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Peak

2012-01-06T23:51:00.004Z

I try to refrain from giving a name when someone asks "Why did you do it like that?", and just take the blame for when I do something wrong (as I was just taking explicit instructions from another senior colleague).

Bad karma.

But when I'm named for something I don't even think was my fault since I simply answered "I'm seriously not sure how to do that" and was accused to be "refusing to teach how to extract the figures", it kinda sucks. What if I gave you the wrong method? It's just guesswork from myself as well. You should've seriously consulted the client, especially since your section is completely different from mine.

Ah well, for some reason it doesn't faze me as much.

I need to do nothing for several hours, can't wait for peak to be over. :|

I'm happy

2011-11-13T02:03:00.003Z

I was just staring at the wall, thinking about how soon my sister will finally get home from Australia after finishing up her 6 years medic studies there.

Cleaning the house thoroughly, picking her up from the airport, hugging her for the first time in several years, bringing her to Sunway to get her expensive graduation gift I've been saving up for...

Then a call came and it was her, on a shopping spree to buy a surprise gift for me. Although, in the end, she had to call me up in case I didn't want what she planned to get.

December is going to be awesome.

I'll just leave this here

2011-11-08T14:04:00.006Z

My workplace is saturated with hotties.

Beauty pageant contestants, natural beauties, part-time models, sister to models (a testament to how some families are just genetically superior), Amber Chia's cousin.

And the most unnerving thing of all... They're actually smart and fully competent. And oh yeah, the picture above are of actual colleagues.

It's awesome to be where I'm at.

Of course, 12 straight hours at client's office, followed by a long drive home and immediately resuming work upon touching base isn't exactly... fun.

But the hotties.

The hotties.

Our generation is fucked up

2011-11-07T15:19:00.004Z

I was minding my own business on Facebook, when an old, male acquaintance "friend requested" me.

Yes, this is the 21st century and that is now a verb. Get over it.

He sent a friendly message that was meant to be nostalgic, with the usual "Hey, remember years back when..."

After I repeatedly punched the backspace key over my original response of "Yes of course I remember insignificant details about things I stopped giving a fuck about please tell me more", I replied with a polite "Haha yes! Those were the days! :-)"

Complete with insincere emoticon and all.

Since I'm fake and I can't bear the thought of acting rudely to an old acquaintance, I was planning on responding to approximately 2 more of his messages before disappearing into oblivion. I was leaving it to chance that he would think I died in front of my computer rather than deciding that browsing repetitive internet jokes would be infinitely more interesting than his insipid... memories.

Fingers crossed.

After I eventually got sucked into the deep hole of "Omg human contact ew" that I love to hide in, I then received his friend request again. Bemused with his reasons behind deleting and re-adding me, I approved him without giving it a second thought.

Next thing I knew, he sent me another message;

"Proud, aren't you? Just deleting me from your friends list ;-) You really think you're hot stuff, huh?"

Uh... sorry what?

Afraid of offending anyone, I took the mature course of action...

Ignore him completely and watch another episode of Dexter.

The next day, I was contacted by a girl. The message was;

"Bitch can you leave my boyfriend alone?! You know we're going to get married in two months, why are you flirting with him!? You whore! You home wrecker!"

Um... I don't even... what?

Long story short, turns out she was one of those typical girlfriends/fiancée that would keep a close watch on her significant other's activities. She was the one whom removed my name from his friends list and was interpreting something out of nothing.

Really, how did you read "Yeah, I wonder how the teachers are too" as "Let's get it on, sexy muthafuckaaaaa ;-x"?

They've probably been at it for some time. Somehow, without any malicious intent whatsoever, I got caught in the crossfire.

Which leaves me to wonder. Why in the world would you read anyone's Facebook messages or give your Facebook password to anyone at all?

We need to turn down the crazy a notch. Leave people like me to their peaceful inner world. No wonder we hate the outside world so much, people like these are marring it with their drama and stupidity. Man, Idiocracy is seriously a window to the future.

World population hit the 7 billion mark as of the 31st October... and the future is looking bleak. Here's to a shitty life ahead.

Strength of genetics... or just influence?

2011-11-05T12:31:00.004Z

I inherited a lot from my late dad. His interests are my interests, his hobbies are my hobbies. Even my manner of speech is similar to his - a proclivity for uncommon words and tendency for being long-winded.

I always though it more from influence than genetics. He was my dad after all, and he somehow molded me into becoming like him. He wouldn't shower me with accessories and dresses, but he would go broke buying the long list of books I wanted. Eventually, I started reading his books by the age of 11. Stephen King, Josh Grisham, Frederick Forsynth... those were his favourite authors and now they're mine.

He got me my first laptop at fourteen, my first harddisk in the same year. He would praise me when I showed him how advanced my computer skills as a teenage girl was, and got me my Gameboy and first Pokemon game. He would proudly show off any new headphones and other computer paraphernalias to me and encouraged me to tinker with them.

Not to say he didn't try it with the others. I guess they weren't as easily moulded. He bought the eldest one a game console, a PlayStation 2, but she never once played with it (Guess who got the honours instead?). With the youngest sibling, her femininity and personality was already so strongly pronounced at a young age, so for her he tended to her already developed interests - Teddy bears, make-up table toy sets and dresses.

It wasn't until a revealing talk with my aunt whom knew him well that I discovered that, of all things, I also have his personality. My aunt's uncommonly perceptive so she knew my dad well, and now she knows me well. She told me a week ago that my inclination for isolation and love for self-indulging activities was a classic case of my Dad's. He doesn't have trouble making friends but keeping in contact is where problems start brewing; which is exactly my case.

I'd always noted that my dad was a bit of a loner despite always having people around him. When he took me along for outings with his friends (there were a few times I would stay alone with my dad in his apartment in Semenanjung while the others were still in Sarawak), he never seemed to be having as much fun as when he was at home, watching movies or reading his book (Which also, for me, is the most enjoyable way to spend time).

But because I was able to see these things as a young girl, maybe what I have, my anti-socialness, is from learned behaviour? Or could this really be my innate self?

Things to ponder on.

Angsty post.

2011-10-30T14:36:00.004Z

I just seriously cannot take it anymore. Can't you people leave me alone? No, I don't like you nor do I like spending time with you. No, your jokes weren't funny, no your actions weren't adorable, no spending time with you isn't fun.

Seriously, the only people I care about are family and a few select people who are like me. Do you mind not throwing a fucking tantrum if I don't text or call you back? Do you mind letting me live my own fucking busy life where I barely have personal time for myself?

Seriously, replying to messages is such a chore for me that I actually set aside an hour or two in a day to just reply all the accumulated texts. An hour or two in which I should be working and not having to worry about appeasing your sorry asses. An hour or two in which I am fucking obliged to spend just because the next time I have to see you for whatever compulsory reasons, it's all you ever bitch about.

"Oh Aziemah doesn't care about friends anymore, only cares about herself. Oh she's just so busy and we're just so unimportant."

Fuck you. You are not important. Did you help me in any way with picking up the pieces of my life? Did you spend time and money to help me with whatever problems I was facing? Do you earnestly care about my well-being and would help me with any predicament I'm facing at the drop of a hat?

No. You won't. You're not my aunt who's done all that for me. You're not my sisters whom would sacrifice everything for me. You're not my best friend who's been there for me through thick and thin. You're not even my fucking colleague who's good relations is imperative in having a better work life. You knew me when I was better, when I was acting jovial, when I was actually doing you favours out of politeness and social obligations.

You're fucking users that's what you are.

I hate people already as it is. Why are you forcing yourself onto me?

Just... leave me alone.

I want a boyfriend.

2011-10-26T17:20:00.004+01:00

I think I know what what I truly want in life.

I want a boyfriend who would leave me to my own devices, never call and text and never expect anything more than mild to non-existent affection.

Then, when people ask, "Do you have a boyfriend?", I go; "Why thank you for being the 205th person to ask that within the space of a month. Yes I do!".

Then, I rename him in my contacts list as "Bunny Wunny" and make sure to let my friends "accidentally" see the entry multiple times.

Then, as I read engadget or reddit and fawn/snicker over the latest gadgets and random funny shit, I'll just look straight into the suspicious eyes of friends and go, "Oh I'm just texting my boyfie! Teehee."

Then they'll nod understandingly, give me a playful nudge and we all laugh heartily (read: fake laughter) at the most cliched jokes in relationships ever heard of.

