Sometimes I find that London is crowding me and fuelling my lung with polluted air. I like London and at the moment I don’t think I can live anywhere else, but once in a while I have to get away from the bustling city life. I had to get out fast to rejuvenate myself. London does have quite a lot of interesting parks whatsoever but it’s a definite no-no (unless I don’t have any other choices) because I think the city is kind of short of fresh air.
I guess the destination of my weekend getaways depends on my mood but they all must be nature induced. I miss the times in MO, where I can just take an hour or two off to Devil’s Ice Box or Finger Lakes. Or the Cosmo Park since they’re all not too far from home.
Anyway, this time I chose to go back to Skipton, located in the Yorkshire Dales National Park (YD). I said back because it is a town where I started my life in the UK and it’s the town that offered me chances. I won’t be able to live there anymore but I will surely go back for it’s wonderful sceneries.
My first job gave me a lot of chances to explore Yorkshire. Armed with a fleet of ice cream vans, my friends and I drove everywhere in the country from busy cities like Cardiff and Leeds to Malham and Dent, two quiet villages in the middle of nowhere.
The work was hard but the rewards were sweeter. I love driving on the single-track road in the dales along side the creeks and sheep with coloured spots on them, looking at me curiously. Sometimes when I wasn’t pressed for time, I would stop and just enjoy the lovely views. I can lose myself and engross in my own thoughts about a happier life and a peaceful world without a care for others. I just wanted to be left alone.
This time around, I had the pleasure of exploring the YD again. It was so refreshing to go back and see it from the eyes of tourists. Walking at a slow pace without the need to hurry, I find that the view is and will always be magnificent. And I can’t help but sing What a Wonderful World. For a while there, I felt connected with the world of cattle and vast countryside.
Monday, 20 December 2004
Tuesday, 14 December 2004
My Fairy Goddaughter
Earlier today, a little girl was born to a lovely couple. She will be the apple of her parents though her name is not Apple.
After all the scares her mom went through, she's finally out and about, sharing the same breathing space with us. She has tiny fingers and toes and she's a month early but in no time at all she will start kicking and jumping around.
Before she opens her eyes, she has already been given a book, A Little Lamb, but she has a long wait before she can start turning the pages. Once she knows how to use a girl's charm, she'll wrap us around her little fingers and not let go. With many uncles and aunties around to spoil her, she won't be short of anything.
Little Ellynor Sofia, welcome to our world. Be good, ok.
After all the scares her mom went through, she's finally out and about, sharing the same breathing space with us. She has tiny fingers and toes and she's a month early but in no time at all she will start kicking and jumping around.
Before she opens her eyes, she has already been given a book, A Little Lamb, but she has a long wait before she can start turning the pages. Once she knows how to use a girl's charm, she'll wrap us around her little fingers and not let go. With many uncles and aunties around to spoil her, she won't be short of anything.
Little Ellynor Sofia, welcome to our world. Be good, ok.
Monday, 6 December 2004
Melayu losers? He can't be..
Last March when I was back home, my nephew, who is 14, mentioned about his schoolteachers being a prick. Well, that is actually my word, not his.
You see, he goes to Maktab Mahmud. In Kedah, it is quite a difficult school to get in because they only choose the bright ones and the boys were interviewed for their Arabic and Quran knowledge. The school is considered a prestigious academic institution that balances the dunia and akhirat. Or so I guess.
It seems like lately the teachers are ignoring Afiq in classes because he always put his hand up to answer questions. He is not a Know-It-All boy but because he is encouraged to be proactive in school by his mother and me, he became a bit confident. We always told him that it doesn’t matter whether his answer is right or wrong, he has to speak up. He did follow our advice, and because he is a bright boy he mostly got the correct answers.
My sister and I were horrified by his stories that his Math, Science and English teachers are now closing one eye and pretending not to see his raised arm. I understand completely the case where there is always someone in the class who has the answer to everything and annoys other pupils. But now that I am older, I would actually appreciate the situation because indirectly he or she is sharing the knowledge.
Obviously, the teachers think that Afiq is irritating and showing off. It looks like they are against him. As a result, he is now a little bit discouraged and reluctant to participate, as he sees no point in it. I
n this time, where everything around us evolves so fast, we have to keep up to the changes or else be left behind. Yet, the Malaysian education system is still far behind compared to the fast paced Malaysian technology and industry.
I am tired of listening to the Cabinet Ministers who keep reminding all to master the English language. I am tired of reading reports that local undergraduates should master languages including English to excel in education as well as to ensure a brighter future.
What is the whole point of these reminders when a kampung boy like Afiq (and I’m sure there are lot more boys and girls like him) found the courage to speak up and was shot down faster the bazooka being fired? They die without even trying. And people are complaining that the youngsters can’t speak good English or lack self-confidence? Duh!
The local undergrads are worse. At this level, they just didn’t want to try anymore and always finding excuses for lack of ability to speak English. Malulah. In kampung, people don’t speak English. Takut salah. Tak pandai. Takut orang kata showing off.
Nothing anyone could do to change this attitude until they themselves have the awareness and want to change. In the meantime, they’re just a bunch of losers. I do not want Afiq or any of my anak buah to end up like the rest of Melayu losers, so I’m going to keep pushing him. My sister, on the other hand, used a very direct approach. She filed a complaint with the school about his teachers. Bravo Sis. His teachers can eat shit!
You see, he goes to Maktab Mahmud. In Kedah, it is quite a difficult school to get in because they only choose the bright ones and the boys were interviewed for their Arabic and Quran knowledge. The school is considered a prestigious academic institution that balances the dunia and akhirat. Or so I guess.
It seems like lately the teachers are ignoring Afiq in classes because he always put his hand up to answer questions. He is not a Know-It-All boy but because he is encouraged to be proactive in school by his mother and me, he became a bit confident. We always told him that it doesn’t matter whether his answer is right or wrong, he has to speak up. He did follow our advice, and because he is a bright boy he mostly got the correct answers.
My sister and I were horrified by his stories that his Math, Science and English teachers are now closing one eye and pretending not to see his raised arm. I understand completely the case where there is always someone in the class who has the answer to everything and annoys other pupils. But now that I am older, I would actually appreciate the situation because indirectly he or she is sharing the knowledge.
Obviously, the teachers think that Afiq is irritating and showing off. It looks like they are against him. As a result, he is now a little bit discouraged and reluctant to participate, as he sees no point in it. I
n this time, where everything around us evolves so fast, we have to keep up to the changes or else be left behind. Yet, the Malaysian education system is still far behind compared to the fast paced Malaysian technology and industry.
I am tired of listening to the Cabinet Ministers who keep reminding all to master the English language. I am tired of reading reports that local undergraduates should master languages including English to excel in education as well as to ensure a brighter future.
What is the whole point of these reminders when a kampung boy like Afiq (and I’m sure there are lot more boys and girls like him) found the courage to speak up and was shot down faster the bazooka being fired? They die without even trying. And people are complaining that the youngsters can’t speak good English or lack self-confidence? Duh!
The local undergrads are worse. At this level, they just didn’t want to try anymore and always finding excuses for lack of ability to speak English. Malulah. In kampung, people don’t speak English. Takut salah. Tak pandai. Takut orang kata showing off.
Nothing anyone could do to change this attitude until they themselves have the awareness and want to change. In the meantime, they’re just a bunch of losers. I do not want Afiq or any of my anak buah to end up like the rest of Melayu losers, so I’m going to keep pushing him. My sister, on the other hand, used a very direct approach. She filed a complaint with the school about his teachers. Bravo Sis. His teachers can eat shit!
Saturday, 4 December 2004
Dark Side of Life
Life is hard. Nobody ever said that it’s a piece of cake. All the frustration, disappointment and later on the achievement and happiness make up a complete set of life cycle. You and I have been through a lot, no matter how old we are. A young girl of 18 experiences the kind of feelings just the same as a 45-year-old woman if loneliness has its way. Even a mature man can act like an adolescent if he kept his frustration boiling inside. There must be a way to deal with all these. That’s what we are here for. To find a way to get around it.
Running away, however, is not an option anymore.
There was a girl I once know very well. In her early life, she had love and guidance. Her mother died when she barely finished university. She only cried once when she helped bathe her mother and didn’t cry again when the coffin was taken to the mosque and her mother was buried next to the grandparents. Things were blur and distant. She never shed any tears at the airport when she left her family in pursue of better education.
She was lost. Angry. Hurt. Life was unfair. She turned rebellious and became comfortable with her loneliness. She kept on smiling, but deep down she had a darker side. Instead of dressing like the next-door girl, she put on black attires from head to toe. Black lipstick. Black nail polish. Black shades. Black eye shadow. She was being pulled into a cult obsession. Reading materials were of satanic society, black magic and superstitious being.
Six months later, she finally broke down and cried in her sleep when the vision of her mother came in her dream. Her mother was holding out her hands and reaching for the girl before the girl destroys herself completely. The girl wept endlessly on the bed. It was a very sad image, but somehow it brought her back to the ground.
Her solitude continued but in a different way. She found peace by going for walks at the lakes, holding a fishing rod and enjoying the nature. Being the youngest, she had her sister and brothers as role model but she felt the love and guidance slowly changing. In her mind, she was on her own struggling to move on while the rest of the family got on with their own life. She was not sure what to do with hers. Her father followed the path of her mother soon after and this time she was truly by herself. She kept well away from family gatherings because she didn’t feel she belongs anymore.
People saw her as a happy person, who probably has no fear at whatever being thrown at her. But in reality, she drifted from job to job, found no happiness and slowly going into the state of depression. She was scared. Along the way, there were real friends who stood by her and never got tired of giving encouragement. They believe in her.
