Friday, October 8, 2010

More dreams

More randomness. I dreamt of being somewhere in America (because that's where things like this happen), wide-leaved trees, and a small town. I dreamt of being inside a random old man's house, and there was this wicked strong wind blowing outside. He asked us (there were several of us, although I cannot remember if I actually know these people in real life) to go inside the tornado shelter underground because the wind was so strong it was ripping young trees off the ground. The shelter was connected to his neighbour from across the street's shelter. Then I woke up, mumbling something like 'Ignore.' Weird. Just had to put this down in words, because I will forget about it.

Friday, October 1, 2010

How I ended up dreaming of being on a cruise ship and getting stranded on a rock, almost being eaten by a bright blue Mako shark, and a hot Italian guy saving me and serving me dinner on said cruise ship.

Earlier in the day:

I was marking an essay my 10-year old student wrote about his holiday. He spent it on a cruise ship with his family.

I was looking through some Facebook profiles, and came across this Italian dude who looked like an Adonis. Also had pictures of his fab body in speedos. Nice.

The shark was totally random. Bright blue, at that.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

I've always had a pet peeve with the term 'lai sa sam', loosely translated as 'dirty discharge' from Hokkien. In many cultures and religions, the female menstruation is regarded as unclean, dirty, et cete-fucking-ra. Okay, it's blood. It's just blood. It's not like we're excreting shit from our vaginas. Now that's dirty. Shit's dirty. You die from eating shit. I've yet to hear of anyone dying from consuming menstrual blood.

I wonder where this idea of lai la sam came from. Was it because men didn't fancy the idea of having sex with a woman who was bleeding from her vagina, and were so frustrated that they had to abstain from sex for a few days every month that they decided to term this very natural phenomenon of the female body as dirty? Or did women have worse PMS back then? Suffer the men.

Granted, a pad full of blood is not exactly a sight to behold, but neither is an underwear with skid marks, or a toilet bowl full of shit. Personally, I'd prefer looking at blood to shit.

Monday, August 2, 2010

There are times when you clench your fists and hold them high in the air atop a mountain in your head and shout, "I will not give in!" only to find yourself in a deep ravine the next day because you did.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

I've been listening to Rachel Yamagata's 'I Wish You Love' the entire morning, and it brings me back to a cold winter's night, a smoke, lost hope, and the anxiety of seeing someone again.

I got to thinking yesterday, and I came up with an analogy: love and relationships are like ships. Some you get on, find that it's not what you like, and get off at the next port. Some you are comfortable with, and you know you'd brave storms and hurricanes on it because it's a good ship. You'd fix it if it leaks, paint it when its colours fade. Some are big ass cruise ships, with a pool and all. Some throw you off board with a life jacket. Some throw you off board without one. Some you'd rather jump off of.

And then there are those you should have gotten on, but you didn't, or rather you screwed it up by buying the wrong damn ticket or something, and you can only watch and wave as it passes you by.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

I remember questioning myself with another friend four years ago. I told him that I wondered if I'd still be shouting at the players during World Cup matches four years from then, because I'd be 25 and older. He replied that it's not you stop having fun because you grow old, you grow old because you stop having fun.

I guess he had faith in me, because I think I'm louder now. Go Brasil!!!!!!!

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Whenever I read anything in English or Malay (and to an extent, French), I can imagine the sound of the word in my head. I can picture how my tongue would move in my mouth to make that sound.
But whenever I see a text in Chinese, all I hear in my head is white noise. Kinda like fshhhhhhhhhffffshhhhhhfssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhffffffffshhhhhhhh. Dang.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

So, what does 'piri' mean in Juspeak?

Piri is basically a chirpy 'Hi!'

Piri-piri, on the other hand, is more of a cry of success. You go 'piri piri!' after surviving a gruelling day of work.

Anyhullabaloo, singledom is an exuberance of freedom. When I want to go out, I'll call out everybody and see if anybody's free. When nobody is, then I'll just stay home and sulk. I don't have to commit to any single person, and I'm lucky that I have awesome family, friends and colleagues.

The best thing is, after much contemplation, I'm not afraid of ending up alone at 50. Easily said when I'm still young, and most of my friends are still single. However, being alone is fine, because I won't be lonely. I'll always have Stephen King, Haruki Murakami, Roald Dahl and etc. to keep me company.