In tandem with that, when they ask "Why are you smiling to yourself, thinking of Mr X right now?", I can go "Oh stop, you're embarrassing me! Giggle giggle" while thinking "Well no, I just thought that make-up made you look like Ronald McDonald but thanks for giving me a great cover."

Also, while friends share their boyfriend woes and relationship plights, I can go "Really? But Mr X treats me like a princess! It sounds like you have talent in picking trash up" which shuts them up and results in less hostility than my usual "Give me 5 minutes while I prepare my 'I give a fuck' expression".

Not to mention that the random messages and awkward introductions by members of the opposite sex is really getting on my nerves. As it stands, apparently I'm popular at my workplace for being 'Pretty'.

Really people? My plain face, straight body shape and uncouth behaviour is attractive to you? I just... don't... what?

I got it down to a theory though; most of the attention is from Malays. Back in college, I witnessed it myself, how a Malay with Chinese features would rise in fame simply from having Oriental features, regardless if they look like a Jackie Chan and horse hybrid.

I know I've mentioned this before, it's because Malays think Chinese people are attractive. Luminescent skin, long, shiny hair and generally stylish fashion sense. Well, more like Malay girls aren't allowed very flashy clothing.

But the problem lies in the fact that Chinese people would rarely give them any attention, unless they're jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

So, as a Chinese-looking Malay, it's instant popularity. Malay guys think they have a shot with me, because of our shared culture and religion or whatever bullshit. They can't get the real thing, so they'll settle with the next best thing.

Which makes me sad thinking of how pathetic people can be.

So I need a boyfriend to stop being a freak magnet.

But I need one who loves me as much as I love my job.

Also, I need a new job.

I almost blinded a friend.

2011-10-23T13:39:00.004+01:00

My friend won tickets to a K-pop party, which was basically an Astro-sponsored event masquerading as a "party" by hiring some k-pop influenced dancers and DJ.

Although it's not my scene, I thought I'd take up her offer of being her plus one out of pure curiousity.

Turns out, the tickets allowed her two friends, so I was introduced to a colleague of hers that she'd invited as well. Before we stepped into the auditorium packed with a weird mesh of people in headscarves and those with k-pop inspired 'do (this is truly 1Malaysia), we were given glo-sticks.

Fuck everything about these glo-sticks.

They were bendable ones meant to be accessories. I got the glasses as you see above, while my friend's friend (named Anne for now) was given a headband one.

I was fiddling with it, trying to bend it into shape while Anne was supervising.

Then it broke.

In two.

And the liquid splattered all over.

Into her eyes.

My first instinct was to laugh and I knew it was hers too, since I saw her lips twitched upwards into a giggle... before a most horrific scream was released from it.

In retrospect, everything that happened was quite funny. Although, there were not much "Hahaha" in between "OH GOD IT BURNS. MY EYE BURNS" while it happened.

Anyway, we rushed out to rinse her eyes. Although she spent several minutes splashing water into her eyes, it was getting redder by the second and she was having problems with keeping her lids open. All the while I was thinking "Oh shit, do I have to donate one of my corneas to her? But I love having two corneas."

I think in the height of the moment, I actually did say "If anything happens, feel free to have one of my eyeballs..."

Awkward much.

We were rushed to the doctor's by one of the event manager and after a few eyedrops, the pain and scarlet-ness subsided... in which she later spent the next 3 hours dancing to k-pop music and doing the choreography flawlessly.

Seriously? "Oh my god I know the moves to this!" not 10 minutes after "OH MY GOD THE SEARING PAIN!"?

K-pop fans never cease to amuse.

Probably not the best look.

2011-10-23T13:37:00.002+01:00

Another thing I did today was to actually attend a religious talk (At my elder sister's behest). Of course, two hours in, I realised the topic was centered on family values and the likes.

They basically talked about;

1. Men's responsibilities towards their families;

2. Women's responsibilities towards their husbands and children.

I spent most of it mulling on how I was really wasting my time since;

1. I'm not a man and I do not, nor have I entered into any arrangement to own a penis in the near future; and

2. I have not utilised my uterus for any purpose of siring an offspring.

So I slept.

And I slept.

And I woke up when an obese, bald participant was asking about polygamy during the Q&A session. The speaker emphasized how polygamy, under Malaysian law, would not require the permission from the man's current spouse. But, that's only if he satisfies ALL four of these requirements;

1. His wife is not able to produce an offspring, or out of some medical anomaly, they are unable to have intercourse (By 'they' I mean him and his wife, as opposed to him and his right hand).

2. He is able to provide for both families without any wants from either parties

3. He is able to act fairly and not evoke feelings of neglect (good luck with that)

And I forgot the fourth one 'cause I nodded back to sleep.

Anyway, the memories seared in me from the talk is definitely not the feeling of inspiration or awe by any divine light or whatever, it was the fact that every woman around me was dressed in oversized headscarves (some even with the hanging mouthpiece thing), loose, long-sleeved shirts and baggy pants. And even socks, to cover up the exposed skin for those wearing slippers instead of shoes. Definitely the more... advanced lot of the Islamic movements in Malaysia.

I wasn't wearing a halter top or mini skirt or anything, but the stares that I got throughout was definitely disturbing. I guess being the only one not in a headscarf, plus with short-cropped hair, multiple piercings and absence of even a semblance of Malay features incited a lot of curiousity.

More than once (about like a bagazillion times), I'd catch them staring and seeing as Islam has this "Senyuman itu adalah sedekah" thing going on, they'd give the politest and nicest smile. It's hard to tell them to "fuck off" following that.

Sneaky, sneaky people.

One thing I liked about the crowd was that they weren't judgmental stares of disdain or disgust, they were just curious stares from those wanting to know the story of how I decided to embrace Islam and my experiences so far.

Yeah, they thought I was a convert. And yeah, I'm still and will always be annoyed by that assumption.

So I just continued sleeping.

Goodbye, world.

2011-10-22T15:40:00.003+01:00

I've decided to update my blog more frequently despite barely having any time for anything anymore.

Seriously.

I'm way outdated on shit. My tv series, comics, and movies-to-watch list is expanding like a menopausal woman's waistband and the book I picked up 5 weeks ago is still bookmarked at page 9. To give more credit to myself, I've read half of page 9 so I'm actually at page 9 and a half.

I'm ignoring calls and texts right now and I understand a lot of people are angry at me. Then again, I'm struggling, okay?

I have a lot of friends. A lot. If I start replying to every message and calls I will turn crazy.

You might think that sounds conceited and show-offish but as it stands, it's the truth. In fact, it's something I hate about myself. I can't just shut it off and stop caring about being polite and nice to others. That ol "Treat others how you would like to be treated" maxim is ingrained in me.

I'm not a very social person. I mean, I have friends and all and I know how to make friends easily but at the end of the day, staying alone and doing my own shit is what I would deem as my "Best. Day. Ever."

Just because I'm easy with the laughter, quick with the jokes and generous with the smiles doesn't mean I thrive on social gatherings.

It just means I know how to act within a social gathering.

Doesn't mean I actually enjoy it.

Just to clarify though, I'm not saying I'm the most likable person on earth, it's just that after 4 years of having to live by myself and meeting a lot of... unique characters along the way, I've picked up the appropriate social cues for given situations. I haven't mastered the perfect personality or anything, but generally, I try to embody what's considered as genial and sociable.

A fucking hypocrite is what I am. And I can't drop the farce.

I know I'm ranting and my thought process is haphazard right now, but it's the frustration from not having a day to myself for the past 4-5 weeks.

In fact, despite losing all my contacts when I lost my Blackberry about a month ago, I'm not in any hurry to add them back. Secretly, I'm even happy for it. It's my silver lining. Now there's a very valid reason for not replying calls and texts; "I didn't recognise the number, sorry!"

I'm struggling with work, I barely have time to text my own sisters, I have to handle the stress of meeting and managing my brother every weekend, I don't fucking have time to do my own shit anymore and now I'm getting angry messages from people saying I have "buang batu" and "lupa daratan".

Of course, having this natural tendency towards isolation also means that the reason why I'm drowning myself in work is because it's my escape from having to socialise. I wonder if that's the case sometimes.

Anyway, guys and girls, as my Galaxy SII has that function, I am now ignoring calls and texts from everyone not in my contacts list.

Goodbye.

We don't joke about this shit.