She is slowly getting back on her feet although it is taking her 8 years to get there. From a distance, there is a light at the end of the tunnel and the light won’t go off unless she pulls the switch. The bitter girl I once knew has slowly changed and become a new person with more positive vibes. It will take her a while to fully recover and reach her peak, but she is heading towards the right direction. And she wants me to let you know that she is still smiling and her darker side has shrunk, but not completely gone.
Running away, however, is not an option anymore.
There was a girl I once know very well. In her early life, she had love and guidance. Her mother died when she barely finished university. She only cried once when she helped bathe her mother and didn’t cry again when the coffin was taken to the mosque and her mother was buried next to the grandparents. Things were blur and distant. She never shed any tears at the airport when she left her family in pursue of better education.
She was lost. Angry. Hurt. Life was unfair. She turned rebellious and became comfortable with her loneliness. She kept on smiling, but deep down she had a darker side. Instead of dressing like the next-door girl, she put on black attires from head to toe. Black lipstick. Black nail polish. Black shades. Black eye shadow. She was being pulled into a cult obsession. Reading materials were of satanic society, black magic and superstitious being.
Six months later, she finally broke down and cried in her sleep when the vision of her mother came in her dream. Her mother was holding out her hands and reaching for the girl before the girl destroys herself completely. The girl wept endlessly on the bed. It was a very sad image, but somehow it brought her back to the ground.
Her solitude continued but in a different way. She found peace by going for walks at the lakes, holding a fishing rod and enjoying the nature. Being the youngest, she had her sister and brothers as role model but she felt the love and guidance slowly changing. In her mind, she was on her own struggling to move on while the rest of the family got on with their own life. She was not sure what to do with hers. Her father followed the path of her mother soon after and this time she was truly by herself. She kept well away from family gatherings because she didn’t feel she belongs anymore.
People saw her as a happy person, who probably has no fear at whatever being thrown at her. But in reality, she drifted from job to job, found no happiness and slowly going into the state of depression. She was scared. Along the way, there were real friends who stood by her and never got tired of giving encouragement. They believe in her.
She is slowly getting back on her feet although it is taking her 8 years to get there. From a distance, there is a light at the end of the tunnel and the light won’t go off unless she pulls the switch. The bitter girl I once knew has slowly changed and become a new person with more positive vibes. It will take her a while to fully recover and reach her peak, but she is heading towards the right direction. And she wants me to let you know that she is still smiling and her darker side has shrunk, but not completely gone.
Friday, 3 December 2004
No problem, mate!
Telephone conversation is addictive. I was chatting on the phone with The Mentor for more than an hour from 17:11 to 18:43. Gosh, since I started driving from Winchester till I got home and parked in front of the flat. The Mentor always has something to say and after she finished giving some pep talk about work, we moved on to personal matters.
I mentioned to her that my boxing class is horrifying but awesome and I am having a good time, even though I can hardly lift my arms. My whole body is so sore from all the punches, jabs and kicks, and when I had to shift the gear while driving, the left arm just hurts so much. It’s a nightmare but odd enough, I am going back for more.
During our long chat, I told her about the talk I had with Martin last night. I am at a point where I am getting a bit frustrated because it seems like there is no two-way interaction. He keeps moaning, yet he does nothing about his situation. A lot of people talk to him and try to help; but I think that whatever advice people gave him just goes out through the window. He gave up easily and when he finally did something, I don’t think he tried hard enough. I don’t know what else I can do to help this guy. Hah! I needed help myself.
As we progressed, The Mentor had a go at me and pointed out my weaknesses. According to her, I need to toughen up because I am too giving and too softhearted. I always do something for someone without hesitate and didn't expect people to return a favour, which I think is true. Last week I helped moved this huge wardrobe from her house to her mother’s house in my little van. For me, this thing is nothing. It is something you would do for a friend. I would gladly do it again and again. She said to me she is waiting for me to ask for a favour and if I did, she would do anything for me, but she knew I wouldn’t ask. Wow! This coming from the director of company I work for. Some people wouldn’t miss this opportunity to ask a person of her position, but not me. I can’t do it and even if I can, I don’t know how. That’s the way I am.
Every now and then, when a friend asks for a favour, it’s always no problem for me. Last year on three separate occasions, I was busy travelling around the country doing my job but I keep a place in west London. I was going to Edinburgh when a friend called up several times and said his friends needed a place to stay. I didn’t know the girls but I left the key to my room with my housemate. They came and stayed there for a few days and when I came back, they already moved out since they found their own place. We never even met! Unbelievable. What if one of them was a psycho? But then again, you can’t go thinking too much about it either. What if they were just harmless and desperately needed the help?
The thing is you can’t just help someone and expect to be rewarded. It’s not ikhlas then. When I offer my help to someone, they do not have to return the favour but instead they can turn around and help someone else. You know, like Pay It Forward the movie. Plus, I always think we should lend a helping hand whenever we can because we just never know when we will need it back. Today is my happy day, but tomorrow could be my unlucky day.
I mentioned to her that my boxing class is horrifying but awesome and I am having a good time, even though I can hardly lift my arms. My whole body is so sore from all the punches, jabs and kicks, and when I had to shift the gear while driving, the left arm just hurts so much. It’s a nightmare but odd enough, I am going back for more.
During our long chat, I told her about the talk I had with Martin last night. I am at a point where I am getting a bit frustrated because it seems like there is no two-way interaction. He keeps moaning, yet he does nothing about his situation. A lot of people talk to him and try to help; but I think that whatever advice people gave him just goes out through the window. He gave up easily and when he finally did something, I don’t think he tried hard enough. I don’t know what else I can do to help this guy. Hah! I needed help myself.
As we progressed, The Mentor had a go at me and pointed out my weaknesses. According to her, I need to toughen up because I am too giving and too softhearted. I always do something for someone without hesitate and didn't expect people to return a favour, which I think is true. Last week I helped moved this huge wardrobe from her house to her mother’s house in my little van. For me, this thing is nothing. It is something you would do for a friend. I would gladly do it again and again. She said to me she is waiting for me to ask for a favour and if I did, she would do anything for me, but she knew I wouldn’t ask. Wow! This coming from the director of company I work for. Some people wouldn’t miss this opportunity to ask a person of her position, but not me. I can’t do it and even if I can, I don’t know how. That’s the way I am.
Every now and then, when a friend asks for a favour, it’s always no problem for me. Last year on three separate occasions, I was busy travelling around the country doing my job but I keep a place in west London. I was going to Edinburgh when a friend called up several times and said his friends needed a place to stay. I didn’t know the girls but I left the key to my room with my housemate. They came and stayed there for a few days and when I came back, they already moved out since they found their own place. We never even met! Unbelievable. What if one of them was a psycho? But then again, you can’t go thinking too much about it either. What if they were just harmless and desperately needed the help?
The thing is you can’t just help someone and expect to be rewarded. It’s not ikhlas then. When I offer my help to someone, they do not have to return the favour but instead they can turn around and help someone else. You know, like Pay It Forward the movie. Plus, I always think we should lend a helping hand whenever we can because we just never know when we will need it back. Today is my happy day, but tomorrow could be my unlucky day.
Monday, 29 November 2004
The lesbian in me
In October 2003, I went backpacking in Central Europe. It was one of the best times in my life, for I felt so free and uninhibited. Amsterdam is one of the many cities on my travel itinerary. Boy! I tell you, it is a bloody damn expensive city but a wonderful place, nonetheless.
Travelling alone, I had the flexibility of changing plan as often as I wish. As I walked all over downtown, I came across this little hut that sell lots of touristy stuffs and gay souvenirs. Goody, I thought to myself. I could get something for my gay friends. After I belek here and belek there, I decided to get a couple of postcards, a miniature of gay men kissing and a guide to gay nightlife in Amsterdam.
The hut keeper and I started talking about the guidebook and he was so helpful by pointing out to me the location of some of the best gay clubs in the city. Assuming that I was a lesbian, he asked me how difficult was it to come out from the closet in a country like Malaysia. Gobsmacked! I thought it was quite funny and I can’t stop smiling, but somehow I managed to tell him that it was quite difficult to be a lesbian in our society.
Though I can’t say what it’s like to be gay since I’m not a full blown one, I imagine it is rather hard for them to come out. I have two friends who are so much in love with each other but they can’t come out and be themselves, knowing what awaits them. All the humiliations, punishments and titles society will bestow upon them. It is rather sad. Not everybody is like you and me, who can accept gay people for who they are.
Last night before falling asleep, I have this thought playing hide and seek in my head.
If I were a lesbian, I would like to shag Rebecca Gillis a.k.a Jacinda Barret. She is a gorgeous chick with innocent look and serene poise. Who is she? Check out the lesbian chick in Bridget Jones 2. I think she has small breasts but what the heck; it is not the end of the world. I wonder what it is like to kiss her. If I were Bridget, I would dump Mark Darcy on the spot.
Travelling alone, I had the flexibility of changing plan as often as I wish. As I walked all over downtown, I came across this little hut that sell lots of touristy stuffs and gay souvenirs. Goody, I thought to myself. I could get something for my gay friends. After I belek here and belek there, I decided to get a couple of postcards, a miniature of gay men kissing and a guide to gay nightlife in Amsterdam.
The hut keeper and I started talking about the guidebook and he was so helpful by pointing out to me the location of some of the best gay clubs in the city. Assuming that I was a lesbian, he asked me how difficult was it to come out from the closet in a country like Malaysia. Gobsmacked! I thought it was quite funny and I can’t stop smiling, but somehow I managed to tell him that it was quite difficult to be a lesbian in our society.
Though I can’t say what it’s like to be gay since I’m not a full blown one, I imagine it is rather hard for them to come out. I have two friends who are so much in love with each other but they can’t come out and be themselves, knowing what awaits them. All the humiliations, punishments and titles society will bestow upon them. It is rather sad. Not everybody is like you and me, who can accept gay people for who they are.
