Sunday, December 11, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Granted I could only play the chords (it wasn't that difficult, I think there were only five chords involved). Back then, I was really, really, really into U2. I wanted to marry Bono. I was a bit dejected to find out that he was already married with four kids, but I was young, and I hoped to meet and seduce the man who was The Fly.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
And I tell you, for a room inhabited by two, it was pretty damn clean. Compared to this:
Bless my mess. Then, they came over to my room where we talked a bit more, and we went back to their room to talk even more. I had lost track of the time, and rather stoned, I retired back to my blissfully messy cell and slept.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Class took up the entire afternoon and evening. It was very enjoyable, I had to write my imagination off. And imagine me trying to read out loud with an English accent so that everybody else could understand. That's one thing to work on.
Anyhow, we had an established writer give us a workshop in the evening. Her name is Bernadine Evaristo, and from the sound of it (I didn't get a chance to read her works because I arrived late and had no time to source for her books), she's incredible. And I learnt a lot about writing characters.
By the time we were done, it was 9pm. I managed to make a few acquaintances, but me being too shy, I didn't ask if anyone was going back to my hall. So, I took the 10 minute trek back home.
I'd been on the path several times now, but all the time during the day. On that narrow path, one side is a high wall which separates the houses, and on the other is a sort of organic-y vegetable farm. It's really lovely during the daytime, the air is fresh and there's the sound of rustling leaves. Many students use that path as well. But at night, it's the perfect scene for a horror movie. It's disturbingly quiet, nobody uses it, it's lit with dim, orange lights, and the goddamn streetlights are the energy-saving ones. The sort that turn off by themselves if nobody is nearby.
And I ran all the way back home, this little piggy did. All the time, I kept on turning back, half-expecting the hound of the Baskervilles to be on my heels.
I stopped running once I saw another person, and by the time I reached my hall, I was half out of breath and my mind was a circus. There was this guy waiting outside the door, and he was asking me if I could scan him in. The problem was, he looked exactly like an Italian guy I knew, which sort scared more bejesus out of me. My first thought was, would that Italian guy stalk me all the way here? Then, at a closer look, he was slightly different, more Arabian than Mediterranean.
So here I am, same and sound, typing away. Next week, I will either use the bus, or the long route home.
Well, day four didn't quite end that way. Let's continue to day 04.2
Thursday, October 6, 2011
So there I was, trying to ensure that my rice doesn't turn into broth, one hand stirring the pot and one eye on the evil looking stew. She walks in with her boyfriend and I damn near peed my pants. See, I thought that I would be staying alone, despite the stalk of dried-up celery in the fridge and other miscellaneous foodstuff. I had been having suspicions that my housemate was actually decomposing in her room, due to the undone dishes in the sink (as though the killer left in a hurry). And here she was, walking in the front door. I hope that the stench of my stew didn't scare her off too much.
She's French, she smokes, and she drinks. Good girl.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Then, I went to the library, after three years. Libraries are pretty much the same everywhere. Pretend silence, droning of turning pages, stilted footsteps, and the regular annoying loud person on the phone somewhere far off. I wanted to check out two books, but because it was my first time there, an elderly lady helped me to use the self-check-out counter. Same damn thing they used in USM. It was nice of her anyway.
Which makes the count of people I spoke to at length today (minus cashiers, bus drivers, and mum via Skype) at two. And so, I begin my hermithood. Till Friday, anyhow. Then, I think I will make my sister's ears vomit from all the suppressed talk.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
This time round, I was sat next to an elderly Australian couple, en-route to visit their daughter in London. Elderly lady and I spoke of our favourite writers (she spoke a bit about a book called The Slap, which from her summary had very interesting content albeit a rather boring cover). Then, due to the flight delay and my worrying over the taxi service actually picking me up, they volunteered to stay behind to ensure that I got transported to Oxford. For a couple of strangers, they really impressed me.
Not only that, elderly lady (I really, really, really suck at remembering names) helped save me from the muck called customs. The customs officer was gearing up to dismantle my carefully taped box when she, with all her elderly lady power, stood up for me, saying that I was a student, and I was under her temporary supervision. Customs officer meekly backed down from that awesomeness.
I managed to call my taxi driver, and he said that had almost arrived to get me, so I told the elderly couple that they didn't need to bother with me anymore, when elderly lady told me the most touching thing of the day. She said, "No! Of course we'll wait with you. I would have done the same if you were my daughter!" This, from total strangers. God bless sweet, pleasant elderly couples.