2011-09-10T14:27:00.002+01:00

I was booked to audit a charity organisation for two weeks. However, the accounts were not ready yet and the clients seem acrid when pushed, so after a week, my senior is pulling me out and putting me up to audit another client.

That was decided on Friday before I left for home.

My senior e-mailed me all the documents relating to the new client, but as a joke, it was titled "In case anything happens to me during the weekend..."

It's Saturday, 9.30pm now and I received a text from him 5 minutes ago;

"Thank goodness... I'm still alive. Accidentally hit a divider. It was a lucky escape. A few inches more and I would be 6 feet under."

Called him and a few people up to verify the story and he did in fact, barely escaped death.

So people...

We don't joke about this shit.

Me, the fashionista.

2011-08-13T16:49:00.004+01:00

My aunt and uncle treated me to a Ramadhan buffet tonight and before picking me up, I was given a simple caveat;

"Wear something nice."

Discarding the suspiciously stained shirt and crotch-torn jeans that I somehow suspect my aunt knew I was going to wear (I think she's psychic), I grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeggings that someone else had picked for me during an earlier mandatory shopping spree.

Because that's the universal definition of nice to anyone who knows me;

"Not something chosen by Aziemah."

I seriously wish I was just being sarcastic.

I managed to wear something decent but by the time I got home, I had several foodstains on it. Not because I'm a messy eater, but because food sometimes fly out of my plate whimsically to spatter on any decent shirt I decide to wear.

Oh food, you silly inanimate object you.

But my point is, if we go out for dinner, why should we dress up? All you're doing is adding suspicious stains to your decently styled (and priced) attire. If we're going out for movies, why bother dolling up? I doubt people go to dark cinemas to appreciate your expensive shirt they can't see. Maybe when night vision is the next improvement in our evolutionary progress, it makes sense but then you're also competing with the most beautiful women in Hollywood as people focus on the big screen in front of them.

If we go shopping, why should you wear that stylish new top? Everyone goes shopping to buy clothes off the rack, not your body. Besides, I believe those who go shopping use it as a reason to parade their non-existent fashion sense, so they're too preoccupied with how much attention they're able to get, hardly having enough time to spare attention to you.

The only suitable time to dress up is when...

...

I'm... stumped.

Do you know when?

I hate it when I'm being pointed out as an ass, and they're right about it.

2011-08-02T16:57:00.004+01:00

I can talk heartily about work and what I did during the weekends, but which do you find more interesting; Spending 5 hours straight extracting data or staring at paint dry?

Yeah I know... that's the gist of my life. It's pathetic. If you're suggesting that I start browsing group suicide forums then save your breath; I'm already googling it.

It was an unexpected surprise this morning when I logged into facebook at work to spend the ample 1.72 seconds of relaxation I get in office and noted a message from Farah. You know, the person I childishly blogged about on her facebook comments.

Anyway, I didn't bother to read past the second paragraph because the first two had already buried me in so much shame that I knew it would ruin the whole of my day. The thing would constantly permeate the unoccupied corners of my mind, so I held it off until I got home.

I just got home and now, apologies are due. Since I did read too much into things, misinterpreted her intentions and cast reprehensible blame for something that wasn't even there, I guess I will admit to being an asinine, low-life douche bag.

Farah I'm sorry. You're right about this being more of a public humiliation than what was yours, your explanation made me want to kick myself and I truly acknowledge how childish and bitchy I was about the whole thing.

If you were to be blamed for anything, it's probably the fact that you're still forgiving of me despite my ignoble actions and also being the bigger person about the whole situation. Hats off to you for showcasing maturity throughout and pointing out the lack of mine.

Anyway, only had 8 hours sleep the past 3 days, just got back from a stressful day, it's 12.30am, I'm waking up at 5.30 tomorrow, I've already banged my head on the computer table twice from accidentally falling asleep and I'm still forcing myself awake to write this because I don't think it's right to put off an apology you rightfully deserve. Not saying that's much, but I hope you acknowledge how I'm prioritising my apology to you over my sleep.

Kind of like, Farah > Sleep right now.

Hell I love sleep so much I kinda slept in the bathroom in the office today.

SO THAT'S SAYING A LOT, OKAY?

Sorry Farah, and thanks for already telling me that you'll won't mind what I said, even before I gave an apology. I'll make it up to you somehow.

Hey guys, I found the perfect job for anti-social people.

2011-07-31T06:04:00.002+01:00

Alright, might have been a bit too premature in sharing that I've been way too free at my workplace. But then again, it was sort of the truth. Having the luxury of not having much to do lasted all of...

2 days.

Then the dam burst.

Now I'm going home at around 9-11pm every day, starting work the moment I touch base in office at 7am and as I reach home sometime before 12am, I would either continue work late into the night or pass out immediately.

Work.

More effective than Rohypnol.

Then again, I'm better off than my cousin who's staying longer in the office and working later into the night, and much better than my senior who arrives to work before I do and getting home much, much later. Even some of my batch mates are already considering 11pm as an "early" time to get off work.

...We just started work barely a month ago.

Right now, I'm leaving a backlog of shit to do and completing a stupid e-learn for our "Continuing Professional Development".

People, heed my warning;

Never be an auditor and a member of a professional body.

Just... No.

Alright, going to continue wasting my life away with keeping my head above waters with workload and foregoing social life completely now. But then again, didn't have much of a social life to begin with... I guess this won't be much of a struggle then.

Enjoy your non-auditor life.

Today is...

2011-07-15T16:32:00.003+01:00

I can't talk about work because the project I'm involved in is confidential.

Though, I don't exactly understand how my new mastery of the new "change to landscape" function on the photocopier or using an oversized stapler is considered confidential.

Seriously though, I was slotted for a rare slot at doing something out of the normal scope of work, which I was informed made it more complex. Not only is it completely different from what my other fresh colleagues are doing, there's only two other people involved. And the work load is crazy.

Only, I'm new and the only thing I can contribute to is my wide-eyed stare and terrified glances at the document pile. Even my superiors couldn't understand how a new employee could be joining them. Thus, with my skill set, I am totally KILLING the world's fastest speed at punching papers and playing Solitaire when no one's looking.

My batchmates, however, are doing relevant work-related stuff and going home at 11pm. After just two weeks of joining.

And myself? I had enough time to reorganise the Media files in my music player.

But hey, if I'm still getting high pay even if I'm continuously clicking on my empty desktop to look busy and typing "BORED" 17,294 times in Notepad, I'm all for it.

Oh, and I now understand how Nurisya can genuinely like Rebecca Black's Friday song.

IT'S FRIDAY, PEOPLE!

Google Dabai. "Did you mean Dubai?"

2011-07-02T23:55:00.005+01:00

“What. In. The. World. Is. That?”

“You’ve never seen it before?”

“How does ‘Hell-To-The-Naw’ sounds to you?”

“But you’re Sarawakkian, you should know of it.”

This is Nasi Goreng Dabai, or Dabai Fried Rice. It’s pure awesome and you’ve probably never heard of it. Which I’m going to emphasize, because it makes me feel like less of a loser for not having heard of it as well.

I know, I know, you’re not from Sarawak and your ignorance makes sense. Shut up.

So... Dabai is a fruit.

I googled dabai and there were less than five relevant results for it, which was to be expected. I could plagiarise and sound all smart and shit, but you know, as I usually confess easily;

Too lazy.

So go have a read here.

The dabai, having been seasoned with salt, was overpowering in its saltiness, but when I shoved another spoonful of fried rice into my mouth, it tasted just right. The dabai tasted... unique, different. It was full, rich, the texture was smooth and it had a strongly distinct flavour. I don’t think anything else could replicate the taste, neither can I exactly describe it. It’s nothing like any other salted variety of fried rice, like Nasi Goreng Ikan Masin or I don’t know, Nasi Goreng Garam or something.

But I would definitely have it again.

Anyway, as it turns out, I did know of Dabai, it was a fruit I did have as a kid, I just didn’t know its name or that it was native to only Borneo. Ten years later, it’s only natural that I forget. It’s hard to come by, since the other name for it is Sibu olive. It’s not as easy to get in Kuching as hawkers selling it at the weekly market would have to bring it all the way from Sibu, the only place where it’s harvested. Oh, and it’s seasonal.