And I hope that Corsica has a nunnery. Or an old folk's home.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Bagus, next month World Cup starts. Six-hour time difference. Time to stock up on sleeping pills, sleep at 7pm and wake up at 2.30am for the matches. Yahoo! Go Brazil! Go North and South Korea! Go Malaysia! Malaysia boleh!

Monday, April 12, 2010

On getting a second tattoo

After swearing off tattoos upon getting my first one, I conviniently forgot about the pain and went and got a second one. Some people never learn.

However, in retrospect, the second one on my outer thigh did not hurt as much as the first one did, which is on my shoulder blade.

I even had some colouring done! The tattooist, Fun, put in some white to make my tattoo, a dragonfly, more lifelike I suppose. But anyhow, it's gorgeous and I love it.

Plus, it's cheap. Stretch your fingers from thumb to pinkie. My tattoo is relatively that long. All for RM200+. It felt less stressful and less painful because I had a friend there to chit chat with me and basically distract me from the pain.

I received some comments about getting a second tattoo. Someone asked, what if I'm 50 and decide that I don't like it anymore? My answer to that was it symbolizes something to me. It's not just some random tribal design. Penny the Phoenix means perseverance. She's also my good luck charm. And yes, other people might have the same design, but it's just like owning a cocker spaniel. There are thousands upon thousands of other cocker spaniels out there, but your own merry cocker is special, innit? Draco the Dragonfly (bear with me, I know they're corny names) means freedom, you know, life is short. It goes deeper than that but I won't go into it.

Someone else said that the thigh area is not lady-like. Whatever.

Other friends and my mom herself said that getting it on the thigh means that I can't show it off to the world. I'm not getting it to show, unless I happen to go swimming. At least I can see this one. I have to crane my neck just to see Penny, and even then, I can only see the tips of her right wing.

So maybe my next one, I'll get it to show. If I do get another one. Bad thing is, the dragonfly didn't really hurt and it sure as hell did not put me off getting another tat!

Friday, April 9, 2010

It's one of life's little idiosyncrasies. When you're too early to get to some place, all the lights are green and the traffic is a purring kitten. You try to drive as slow as you can and yet you're half an hour early.

But when you're late, you forget something important and have to go back to get it. Then every damn traffic light you face turns red. Not only that, but the drivers all seem like they're driving on a Sunday morning. Jams occur for no damn reason, and by the time you arrive, you've missed the train.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

On doors

Don't slam unless you're pissed.

Some doors don't stay closed, no matter how badly you want them to. They're supposed to be shut because they lead nowhere, and them being adamant about being ajar, good things tend to slip through, like cool air from the air conditioning or a bit of your heart. These doors, keys don't work. So after numerous attempts of trying to keep them shut (from putting up obstacles to pretending that the damn door don't exist), you give up and end up walking in and out of that door, eventually cultivating a habit out of it. And each time you pass through that door, a big ass splinter impales you on your cheek. You just hope that one day, that door will lead to somewhere and you don't have to unsuccessfully try to shut it anymore. Hope kills. Watch that cheek.

Some doors you close them and you forget what it was like being inside that room. You forget about the fuzziness and wonders of it. And it slips to the back of your head. Some days you are reminded of it, but just as soon forget. Some doors are not worth remembering.

Some doors remain open for some time. Like a trapdoor spider, it hopes to lure you in and steal a bit of you. Stay away from this open door, it will eventually, as is normal, give up on you.

Some doors remain open all our lives, till the hinges rust and the wood rots. It will never be closed to you. Every time you are sad or feel pathetic, pass through this door and everything will seem fine again. And although you can't stay forever, it will always be accesible to you.

And some doors have been locked to you. They say this door will never open. In which case, buy a chainsaw. After all, humans are curious beings, neh?

Monday, April 5, 2010

I was once told a story about a boy I knew who sniffed his mother's panties when he was a young boy. Years later, and I still remember this story. I doubt that I'll ever forget it.

Recently I've been seeing his pictures all over Facebook, and although he's grown up not too bad looking, lovely long hair and all, Christ, this guy sniffed his mom's undies. How fucking gross is that?

You know, I don't want to know if he sniffed them clean or used. It's waaaay too deplorable to imagine.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

I was curious if Penang had any cute guys left. Below was the result.


Wednesday, March 31, 2010

You know, it's amazing, these social networking sites. Especially Facebook. Now we're all a certain degree of stalkers. You can find anybody, you can see anybody, and you can know so much about anybody.

And the thing is... there are so many hot chicks on Facebook.

