Midnight Uses for Tissues

I would apologise for my lack of photos, but then I have to apologise for my unattractive features, Australia-sized ass and chopping board chest, so you know... would then have to preach about inner beauty and all that self-appreciating hogwash.

Too lazy.

Here, enjoy Lee Hyori instead. If you need tissues, I recommend Kleenex. Two-plies and extra absorbent!

Things I Miss About Malaysia.

1. Malaysia. Is. Hot.

It's just simmering, I can see the heatwaves radiating from the road, my sweat reaches boiling temperature and I start perspiring even as I step out of the bathroom after a fresh shower.

If I had gargantuan boobs, I swear it would've pooled into a mini pond between my cleavage. "Thank you, hidden blessings in life" I say, as I pat the upper abdomen area of my body that's missing the two noticeable bumps, struggling to hold back a stubborn tear.

When I think back to last year's 6 months of winter, the violent shivering, the occasional broken heaters and showering in ice cold water, the waking up and staying under the duvet for an extra 5 minutes or 3 hours and the winter depression, I cherish each blinding sweat that drips acid-like into my eyes.

2. Malaysian Food.

Six plates of rice a day... check.

Chicken, Fish, Meat, Squid, Prawns and (a skimpy amount of) Greens per meal... check.

Artery clogging oily fried food and gravy swimming in fat building coconut milk... BLISFULLY check check check.

Mounting health bills... Hahahahahahaha.

Hahahahahaha.

Hah.

The overfeeding thing is getting uncomfortable though. To be honest, I was excited and in trepidation about the onslaught of Malaysian feasts. Excited about finally quitting the milk and oatmeals breakfast, lunch and dinner but terrified of the "What do you mean you're finished? You ate so little... here, have a fifth helping!" thing. Forget about clothes ripping at the seams, I'm worried how my stretched-to-the-max skin is handling it. I doubt my pregnant cousin is sporting more stretch marks than I am.

3. Malaysian English

I have a love/hate relationship with our culture's own variant of English. I love it because it's so unique, so stubbornly wrong, so culturally etched, so... us.

I hate it because the constant usage is again, making it ingrained into my subconscious speech and I doubt if any client or employer would be impressed with it.

You see;

"The software was corrupted from improper shutting down of the computer, and I suspect a sudden voltage increase tripped the memory portion. How do you propose we go about it?"

Sounds better than;

"Eh sir, this file ah, broken a bit. Someone on the computer never turn off properly now the harddisk kena shock one. What to do?"

I'm quite screwed.

4. Family and friends

The past few weeks of hanging with family and friends have been compacted into the best days of my life, rivalling closely with my whole two years experience in London. I won't say more, since I'm still enjoying it and it might be jinxed if I start profusely sharing the glorious moments.

What I will say though, is...

Anti-social what? Schizoid who? Computer wh---

Ok not ready to part with computers just yet.

I am looking forward to not being a nomad anymore, getting my own place and building up my home entertainment system, however. Chilling with loved ones is great after a 2 years absence, but I can't turn my back on the maturing relationship with isolation that's been nurtured for the same 2 years. Or 6 years, whichever way you want to see it. I wonder if having a mentally unstable brother and sudden loss of authority figures in life had anything to do with that.

And I still have to work on that needing to be alone and lack of attraction to opposite sex thing. It's possible, I know it is. Oh, you first world problems you.

I'm dying here.

Hands trembling, I force another morsel of food into my already stuffed mouth. I chew slowly, biding time, prolonging the moment before I swallow and you pile another mounting heap of rice and gravy onto my plate.

With guilt-ridden voice and pleading look, I tell you that I'm full. With full of conviction and confidence, you tell me that I'm on a needless diet, that I've just arrived home and should be enjoying the local dishes without restraint. Conveniently, you refuse to acknowledge the two full plates of rice I've consumed - most of it piled on by you - and the fact that I will be staying in Malaysia for... well... the rest of my life.

My breath coming in short, my pants threatening to burst at the seam and my movement languid, I take another spoonful as you insist on just one more plate of rice drowning in three different types of gravy and meat.

Politely, I acquiesce. Just one more, you say. Just one more... (I wish). I sigh in frustration and continue to focus on keeping the food down. As I fight another wave of nausea, that's when it hit me. That's when I know, without a doubt, that I am finally home.

How I Entertain Myself

I bought a new 1TB 2.5" HDD, and the moment I did, my old 500GB died. I swear, she's throwing a fucking tantrum, the impetuous harlot...

