel like such a loser. a big failure the size of malaysia's soon-to-come warisan merdeka 100-storey building. less than one month after my tirade and drama-queen post about how i will not bow to the eyes and opinion of the general public about my lame handphone, i went out and got myself a new phone. sigh. i know, i know. such a hypocrite. such a faker. a fraud, a phony. there. i've said it all. now you can't point your wagging fingers at me anymore :-p

i'll like to think that what did me in was still not what others thought of my phone, as i have tiraded a few weeks ago. what really pushed me over the edge, and got me ready to throw my phone of the nearest cliff with angry swirling waves underneath is that it was not working like it was supposed to. forget that it records the lamest pixels of photos, eventhough that is really important to me because i use that feature a lot. it does still record images, blurry and sketchy as it may be. forget that it only allows me to record videos in periods of 1 minute blocks, and that i will have to upload all into the computer and use some fancy software to stitch them together. forget that there is no wifi connection on the phone. hello? you get what you paid for, right? fair's fair.

but when the person standing right next to me managed to get a signal and i didn't, not even if i moved around and waved my arms around like an idiot, not even when i do a backward bend and touch the ground with my head (not that i can actually do that) and not even when i flapped my arms like a chicken trying to fly, i have had enough. add that with 'message storage memory not ready' (in a whiny irritating voice.....mine, not the machine's) when i switch on the phone and try to access the sms service, essentially cutting off my texting services FOR THE NEXT FIVE MINUTES!! i really wanted to open the airplane window and throw the darn thing out. but of course, everybody knows that airplane windows cannot be opened :-p

funny how when you don't like something, you only concentrate on its bad points and forget all about its good side? pretty much like a man and his old wife, sadly. in all fairness to me, i didn't really forget. the reason i stuck with my phone was because i could receive calls all the time, as compared to the smart gadgety ones that were censoring my calls and choosing by its own smart-idioty brain whom i can talk to and whom i can't. when it can't even deliver that, that one saving grace, it's time to chuck it in.

recharging

sometimes i don't get it. i can still see her name printed in black and white. i can still see her signature in my hands. the ink looks so black and fresh, like it was just signed yesterday. i can just imagine her hunched over her desk signing these, one paper at a time. how can someone that feels so near be gone forever from the face of the earth? how can something that is still so vivid in my hands and mind vaporise from the world, never ever to be heard from or seen again for time eternal? i don't get it.

i'm deliberating on how to start this post, i have been for days, but i've come no closer to an answer. it relates to a phone. my hand phone specifically. it's as rare as a dinosaur bone nowadays. not that it's ancient or belongs to the flintstones era, but it's highly unlikely that you'll see it on anybody's hand, bag or within a 500km radius of any sane people. it probably belongs in the museum, right next to the display of rattling bones.

what's so unusual about it, you may ask? well, even if you didn't, i'm still telling you. it's state-of-the-art, top rate technology cheap simple. yes, the most basic model that the brand carries. couple of hundred dollars at most. it even looks cheap simple. chauffeurs and maids won't even be caught dead with such a phone. which is such an irony to me. at this stage in my life, where i can get any phone in the market without feeling the pinch, and i am resigned to using one that i bought for my little boy a few years ago. heck, even he is using a cool looking red ferrari-shaped one now which goes vroom, vroom when it rings.

so, why haven't i switch over to the latest smartphone with all the gadgety stuffs and really hi-tech applications? this is the precise reason why i am writing this post. not for laying down the reasons, but for the looks and smirks that i have been getting by far. and the number of times that i have to re-tell my stories in order to justify why i am still using something that most people condone as inferior. it's pretty tiring, trying to beat down that little part of me that still cares about public opinions. once in a while, when the resistance is low, i actually get bothered about what people think and i don't want them to have the impression that i am el-cheapo who can't afford to buy a proper phone or her distant cousin, el-dumbo who is a technology-idiot. i actually delve into the long, and more than slightly boring story of how my handphone came about. gasp!! traitor!

most of the time though, i intentionally fish out my phone and place it in a highly visible spot for all to see, and to have them recoil in shock and disgust. and i use it in glee when others are fishing out their gold coloured blackberry-lookalikes and swiping their fingers on smartphones until they develop iphonfingernitis. i admit, one of the many reasons that i am still using my phone and and love it, is to indulge the defiant and rebellious side in me. i love it when all the usual thoughts and impressions leap into other people's mind, but they don't dare to voice it out for fear of sounding rude. they so badly want to know what the heck is wrong with me, but they are not able to satisfy their curiosity. the higher level they are in the hierarchy, the more warped their thinking. i can see it in their eyes, directors, bankers, managers, ceos. i feel a little like a devil. only if discrimination is in their hearts.

every once in a while, mobile phone operators will tempt me with their big colourful ads of smart phones and 'unlimited usage' in the newspaper. every once in a while, i look and wonder. however, when the minute is up, i still prefer my phone, and all it's antiquity. me and my phone. :-)

so, why do i prefer this phone anyway? i don't think that is the point of the story. besides, i don't fancy going through my whole long list of reasons just to satisfy anybody's curiosity yet another time.

an amazing revelation just came to me. none of those heavy holy apocalypse or deity manifestation stuffs. i just realised that mistresses are more often than not ugly. yes, u..g..l..y. say the word mistress and the first thought that will come to your mind is some sex bomb with big boobs, low tops, bodies to die for and drop-dead beauty, forever in their sexy see-through pink negligee and furry pink slippers to match. at least, that is the image that pops immediately into my mind. i don't think yours will be too far away.