Okay maybe it's the make up or camera angle or lighting. Whatever. They still look damn hot on those pictures. It's not like they're ever going to meet everyone on their friends list, so I'll assume that those who rely heavily on superficial effects to look hot in those pictures are deluding a lot of people whom they've never met.

Today, out of boredom, I clicked on an old friend of mine, and holy cow has he got a superhot girlfriend. She's so hot, I OD-ed on her hotness and puked. Yeah. I'm not gonna share the link.

Anyway, one of the first few things that popped into my head was, 'A man-whore I know would most definitely do her.'

And then I realized that lately - or maybe it's been going on for a while and I never really noticed - oftentimes I see a gorgeous girl on Facebook, I'd think that way. And if I see a not-so-hot-girl-trying-real-hard, I'd think, 'Nahhhh... he won't. Well, maybe.'

It's not healthy to think that way! And it's not healthy to stalk people either!

But goddamn, it's so easy.

I'm watching you.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Because I'm a nostalgic pig.

I was looking to rediscover myself, so I decided to revisit my old blog. I was funnier back then.

When you sleep in class, always close your mouth.

Monday, July 24th, 2006

It was a boring lesson. Badly lit hall. Lecturer was speaking too softly. He had his funny moments, though. My eyes I’d blink and they’d stay closed. So I rested my cheeks on my palms, elbows on the table. Promptly fell asleep. Woke up about quarter of an hour later and the page in front of me was pretty darn wet. There was still a trail of saliva from my mouth to its destination. Thank god I was sitting alone. Honestly.
An observation. Body language is interesting. Why do people, particularly males, have this need to assert their dominance over others? This morning we had class with a group of teachers who were ‘back to school,’ so to speak. These were some old birds. Our lecturer, male, could call him experienced, asked one of the teachers to stand in front of class to present some stuff on morphology and morphemes. When the old bird was up there, said lecturer, who was still standing, put his leg up on a chair, posing ala Legolas or Will Turner. Doh. Maybe I misinterpreted it. Perchance he was just airing his balls.
But even in normal conversations. We can only be comfortable with people once the dynamics of dominance and submission are established. Only when we fit into the roles we subconsciously set for ourselves, can we truly say that we belong to a particular group. Human nature. Strange shit. Boring post. Boring days.

-- end

So if you are too bored, do visit for some laughs.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

So I'm home, after two lovely weeks of holiday. I did so much. Went to Cornwall, went hiking here and there with my family, had a great time. The coast is so beautiful, the views spectacular. We relieved boredom at night by playing Road Rage on the console or watching Lord of the Rings, 1, 2, and 3. The days flew by so quickly, it was unbelievable.

Then I went for a rock concert at the Royal Albert Hall, alone, and it was a wonderful experience. Would have been perfect if I had someone with me, but it was nonetheless awesome.

The next day, slightly hungover, I went on a train ride to Manchester for a measly 5 hours just to visit Dan, who thought that I would be staying for the night. We had some confusion there, heh. Dan, I'm still waiting for those dumplings.

The day before I had to come home, we went shopping at The Oracle, and I went bonkers at Primark. Yes, I'm cheap. Whatever. We had a Dog Whisperer marathon at night, and I totally respect Cesar Millan. I'm going to get his book when I get the chance to do so.

And finally, the sad day came to leave England. My sister, my dad and I ended up playing Big Two the entire afternoon in some sort of bonding session whilst my mom sat at the living room playing with her iPhone. I guess it was a dysfunctional family moment. We had a really early dinner and we were off to the airport.

And here I am, home. Hot, jetlagged and swarmed by memories. Will I go back? Without a doubt. I'll need to work crazy hard for it though, and I will. God willing.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

The lousy thing is, here, at this time of year, it gets light earlier. So every morning I wake up, look at how bright it is outside and think that it must be quite late.

I'm usually wrong. It always turns out to be 6-7am when I check the time. And I usually can't go back to sleep again.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

I'm in England again, and either it's a damn cold year or I've gotten older, because I feel really really out of my brains cold. Nothing much has changed in Reading. I'm just trying to take more pictures to better document my trip, but it's so cold, I am wont to take my hands out of my pockets.

We spent the whole day travelling today, getting to St Ives which is in Cornwall. It's right at the south-western tip of England and it took us an entire day to get here, with the constant stops and the very long stop at Wells City to have a look at the medieval Wells cathedral. More about that when the pictures are up.