Been spending the past 30 minutes running hdd diagnostics and trying out several fixes, from changing cable length to undergoing command prompts input. I'm on an executable file that's fine combing through USB device diagnostics and at 64% of chkdsk. Been unsuccessful so far, but is it pathetic that I'm enjoying myself?

I love Windows Vista, more so than XP and 7, and the sole reason being that it's one fuck up of an OS. It's like the black sheep son who's now a tranvestite living in Harlem and eating the spleen of orphaned toddlers. ...Ok, too much.

Whatever it is, whenever the OS fucks up to the point that I sometimes have fix it at the registry key level... fun fun fun. And it doesn't even have to be Friday.

Can't wait to get Linux on my new netbook possibly arriving tomorrow. And my netbook's gonna be bitchin', yo. The reason why it's priced similarly with a laptop is because it has the same processing capacity, not to mention a HDMI port. Basically, I was sold at the HDMI part, couldn't care much for the rest of the specs since this isn't going to be my main laptop.

Geek talk over. Gotta continue troubleshooting this dead harddisk issue.

Insert excited girlish squeal.

Fuck it, what was I thinking.

Seems like most of my posts are about feelings and unwarranted emotions. I say screw that, time to cut the uterus loose. I don't need you and your monthly screw-ups of my hormones, you sadistic appendage.

Know what's been eating at my curiousity? I think my live-in landlord is having sex with three different guys. Her boyfriend, her colleague and best of all, her cousin. Her minuscule, hairy-chested, armpit-stained cousin. Given her 5' 8" stature, she might break him one day, and I'll be damned if I don't get a video of that happening.

Unfortunately, hidden spy cams are hard to come by. I imagine a store with an overhead "HIDDEN SPYING APPARATUS SHOP" sign might be a tad conspicuous. Maybe I'm not trying hard enough, there should be a few scattered around Central London.

Speaking of, staying and festering in East London for so long and milling amidst the Asians - Bangladeshi, Pakistani and Indians in particular - have made me forgotten the racial majority in England. On rare Central London visits, you can hear me exclaiming in unrestrained shock;

"OMG. WHITE PEOPLE. IN LONDON. I FORGOT ABOUT THAT."

I should probably get out more. Or I should probably continue trolling anonymously on internet forums and stalk and judge the people I have no interest in being friends with.

Choices.

No, Not Going To Kill Myself.

I've gotten a few concerned e-mails, calls, texts and comments from the last post. Heck, even an inspired blog post by the eloquent Azween. All your words would have made perfect fodder for a book called Chicken Soul for the Orphaned Soul. Should I submit the draft and steal all the credits?

In all seriousness, you guys made me melt like butter on a hot pan, or an evil witch during a wet, unlucky day with a homicidal dame named Dorothy. So, I thought I'd write up a post in appreciation of your kind words and earnest concern, since a few errant comments here and there wouldn't serve any justice towards the torrential sympathy I've received.

To start off, you guys shouldn't be worried. I'm nowhere near depressed or suicidal. I’m much too apathetic and lazy for that. Depression necessitates actually caring for something, something dark, siphoning feelings towards a state of perpetual sadness. Sorry but I need my feelings to properly express misplaced anger towards strangers on the internet. Rebecca Black, watch your back. Also, committing suicide requires planning and execution of said plan through to completion. And well, you know... hard work, ew.

There are times when I’d feel uncharacteristically dejected, sure (I blame you, fluctuating hormones and XX chromosome), but that only happens when the anniversary of my parents' death looms near, or when I see a teenager being rude towards their parents and foregoing the solid company of mom and dad for the fleeting attention of transient friends.

You gave your dad a petulant outburst then the cold shoulder because he won't buy you an iPad? You told your mom to leave you alone and locked your room to her? You skipped dinner with your parents to watch a movie with the "cool" crowd you've tried so hard to fit in with?

Just you wait. In a few years, when luck isn't by your side, you will never forget that seemingly trivial moment, those missed opportunities with the two beautiful people that raised you lovingly. It will be the biggest regret of your life.

Trust me.

My bad mood swings don't really centre around my brother since I've learnt to ignore his existence almost completely. Mostly, the mood swings are centred around my unexplained short temper towards inanimate objec—DAMN YOU KEYBOARD YOU’RE SO NOISY.