Last night before falling asleep, I have this thought playing hide and seek in my head.
If I were a lesbian, I would like to shag Rebecca Gillis a.k.a Jacinda Barret. She is a gorgeous chick with innocent look and serene poise. Who is she? Check out the lesbian chick in Bridget Jones 2. I think she has small breasts but what the heck; it is not the end of the world. I wonder what it is like to kiss her. If I were Bridget, I would dump Mark Darcy on the spot.
Friday, 26 November 2004
Surrogate nenek
A few days ago, I received a text message 'Opah meninggal'. My heart suddenly stopped beating for two seconds and I find it quite difficult to breathe. She was one fine lady.
She wasn't my Opah and no, we were not related, either by blood or by marriage.
It all started when I came back after finishing my studies and eager to start the working life. Coming from Kedah, it was quite difficult to get a job just by sending letters to potential employers. So, my friend and I decided to pack our bags and try our luck in KL. Before we could stand on our own feet, we stayed with her aunt and family, and Opah at Kg Pandan.
Never in my life before I heard orang Perak speaks Malay. It was such a linguistic shock to me, trying to understand each word or jokes traded between them. Whenever I didn't understand anything, I just grinned and laughed at myself. Opah was very good at telling stories and boy! she could tell you a lot. Most of the times, I had a translator who pitied me and let me on the stories.
She usually started her stories like 'Zaman bard dulu...' I am sure you're wondering what the heck is bard? It was her word for JWW Birch. So zaman bard is actually the time when the British had a forceful influence, having appointed Bard as the first British Resident in Perak. Though she wasn't around at Bard time,she had wonderful life experiences because she grew up during the time when the world was in chaos and our nation was struggling for her own identity.
She would relate each story to a real person and how that person make an impact on the history. Like the time when the first PM trying to negotiate our independence. All of the orang kampung, rich or poor, helped by donating whatever savings or gold they had, just to buy Tunku a plane ticket to London. She remembered that day clearly and painted the picture to me and her grandchildren. She was so passionate and proud to be part of something so big. The kind of things we never read in our history text books.
When she was living in KL, she actually had her eyes wide open to the ongoing sagas, gossips or development. You would think that a nenek from kampung wouldn't know what was going on in the social circle of KL life. Well, you're wrong. She could tell you whos who or which clubs to avoid. She loved taking a bus (I think it's No. 32 Metro Bus) to the town. She even told us that years ago, KL did try to use a double decker like the red London bus but to no success. She even had the opportunity to ride in one before the plan was abandoned. For some reason, I didn't quite believe the story but I was sure she wasn't lying. She was very particular about ethics and honesty.
Her knowledge of English wasn't so bad either, though she made it her own version. I laughed so hard when I first found out what she meant by 'setempeket'. It was her version of 'certificate'. And not to forget the words 'renen' and 'statmet' being 'raining' and 'estimate'. She was hilarious and a very sporting nenek.
The stories stopped coming after she became weak and diagnosed with cancer. She was fighting for her life and sadly, last week her fight ended. She was a beautiful lady in every sense of the word and I hope she had lived her life to the fullest. Though she wasn't flesh and blood, I loved her.
Al-Fatihah to you, Opah. You will be fondly remembered.
She wasn't my Opah and no, we were not related, either by blood or by marriage.
It all started when I came back after finishing my studies and eager to start the working life. Coming from Kedah, it was quite difficult to get a job just by sending letters to potential employers. So, my friend and I decided to pack our bags and try our luck in KL. Before we could stand on our own feet, we stayed with her aunt and family, and Opah at Kg Pandan.
Never in my life before I heard orang Perak speaks Malay. It was such a linguistic shock to me, trying to understand each word or jokes traded between them. Whenever I didn't understand anything, I just grinned and laughed at myself. Opah was very good at telling stories and boy! she could tell you a lot. Most of the times, I had a translator who pitied me and let me on the stories.
She usually started her stories like 'Zaman bard dulu...' I am sure you're wondering what the heck is bard? It was her word for JWW Birch. So zaman bard is actually the time when the British had a forceful influence, having appointed Bard as the first British Resident in Perak. Though she wasn't around at Bard time,she had wonderful life experiences because she grew up during the time when the world was in chaos and our nation was struggling for her own identity.
She would relate each story to a real person and how that person make an impact on the history. Like the time when the first PM trying to negotiate our independence. All of the orang kampung, rich or poor, helped by donating whatever savings or gold they had, just to buy Tunku a plane ticket to London. She remembered that day clearly and painted the picture to me and her grandchildren. She was so passionate and proud to be part of something so big. The kind of things we never read in our history text books.
When she was living in KL, she actually had her eyes wide open to the ongoing sagas, gossips or development. You would think that a nenek from kampung wouldn't know what was going on in the social circle of KL life. Well, you're wrong. She could tell you whos who or which clubs to avoid. She loved taking a bus (I think it's No. 32 Metro Bus) to the town. She even told us that years ago, KL did try to use a double decker like the red London bus but to no success. She even had the opportunity to ride in one before the plan was abandoned. For some reason, I didn't quite believe the story but I was sure she wasn't lying. She was very particular about ethics and honesty.
Her knowledge of English wasn't so bad either, though she made it her own version. I laughed so hard when I first found out what she meant by 'setempeket'. It was her version of 'certificate'. And not to forget the words 'renen' and 'statmet' being 'raining' and 'estimate'. She was hilarious and a very sporting nenek.
The stories stopped coming after she became weak and diagnosed with cancer. She was fighting for her life and sadly, last week her fight ended. She was a beautiful lady in every sense of the word and I hope she had lived her life to the fullest. Though she wasn't flesh and blood, I loved her.
Al-Fatihah to you, Opah. You will be fondly remembered.
Thursday, 25 November 2004
Bad memories are bad
Yesterday, I was running around all over the country making a complete triangle from London to Newport to Bradford and back to London. All within 14 hours. When I got home, I just can't be bothered with the pillow pat 'cos I needed the sleep. By right, I should be tired and miserable, but truthfully I wasn't. I was happy to get out of my home office and cruise the motorway.
Since it was quite a long drive, I can't help but started to think about the good and bad memories. The good ones made me smile silly, but the bad ones made me think deeper. The Two-Faced Man came back haunting my mind even though this happened almost eight or nine years ago. The day I found out he was cheating on me. I guess I was to be blamed too for not noticing the lame excuses and broken promises. When he said he'd call and didn't, I rang him instead and forgot everything else when I heard his voice. He was sweet and caring and damned was I naive.
Long distance relationship sure didn't work for me. Once I turned my back, he found someone else. The thing that hurt most was he didn't have the decency to admit that he wanted out. Could have save us both the heartache. What was in his mind? Did he think he could have had both girls? Slimy bastard.
He made me wary of other men. I won't give my heart freely and have it stomped all over again. I don't even know whether I have a heart anymore. I feel numb. Every relationship I had these days is like a one night stand and I won't let it go further than that. Flirt and fling. That's my motto.
Maybe I'll find someone who will share my dreams, or maybe I won't. Sometimes, I don't care. That's the phase in my life I want to forget and weep I shall not.
Since it was quite a long drive, I can't help but started to think about the good and bad memories. The good ones made me smile silly, but the bad ones made me think deeper. The Two-Faced Man came back haunting my mind even though this happened almost eight or nine years ago. The day I found out he was cheating on me. I guess I was to be blamed too for not noticing the lame excuses and broken promises. When he said he'd call and didn't, I rang him instead and forgot everything else when I heard his voice. He was sweet and caring and damned was I naive.
Long distance relationship sure didn't work for me. Once I turned my back, he found someone else. The thing that hurt most was he didn't have the decency to admit that he wanted out. Could have save us both the heartache. What was in his mind? Did he think he could have had both girls? Slimy bastard.
He made me wary of other men. I won't give my heart freely and have it stomped all over again. I don't even know whether I have a heart anymore. I feel numb. Every relationship I had these days is like a one night stand and I won't let it go further than that. Flirt and fling. That's my motto.
Maybe I'll find someone who will share my dreams, or maybe I won't. Sometimes, I don't care. That's the phase in my life I want to forget and weep I shall not.
Sunday, 21 November 2004
Help me, please?
When I was young
I never needed anyone
And making love was just for fun
Those days are gone
Living alone
I think of all the friends I've known
When I dial the telephone
Nobody's home
All by myself
Don't wanna be
All by myself
Anymore
Hard to be sure
Sometimes I feel so insecure
And loves so distant and obscure
Remains the cure
All by myself
Don't wanna be
All by myself
Anymore
All by myself
Don't wanna live
All by myself
AnymoreI never needed anyone
-----
Sometimes it is so easy to cry, but when the hurt was buried inside for a long time, your tears will soon dry. Our hearts have been sliced and ripped apart, yet we still managed to pick ourselves up and moved on. As we grow older, we see things for what they are and not just the silver surface covering the ugly truth.
When I was young, foolish and full with romantic notions, I go ‘oohh aahh’ over the fairy tales of happy ending. Bruised and broken hearted years later, I believe that life is not just a whirlpool of romances. Sweet nothings whispered before, are now distant memories. Yet, however hard we tried to paste a smile on our face, these feelings sneak up on us and break us again, and again.
I did not plan for this thing to happen and I wish it didn’t happen. But the devil somehow found his way in. I did something I haven’t done for a long while. I wasn’t in a party mood so I opted to watch The X Factor and Simon Cowell. Btw, he’s cocky, witty and so much fun to watch, and I like him. I was enjoying the show and pining for Steve and Cassie to get through to the final. When it was her turn to sing, Cassie put her soul into this beautiful song, and makes me cry. My friends will tell you that I cry for the silliest reason one can think of, a TV advert, chick flicks or even a patriotic song. I became sebak. So what? Sue me! Anyway, her huge powerful voice reached inside of me and breaks my drought. This time, I cried because I actually listen to words and to the music.