Unfortunately, by the time we arrived at St Ives, it was already dark and I couldn't get a good view of the Atlantic ocean and the surrounding environs, but there's still a week to go. We're lodged in a comfortable town house but it's sorta funny shaped so we gotta watch our heads to avoid banging against the awkward angled beams. Casualties so far: Mom, 1. Josephine, 2.

I'm just told the itenarery, and we're going to some outdoor theater tomorrow for a look see. Maybe we could explore St Ives a little as well.

Note: On the highway, everybody keeps to the left-most lane; the middle lane is used when you are travelling moderately faster than a truck, and nobody keeps to the far right lane for long. You just cut and move back to the middle lane. The entire damn stretch of right lane is always virtually empty. Awesome, innit.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

I've been so busy these past two weeks. Although I planned to stay home at night, I always failed to do so. Except on Tuesdays that is. I teach tuition to a bunch of kids on Tuesdays.

8 o' clock morning meetings. Two days in a row. Subsequently followed by a 9 o' clock meeting. Then another meeting in the afternoon. I feel busier than the goddam Prime Minister.

Well, thank god for my two-week break. Hallelujah!

I'm really, really, really dreading the 14-hour flight though. Sigh.

UK here I come! Strawberries and cream, FTW!

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Moving forward

I wanted to start conversational French classes, but the secretary told me that I need to be enrolled in a normal class before I can take conversational classes, which are to be treated as supplementary classes. The fuck? I just want to converse in French, which I can already haltingly do! But anyways, a friend is helping me out to talk to la directrice, so fingers crossed that by the time I get back from England, I will be parley-ing.

That aside, I've been going to the gym for two weeks now to improve my health and my poor lungs. My secret wish is to have Jessica Biel's body, but I'll tell everyone that it's for my health. Shhh.

I think I'm going clubbing this weekend? I hope so? I'm not too sure. Torch is getting nauseatingly monotonous and sad, so I think that clubbing would be nice for a change. But clubbing! Paying a bucketloadofcashforwatereddownbeerjusttowashmyeyes is painful. It better be worth it.

PLUS... I'll be going to England next week! Cornwall... TCV... and, still tentative, Manchester to visit my asshole ex-boyfriend who is actually a nice and funny guy. I hope he never reads this, because he'd be infuriated over being called an asshole, then his ego would be inflated because I admitted that he's nice and funny.

After that, I can start planning for a trip with friends to Perhentian in May. Then comes World Cup. Then, god knows! Just not a nunnery in Spain, I hope.

Life is good when you want it to be. So I'll be good and fantasize about other things instead, like owning a French bulldog:

Dogs. Way better than men.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

In a spate of inspiration, I shall predict what will come in five years for me.

I'll be 30, oh my god! I'll be helping to look after my sister's child(ren) and trying to enroll in the most remote nunnery in Spain.

I'll also be trying to write my first novel. Most probably, I would be at the first page of my glorious novel about Malaysian life, struggling to finish writing the first paragraph.

I might still be working where I am, turning into this human prune. Or, I might be in KL, turning into a major human prune.

I would also be a weekend alcoholic, and a closet weeknight alcoholic.

Seeing that I will be in the start of my thirties, my metabolism rate would have slowed down and I'd be fat, at the rate that I eat. The amount (or lack of) facial care that I use would mean that I'd look like Winston Churchill.

That is, if the country hasn't yet erupted into a civil war. If it does, I'll most likely swim to Phuket and seek asylum.
Almost two weeks of being single. Let's see... If I was still with Larry, at this moment, I'd probably still be in front of my computer, bumming about. No difference. So, no regrets there.

After so long, my friends and I went to Red Box for a round of serenading to each other (sometimes not very pleasantly). We took the package for 5 + 1, and all of us struggled to finish three jugs + one mug of beer. By 4 o' clock, most of us were slightly wasted.

End of story. My poor liver.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

In retrospect

I've been doing a hell lot of thinking lately, and some soul searching. I guess this led to the break up between Larry and I. I called it quits because of a plethora of reasons.

I've told this story so many times that I'm actually quite sick of telling it anymore. We've been dating for almost three years, and it's not like I woke up one morning and decided to end it. No. I thought about it long and through.

Like I told him, I guess we both didn't put enough effort into the relationship. Especially true for a long distance one. I mean, the distance and all is already hard enough, yet I have to face seeing his pictures on Facebook arm in arm with another girl? Wait, I should correct myself. Other girls. Just because his friends are doing it too, that doesn't mean I'm OK with it. His friends do drugs too, why doesn't he do that as well? Dumb. Never use blain. Skewed principles.