Sibu, like most of the small cities in Sarawak could hardly be called a city. A few modern buildings, official looking establishments and widely-sparse residential areas restricted within a small circumference hardly fitting to be deemed a “city”. Sometimes there’s a small airport, but most of the time a short drive, meaning several house (like, ten), is the only means to get to places.

Oh, and helicopters.

But that’s how most cities in Sarawak are. Sarawak is huge, mostly underdeveloped, proudly rural, jungles spewing forth everywhere and cities are several miles apart. Roads are not always accessible. I drove three hours to another nearby city from Kuching for a “day-trip”.

On the way there though, you could find several small creeks, untouched rivers, hot springs or beautiful landscapes of nature where you could literally park by the roadside, take out the picnic basket you packed and have one hell of a breakfast, lunch, or evening tea by the crystal clear waters set in pebbled stones and shaded by wild trees.

It’s breathtaking.

It is definitely fitting to be called “Borneo” or the “Rainforest”.

So travellers, if you visit Sarawak, while you’re having the Kolo Mee, Laksa Sarawak and Teh C Peng Special, don’t forget Nasi Goreng Dabai as well. It’s rare and a only few places sell it though, so good luck.

God, What a Drama Queen

2011-07-02T15:55:00.005+01:00

Here’s my sage advice to you:

You’re an attention whore.

You live for attention, you desperately seek acknowledgement, you would do anything to make sure you get noticed.

Be it by faking an illness, wearing something ridiculous, speaking in volumes that assumes everyone’s deaf, pretending to be bisexual, to be different, acting rebellious so there’s no other choice but to regard you, and the list goes on.

You’re sick in the head.

It’s a mental illness.

Go treat that shit.

Three Layers of Pure Awesomeness

2011-07-01T18:54:00.004+01:00

The overhead ceiling fan whirred loudly, slowly cooling the sweat off new customers entering the open-styled restaurant.

If you can even call it a restaurant.

The timid waitress scuffles about, order sheet and pen perfunctorily in each hand. Before she even settles on a table, a command booms over the relaxing gusts of artificial wind.

“Dik, Teh C Peng Special sigek!”

It’s been awhile since I came home, but for the eight days that I stayed in my hometown, every meal eaten outside was accompanied by this novelty drink.

Before I take a sip, I would note the beads of condensation on the ice cold glass of drink that could only be described as inviting as the sun continues to beat down relentlessly on the Land of the Hornbill. Even the crinkle of ice against each other was music to my ears.

There’s a trick to taking the first few sips of this local drink, which is what I never fail to look forward to. With the straw held firmly in your fingers, start sipping from the bottom and quickly work your way up.

It comes in stages. The refreshing taste of pandan hits you first, then comes the slight hint of brown sugar which would later be overpowered by the sweetness of the condensed milk, before your taste buds settles on the slight bitterness and unique taste of the red tea.

Pure. Ecstasy.

After the first three or five times though, you get a bit self conscious when you notice the nine year old sitting next to you drinking it exactly the same way. Then, you clear your throat and stir the triple mixture like the adult you try to appear to be, coalescing it into the boring brown colour of a normal Teh Tarik. Then you remind yourself not to repeat the act of drinking like an idiot again.

But then, at the next stall and with the same order, you conveniently forget to remember.

Teh C Peng is also called Three Layer Tea, and I think the name was given by West Malaysians when the drink was brought over from the East, from Borneo. Try as I may though, I have never, ever found a glass of Teh C Peng as refreshing, inviting and perfect as the ones from Sarawak, where it originated. The best I had for this trip was probably the one at J&J Corner, the one I had on my last day, as pictured above.

I love my hometown.

Kidnapped by Con Men

2011-06-14T19:39:00.003+01:00

It was a harrowing experience yesterday when, having just bought over RM1000 of leather goods (which I persuaded myself I could afford by forsaking food for a year) I was briskly walking across the road towards KL Sentral from the Monorail station. Just as my huge “LEATHER AVENUE” stamped shopping bag would invite snatch thieves, muggers and self-poverty, it attracted con men like fruit flies to… well, fruits.

Sure enough, I was approached by a group of very young Chinese teenagers, handing out innocent looking tear-away cards. I took one, smiled and was about to go my own way when he held me and told me I was supposed to tear it open to see what promotional items I’d won a discount for.

Regretting what I thought was obliging kindness, I did as he was told and sure enough, he jumped up excitedly when he saw that I’d won a “special prize”. He was so jubilant, so happy for my sake that it was reminiscent of a dying man being told he was finally cured of cancer. In this scenario though, he was the dying man and I was the one cured of cancer.

Odd reaction, definitely.

I was skeptical, but greed and curiousity took over. Him and his cohorts dragged me aside and explained how I’d won something rare and special, and so he proceeded to ring up his supervisor.

The next instructions were given: I was supposed to go to Taman Danau Desa to scan my “SPECIAL PRIZE!!!!” code which they insisted was located “just right around the corner”.

I’m from Kuching and even then, I’d lie to lost tourists visiting Cat City when they asked for directions by telling them “I’m not local” to hide the shame of probably knowing as much as they do about my way around.

So do I know my way around KL? Of course not. Did I believe him when he said Taman Danau Desa was just around the corner?

Shamefully and stupidly, yes.

Two of them hailed a taxi which I subsequently got on with them. Although alarm bells were ringing, I persuaded myself that if they tried to rape or direct me towards a deserted area, there’s always the taxi driver as a witness or I could just instruct the cab to turn back. I was, after all, paying.

Curiousity killed the cat and it seemed like I was doomed to a same fate.

I was brought to a seemingly busy looking area bustling with human activity and brightly lit shops lining the street. This I had to endure after ten minutes of mangled conversations with my English illiterate – to use the term loosely – captors asking personal questions about family and what it is that I do for a living. Probably to put me at ease. Probably to dig for more information so if things went wrong, he has some personal information of mine to fall back on. Who knows.

I lied, and I lied a lot, sometimes forgetting that my bartender brother couldn’t also possibly be the youngest surgeon in Sarawak’s Public Hospital. Fortunately (and unfortunately), it was the information I gave about myself that he paid most attention to.

The moment I stepped onto a curb and looked around, the volume of activity and people gave a sense of security. Even as they led me up a narrow flight of stairs towards a small door leading to their office, I thought I could just scream at the top of my lungs and ran like Lucifer himself was closely nipping at my heels if it turned out everything was indeed too good to be true.

I let myself be led from the reception to the hallway, and into one of the multiple room where they informed me their supervisor would soon attend to me. When I noted how barren the rooms looked, how under-furnished and cheap the furnitures were, the alarms grew to a resounding gong. Though, despite everything, still I was curious, still I was greedy, still I was stupid.

I was over-confident enough to believe I could extricate myself just as easily by telling them I refuse the gift when they start asking for money outright. The only loss I would suffer then would just be my taxi fare.

The supervisor came in, a Chinese boy slightly over twenty with a crooked smile and a twitch to his lips as he spoke which made me think he had Tourette’s. No wonder he’s a con man, I told myself, he’s trying to pay off his medical bills. This young boy, exuding confidence and charisma, proceeded to give painstaking details to promote credibility for whatever it is that they were doing. Basically, this was a promotional event by the likes of Kenko, Genki, and about ten other sponsors I’d conveniently forgotten. To avoid paying tax, they did something akin to charity by doing these competitions and that’s why they’re giving away luxury items, ranging from cars to trips to Turkey or Japan. Out of the seven prizes, three were cars, three were all-paid holiday trips and one was an expensive mattress.

Expensive mattress? I’d pity the poor sod who’d win that.

I told them I would call up my aunt first and that’s when everyone jumped. Vehemently, they persuaded me against doing that and that’s when the bud of suspicion grew into full bloom. He explained that I better hear him out first.

Before I would scan my winning code, I would first be given three items (a water filter, foot massager and electric stove cooker) for no hassle and my only responsibility would be to promote the brand to my friends. Then I’d have to “stand by” RM7000, since the sponsors would not borne the 6% Government tax levied on the fees for the promotional workers, rental for premises and business license registration. After ascertaining that I have the RM7000, I would then be able to scan my code and win my prize.

Hold on, I interjected, so you want the payment now?

He shook his head vigorously and told me I would not make the payment now, but I would only need to prove that I can make the payment by showing to him that I have RM7000 safely tucked away somewhere right now. The money would be received by the sponsors. And oh, they only accept cash.

That’s when everything got so convoluted. Basically I would only need to bring him the money, so he would write down the serial numbers of each note, to prove that I have the money to give the sponsors later.