Then, I befriended my taxi driver. He was an Indian-Muslim who had spent, I quote, 'A great many years in the country.' He loved cricket, football (only international matches), and recently, snooker and pool. He used to be a bouncer but decided to venture into the ferrying business. Had not stepped into a gym for more than 10 years. I gauged his age to be about 36. Lovely fellow.
Next, thank god for sisters and their husbands to be there for you. Despite jetlag, they drove to see me, a good hour away from them, just to help me find my way about town, helping me to buy my groceries, and then treating me to a nice Chinese dinner. The life.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Too weird a dream not to write down. Anxiety maketh my subconscious wander.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
The car park staff took us to the food court’s parking space and as he did not ask for any parking fee, we walked to the other restaurant.
Upon returning to the parking lot, we were stopped by a group of men. One of them told us to pay RM50 parking fee since we did not eat in his food court.
We were shocked over the RM50 parking fee. The man then told us that it was written clearly in the banners that those who refused to pay would have their car wheel chained up.
One of the men then started to ‘lock’ our car wheel with a thick chain.
My friend tried to stop them, asking why they did not inform us earlier since they knew we were going to the restaurant next door. Now, you are just waiting for us to come back to pay the high fee.
The man replied that he had no time to see where the customers were going and scolded us for not seeing the notice.
But since he said the parking space was for the food court customers, we wanted to avoid paying the RM50 fee by going to the place to buy some drinks.
However, he did not want to accept it and ordered his staff to lock up our car.
He also shouted: “I am not scared if you ask state legislators, journalists or even a lawyer for help. You still have to pay!”
In such a helpless situation, my friend surrendered and paid up. This amounts to bullying but what can we do?
I believe we are not the only victims. It could have happened to your friends or relatives but they might not know where to channel their grievances. Please help to publicise this incident.
I mean, after going through the superlative of 'stupid', I'm out of words to describe this person! It's not like she went to Tanjung Bungah and got bullied into paying RM5 to some bum in order for her to park by the roadside because she wanted to go the beach. That, my friend, is retarded. No, she parked her car at a private property (for over an hour, mind you) and skipped off to the restaurant next door.
To me, that is equivalent to going to visit your friend, realizing that there is no place to park in front of your friend's house, and parking your car in front of some hapless stranger's house instead. I will publicize this incident alright. I will publicize her stupidity. Why am I so angry? This is because I have been the hapless stranger before. Idiots who want to frequent an eatery nearby sometimes park their car in front of my house, thus leaving me with no place to park my car. Even if I didn't want to park my car there and then, I still don't bloody like it if you park in front of my house! Idiotic.
That's not all. A few weeks ago, I read in The Star online that a woman was slapped because she double-parked her car in KL. Be it woman or man, whoever double-parks and is not attentive to whether the car inside wants to get out, should be slapped. Twice. Again, I had another personal experience with double-parkers. I'm really fine if you double-park, as long as you are there to move your car when I honk or whatever. I parked inside the compound of a shoplot near Queensbay and went for lunch. Lo and behold, when I got back, there was this white car in front of my car. I honked. Nobody came. I honked the shoplot down, and still, nobody came. In the end, I had to maneuver my car out of that parking space with skills my dad would be proud of. I tried to scratch the white car with my keys but didn't have the knowhow to leave any marks.
I don't know why I bother reading the news these days. Everything I read pisses me off.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Still no beach. And it's a tiny island, mind you.
The sun was beating us down, we had to climb uphill and downhill past tsunami evacuation points (at least we got that covered). After some time, I saw that the ground was filled with the dead bodies of my many-legged nemeses. I started to panic a little. Then, further inland, we started seeing live ones. Big, huge, motherfucking live ones. Screams came naturally, as well as digging my nails into a fellow male traveller.
Finally, the path ended at a construction site. No more path to walk on. Asking for directions in minimal Thai, the lady pointed to somewhere down the road, so we decided that was where we were going to go. Retrace our steps, surely there'd be a sign somewhere (road signs are non-existent, all you get are scribbles on wood). We passed by a village which we had ignored earlier on, and decided to take a turn into it, walking past the stilted houses of the Chao Ley, hoping and praying that they won't machete us for trespassing.