That got me into thinking, what if I was not afraid? What if I’d taken a chance and gamble away? My whole life would have been altered and I would probably have a totally different personality and lifestyle. But is it a different lifestyle what I want? Or was I really looking to change my personality altogether? What am I? Who have I become? Will I end up just by myself? I tell you, I am physically stabled but emotionally disabled. The truth is I am terrified of what lies ahead of me. I still have many good years left but I don’t know what is coming up or how I will face it.
Maybe because we are living in our comfort zone that we didn’t realize that there is a big bad world outside. Or maybe because we close one eye and pretend that the world is not too cruel after all. Why should we be scared of something we didn’t know?
A friend said she didn’t want to wake up when she’s 40, and still do the same things she did a decade ago. Things she said hit the truth and pulled me back to real life. I can’t be wasting my time goyang kaki and living life as it is. Come on, I used to be so proactive and fresh with ideas. Friends were abundant and activities were never hard to find. Now, life is like a stale biscuit. I feel so small compared to rest of them. I am like a tiny drop of sweat in the bluest lake. I am ugly and smelly while the rest is beautiful and smooth.
Should I do something to change it? If I wait for things to materialise in front of me, then I will have a long wait because the way things are at the moment, it’s moving neither vertical nor horizontal.
Have no fear. Life is short. I want to discover a lot of things. My sense of adventure is screaming to me to do something but I haven’t been listening. I want to learn a new language, and perhaps go paragliding for once. I want to explore the world's treasures and Inca ruins, and contribute something back to my society.
Where is my inner strength when I need it most? In today's world, everything comes with a price. Commitment costs a fortune thus making it a puzzle whether it's worth my time. At the same time, I want to love and be loved. I want to have kids even if it means adopting. I want to be included but I am afraid of rejection. I want to conquer my fear but my steps are small. The worst of all, I am scared of the pain. Period. I don’t even know where to begin.
I never needed anyone
And making love was just for fun
Those days are gone
Living alone
I think of all the friends I've known
When I dial the telephone
Nobody's home
All by myself
Don't wanna be
All by myself
Anymore
Hard to be sure
Sometimes I feel so insecure
And loves so distant and obscure
Remains the cure
All by myself
Don't wanna be
All by myself
Anymore
All by myself
Don't wanna live
All by myself
AnymoreI never needed anyone
-----
Sometimes it is so easy to cry, but when the hurt was buried inside for a long time, your tears will soon dry. Our hearts have been sliced and ripped apart, yet we still managed to pick ourselves up and moved on. As we grow older, we see things for what they are and not just the silver surface covering the ugly truth.
When I was young, foolish and full with romantic notions, I go ‘oohh aahh’ over the fairy tales of happy ending. Bruised and broken hearted years later, I believe that life is not just a whirlpool of romances. Sweet nothings whispered before, are now distant memories. Yet, however hard we tried to paste a smile on our face, these feelings sneak up on us and break us again, and again.
I did not plan for this thing to happen and I wish it didn’t happen. But the devil somehow found his way in. I did something I haven’t done for a long while. I wasn’t in a party mood so I opted to watch The X Factor and Simon Cowell. Btw, he’s cocky, witty and so much fun to watch, and I like him. I was enjoying the show and pining for Steve and Cassie to get through to the final. When it was her turn to sing, Cassie put her soul into this beautiful song, and makes me cry. My friends will tell you that I cry for the silliest reason one can think of, a TV advert, chick flicks or even a patriotic song. I became sebak. So what? Sue me! Anyway, her huge powerful voice reached inside of me and breaks my drought. This time, I cried because I actually listen to words and to the music.
That got me into thinking, what if I was not afraid? What if I’d taken a chance and gamble away? My whole life would have been altered and I would probably have a totally different personality and lifestyle. But is it a different lifestyle what I want? Or was I really looking to change my personality altogether? What am I? Who have I become? Will I end up just by myself? I tell you, I am physically stabled but emotionally disabled. The truth is I am terrified of what lies ahead of me. I still have many good years left but I don’t know what is coming up or how I will face it.
Maybe because we are living in our comfort zone that we didn’t realize that there is a big bad world outside. Or maybe because we close one eye and pretend that the world is not too cruel after all. Why should we be scared of something we didn’t know?
A friend said she didn’t want to wake up when she’s 40, and still do the same things she did a decade ago. Things she said hit the truth and pulled me back to real life. I can’t be wasting my time goyang kaki and living life as it is. Come on, I used to be so proactive and fresh with ideas. Friends were abundant and activities were never hard to find. Now, life is like a stale biscuit. I feel so small compared to rest of them. I am like a tiny drop of sweat in the bluest lake. I am ugly and smelly while the rest is beautiful and smooth.
Should I do something to change it? If I wait for things to materialise in front of me, then I will have a long wait because the way things are at the moment, it’s moving neither vertical nor horizontal.
Have no fear. Life is short. I want to discover a lot of things. My sense of adventure is screaming to me to do something but I haven’t been listening. I want to learn a new language, and perhaps go paragliding for once. I want to explore the world's treasures and Inca ruins, and contribute something back to my society.
Where is my inner strength when I need it most? In today's world, everything comes with a price. Commitment costs a fortune thus making it a puzzle whether it's worth my time. At the same time, I want to love and be loved. I want to have kids even if it means adopting. I want to be included but I am afraid of rejection. I want to conquer my fear but my steps are small. The worst of all, I am scared of the pain. Period. I don’t even know where to begin.
Friday, 12 November 2004
Foreplay of Life
I have this weird feeling that something is calling me. I feel it whispering to my ears and seducing my body. The sweet voice is making me dizzy with its wonderful promises. Telling me to come slowly and not glancing back. Hustling me down the lane and not slowing for me to take my breath. Panting all the way up the hills and still wanting for more. Grasping the layers of the sky and letting go of all the inhibitions. Slipping down many slopes and pushing myself up again, this is the way to do it. It is my destiny. I was born to strive for glory. I make who I am. I am what matters. I am gifted with capable hands. And with my hands I will rock the world. I will mark my place. I will find me. Climax.
I haven't stop searching.
I haven't stop searching.
Drowning in the crowd
Entry posted before Raya 2004
Now that Eid is just round the corner, I feel sad. I wish I were back home with the family, making biskut raya and ketupat rendang. I just realize today how much I miss the balik kampung excitement and the raya feeling. I am alone in a strange land and no countryman to celebrate with. The only Muslim compatriot with me celebrates Eid in his own way. Btw, he's a man, what does he know about raya goodies?
When I was little, my family was just ordinary working class people. My father was a teacher just ordinary working class people. My father was a teacher and mum a housewife. Every raya we had a blast just getting things done from hanging up new curtains to vacuuming the whole house and of course, preparing the food. Mum would bake some cakes and thousands of baulu for us and her customers. She didn't have to do that because she was always careful with money and considering that we lived in Alor Setar, things were a lot cheaper. She had a passion for food, be it cooking, baking or just plain eating. So when she started baking baulu for raya and since she made really good ones, people were quite taken with it because normally they would just buy them. Soon after, she received quite a lot of orders from friends, cousins, dad's colleagues and neighbours. From 300 pieces turned to 1,500 turned to 10,000 or more. I was only 9 years old and had been appointed as her assistant. The best job I could ever want at that age. My mission, to find all the burned baulu and eat them. Who was I to argue?
Normally, she would start the day at 6 am just to prepare the ingredients. By 7 am, the Moulinex was up and running battering the eggs, sugar and flour for the mixture. The dapur minyak was ready and the sabut kelapa burning incessantly on a big aluminium plate waiting for the first batch. She put some sand in the periuk to avoid the acuan from getting direct heat from the dapur minyak. Then she would cover the periuk with the sabut so that the baulu were cooked thoroughly from the top to the bottom.
Every few minutes she would check to make sure they were not burned because if they did, then they'd be handed to me for further inspection. Sometimes she let me have the pretty ones as well. When they were nicely browned, she took them out and waited for them to cool before packing them away. Being a mum, she just knew that I had my eyes on them. For me, a slightly warm baulu was the best baulu you can ever eat. By 1 pm, she'd be ready to fold up for the day and if she made more than 1,000 pieces, it was considered a successful day. All this was not for money, but she did it because she didn't know how to say No when people asked her and because she got the pleasure of seeing people faces lighten up. She charged just RM10 for 100 pieces and that was still cheap considering the efforts, time and energy she put in. From 6 am till 1 pm just for a pitiance!
As I got older, she would continue making them and I was allowed to help with the baking process as well. It's kind of delicate because you just have to know the right timing since you can't have the bottom part of the baulu burned and the top part paled. It doesn't go that way. They have to balance to get a perfect baulu.
Did I mention she had a great passion for food? Oh, I did. Well, it didn't stop with the baulu. She went out of her way to learn new things. She would sign up for cooking classes just about anywhere and because she didn't drive, my father was her chauffeur. This was in the 80s, there was no Chef Wan to celoteh in the box at the luxury of one own home. She learned about baking delicious-looking cakes that could only be found in a posh bakery in KL. She also learned to cook asparagus in a lot of different ways when the word asparagus still sounds a bit foreign to many. When she heard there were some cooking competitions, she would gladly join in. Sometimes she won something, sometimes she didn't. It didn't matter to her.