Hold on, I asked again, that still means that I have give you the money, right?

Yes, he answered, but only to jot down the serial numbers so that we have proof that you do have the cash.

But still, I argued, the money would be passed to you, right?

That’s when he sat back, threw up his hands and told me he doesn’t understand what I’m trying to say.

Frustrated myself, I then explained to him that I’m not the type to keep hundreds of bills hidden in my 99 cents Jusco-brand socks when I wander around KL. When I told him the amount wouldn’t be obtainable, he was digging around for more information; How much do I have in my bank account?

That’s when I had the best idea of the day. I told them that to get the RM7000, I would have to ring up my aunt. She should have the money to lend. Begrudgingly, they acquiesced.

Although, realising it now, in my fit of panic I had actually forgotten to discuss “payment details” with her but due to sheer luck, these greedy misfits didn’t notice it.

I made a show of it, telling my Mak Long that I’d won something and I would have to probably keep my stuff in her house. My Mak Long, being the wise one in the family, knew straight away something was wrong.

“How did you win? Scratch and win?”

“Yes.”

Scratch and win wasn’t exactly what it was, but it sounded the most dubious and, picking up on that, My Mak Long knew it was a con job and she gave rapid-fire instructions on what to do. Get out of that place, she told me, you’re getting conned, get home and call me when you can. But before that Mak Long, I told her, I’ll give you the address just in case.

That’s when, at the loudest volume I could muster, I read out the address out of one of the myriad of forms they had, deliberately repeating it for show, looking into the “supervisor’s” eyes as I did so.

All I got back was a confident, cocky smile.

I put down the phone and explained to them slowly I had to go home, my aunt refuses to acknowledge this win. I can’t borrow the amount from her. The plan to extricate myself was being set in motion and I honestly thought making a run for it would be easy now. As I stood up, that’s when I noticed a change of battle plans. Two of the boys started moving about the room, one setting himself beside me, and another stood in front of the door, barricading my escape. The supervisor held his relaxed, confident posture across the table, his arms crossed.

With the short, young boy barricading the door and another tall one standing firmly over my head, I was back to sitting down, with the supervisor explaining the wasted opportunity if I were to back away from such a fantastic win. My aunt wouldn’t understand what they’re doing at all, outsiders are of course skeptical of such a thing and I was stupid to have called her in the first place.

As the thinking gears started whirring for a retort, my aunt called again. Taking advantage of the fact that they barely spoke English and telling her cryptically that I’m still being held, she proceeded to call me at two minute intervals to know the progress of the “kidnapping”. The three captors gave annoyed glances whenever I excused myself to answer the phone, to which I conveniently ignored. Finally, at the third call, my uncle was the one on the phone.

Pak Long, with his glaring stare, skin deeply tanned from golfing and boss-like stance, always gave an impression of unchallenged authority and in this case, his booming voice gave us the edge. I passed the phone to the supervisor at my Pak Long’s request, and after a quick minute of conversation, the young boy gave me back the phone and shouted at me;

“GO! LU PERGI SAJA! PERGI! PERGI! PERGI! SAYA TAKNAK ITU KAMU FIKIR SAYA TIPU! SAYA TOLONG AWAK AND SEKARANG SAYA KENA MARAH DENGAN UNCLE KAMU!? BUAT APA?! PERGI!”

Gladly shithead, I thought, but could you tell your cronies to stop blocking my way first?

I talked to him slowly, the need to diffuse the situation practically sending electric shocks to my brain. I told him to calm down, explaining to him that even I’m afraid of my Pak Long. The apology he was demanding from Pak Long would not be possible, he is not a yielding man. I can control the actions of my uncle as much as you can tell a stray cat to stop defecating on your lawn. He’s my uncle and understandably, he’s worried for his niece, for me. You’re mad at him, so why are you shouting at me? I believe you, he doesn’t. He’s coming here with the police and I don’t know how to stop him, the best thing to do is to let me go and I’ll help settle the situation.

“How long until he arrives?”

“Half an hour?”

Now, it seems his greed was overtaking my earlier greed. He thought that everything could be done within the half hour. I knew that he thought he could persuade me further, getting me to give the money and releasing me after I’d gotten my “ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC WIN!!!”.

He was that sure of himself.

I didn’t know until later that most of his confidence would come from the fact that these syndicates are usually in cahoots with the local police officers as well.

He was so confident with the police that he informed me there’s a police station nearby, almost doubling over in laughter when I asked if it’s still open.

“You think it’s like a convenience store? You’re asking if it even closes?”

Ashamed at my piling stupidity, I then proposed;

“Okay, then to make everyone happy, myself, my uncle and you, I’ll bring a police officer up here and he’ll act as witness.”

“Okay!” He said defiantly, “Go do that, I’ll give you the directions to the station myself.”

As I stood up, he told me to sit back down and explained that there’s a law (probably self-concocted five seconds ago) that states that even if I brought the police over, best the officer could do is stand in the hallway, he can’t be in the room as he’s not allowed to. What’s his purpose then? Furthermore, why am I wasting time? The office we’re in should’ve been closed at 8pm, 10 minutes ago, and by their kindness and selfless aid, they’re holding themselves there for my benefit. On top of that, the moment I stepped out the premise, I would probably run away, what’s the guarantee that I would stay?

That’s when I know I just called their bluff and they had no intention of releasing me.

Still, I couldn’t leave. And still, I couldn’t be persuaded to hand out my money. Time was running short, and that’s when he gave a deal. In broken Malay, he told me;

“Alright, I really can’t help if you’re skeptical. I really want to help so I’m giving you a last offer. Truthfully, if you win this, we get RM6000 commission and I’m willing to pay half of your RM7000 from that commission. In essence, you pay RM3500, I pay RM3500.”

By this time, I was standing up, looking incredulous, and the boy standing in front of the door surprisingly gave way. I was confused, but I couldn’t move to the door fast enough and as I hastily stepped into the hallway leading to the exit, I realized why I was being released from this prison;

I was led to another one.

There were now six of them, including the three from within the room I was in (They had immediately followed suit as I left). A scare attempt using numbers, maybe?

There was also a new talker, a baby-faced guy but definitely older than the rest. He tried to persuade me where the other couldn’t, with so much fervour that a huge ball of spit landed smack dab on my cheeks.

And that’s when I decided to play along.

I had a foot out the door, ready to leave but part of me wanted to see where this would lead. Of course, the other wary part was afraid I’d be pulled back in when they saw that I was serious about leaving and they’d decide the next course of action to be violence. Although I was holding the door open, there were two of them barely a metre away.

It was my game now, my uncle was coming with the police any moment and although my confidence was wavering, I somehow believed everything would turn out for the best.

“Alright, you give me proof that this thing is real, I go out right now and withdraw my money for you. Of course, I’m taking the RM3500 offer.”

“The proof” was in the form of a single piece of paper stating their registered status as a business. Nodding idly, I played for more time by questioning the validity of the piece of dubious paper, but when their annoyance grew more apparent, I backed away and finally agreed to withdraw my RM3500. I wasn’t allowed to go alone, but I had my choice of company. Happily, I chose the boy whom accompanied me from KL Sentral, the one who was happily chatting away in the cab. I knew enough information about him - however doubtful they were - so at least I would have more to go about on one of the con men when I talk to the police.

He led me out the office and we walked to a 7-11 5 minutes away where he withdrew their portion of the RM3500 using the leader’s card. It was my turn then, but I insisted on using the proper Hong Leong Bank’s ATM next door, with rows of machines in a chill, air-conditioned room. He gladly, if hesitantly, agreed but refused to enter. He was thinking the exact same thing I was;

Every nook and cranny of the room probably had CCTVs.

I refused to withdraw until he entered as well, and he nervously followed me inside, cautious enough to have his head bent low and eyes downcast as he stepped through the heavy doors. We headed back to the office and efficiently, money was taken out of my hands, money I was afraid I’d never see again. Following that, everything was smooth sailing, not a bump or jilted step in getting rid of me the moment they'd secure my money.

The two boys from Sentral took out the “scanner” (A toy-like thing that probably cost them less than a Ringgit) while the leader waited outside, and with bated breath, I was ready to feign surprise at winning a mattress.

Honestly, would anyone else expect otherwise?