Then we found the beach. And it was a sorry sight. Mayhaps it was due to the rain, but rubbish littered the coastline. Planks with nasty nails from a misconstrued BDSM nightmare glared at us from the sand. A few weary travellers asked us if we knew any nice hotels, they must have hiked here to be disappointed as well. So, we trudged back, over hill and dale and nemeses galore, till we finally reached our beach and plopped on the deck chair and died.
We had two beers (male traveler and I; the other female traveler wisely avoided drinking on an empty stomach), then proceeded for dinner where male traveler and I had another big bottle of beer. After dinner, we stopped at a pub because I needed to pee, and we had yet another mug of beer. By then, I was properly tipsy, and walking back to the beach (we wanted to look at stars, by god they were beautiful), on a street nearly devoid of tourists, we bumped into this nice looking guy, and because I was properly tipsy, I asked him to join us for a beer by the beach.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
I was surprised to have found The Almond, by Nedjma at a popular bookstore's annual sale (it was also very cheaply priced). I had no clue what it was about - the cover was what caught my eye. That, and the title. The synopsis said something about it being erotic and written by a female Muslim author. Naturally, I bought it. Now, after doing some Googling, I find that the author was afraid to use her real name because she feared being stoned for writing such a book. Some write it off as mere pornography, others sing praises of her prose. I'm already enchanted. Pornography and prose, how poetic. I'm also bringing it along with me to Koh Lipe tomorrow, to pass the time and to be inspired to stare lustily at other backpackers.
Yes, I was spoilt by my grandma. She'd wait till you got to her house, then only fry everything so that the food would be hot (not to mention crispy, too). She'd reboil the soup, so that she can serve you it while it's still steaming. Everything had to be HOT. Cold food? Blasphemy. Only fit for the spirits to eat.
So now, I can't eat cold food (unless it's meant to be cold, like roti canai and nasi lemak). Well, not that I can't, but it would take some difficulty holding back the nausea.
We only recently got a microwave, so my poor mom had to reheat everything with the wok because I'd ask her to. If she didn't, I'd throw a tantrum and spray soya sauce everywhere through my nostrils.
I feel inexorably loved.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
I tried. I got till page three when I realized that what King could do at page one was to get me feeling close to the characters, like I knew them personally (so quick like hares across the prairie), Koontz just didn't cut it for me.
I'm sorry, I tried, it's just not to my liking. And I will read the Dark Tower series one day.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
She had always wanted to touch the space between his eyelids. His eyelids were so deep and pronounced, so incredibly sexy in her eyes. She had always wanted to do that, but when they were alone, something else distracted her, or she plainly forgot this strange desire to run the tips of her fingers over his eyelids. She only remembered when they were out with friends. They rarely went out alone together, anyhow. It was weird, walking with him, talking with him without the company of friends. They started out from that group of friends, it was only natural to them to stick to that group of friends even though their friendship had evolved to another blissful, useful level. Yet, his eyelids remain out of reach to her - always there, always when she never remembered and hiding in obscurity when she did.
She was crazy about him - she thought of him even when he didn't think about her. In the shower, in her books, in her dreams, in her sleep she thought of him. She thought of his light brown eyes, his hair overgrown like bramble bush he always smoothed it back and would not allow her near his crowning glory. She was deeply infatuated with him. Infatuated, because she did not believe in love although she told him 'I love you' many times over and over. A lie comes in handy, was her principle. A lie makes people happy.
God knew he lied to her too. She knew. She knew when he told her that he'd wait for her, that he'd never fool around. She never trusted anyone, no matter how deeply infatuated she was with anybody. There was a part of her reserved, break glass in case of emergency, that sort of thing. She never trusts. No. She'd pretend she did, and when she did get disappointed or let down, she'd comfort herself by saying she never let herself fall so truly and deeply till she trusted the fella. No, she did not trust him when he said he loved her, when he said he'd gotten over his past loves whom he talks about with lights shining from his eyes. She didn't trust him when he said he won't fool around when he went away, when he said he'd be true. True's as true as a cat in heat, calling for any Tom passing by. True's as true as that. She was a cynic hoping to be uncynicsiced, if there's such a word. She invented her own words all the time. She felt she was going schizo.