It was the learning that matters. I guess she passed on her passion to us, my sister and I. She would come home and experiment with her new found toy of the day and her enthusiasm rubbed on us. By the age of sixteen, I sold my almost-perfect Kek Batik (the one with biskut marie and choc fudge) to my first customer. This was the day when Kek Batik was not one of the crazed raya goodies like today. And when I was seventeen, she handed over the raya baulu business to me with extra added guarantee that I could keep all the money to myself. What joy! If I had my way I would have raise the price, yet she still charged them the same. She was slowing down. She had enough. Time to move on and pass down her knowledge to the daughters.
From then on, we put our foot down and conquer the territory, with her looking over our backs. All the odd baking trays she bought years ago and the thick recipe books were now a shared asset. Every raya we went crazy with the baking and ended up with 20 odd different cookies and at least 6 types of cakes to suit everyone's taste. It wasn't greed or lust or simply nafsu but it was the passion. Her passion had become ours. Her recipes had become our little secret. Raya was the time of the year we waited in anticipation, to showcase our abilities and to make her proud. As Kedahans, hypothetically we should only know ketupat palas. But no, mum made us learn to make the ketupat nasi the authentic Johorian way. So we had the best of everything. These were for us.
Sadly, yesterdays were just yesterdays. Since mum left us, we lost our touch. The passion was buried with her. Raya is just another day to get over with. We used work as an excuse for lack of goodies. The things we used to DIY now came in plastic tupperwares. We make do with the mass production of manufactured biskut raya that were usually left in its sorry state. They're for the guests and I myself certainly do not want to gorge on them. Baulu, I avoided at all cost. Haven't had one since I was 21.
Now with me being away in a foreign land, my sister would have a tough time to resurrect the old raya tradition. I wish I can go to her. I wish she can catch hold of my hands so I will not drown any deeper. I wish I can hold on tight to her. I wish for laughter and noisy raya morning. I wish for a calm and peaceful raya prayer. I wish to hand out duit raya personally and see the nephews and nieces shriek with happiness. I wish for a ketupat. I wish for mum.
Now that Eid is just round the corner, I feel sad. I wish I were back home with the family, making biskut raya and ketupat rendang. I just realize today how much I miss the balik kampung excitement and the raya feeling. I am alone in a strange land and no countryman to celebrate with. The only Muslim compatriot with me celebrates Eid in his own way. Btw, he's a man, what does he know about raya goodies?
When I was little, my family was just ordinary working class people. My father was a teacher just ordinary working class people. My father was a teacher and mum a housewife. Every raya we had a blast just getting things done from hanging up new curtains to vacuuming the whole house and of course, preparing the food. Mum would bake some cakes and thousands of baulu for us and her customers. She didn't have to do that because she was always careful with money and considering that we lived in Alor Setar, things were a lot cheaper. She had a passion for food, be it cooking, baking or just plain eating. So when she started baking baulu for raya and since she made really good ones, people were quite taken with it because normally they would just buy them. Soon after, she received quite a lot of orders from friends, cousins, dad's colleagues and neighbours. From 300 pieces turned to 1,500 turned to 10,000 or more. I was only 9 years old and had been appointed as her assistant. The best job I could ever want at that age. My mission, to find all the burned baulu and eat them. Who was I to argue?
Normally, she would start the day at 6 am just to prepare the ingredients. By 7 am, the Moulinex was up and running battering the eggs, sugar and flour for the mixture. The dapur minyak was ready and the sabut kelapa burning incessantly on a big aluminium plate waiting for the first batch. She put some sand in the periuk to avoid the acuan from getting direct heat from the dapur minyak. Then she would cover the periuk with the sabut so that the baulu were cooked thoroughly from the top to the bottom.
Every few minutes she would check to make sure they were not burned because if they did, then they'd be handed to me for further inspection. Sometimes she let me have the pretty ones as well. When they were nicely browned, she took them out and waited for them to cool before packing them away. Being a mum, she just knew that I had my eyes on them. For me, a slightly warm baulu was the best baulu you can ever eat. By 1 pm, she'd be ready to fold up for the day and if she made more than 1,000 pieces, it was considered a successful day. All this was not for money, but she did it because she didn't know how to say No when people asked her and because she got the pleasure of seeing people faces lighten up. She charged just RM10 for 100 pieces and that was still cheap considering the efforts, time and energy she put in. From 6 am till 1 pm just for a pitiance!
As I got older, she would continue making them and I was allowed to help with the baking process as well. It's kind of delicate because you just have to know the right timing since you can't have the bottom part of the baulu burned and the top part paled. It doesn't go that way. They have to balance to get a perfect baulu.
Did I mention she had a great passion for food? Oh, I did. Well, it didn't stop with the baulu. She went out of her way to learn new things. She would sign up for cooking classes just about anywhere and because she didn't drive, my father was her chauffeur. This was in the 80s, there was no Chef Wan to celoteh in the box at the luxury of one own home. She learned about baking delicious-looking cakes that could only be found in a posh bakery in KL. She also learned to cook asparagus in a lot of different ways when the word asparagus still sounds a bit foreign to many. When she heard there were some cooking competitions, she would gladly join in. Sometimes she won something, sometimes she didn't. It didn't matter to her.
It was the learning that matters. I guess she passed on her passion to us, my sister and I. She would come home and experiment with her new found toy of the day and her enthusiasm rubbed on us. By the age of sixteen, I sold my almost-perfect Kek Batik (the one with biskut marie and choc fudge) to my first customer. This was the day when Kek Batik was not one of the crazed raya goodies like today. And when I was seventeen, she handed over the raya baulu business to me with extra added guarantee that I could keep all the money to myself. What joy! If I had my way I would have raise the price, yet she still charged them the same. She was slowing down. She had enough. Time to move on and pass down her knowledge to the daughters.
From then on, we put our foot down and conquer the territory, with her looking over our backs. All the odd baking trays she bought years ago and the thick recipe books were now a shared asset. Every raya we went crazy with the baking and ended up with 20 odd different cookies and at least 6 types of cakes to suit everyone's taste. It wasn't greed or lust or simply nafsu but it was the passion. Her passion had become ours. Her recipes had become our little secret. Raya was the time of the year we waited in anticipation, to showcase our abilities and to make her proud. As Kedahans, hypothetically we should only know ketupat palas. But no, mum made us learn to make the ketupat nasi the authentic Johorian way. So we had the best of everything. These were for us.
Sadly, yesterdays were just yesterdays. Since mum left us, we lost our touch. The passion was buried with her. Raya is just another day to get over with. We used work as an excuse for lack of goodies. The things we used to DIY now came in plastic tupperwares. We make do with the mass production of manufactured biskut raya that were usually left in its sorry state. They're for the guests and I myself certainly do not want to gorge on them. Baulu, I avoided at all cost. Haven't had one since I was 21.
Now with me being away in a foreign land, my sister would have a tough time to resurrect the old raya tradition. I wish I can go to her. I wish she can catch hold of my hands so I will not drown any deeper. I wish I can hold on tight to her. I wish for laughter and noisy raya morning. I wish for a calm and peaceful raya prayer. I wish to hand out duit raya personally and see the nephews and nieces shriek with happiness. I wish for a ketupat. I wish for mum.
Thursday, 11 November 2004
Americans oh! Americans...
Very weird la, a few days ago I wrote about people and their stupid questions and today I heard it was mentioned on the BBC radio. They must have read my blog!
Apparently, the Tourist Board in Roma complains that many many tourists roaming there, oh and get this, especially Americans love asking silly billy questions.
Hey Romans, welcome to my world!
Further evidences:
At the Sistine Chapel, "Where's the other fifteen?"
At Pisa, "Is this where Jesus was born?"
At Eiffel Tower, "It's not as lean as I thought"
In South France, "You have moon too?"
Aisayman, so terrible. Maybe I should collect all the questions and send to a publisher. Mana tau boleh buat duit from these idiots :) I mean the thought of everyone has their own moon might be cool, but than I guess we better not sleep 'cause it'd be too bright round the clock.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Act intelligent!
Apparently, the Tourist Board in Roma complains that many many tourists roaming there, oh and get this, especially Americans love asking silly billy questions.
Hey Romans, welcome to my world!
Further evidences:
At the Sistine Chapel, "Where's the other fifteen?"
At Pisa, "Is this where Jesus was born?"
At Eiffel Tower, "It's not as lean as I thought"
In South France, "You have moon too?"
Aisayman, so terrible. Maybe I should collect all the questions and send to a publisher. Mana tau boleh buat duit from these idiots :) I mean the thought of everyone has their own moon might be cool, but than I guess we better not sleep 'cause it'd be too bright round the clock.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Act intelligent!
Monday, 8 November 2004
Neanderthal of the 21st Century
I am a simple me.
I don’t wear designer labels. I don’t drive a merc. I didn’t go to Ivy League school. I don’t eat at a posh restaurant. I don’t own fancy tech gadgets.
I am just I.
I drive a funky little van. It’s a Vauxhall if anyone wants to know. I am awkward with good-looking intelligent people. I am shy and usually closed-mouth (that's why I blog). I sometimes wear jeans when I go to work. I eat at warung and kebab takeaways. I use an old third-hand (or maybe fourth) PC passed down to me. The only latest brand-conscious-item I have is a cute red Sony digicam, bought because I was greedy and wanted to show off to my good friend who has a Nikon. Which I can point out was unnecessary because I now keep it safe in the drawer at all times. Hah! Pathetic nutcase.
Two weeks ago, an Iraqi immigrant who is an engineer working in Brent Cross came for dinner at my flat. Well, I didn’t invite him, my flatmate did. From the first moment he started talking I knew I wouldn’t like this guy, but since it’s Ramadhan, I shouldn’t let him get to me. There were five of us in the lounge talking to each other while waiting for the iftar when this chap asked me and another guess, Aneta, what we do for a living. If you knew me, you’d know that I wouldn’t brag about my job so I just shrugged and said I work at an ice cream factory. And Aneta said she would start work at the same ice cream factory. But both of us didn’t mention what we actually do.