When it turned out that I (surprise!) won a mattress, the two boys in the room proceeded to go into an acting frenzy. It was seriously comedic and it was hard to maintain my disappointed face thanks to the laughter that threatened to erupt from their over-zealous theatrics.

One of them held his palms to his eyes, muttering apologies, making hissing noises and refused to look at me. The other one had a worried look, saying I should’ve been luckier, it was supposed to be my day. Then, the leader came in, and stated “I’m sorry you won the mattress, if I’d known otherwise, I wouldn’t have persuaded you so heavily. I’m really sorry.”

I had to bite my tongue to stop from asking; How did you know I won the mattress, dick head?

The drama continued and I thought that they were earnestly going for the Golden Globe Awards, if not the Oscar’s.

So now I had a mattress, a kitchen stove, a water filter and a foot massager. Actually no, because my RM3500 was paid for by them, I didn’t get to keep the water filter and foot massager. The leader informed me that he would keep the water filter and foot massager as added security; Now, I had to pay him back the RM3500 to enjoy the benefits of those two cheap, no brand products which would be in his possession, which probably cost RM500 collectively.

Again, I had to bite my tongue; When did we even agree to this?

They were so keen on having me leave then but I knew my uncle was close. Instead, after demanding that they show me how to use the "special jade, heat-activated mattress from Korea" so I'd steal another five minutes, I bartered again with them.

I don’t want this mattress, I said. It’s basically useless to me. How much if I were to sell it?

Are you kidding? This is a fantastic product, he countered. Easily, it would garner RM9000-RM1000. Easily. In the market it sells for RM15000 (My cousin later told me others whom got conned found out it was only RM500).

Okay, what if I leave this product to you and you help me sell it? I’ll give you a generous commission.

Of course, he was excited at the prospect of keeping the item so he wouldn’t have to buy a new one for the next victim, and it was there that I proceeded to slowly discuss the details of our “trade”, prolonging my stay.

I simply refused to leave.

A quarter of an hour later, the police arrived and what followed my friends, was the single most exciting, self satisfying experience ever.

One plain-clothed officer paved his way in, with a stance of authority that unnerved everyone. Everyone that is, except for the leader. The lone police officer looked around, saw that everything was safe, and motioned for five more to come in. Five. Three more in full uniform and two others in day clothes. One of them, an aged man in a shirt with odd patterns, a piercing glare, deep creases in his forehead and a commanding presence stood in front of all the rest. I suspected him to be an Inspector.

“Alright, who’s held against their will here?”

“Me!” I shouted happily, in front of the whole syndicate members that were now congregated in the hallway.

Wrong move. Probably.

He then brought me to the room I was earlier detained in with all five officers following closely and eked out the details. Satisfying him with my side of the story, everyone then headed back to the reception where the leader was still smirking smugly. He started laughing at how ridiculous he deemed the situation to be, but that’s when a plain clothed officer glared at him, balled his hands into fists and said menacingly;

“You find this funny? You find the whole thing funny? I can’t wait to see if you will still find it funny by the end of the day.”

That shut him up.

Another person came then, another of the syndicate’s group member, one I didn’t recognize and he seemed older than the rest. While everyone was under 20, he seemed to be about 30 and that’s when I realised he was the true leader. He started laughing too, I presume to allay the tension. That’s when another officer, immediately to his left, balled his hand into a fist, raised it threateningly and said “One more disrespectful gesture from you folks and I can’t guarantee that my hands wouldn’t come flying to your face.”

That shut him up too.

A girl then came running through the hallway, closely following an officer whom had apparently went into every rooms, searching for anyone cowering under tables or behind chairs. She was shouting “That’s my IC! That’s my IC! What are you doing with my IC?”

The officer was silent at first, but when they reached us, he gave her a death glare and said ominously;

“I’m a police officer. I can see your IC if I choose to. Do you want to see my badge?”

I tried to hide a satisfied smirk; the girl was the bitch whom took my money, the one who was supposed to “write down the serial numbers only”.

She literally gave a startled jump and a comical squeak, quickly turned to leave, but was halted in her tracks when the police officer held out a hand to block her. Taking out his wallet, he showed his Police ID, mocking patience as he said;

“Do you still want to ask for your IC back?”

Goddamn these people are bad-asses.

My Pak Long came up after the officers demanded everyone else's ICs, commanding the attention of everyone, Mr Inspector included. The leader knew him to be my uncle instinctively and tried to explain to him that I had won something, and they weren’t crooks. Pak Long silenced him by raising a hand.

“I’m an accountant, I know more about what you’re doing than yourself. If you want to cheat, then cheat someone like me,” he pointed to his rotund belly, “Someone my size. Not a little girl like that.”

With the meekest look, I nodded.

And here came the most ludicrous event of all; As they continued to defend their credibility and my Pak Long continued to resist their efforts, finally my Pak Long said frustratedly in his let’s-stop-this-bullshit tone;

“Stop. I'm tired of listening to your voice. Like I said, if you want to cheat people, cheat someone my age, don’t cheat this little girl.”

His booming voice demanded authority so much so that it was the 30-year old leader’s turn to nod meekly and mutter “You’re right.” whilst offering an ingratiating smile that struck my nerve.

Uh, seriously?

You admit to being a con man just like that?

It was that easy?

Jeez man, grow a pair. At least then I could tell people that I was conned by brazen professionals, not a servile little sycophant that cowered under the shade of authority of someone he'd just met for five minutes.

After discussing with the police officer on the next course of action and they helped retrieve ALL my money, everyone turned to leave the room. I was the last to leave and that’s when the leader’s eye caught mine. He was looking straight at me, a threatening glint to his eyes and a slight, warning smirk curling at the edges of his lips.

Knowing all the officers had their backs turned, I held his gaze, returning his smirk with my own small, satisfied grin that told him tonight, with the officers outside jotting down his IC number, everyone in his crew looking panicked and his boss kowtowing to my uncle... the result was clear.

I won.

That was, I thought, possibly the best feeling in the world.

I would probably have pleasant dreams for years to come about that happy, smug, told-you-not-to-mess-with-my-uncle smile I gave him.

I knew I’d been lucky today. Despite the bad decisions I made earlier, everything did turn out for the best. Maybe this is what they call serendipity?

The fact that I had the fortuitous luck to call my Mak Long, the fact that my Pak Long was around to do whatever magic he needed done, the fact that the right, non-corrupted group of policemen came to the rescue (Taman Desa police, you rock my socks!), the fact that the RM3500 was in my hands again. That’s enough to have me believe the universe isn’t out to get me. Not really. Not all the time.

I scurried downstairs to see my Mak Long waiting with a “I can’t believe my niece can be this stupid” look. She gave a frown.

“So? What did you win?”

I grinned impishly;

“A mattress.”

Oh, I'm just heading to Hell. You?

2011-06-11T18:03:00.005+01:00

Was talking with my aunt about rodent infestations and she said;

“People don’t have the guts to kill the rats they’d just caught by hand. What do you think they do?”

“Um... leave it outside until it starves to death?”

“Exactly... especially if the sun’s scorching hot outside. Kills them faster.”

That’s when a wave of guilt hit me. Hard. I must have repressed this memory for a while, but it all came back during this conversation.

When I was in the UK, in my first semester, in the narrow, unkempt and dingy little house I stayed in, we had rodents. No, I’m not talking about my landlord. Well, maybe partly.

There was a whole family of them, from the size of a grizzly sun bear to a sea plankton.

We had to hide all our food in little containers, but when they started eating through the containers and even ate our lotion, moisturisers and some of my friends’ make-up, that’s when we got down to business.

Our home-pest-control aspiring little senior set up traps using the rat glue bought from pound stores, which worked surprisingly well. We’d wake up to the sound of thrashing and squealing, sometimes from two separate sources. One from the bathroom, and one from the kitchen cabinet.

“So... how do we get rid of them? Release them outside?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s like this game we play with the rats. Let them find their way back and see how often we would catch the same ones repeatedly. Maybe put a little mark on it to see how many times we caught Whiskers or Jerry.”

“Then what? Just leave it to starve outside?”

“We can do that too, so it can start calling for help from other rodents. We just have to prepare the Welcome to your New Home! banner for the newcomers first.”

“Then what?”

And it was decided. We would just give them a quick death. Well, guess who got the honour of giving just that? That’s right, the person whose nails weren’t just done or who isn’t wearing a new top from Topshop.

Me.