He, on the other hand. He had not truly gotten over his past, one thing's for sure. He talked about them with a sickly zest, like a victory, not as humans who felt and hurt and knew what pain was. He talked about them as if they were nothing but flowers by the roadside, awaiting death swaying with every breeze a passing tyre breathes. Sure, he felt this really, strong, inexplicable attraction for this girl. He felt this strong, physical need to be with her, to bed her whenever she came over to his bachelor pad. Other than that, he did not know of what to talk to her about. She was strange, she had strange principles. She did not like to be held on the shoulder, although he never asked why. She did not like to be called 'darling' or 'babe' because of some unknown reason he did not bother to find out. Yet, there was a strong attraction he could not deny. Yes, call it love, lust, whichever moniker you'd prefer. He felt a strong attraction to her, and that was that. He acted on that attraction, he got the girl, he got the pleasure, he did not want to end it. Yet, anyway. Everybody knew that things like these, without substance or any substantial connection, things like these they do not last. No, he'd leave her soon, and they'd fall apart then. But for now, they were together. For now he was happy with things. He was happy being with her for the moment. Strange.
Perchance he did not want to admit that what they felt together, shared together, went deeper than just animal attraction. Perhaps he was scarred from those exes he did not, could not forget. Perhaps that was why he, too, was afraid to hope, to believe in her. So these two people who were so afraid of each other, they got together and did not try to change the way they saw the world. She was albeit a little more idealistic than him. He was a cynic through and through. No love for the handicapped, says he. He was blinded to the truth because he did not want to believe. He could not, for the love of God, see that there was a sliver of lining behind dark clouds.
That was all she could hope for. That there was something beyond lust, for him anyway. She knew what she felt. She just didn't want to fall too deep, that's all. Dear God, she already had.
It wasn't very nice. It wasn't very nice would be putting it in a very mild way. She got lung cancer which was initially liver cancer because she drunk so fucking much but it spread to her lungs because she smoked, for writers are known to smoke and to take drugs. She was on her deathbed. She did not know she had that killing disease till it was too late. He stood by her deathbed. He was ready for anything, but not this.
She said "Let me go. Let me go without tears and strife. Find a new life, all of you. Find someone who can fulfill you, a better daughter, a better lover. Thank gods I'm not yet a mother. Be merry and be happy." That was all she said before she got stuffed with morphine and died the following day. Dreadful, but yes, she died. And she never did get to touch the space between his eyelids.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
"The aim of this study was to investigate the effect of nicotine, in the form of Nicorette tablets, on aphthous ulcers in nonsmoking patients. The study was prompted by the observations that smokers are less likely to suffer from mouth ulcers, that some smokers on quitting develop them, and that patients on nicotine replacement therapy are less likely to develop ulcers than those having other types of smoking cessation therapy. CLINICAL FEATURES: The three nonsmoking patients who were selected for the study each had a long history of recurrent aphthous ulcers with no remissions. INTERVENTION AND OUTCOME: Each patient was given up to four 2 mg Nicorette chewing tablets per day. After one month of this regimen each patient was weaned off the tablets. In each case the ulcers healed and new ulcers did not appear during Nicorette therapy. Two of the patients relapsed when weaned off the tablets. CONCLUSIONS: This preliminary trial shows that nicotine may have a beneficial effect on aphthous ulcers. Further studies are necessary to elucidate the mechanism."
'Bitch', if used on males, should not only apply to men in prison who are subordinate and subject to soap-picking in the showers.
For example, I can say, 'That bitch thinks he's so damn hot he makes me want to puke sandwiches.'
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
People who use their index fingers tend to be domineering, impulsive, and rebellious. They cast caution in the air when their mothers tell them that their nostrils will expand if they use their index fingers to dig shit from their noses. Index finger diggers are practical, they know that the best way to reach that piece of shit embedded on the roof of their nostrils is to use their pointers. They also don't really care what you think about them. Coincidentally, they are also the sort who ingloriously seek gold in their nasal cavities whilst they are driving, oblivious to the fact that they are surrounded by see-through windows. 60% of the population in Malaysia use their index fingers. The same behavior also applies to approximately 3% of the population of Antartica and a number of penguins.
On the other hand, people who use their pinkies are dainty, sensitive, and conformists. They actually listened to their mothers when they were young. They are industrious and creative, but can be manipulative. They are very conscious of themselves. It is amazing how they can manage to use the weak little finger to reach and extract pieces of shit from their nostrils. They are also the sort who flick nose booger from the end of their pinkies to fuckall direction (doesn't matter where or at whom they are flicking at). 39% of Malaysians use their pinkies. No Antarticans use their pinkies because they don't have any (result of prevalent frostbite in their genes), while penguins simply do not have pinkies.
1% of Malaysians use their middle fingers. You should report them to the police. They are aggresive, likely to be murderers, pedophiles, and rapists.