Thinking that we both are 3rd class immigrants and have low-life jobs, he started rambling about how a person has to have good education to get a better life, and telling us to go find a college to study some courses that offer a certificate or diploma or even better, a degree. Because according to him, until we do that we won’t be able to find a good job with good pay check. He gave himself as an example that he studied hard and that took him to where he is now. A chief engineer. All the while, I was boiling inside because of his chauvinistic comments. And again, if you knew me I’m not easily rattled since I like to keep my cool.
At one point, I lost my cool and said, “I went to a university and I’ve got a degree and she’s got one as well.” I wasn’t trying to show off but I just want to kick his teeth!
As if he doesn't believe me, he responded with a smirk on his face, “Do you? Well, yeah but you have to find a job that can make you happy and give comfortable living, like my job. What for you work hard but get so little money?”
“Eh, hello? You do not know about my job or me. So please do not make any assumption. I make enough and I am happy with my job. I am satisfied, why should I look for something else?” For which he kept silent.
I hate an argument. I would rather watch from the side than getting involved in one. I hate chauvinistic Neanderthal who thinks they know better, gloats about their achievements and thinks that the helpless little women should stay at home with one hand on the ‘rotan’ and one hand ‘selak kain’ waiting for them to come back.
He still doesn’t know anything about my job and I rather keep it that way. I am not a walking advertisement. I don’t care what people say as long as I am happy with my choice. Who are they to tell me? My life is about me. You stupid chauvinist, go fuck yourself!
I don’t wear designer labels. I don’t drive a merc. I didn’t go to Ivy League school. I don’t eat at a posh restaurant. I don’t own fancy tech gadgets.
I am just I.
I drive a funky little van. It’s a Vauxhall if anyone wants to know. I am awkward with good-looking intelligent people. I am shy and usually closed-mouth (that's why I blog). I sometimes wear jeans when I go to work. I eat at warung and kebab takeaways. I use an old third-hand (or maybe fourth) PC passed down to me. The only latest brand-conscious-item I have is a cute red Sony digicam, bought because I was greedy and wanted to show off to my good friend who has a Nikon. Which I can point out was unnecessary because I now keep it safe in the drawer at all times. Hah! Pathetic nutcase.
Two weeks ago, an Iraqi immigrant who is an engineer working in Brent Cross came for dinner at my flat. Well, I didn’t invite him, my flatmate did. From the first moment he started talking I knew I wouldn’t like this guy, but since it’s Ramadhan, I shouldn’t let him get to me. There were five of us in the lounge talking to each other while waiting for the iftar when this chap asked me and another guess, Aneta, what we do for a living. If you knew me, you’d know that I wouldn’t brag about my job so I just shrugged and said I work at an ice cream factory. And Aneta said she would start work at the same ice cream factory. But both of us didn’t mention what we actually do.
Thinking that we both are 3rd class immigrants and have low-life jobs, he started rambling about how a person has to have good education to get a better life, and telling us to go find a college to study some courses that offer a certificate or diploma or even better, a degree. Because according to him, until we do that we won’t be able to find a good job with good pay check. He gave himself as an example that he studied hard and that took him to where he is now. A chief engineer. All the while, I was boiling inside because of his chauvinistic comments. And again, if you knew me I’m not easily rattled since I like to keep my cool.
At one point, I lost my cool and said, “I went to a university and I’ve got a degree and she’s got one as well.” I wasn’t trying to show off but I just want to kick his teeth!
As if he doesn't believe me, he responded with a smirk on his face, “Do you? Well, yeah but you have to find a job that can make you happy and give comfortable living, like my job. What for you work hard but get so little money?”
“Eh, hello? You do not know about my job or me. So please do not make any assumption. I make enough and I am happy with my job. I am satisfied, why should I look for something else?” For which he kept silent.
I hate an argument. I would rather watch from the side than getting involved in one. I hate chauvinistic Neanderthal who thinks they know better, gloats about their achievements and thinks that the helpless little women should stay at home with one hand on the ‘rotan’ and one hand ‘selak kain’ waiting for them to come back.
He still doesn’t know anything about my job and I rather keep it that way. I am not a walking advertisement. I don’t care what people say as long as I am happy with my choice. Who are they to tell me? My life is about me. You stupid chauvinist, go fuck yourself!
Thursday, 4 November 2004
Gucci loafers with holes
THE MORON IS NOW A FUCKING BLOODY OXYMORON. A LEGITIMATE BASTARD WITH A BRAIN OF A SHOE.
Driving home from Cambridge and laughing at Radio One silly joke about Senator Kerry calling a Job Centre in Sunderland looking for a job since he can't be a President, it was quite comforting to know we can still laugh at small things even if the world is in an uproar.
Somehow I was thinking, surely this feeling couldn't last and sure enough some stupid idiot had to text Scott Mills with one question, who is Paul McCartney?
To say I was stunned is an understatement. I may not be crazy over The Beattles but I know these guys with the funny haircut back then. Who doesn't? We all knew the crazed they created with our mothers' generation or how huge of a success they tasted. They were also in the list of BBC 100 Great Britons but wait a minute.. here was a Brit chap who dared ask such question. Duh!?
How ironic because it was only last night my flatmate, M came home and started to ramble about stupid people asking stupid questions. Apparently he and his colleagues were talking about the new EU countries when someone asked, "Is there such country as Hungary?" After a long discussion with him, M concluded that Britain is full with ignorant idiots and then off he went to bed.
It may be unfair to make such bold conclusion yet I cannot help but think of other similar incidents my mates and I have experienced. Back in the old days when I was living in MO, some average working class American had the gut to ask me whether we Malaysians still live on trees. At another time, my other flatmate told me that she was asked whether Poland is in Europe and that person swear he thought Poland is in Asia. This came out of a 40-year old man, for goodness sake! And the same chap thought Argentina would be included in the EU!
Oh my God, why on earth do I have to share the breathing space with these morons? Try asking them where Chad is and I am sure they'll have a blank face. I may have made sweeping generalisation in my comments but at least I know for sure that we learn the world geography in our teens and can tell the difference between an Asian and a European country for that matter.
Once in a while, I get all worked out over such comments when I know I shouldn't. Let them be stupid, why should I care? I can't be bothered with these pitiful rednecks, who are happy to wait on tables or work as prison guards and come home to watch football, drink three pints, watch ball games on Sundays and ended up betting on Fearless James at Epsom Derby and don't give a shit about the rest of the world!
Driving home from Cambridge and laughing at Radio One silly joke about Senator Kerry calling a Job Centre in Sunderland looking for a job since he can't be a President, it was quite comforting to know we can still laugh at small things even if the world is in an uproar.
Somehow I was thinking, surely this feeling couldn't last and sure enough some stupid idiot had to text Scott Mills with one question, who is Paul McCartney?
To say I was stunned is an understatement. I may not be crazy over The Beattles but I know these guys with the funny haircut back then. Who doesn't? We all knew the crazed they created with our mothers' generation or how huge of a success they tasted. They were also in the list of BBC 100 Great Britons but wait a minute.. here was a Brit chap who dared ask such question. Duh!?
How ironic because it was only last night my flatmate, M came home and started to ramble about stupid people asking stupid questions. Apparently he and his colleagues were talking about the new EU countries when someone asked, "Is there such country as Hungary?" After a long discussion with him, M concluded that Britain is full with ignorant idiots and then off he went to bed.
It may be unfair to make such bold conclusion yet I cannot help but think of other similar incidents my mates and I have experienced. Back in the old days when I was living in MO, some average working class American had the gut to ask me whether we Malaysians still live on trees. At another time, my other flatmate told me that she was asked whether Poland is in Europe and that person swear he thought Poland is in Asia. This came out of a 40-year old man, for goodness sake! And the same chap thought Argentina would be included in the EU!
Oh my God, why on earth do I have to share the breathing space with these morons? Try asking them where Chad is and I am sure they'll have a blank face. I may have made sweeping generalisation in my comments but at least I know for sure that we learn the world geography in our teens and can tell the difference between an Asian and a European country for that matter.
Once in a while, I get all worked out over such comments when I know I shouldn't. Let them be stupid, why should I care? I can't be bothered with these pitiful rednecks, who are happy to wait on tables or work as prison guards and come home to watch football, drink three pints, watch ball games on Sundays and ended up betting on Fearless James at Epsom Derby and don't give a shit about the rest of the world!
Friday, 29 October 2004
Malaysian Idiots
Six o'clock in the morning and I was already on the road to somewhere. Dark and cold, I had to turn up the heater to its max. I wish I don't have to do this everyday, but it's what I ended up doing anyway *sigh*
Sometimes I like driving, with a purpose or just for the sake of getting out of the house. Let me tell you, driving in London is very challenging. I remember the first time I had to drive a van to send something to some customers. Since my old van was not so little like the current one, I was so terribly traumatised. So many narrow streets, one way alleys or restricted areas. Geez! All the while, one hand on the steering wheel and the other was flipping the London A-Z. My eyes, oh god! were so wild scanning the streets and the pages at the same time and I was sweating like a pig. It's a wonder I didn't hit someone's car. So, I understand when someone mentioned about being 'keras' on the road. Now and then, I feel uneasy but it's no longer a nightmare. During that panic-stricken period, not once did I ever be at the receiving end of other drivers' wrath. They let me change lanes and give way whenever I missed a turning. No question about stopping at a zebra crossing and never failed to put up their hands to thank you when I gave them the right of way. I can say it was the same situation in the States. Me, being a typical Malaysian driver with bad manners, (who was used to 'cilok sini, cilok sana' in the streets of KL with my Kancil) finally succumbed to this driving etiquette. I have no qualms letting a few cars go in front of me when we were stuck in a queue. I did the same when I went back to KL but my metro friends thought I was nuts.