Perpetual guilt from inhuman cruelty is negligible compared to ruining beautiful red acrylic on germs-infested nails and cute purple tops with hearts on it, you know?.

They suggested drowning them in boiling water (Jeez, and I’m supposed to be the tough one?) but I didn’t have the heart for it. I wanted a quicker, less torturous death for these transporters of the black plague so this is how I killed several of them:

1. Wrap it in thick newspaper until I’m sure the ickiness wouldn’t seep through the layers, onto my skin and into my blood streams, killing me slowly with icky rat stuff.

2. Holding the rat firmly with both hands, one hand encircling the belly, fully rotund from ingesting all that coconut-scented hand lotion and No. 5 mascara and another hand wrapped around its head.

3. Twist.

4. Twist very hard.

Of course, such a deprived, vile act came with its own consequence. The rat problem went away after everyone adroitly handled the catching and I handled the killing. Though for weeks after that, I couldn't help but relive the moral agony.

...The little pleading squeaks as I held it tight.

...The futile thrashing in my hands.

...The heat from a live creature seeping warmth into my palms as it used up every ounce of its energy to free itself from the captivity of death.

...The trilling squeak that escalated in volume right before the sudden, cruel twist.

...The minuscule, almost indiscernible crunch as tiny, fragile bones break

...The little body going limp as I ended the life of another living creature.

...

...

Ah well. It was either them or my favourite Kellogg’s Crunchy Nut Clusters (With chocolate curls!)

Acid Man's Inspiration

2011-06-08T18:00:00.008+01:00

Was combing through my backlog of unread Reddit posts, and came upon this interesting article.

Anyway, it hints that throughout Asia, mostly where women are still subjugated and expected to be servile, obsequious slaves for men or where misogyny runs rampant, acid attacks are not that out-of-place and most of the time, much like how rape and wife-beatings are turned a blind eye upon (sometimes, even encouraged), the culprits are never hunted, let alone apprehended.

Then, it led me to this article, which then states that wife burnings is common in certain parts of Asia.

...How can I be so ignorant of something like this?

Here are some salient parts directly quoted from the article (Click on the link, you lazy sloths):

"Since 1994, Ms. Bukhari has documented 7,800 cases of women who were deliberately burned, scalded or subjected to acid attacks, just in the Islamabad area. In only 2 percent of those cases was anyone convicted."

"This month in Afghanistan, men on motorcycles threw acid on a group of girls who dared to attend school. One of the girls, a 17-year-old named Shamsia, told reporters from her hospital bed: “I will go to my school even if they kill me. My message for the enemies is that if they do this 100 times, I am still going to continue my studies.”

“I screamed,” Ms. Azar recalled. “The flesh of my cheeks was falling off. The bones on my face were showing, and all of my skin was falling off.”"

We're angry that the police force aren't aggressively hunting down the "Acid Man" (Though I'm not sure how most came to that conclusion), despite the fact that he probably hasn't been exactly eager to indulge in his perverse act when a baton-wielding policeman is traipsing along congested areas. At least we look upon this act as abhorrent and completely appalling, and the media coverage it has gotten thus far shows how unanimous we are in observing its treachery.

These women aren't so lucky;

"Because women usually don’t matter in this part of the world, their attackers are rarely prosecuted and acid sales are usually not controlled. It’s a kind of terrorism that becomes accepted as part of the background noise in the region."

Here are more pictures but honestly, for greater impact, just visit the site itself.

The backstory is that they got attacked simply for rejecting an offer for marriage, to settle a family dispute, because she tried to divorce her deadbeat husband, because her father didn't want another girl, was raped by three men and was later given an acid bath, etc.

I... don't know how to react to this.

Letting Go

2011-06-06T20:02:00.001+01:00

I’m someone who lets go easily, sometimes pathologically so.

Relationships, material possessions, ideas, dreams. If I start thinking it’s cumbersome or is merely a remote possibility, I sever an invisible thread that was never taut and resilient to begin with.

When my left ear started bleeding, instead of worrying and planning a trip to the doctor, I start mapping out a life where I’m working around being half deaf with only one functioning ear.

When I bought my first contacts, I decided on a name for my blind seeing eye-dog.

Before I’m even sitting for exams, let alone the 2 months wait for the results, I’ve already imagined being admonished for failing and not being responsible enough, and wondering if Burger King has an open position.

I’m only planning which model car to buy once I get my driver’s license (hopefully by the end of this month) and I’m already wishing death on the car thief and the bumbling grandma that would scratch my new baby with her geriatric driving.

I think preparing yourself for the worst is a great strategy in life. It helps to avoid disappointments, but it doesn’t mean that I give up at the remotest indication of failure.

When it comes to fixing something, like a broken laptop or a malfunctioning harddisk, I could go days without sleep ‘till the damn thing is fixed. I tore open my laptop to fix the heatsink with my roommate’s blackhead remover and a penknife when I couldn’t get my hands on a screwdriver. I combed through every single registry key and its correct values when my Windows starting going haywire for the umpteenth time. When finals were near, I didn’t sleep damn near a week, drinking 4 cans of redbull a day until I’ve read every single letter in the textbook. If the question asked for the publishing house or the exact tint of blue of the textbook cover, I would be fully loaded with answers, with even a commentary added in or two (A depressing blue really, the graphic designer’s hamster probably died).

I think it helps to know that life has its own potholes and speed bumps, never going smoothly or perfectly for anyone. Unless you’re Kate Middleton, the universe will occasionally give you the middle finger, or a nonchalant wave and fleeting glance if you’re lucky, as it chooses its next victim.

I grew up with that being my principle in life, so it’s been easy for me to let go of a lot of things. “Moving on” is not just a phrase to utter when you said something stupid and everyone’s wondering which orifice you just spoke from; mouth or asshole.

To every rule though, there is an exception.

Relationships.

Oh, I sever relationships left and right and I treat them as disposable. Before making friends, I’m already conjuring which obscenities to shout at them when we have a falling out.

Relationships are just intricate web of civilities, formalities and obligations we get entangled in when we attempt to live through life. Even the most closeted hermit knows one person or two.

But persistent friends I won’t let go so easily.

I call them persistent because at one point in time, I’ve tried to shake them loose but they still clung on, and they still think good things of me despite my obvious faults.

Hui Sun, my best friend for the most of our 14 years friendship. Azween, the one whom stuck by me throughout high school and still insisting that we’re friends despite my sudden and frequent disappearances. Izyan, a friend for 3 years but in terms of a true friend, is the newest yet is up to par with the oldest.

For family, I already know what I’m willing to let go.

I’ve already heavily considered this before and I know that if an oncoming truck is in danger of a direct, unavoidable crash course towards them, I’d literally push them out of the way and take the deathly nudge in their stead.

I’m prepared to have a loving embrace with a 50 ton vehicle for them.

Like I say, prepare for the worst.

I cried.

2011-05-22T00:04:00.009+01:00

I was having one of my daily BBM chats with my eldest sister the other day.

“What’s up? How’s Australia?”

“It’s fine, winter is cold.”

“‘Kay. So watcha doing?”

“Watching Mao’s Last Dancer.”

“Any good?”

“I cried.”

O...kay.

One thing you have to learn about my eldest sister and I is that we’re not the crying type. The youngest of us three took all that gene, that cute cry baby. I think she’d even cry if a raven gets left behind in a storytelling of flying ravens.

Yes. You got that right, a storytelling of ravens. We all know a flock of birds but not an exaltation of larks. A wisdom of owls. A lamentation of swans. An ostentation of peacocks.

I only wish I was making this shit up.

Anyway, back to my eldest sister being an emotionless robot with impaired tear ducts. Other than events that would cause even the most hardened war veterans to have an out pour of bodily liquids out of their ocular orifices, I’d never seen her cry.

I myself cried watching a movie once, back when I was about 8 or 9 years old. Of course, the pain from rolling around the bed and falling down really hard on the floor was probably a contributing factor, but if my memory serves me right, the scene in the movie where the 5 Indian kids rode on magical bicycles into the setting sun was especially poignant too. (Again, I wish I was making this shit up).

So a movie that made her cry?

Totally.

Worth.

Watching.

But then again, there was the problem of...

Malaysian Internet.

So finally, after getting married and having two spoiled cildren, and two mid-life crises later, the downloading was finally done and I sat down to appreciate what I anticipated to be the most epic movie I’ve ever watched.