however, given recent statistics, mistresses seem to be the other opposite of the spectrum. more often than not, i am shocked, they are even less attractive than the spouse they are competiting against. not convinced? remember camilla against princess diana? really, who would have chosen her against the shy natural charm of our queen of hearts? besides prince charles, obviously of course. i suspect that he has serious short sighted issues, and when he finally saw clearly how she looked like up close in his arms, it was too late to turn back :-p. lol. beauty in the eyes of the beholder.

recently, arnold schwarzenegger announced that he had fathered a child with an ex-employee. did you manage to catch a glimpse of the lady? seriously? against maria shriver? what's wrong with men's vision? i do understand that men think with their appendages and not their brain some of the time but apparently, it affects their vision too. why would you want to cheat on someone you love or once loved with someone uglier? that makes no sense whatsoever. what makes it so irresistable to begin with in the first place? if it is not their beauty or drop dead body, then men must have more depth than we actually gave them credit for in the first place :-p hey, guys, this is actually in your defence. :-p :-p

this actually happens in real life too. i know more than a couple of people whose mistresses look pretty unattractive, and it's not from a woman's point of view. the first thought that comes to mind to anybody who knows is.....what the heck does he even see in her?!?!? thus, a note to ladies. it's not the pretty ones that you have to be careful of. it's more often than not the ordinary drab ones that both you and your spouse let your guard down on. it's also those that men find convenient.

come to think of it, i guess convenience is really an issue here. remember bill clinton? and arnold scwarzenegger. it's someone that's conveniently always hanging around, making opportunities difficult to resist. doesn't matter if it's good or bad, as long as it's convenient, heck chinese even have a saying for it!! i believe men are also an insecure lot. they are not going to aim for those ms universe lookalikes in case they fall flat on their faces and suck lemon in rejection, so that's why it's always the not-very-attractive ones that end up being mistresses.

still, it's pretty hurtful for the ego of spouses spurned. they secretly go in search of the competition and end up horrified. traumatised. this piece of thing??? he is choosing ....*splutters* this face over me?!?!? and then she goes into deep depression wondering what is seriously wrong with her because he rather choose someone so ugly over her, ending up with hours and hours of therapy just to accept that men are blind. this is drama penned by the liberty of the author's pen of course but i've actually heard similar response from a jilted spouse so it's not that far from the truth.

so men, if you want to cheat, at least cheat with a candidate for ms universe, or at the very least, ms world, to save the poor spouse from more heartbreak. not that this is an encouragement or ratification for extra-marital affairs! in the first place, i really don't know how they can bear to break up years and years of love and memories, just for one second of pleasure. all the hours and seconds that you have put into building up that household smashed and broken, your whole world turned topsy-turvy, your reputation, your image flushed down the drain, your wealth and fortune reduced by half. for a piece of someone else's CENSORED. really?

and remember ladies, look out for the ugly ones, not the pretty ones.

would you shave off all your hair in return for a $100,000 donation to charity? that question popped into my head this morning for no apparent reason than to mess with my vegetable state of mind. where do all these questions even come from??!

maybe once, eons ago, when i was young and impulsive, and all gungho about life and saving the world, i could have said yes. but even that is a narcissistic pretense of being all selfless and generous. i was a gawky self-conscious kid who wanted the whole world to like me. i don't believe i would have gone around with a bald dome for a few months to prove that i am all noble and charitable.

now that i'm a 40 year old, seemingly more confident woman, oblivious to the opinions of others, whom i now know are even more insecure than i beyond the layers and layers of pretentious exhibitionism, will i?

you will think that i would at least consider the possibility, since i claim not to care about what the public thinks of me being an extinct and protected bald-headed eagle. life however gets more complicated as you grow older and your thoughts follow in tandem. the first response that comes to mind is, heck i have that money, why do i need to shave off all my hair in order to get more to give it away? i've already got it in my pocket and all i've to do is loosen the purse strings and issue a cheque. which makes me wonder why all the rich wives and spouses of filthily wealthy politicians are so passionate about making appearances in support of fund-raising charities. many famous charities are chaired by people who can drown in their own money, but yet they are trying to raise more funds. is it alright to do charity with other people's money but not their own? i'm sure they are also donating on the side, but really, how much, i do wonder. they manage to raise $100,000....$1,000,000 even, and that is still merely loose change for them. the cynical side of me have no doubt that heading charities are great publicities and feed wonders to the narcissistic ego.

famous people are good for raising public awareness for the charity, the innocent and naive side of me argues. that's why i usually like to throttle her, she pulls me, my mind and my opinions to very different extremes. why do charities need public awareness if one filthy rich person can fund it full-time? public awareness so that other people are aware of the goodness that one is doing? devil-angel-devil-angel. i change sides faster than doctor jeckyl and mr hyde.

the other argument against shaving my crown glory is what becomes of the $100,000. oh, i believe i can come up with a thousand reasons just so that i will not have to concede. my cynicism has reached a point where i am cynical even of my own intentions and actions. not very fun. i know for a fact that the victims of the charities will not receive $100,000 in full. fair enough, given all the operating cost and pockets of greedy people that it has to fill. in the us of a, some charities employ professional fund-raisers and give them as much as 94.3% for their fees. probably why i see so many people from all types of charitable organisations standing around with their stalls in shopping centres with people who don't look very kind and volunteer-like asking you for your money. how can i tell the difference? i think it was the dollar signs shining a little too brightly in their eyes.

what can i say? charity is big business.

so, will i or won't i? definitely not. i don't need to sport a bald shiny head to announce that i am already doing charity and i don't need to let the whole world knows which charities i support, how much and when.