In KL, drivers 'tak kasi chan punye', they will try to stay as close as possible to the front car. If you try to 'cilok', you're sure gonna get cursed. Try it and I am pretty sure most drivers will mutter 'Bodoh punye driver' to you. You get all sorts of comments 'driver lembab', 'terhegeh-hegeh macam lembu' etc. In the end, you just have to follow what other drivers do. Join the race. At the traffic light, don't forget to speed up when it changes to yellow. If there are just two lanes, create another one because you're too cool to stay behind. Bus lanes are not just for buses, private cars and lorries are allowed. Man! I can make a list of many more offences but I'm not going to bother. It irritates me so much. Fines are not working at all. RM300 for an offence can be reduced to RM30 if you know someone who knows someone. I tell you what, since I live in the UK, I have been fined about 5 times because my devilish driving attitude cropped up. And since May, I have been donating hundreds of £ to the Mayor of London because I bloody forgot to pay the congestion charge. I vow never again to be so kind. I declare I am a reformed driver. I'm sure you will change too after having to fork out 100 quid for nothing. Some rules are made to be broken, but not the street rules in London. I do not want to be caught in action again. By the way, do you know there are more than 5000 speed cameras in England and as many as 200,000 cctv in London alone? The spies are everywhere.
Sometimes I like driving, with a purpose or just for the sake of getting out of the house. Let me tell you, driving in London is very challenging. I remember the first time I had to drive a van to send something to some customers. Since my old van was not so little like the current one, I was so terribly traumatised. So many narrow streets, one way alleys or restricted areas. Geez! All the while, one hand on the steering wheel and the other was flipping the London A-Z. My eyes, oh god! were so wild scanning the streets and the pages at the same time and I was sweating like a pig. It's a wonder I didn't hit someone's car. So, I understand when someone mentioned about being 'keras' on the road. Now and then, I feel uneasy but it's no longer a nightmare. During that panic-stricken period, not once did I ever be at the receiving end of other drivers' wrath. They let me change lanes and give way whenever I missed a turning. No question about stopping at a zebra crossing and never failed to put up their hands to thank you when I gave them the right of way. I can say it was the same situation in the States. Me, being a typical Malaysian driver with bad manners, (who was used to 'cilok sini, cilok sana' in the streets of KL with my Kancil) finally succumbed to this driving etiquette. I have no qualms letting a few cars go in front of me when we were stuck in a queue. I did the same when I went back to KL but my metro friends thought I was nuts.
In KL, drivers 'tak kasi chan punye', they will try to stay as close as possible to the front car. If you try to 'cilok', you're sure gonna get cursed. Try it and I am pretty sure most drivers will mutter 'Bodoh punye driver' to you. You get all sorts of comments 'driver lembab', 'terhegeh-hegeh macam lembu' etc. In the end, you just have to follow what other drivers do. Join the race. At the traffic light, don't forget to speed up when it changes to yellow. If there are just two lanes, create another one because you're too cool to stay behind. Bus lanes are not just for buses, private cars and lorries are allowed. Man! I can make a list of many more offences but I'm not going to bother. It irritates me so much. Fines are not working at all. RM300 for an offence can be reduced to RM30 if you know someone who knows someone. I tell you what, since I live in the UK, I have been fined about 5 times because my devilish driving attitude cropped up. And since May, I have been donating hundreds of £ to the Mayor of London because I bloody forgot to pay the congestion charge. I vow never again to be so kind. I declare I am a reformed driver. I'm sure you will change too after having to fork out 100 quid for nothing. Some rules are made to be broken, but not the street rules in London. I do not want to be caught in action again. By the way, do you know there are more than 5000 speed cameras in England and as many as 200,000 cctv in London alone? The spies are everywhere.
Thursday, 28 October 2004
I am no judge
My day was full with mixed feelings. Sad, confused, happy and maybe a little envy. I was told that I am being judgmental over something that I know nothing about. True, I may not know the whole situation but since when an observation becomes a judgement? I agree if you say I have no right to say whose the right or wrong party, and I will shake your hand if you tell me to mind my own business.
That, however doesn't stop me for having my own opinion or for stating the events that happened chronologically. No disrespect was intended but I am sad because things have been misquoted. And things I didn't say were added. Why can't we get it right? People make mistakes all the time, and because of that we grow wiser instead of just older. We learn. I learn from a lot of different people. It's the way to humor and color my life. If I made mistakes, I want to be able to say it out loud. Nothing to fear for because I know I will not die of it. I may be embarrassed but that will slowly pass. (I never thought I could say that. I used to be scared like shit)
Relief is such a great feeling when things you keep inside stumbled out. One thing I know for sure today, is that my bloody gate opened and feelings have been pouring out of me. I am still trying to find my inner strength to guide me to this life journey. And I am sooo bloody grateful for friends who never got tired of lending me their supports (that got me sobbing ridiculously). They may be in a Far Far Away Land but I have them so close in my battered heart.
That, however doesn't stop me for having my own opinion or for stating the events that happened chronologically. No disrespect was intended but I am sad because things have been misquoted. And things I didn't say were added. Why can't we get it right? People make mistakes all the time, and because of that we grow wiser instead of just older. We learn. I learn from a lot of different people. It's the way to humor and color my life. If I made mistakes, I want to be able to say it out loud. Nothing to fear for because I know I will not die of it. I may be embarrassed but that will slowly pass. (I never thought I could say that. I used to be scared like shit)
Relief is such a great feeling when things you keep inside stumbled out. One thing I know for sure today, is that my bloody gate opened and feelings have been pouring out of me. I am still trying to find my inner strength to guide me to this life journey. And I am sooo bloody grateful for friends who never got tired of lending me their supports (that got me sobbing ridiculously). They may be in a Far Far Away Land but I have them so close in my battered heart.
Wednesday, 27 October 2004
Bi-curious
Sexual orientation puzzles me the most. For the record, I have nothing against homosexuality. I have friends who are gay and happy with their choices, and I have friends who think they may be gay but not quite sure. Thinking about this, I might belong to one of these groups (the not-quite-sure one) :) Well, women in this century are being offered more choices each day. The old fashioned men are fast disappearing (though there are some still lurking around if you're lucky), more men are becoming soft and less macho, more women look like Alex Parks and truthfully, women need women to understand themselves. And vice versa. Oh for f**k sake! Can't you blame a woman if she desires and wants to sleep with Angelina Jolie, voted the sexiest woman on earth. She's a goddess!
In almost every tabloid, you'll see a lot of ads offering or looking for people to satisfy the bi-curious minded. So maybe you'll decide to take the plunge and join them. Went out for a date and 2 hours later, tangled between the sheets. Once may not be enough to decide on your sexuality. So, here goes another attempt and another. With the ever-increasing number of bi-curious, when do they become a Full Blown Lesbian or Gay? Once can be written off as to satisfy the curiosity, twice just checking, but what about when you're getting into double and triple figures? When do you stop and decide that you had enough? Maybe it's addictive and you can never had enough. Or blame it all down to the late-night Bacardi Breezer-fuelled liaisons. Do you feel any guilt?
I don't have the answer and even if I do, I might not have the correct one. It's very subjective. A friend asked me a few questions just to check whether I'm a lesbian, straight or still in the stage of bi-curious after a few frantic text messages to her.
1. Who do you fancy most, Brad Pitt or Jennifer Aniston? BP as I don't think Aniston is that gorgeous.
2. Do you like Indiana Jones or Boys Don't Cry? Goodness me, BDC is a very good movie, how can that be a decider?
3. Do you want to sleep with every woman you see? No, only Jolie and D. Barrymore. (added Nov 9th 2005: Jacinta Barret, Charlize Theron)
So, she concluded that I am free of my fear. Because according to her, every man and woman wants to sleep with Jolie and Barrymore and that I'm a nutcase to think that JA is not gorgeous since all other women envy her for snapping BP. I rest my case for now.
In almost every tabloid, you'll see a lot of ads offering or looking for people to satisfy the bi-curious minded. So maybe you'll decide to take the plunge and join them. Went out for a date and 2 hours later, tangled between the sheets. Once may not be enough to decide on your sexuality. So, here goes another attempt and another. With the ever-increasing number of bi-curious, when do they become a Full Blown Lesbian or Gay? Once can be written off as to satisfy the curiosity, twice just checking, but what about when you're getting into double and triple figures? When do you stop and decide that you had enough? Maybe it's addictive and you can never had enough. Or blame it all down to the late-night Bacardi Breezer-fuelled liaisons. Do you feel any guilt?
I don't have the answer and even if I do, I might not have the correct one. It's very subjective. A friend asked me a few questions just to check whether I'm a lesbian, straight or still in the stage of bi-curious after a few frantic text messages to her.
1. Who do you fancy most, Brad Pitt or Jennifer Aniston? BP as I don't think Aniston is that gorgeous.
2. Do you like Indiana Jones or Boys Don't Cry? Goodness me, BDC is a very good movie, how can that be a decider?
3. Do you want to sleep with every woman you see? No, only Jolie and D. Barrymore. (added Nov 9th 2005: Jacinta Barret, Charlize Theron)
So, she concluded that I am free of my fear. Because according to her, every man and woman wants to sleep with Jolie and Barrymore and that I'm a nutcase to think that JA is not gorgeous since all other women envy her for snapping BP. I rest my case for now.
Bohemian Malay
Looking back over all the things I did the last few years, I wonder the wisdom of them and what I get out of that. When? What? How? Where? and most importantly Why?