Forgetting he exists is a coping mechanism my sisters and I developed, and it helps when things get overwhelming. I talk at length with my sisters when the ripples of rage come crashing, so Ido have an outlet for that whimsical frustration. On rare occasions, I would talk at length about him publicly, like that last post, and the release feels great.

Also, I cope by having that emo hair and brooding aura because you know, tortured and misunderstood soul and such. Just wait 'till you read my macabre poetries;

Dame of death,

Silenced by sardonic voices,

Veiled by vice,

Nihilism, Moroseness, Sad and evil stuff bla bla bla.

All credits are to me.

You see, I've experienced the crippling tendrils of pain, but I've also had my share of life's bliss. I've had sixteen beautiful years with my parents and to top of it all off, I have you guys by my side.

I have my eldest sister who shoulders my grief as I unburden my gripes with the “unfair” world, someone who replaced our mom as a person to lean on. I have my younger sister who cries formy plight and jumps for my joys, someone who loves me so much she blew her whole savings onmy birthday. I have my Mak Long who fills the void of a missing mother. I have my Pak Usu, whose whole family took me in and included me in all their family rituals. I have Auntie Hamsiah, a stranger with no obligation or need for us fulfilling our obligation and needs. I have Auntie Khat, who admitted to others that I was her daughter and made me feel like one. I have Puan Lela, the lecturer who made me a part of her family when I was in college and far from home. I have Auntie Sharifah, who did everything in her power to make me feel accepted and succeeded. I have Balqis and Izyan, the two best friends that eliminated the weight from the corner of my downturned lips.

You know Balqis, Izyan, Azrin, when you two spent a crazy amount of money to post the Eid cookies and clothes to London just so I won't feel down during a day immersed with sad memories... I felt like a kid with her first bicycle. Actually no, there’s no suitable comparison.

I didn't express it in full detail, but did you guys know how much that made my day? My Eid? My life?

For Eid, I have a yearly ritual of plugging in my music player and listening to Boyz II Men's "Mama" and Luther Vandross' "Dance With My Father Again" on repeat which doesn’t help, I know, but I could never break out of it now.

I’ll only admit this once and I’d appreciate it if you never brings this up ever, but every Eid morning I would cry (temporary insanity and moment of weakness, cough) when I hear my housemates screaming, excited in the early morning about being on the phone with their parents and reminiscing last year’s Eid spent with their respective families. The last time I ever spent Eid with immediate family? Heck, even with just us three sisters together? Seven years ago.

The sadness that accompanies that is remote though, made possible by people who would steal me from college and drive past several states to Penang just to fetch my sister from boarding school, to make sure that at least the two of us would spend Eid together, in their company, as part of their family. They probably understood the feelings we never had the courage to share, even with each other. I know how sad you are Azrin, and I don’t understand why the three of us never shared that sadness, never talked about it, made it taboo. But hey, at least we’ve met those that sensed our tacit feelings, right?

Shit I’m rambling... I’ll stop now. Just know that what you did... I'll never forget it.

I have friends that accept my idiosyncrasies and wayward ways. To top it off, everywhere I go, my friends' parents would take a vested interest in this worthless pile of awkward and not-worth-your-attention outcast. Nurisya, Kak Nurul, Kak Syima, Kak Rey, Azween, Siti Maisarah, Siti K, Izzati, Shakira, Amirah, Nuha, Amierul, Kak Ijan, Kak Wani, DJ, Ain, Kak Azleen, Kak Akid, Kak Daia, Kak AD, Najihah, even anonymous, and the list goes on... I’m listing those that are currently in my Facebook home feed, heh. There’s just too many beautiful personalities that I’ve met throughout the years.

I’m not the most social or pleasant person to be around. I’m extremely short tempered, I never did learn to rein in my sarcastic tongue, my personality is as constant as the sea foams, I have extended moments of “retreat” when I would withdraw inwards and ignore everyone and everything around me, but you guys accepted me nonetheless. You were patient with me, you forcefully pulled me out of my shell, you never let my selfishness or induced isolation corrode the ties of friendship you offered.

In fact, there’s never a moment when I don’t have someone by my immediate side. I have not a single clue what I ever did to have been so... lucky. I was probably a martyr in a previous life.

...Thank you.

Lastly, do me a favour. Pick up your phone and if they’re still around, call up your mom or dad or if you’re luckier than most, both. Talk to them about the weather and bond over your shared hatred for Lemon Meringue Pies (God I hate Lemon Meringue Pies).

In the future, it’ll be your turn to thank me.