And I guess I got sick of him rushing back to KL after visiting me for the weekend, only to hear of him going for drinks the moment he arrives back there. Stupid me, always buying the late flights home because I wanted to spend an extra hour or two with him. Stupid me, for taking leave on Monday morning so that I could spend Sunday night with him. Ah, I thought that was love.

I recently met up with a relative, and her husband's working in KL. They've been married for years and years, and yet, every weekend he would fly back to be with her. Every. Weekend. How sweet is that? I mean, I guess if you're in love and all, you'd want to spend every opportunity to be with that person. And fuck me, they're married! Aren't you supposed to be more complacent and boring after marriage? Jeez.

Plus the distance made me independent. I realized that hey, I had a life too without him. I stayed home (usually) on weekdays, reading or playing games and most of the time hanging out with my dog, and on weekends, I'd go out with my friends. I was having fun without him most of the time, as was he without me. So... why were we still together? Some weekends I'd go to KL and some weekends he'd come to Penang, and I realized that this disrupted my routine. I dislike disruptions to my routine. I couldn't wake up too late on weekends because I had to spend time with him. I made myself cook for him because he likes spaghetti. All the while I'm toilling downstairs, he's upstairs playing DotA or something. The life, huh.

And I guess we both love our hometowns too much too. My friends, they're down-to-earth. We're real. And we certainly don't get inspired by TVB to give ourselves fancy names like Bosco or Durian or, fuck, Fish. Larry says that we are too sensitive because we don't take insults from each other (for example, we don't call a friend pussy or chicken just because he can't drink). I guess it's just mutual respect. I don't know.

I'm also sick of his prioritizing his friends. Yes, friends are really important, but like a colleague said, friends should understand that family and loved ones come first, else they're not your real friends. I mean, I don't even have to give the 'your friend and your mom are drowning in the middle of the sea and you have only one rope to save them and you won't have time to save the other because a great white shark is about to attack which one would you choose' situation. It's a very simple question of: 'Would your friend feed you, clothe you, care for you, pay for your education, give you shelter, and when you weren't able to, wipe the shit off your ass for free for an average of 17 years?'

Didn't think so.

Plus, the love fizzled out. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.

I imagine him, wallowing in his self pity, thinking why did I leave him, he, who is such a great guy, an all-rounder, a patient, loving, attentive, sweet, good person. Couldn't figure out what he did wrong. Came from a good family too, not like my broken one (makes me realize how utterly dysfunctional a 'good' family can be). I imagine him blaming me for giving up so easily, for throwing such a good person away. Thus, he himself gave up on me, for being the one who was always calling it quits. He gave up, and felt self-righteous about it. You can bet your bottom dollar on that. Then I imagine his friends, rallying around him, telling him life's still young, she doesn't deserve you, bla bla bla. Let's find a new chick for you. She wasn't hot anyway. She doesn't know what she's losing.

So hi, people. I know what I'm losing. I see it with clarity. And I'm happy.

I know he won't change. I've asked for a change before and I still don't see it. And it's unfair to ask him to change.

Thank you for the memories and the good times, Larry, and I wish you well.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

I had a sleepless night last night, and I don't know if that was the cause of weird dreams, but many weird dreams did I have.

I dreamt that Larry asked me to immediately cut my hair because it was too puffy.

I dreamt that my grandauntie was dying in the room next to mine, and she kept on saying that it's her time and she could see spirits. I tried to scare away those spirits by banging against the window, but she said that they can't see me nor respond to anything.

Then I went to this cafe and there was this guy named Adrian something Chih something (I could remember his name much clearer earlier this morning, dreams fade fast). I don't know if it's a premonitory dream that I might meet this guy in the future, because I have no freaking idea who he is. He was with a group of friends, and he wanted to talk to me but could not. I dreamt of his background story, and he was fatter when he was younger. He was being chased by something, and he fell into this hole. He wanted to shout for help but didn't, because he was afraid he might attract the attention of the thing that was chasing him.

After that dream sequence ended, I proceded to hang out with some girls whom I swear I have no recollection of seeing before. They had strong blue make up on and was asking me about the band who sang some Korean song.

Then I went home, and my grandauntie was still alive, much to the irk of my mother. She was shivering in bed, and I was looking at her from an empty space between the top of the wall and the ceiling.

I also dreamt of riches, of decisions, of living in the lap of luxury.

I know that it isn't as weird as dreaming of aliens or whatever, but it had that foreboding feeling to it. Thank god it's just a dream. Bleh.