I don't know when exactly I started having the feeling that I have to get away. Away from family, from Malaysia, from my friends. Maybe there's something wrong with me. Having had an American way of education, it wasn't enough just to settle for something less. I knew my home country is going through a modernisation period and she could offer me a lot. Nevertheless, I long for my freedom of expression, free thinking and basically to do as I please, but we are still a long way from that. I wasn't the typical Malay girl who giggles at every comments and act like 'malu malu kucing'* They can't decide for themselves what they want and instead always go for the easy way, 'apa apa je lah' Gosh! Make up your mind! Stand on your own principles. Be firm and have your own mind. Most of them lack these values. I cannot stand these people. Please, get them out of my sight. So I flee.
What? is a very broad subject and hard to approach. What have I done with my life? What have I accomplished? What is/are my regret/s? What the hell do I think I'm doing? Nothing, really. I know I travelled to the cultured cities, appreciate no-nonsense art, get stoned in a drug-free country, enjoy fresh outlook on life and moved to the coolest living space. Does that makes me who I am now? I've been there, done that but I still think that I'm stupid. Well, maybe not stupid but naive. People can still trick me into believing the unbelievable. I sometimes still believe that the money-making con chain letters work. Me? A so-called educated being. Judging from my accomplishment, I have done nothing else but questioning my sanity.
How am I supposed to know how I got to where I am now? By plane, landed at Manchester Airport and I have never been quite the same again.
Here I am, still standing on my feet. Oh! Where my heart is, now that's different issue altogether. My heart hasn't got time to settle in one place just yet. One moment my heart tells me to go home and another time, it wants me to go gallivanting round the globe. As if I have the means to do so. My heart is as free and easy as I am.
For the sanity of my own mind, I have to do what I'm doing now. I have to be my own self and if I'm robbed of it, my world will collapse. Just to survive, I have to be away from my family, my friends and my home. I don't miss them that much now but when I do, it hits me like a bullet. Painful and suffering. It toughened me up so I can get on with the cruel life.
What is bohemian, anyway? Just a word that doesn't really describe me. I don't think I want to be labelled bohemian because I am conservative in some ways, liberal in others. Not very artistic, a little unconventional maybe an oddball. Who knows? I can't even decide what I am half of the time.
I don't know when exactly I started having the feeling that I have to get away. Away from family, from Malaysia, from my friends. Maybe there's something wrong with me. Having had an American way of education, it wasn't enough just to settle for something less. I knew my home country is going through a modernisation period and she could offer me a lot. Nevertheless, I long for my freedom of expression, free thinking and basically to do as I please, but we are still a long way from that. I wasn't the typical Malay girl who giggles at every comments and act like 'malu malu kucing'* They can't decide for themselves what they want and instead always go for the easy way, 'apa apa je lah' Gosh! Make up your mind! Stand on your own principles. Be firm and have your own mind. Most of them lack these values. I cannot stand these people. Please, get them out of my sight. So I flee.
What? is a very broad subject and hard to approach. What have I done with my life? What have I accomplished? What is/are my regret/s? What the hell do I think I'm doing? Nothing, really. I know I travelled to the cultured cities, appreciate no-nonsense art, get stoned in a drug-free country, enjoy fresh outlook on life and moved to the coolest living space. Does that makes me who I am now? I've been there, done that but I still think that I'm stupid. Well, maybe not stupid but naive. People can still trick me into believing the unbelievable. I sometimes still believe that the money-making con chain letters work. Me? A so-called educated being. Judging from my accomplishment, I have done nothing else but questioning my sanity.
How am I supposed to know how I got to where I am now? By plane, landed at Manchester Airport and I have never been quite the same again.
Here I am, still standing on my feet. Oh! Where my heart is, now that's different issue altogether. My heart hasn't got time to settle in one place just yet. One moment my heart tells me to go home and another time, it wants me to go gallivanting round the globe. As if I have the means to do so. My heart is as free and easy as I am.
For the sanity of my own mind, I have to do what I'm doing now. I have to be my own self and if I'm robbed of it, my world will collapse. Just to survive, I have to be away from my family, my friends and my home. I don't miss them that much now but when I do, it hits me like a bullet. Painful and suffering. It toughened me up so I can get on with the cruel life.
What is bohemian, anyway? Just a word that doesn't really describe me. I don't think I want to be labelled bohemian because I am conservative in some ways, liberal in others. Not very artistic, a little unconventional maybe an oddball. Who knows? I can't even decide what I am half of the time.
Sunday, 24 October 2004
The most talked about subject in the world could possibly be relationship. Relationship between a man and woman, brother and sister, lovers or even the people who we can't stand. It's weird how we can talk about it for hours and still getting nowhere. So I classified relationship as a battle that requires a lot of energy and mental toughness and only the strongest survives.
A very good friend of mine asked last night if I had some time to spare and listen to him. Well, for him I always make time. Recently, he went through a tough time when his GF of 5 years suddenly dumped him out of the blue. No explanation, no reasons, no chance to get back together. It would have been easy if he could just brush it off as a phase in his life but it's kinda hard since he actually love her and can't live without her. It's scary to think that when you fall in love, you surrender your heart and soul to the other person. You become too dependent and everything revolves round him or her. What's even scarier is you don't actually know whether your other half gives as much as you do. Hey, don't get me wrong. I like love and I want to be in love, to have somebody who loves me as much as I love him and be equal. But, does that mean we also give the power to them to slice our hearts to pieces?
This guy was miserable for weeks about a few months ago. He can't stop crying and can't even speak clearly. He saw a romance novel lying around my room, he cried. He saw lovebirds (real birds) on the electric cables, he cried. And believe me he cried at everything. I feel sorry for him for a number of reasons.
1) She doesn't want him as much as he wants her.
2) He's getting skinnier (he is already thin)
3) He lost his energy, since it was wasted on crying
4) She probably moved on with another guy
5) He was hoping to win her back
To tell the truth, I didn't think he'd has a chance to get her back. In the first place, why should he wants her back? It happened twice before. But because she can't bear seeing him grieving they were together again. Anyway, I thought it was over and he's getting on with his life again. Time will heal, people say. Unfortunately not for him. It was a lot harder to get on with life. He can't forget about her and all he wants is the witch. Well, she's not a real witch. To me, she just likes to keep to herself, very sarcastic, a bit selfish, occasionally fly on her broomstick and doesn't really care about other people's feeling. Basically, she could be called..mmm..a bitch? Isn't there a time when we all feel selfish and care only about ourselves? Meaning we all are bitches too, then.
So last night we started talking again about this and the odd thing is that they remain friends. How many of us remain friends with our exs? I mean good friends. This guy still call and talk to his ex for hours sometimes, he doesn't try to get her back but he just chat to her like a good friend would. Oh, they talked about what happened at work, his family, his ambitions, her work, her new life. I guess they talked about everyday things in life. The thing is this guy is great. He's sensitive, loyal, caring and funny. People just love him and he made no enemies. Yet, he couldn't understand why she doesn't want him. I can't say I know why but I guess I can't blame the witch if the chemistry is not there anymore. The point is, he told me he needs her to help him get over it. How odd, when it's she who caused all this chaos in his life. I find it weird and I keep telling him it's not the norm. When people broke up, they get out of each other life. Vanished, never to be seen again. His answer was 'I'm not most people and I don't care what people do'. I, on the other hand, said nothing. So, it was left hanging without us getting anywhere.
A very good friend of mine asked last night if I had some time to spare and listen to him. Well, for him I always make time. Recently, he went through a tough time when his GF of 5 years suddenly dumped him out of the blue. No explanation, no reasons, no chance to get back together. It would have been easy if he could just brush it off as a phase in his life but it's kinda hard since he actually love her and can't live without her. It's scary to think that when you fall in love, you surrender your heart and soul to the other person. You become too dependent and everything revolves round him or her. What's even scarier is you don't actually know whether your other half gives as much as you do. Hey, don't get me wrong. I like love and I want to be in love, to have somebody who loves me as much as I love him and be equal. But, does that mean we also give the power to them to slice our hearts to pieces?
This guy was miserable for weeks about a few months ago. He can't stop crying and can't even speak clearly. He saw a romance novel lying around my room, he cried. He saw lovebirds (real birds) on the electric cables, he cried. And believe me he cried at everything. I feel sorry for him for a number of reasons.
1) She doesn't want him as much as he wants her.
2) He's getting skinnier (he is already thin)
3) He lost his energy, since it was wasted on crying
4) She probably moved on with another guy
5) He was hoping to win her back
To tell the truth, I didn't think he'd has a chance to get her back. In the first place, why should he wants her back? It happened twice before. But because she can't bear seeing him grieving they were together again. Anyway, I thought it was over and he's getting on with his life again. Time will heal, people say. Unfortunately not for him. It was a lot harder to get on with life. He can't forget about her and all he wants is the witch. Well, she's not a real witch. To me, she just likes to keep to herself, very sarcastic, a bit selfish, occasionally fly on her broomstick and doesn't really care about other people's feeling. Basically, she could be called..mmm..a bitch? Isn't there a time when we all feel selfish and care only about ourselves? Meaning we all are bitches too, then.
So last night we started talking again about this and the odd thing is that they remain friends. How many of us remain friends with our exs? I mean good friends. This guy still call and talk to his ex for hours sometimes, he doesn't try to get her back but he just chat to her like a good friend would. Oh, they talked about what happened at work, his family, his ambitions, her work, her new life. I guess they talked about everyday things in life. The thing is this guy is great. He's sensitive, loyal, caring and funny. People just love him and he made no enemies. Yet, he couldn't understand why she doesn't want him. I can't say I know why but I guess I can't blame the witch if the chemistry is not there anymore. The point is, he told me he needs her to help him get over it. How odd, when it's she who caused all this chaos in his life. I find it weird and I keep telling him it's not the norm. When people broke up, they get out of each other life. Vanished, never to be seen again. His answer was 'I'm not most people and I don't care what people do'. I, on the other hand, said nothing. So, it was left hanging without us getting anywhere.
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