It was inspiring, suspenseful in some scenes, part tragic, part hopeful, it solicited the viewer’s empathy yada yada yada, but come on, cry-worthy? Sure it made me realise how we take life for granted at times but... Meh...

Two thirds into the movie and I was already conjuring up a torrent of insults directed to the person who cried at a movie that only made me feel almost enough emotion to not be such a take-everything-for-granted person. Almost.

Then this happened;

That one stupid sad scene totally snuck up on me. Totally. It came out of nowhere. I was hardly prepared.

Stupid movie. Stupid directors. Stupid script writers. Unfair.

UNFAIR!

But yeah, totally a movie worth watching. Was adapted from on an autobiography, written by the person who’s portrayed as the main character.

Tell me what you guys think of it. :D

P/S:

Can anyone find out about that movie with the flying Indian kids? I watched it when I was young, so it was probably made after... 1997? I’ll treat whomever that would solve this frustrating puzzle to Chilli’s or Carl’s Jr., I swear.

I Liked You.

2011-05-16T16:00:00.009+01:00

Much like everyone else in this transient life, I have a threshold for tolerance. With my personality, the threshold with the lowest tolerance had always been for vanity.

If a stranger passing by gives off the vain vibe, I'd be tempted to make a banner denouncing his or her right to breathe my oxygen. Shoo, fly.

If I had vain friends, they wouldn't stay friends much longer. On another note, I don't exactly have people begging to be my friends either, so everything pans out well in the end.

Begrudgingly, I accepted that most of everyone in this world is vain, though on a different spectrum of vain.

I'm vain too.

I would never submit to the latest fad and won't get caught in an attention-grabbing attire. I try hard not to not be a part of the world's attention seeking, histrionic population.

See, what makes it vain is that I WANT to be seen as a non-conformist.

Of course you know, that statement might just be to try and cover up my fashion retardedness. Not everyone is fully aware that fist-sized polka dots on a garment is not exactly "new and trendy", okay? Damn you fashion elitists.

I'm okay with being labeled as "the geeky girl", "the anti-social hermit", "the tomboy" and of course, "Oh you mean that boy? Wait what? That's NOT a boy??" They're insults, but I embrace those parts of myself proudly even though I have no reason to. It's just me being comfortable in my own skin.

Now, if you were to EVER, and I mean EVER, call me vain, I might use my fork as a makeshift arrow and stab you in the eye socket.

"Vain"... Something about the word just...

I'll tell you about my cousin, Isya.

She's vain, but she's pretty so she has a valid reason to be so. She dresses nicely and doesn't blind me in an array of clothes I would describe as "Rainbow Vomit". In fact, she impresses a person like me with her choice of wardrobe and that's saying something since, you know, I can hardly differentiate between a model in a Calvin Klein evening gown and a... lamp post.

She wears make-up modestly instead of looking like an aspiring actor lining up to be the next replacement for the late Heath Ledger's Joker role (Which seems to be new and trendy, by the way).

And best of all, she makes herself look most beautiful with inner confidence instead of denouncing other people's prettiness.

Look, I've had friends constantly telling me I'm ugly without provocation. It probably would've hit home and insulted me more if they didn't look like drag queens themselves. But then, it's understandable why most of the insults on looks come from ugly girls; it's a self-esteem issue. It's best to just laugh it off and refrain from telling her her face looks like what a neighbour's dog just chewed up.

She's got enough to deal with... Like waking up to a face only a mother would try to love.

But again, calling other people ugly just to boost up your own morale is a huge no-no.

That's my threshold.

Strict, I know, but Nurisya has the standard of vanity I would allow for myself. A sort of "vain" that doesn't trample on other people's regard for themselves and is only centred towards her own opinion instead of desperately clinging to others'.

Now I had a friend, her name's Farah Hafizah. Cute, slim and with a bubbly personality that attracts the opposite sex. Though a recent facebook post made me very much disappointed in a girl I used to think belonged to the category of permissible vain.

1. A simple invitation by a dear friend for a reunion;

2. An intervening comment by her boyfriend, jokingly berating the idea due to the possibility of his girlfriend being hit on and, the thing that hammered the nail on its head;

3. Farah's "modest" denial of that possibility and suggestion that another friend, another pretty friend, would be a target instead.

I've spent enough time with her and, judging by the amount of time she spends in front of the mirror or stealing glances at any reflection of herself she could find, she is undoubtedly vain. But hey, she's nice, so it's okay. And she doesn't harm anyone so it makes it kinda cute.

But to blatantly rule out four other friends in favour of another, in terms of looks? To have a PUBLIC comparison of their faces within a single, insensitive line they would've been notified of by Facebook? To make it aware to them that YOU, a good friend, think they're unworthy of the opposite sex's attention? That they are easily out-shined by another friend whom you think deserves it instead?

That's just... mean.

Farah, you're a Class A... Bitch.

Personally it's okay for you to rule out myself. That has always been my role when we hung out. The dishevelled, apathetic and "whatever's clean and on top of the pile" fashion motto one. Izzati was a lot like that too so I didn't feel too alone; In fact Izzati had always been my favourite.

I didn't mind it, I kinda... liked it. I liked the liberation from worrying about burdensome issues that plague the majority of the female population.

But I can't vouch the same for our other three friends.

Maybe I'm reading too much into it but Farah, you really have to lower your self-regard a notch. You're pretty but you're not that pretty. Your over-compensation when it comes to trying your best to act cute, dress nicely and spending hours in front of a mirror is a testament to your realisation that you're not the brightest flower in the garden. So you try.

And you try hard.

I applauded you for trying, but I don't applaud you for slighting my favourite friends. Our well meaning, nice, considerate and compassionate friends.

We've never been close to begin with, we're just circumstantial friends but if next there was an outing and you'd be in it, I'd probably decline. You probably would not care, and I'm okay with that so no harm done. I'm fine with planning something else with the other three, I like them enough and hopefully this isn't wishful thinking, but I think they like me enough too.

It's a secret!

2011-05-02T18:32:00.003+01:00

My eyes severely bloodshot, I continue staring into the relentless glare of the laptop screen. I let out a snicker from time to time, my fingers nimbly typing away almost silently. The air hot and humid, my forehead glistened with a thin layer of sweat. I wiped it off and stared at the digital clock on the taskbar.

5.35am.

I had things to do, but I was willing to sacrifice sleep for what I was doing, for what I had been doing for the last 4 hours. My focus unperturbed, my resolution undeterred. Time warped differently when you're reining all your attention to a single task, and I noticed that when I stole a second glance at the time.

6.04am.

Like clockwork, I hear my hostess waking up and heading to the bathroom for her daily ablution and prayers. As expected, a few minutes later she was heading into the room I was supposed to be in, intending to stir me awake for my own prayers. She gave a small start as she noticed my sprawling figure on the couch in the upstairs living room instead, laptop close to my chest.

'What in the world are you doing there? At this time?'

I gave a nonchalant shrug.

'You've been on your computer? The whole night?'

I nodded guiltily.

Then, her bleary eyes and groggy expression dimmed, replaced by a sly smile that pounded down the last remnants of her sleep.

'With that happy expression, I'm guessing it's a secret boyfriend?'

...

Speechless, my fingers froze over the keyboard and time flashed into a standstill. My eyes stared into hers like a deer in headlights, strongly emphasising the guilt on my face.

The guilt that I was staying up the whole night organising my files and folders.

The guilt of renaming everything, fixing formats and capitalisation and categorising them methodically, obsessively.

The guilt of having a perfectly formatted collection of files an OCD person would be proud of.

...And having a shitload of fun doing it.

I nodded slowly, awkwardly, an outright lie that seemed appropriate at the time. She flashed an understanding smile and left with a simple message that faltered at the end as she turned to her own room, 'Just make sure you don't miss your prayers.'

......................HOLY MOTHER OF COW DID I JUST PRETEND TO HAVE A SECRET BOYFRIEND BECAUSE I'M JUST THAT PATHETIC?!

Midnight Uses for Tissues

2011-04-24T16:38:00.004+01:00

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.

2011-04-18T12:49:00.003+01:00

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

2011-04-12T22:55:00.004+01:00

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.

2011-04-10T15:57:00.002+01:00

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.

I Feel...

2011-04-10T15:27:00.005+01:00

Why don't I feel any affection towards anyone? I don't feel ardent love or passion towards others, just a strong sense of obligation and indebtedness.

Too strong.

It's the only link that's holding me towards maintaining a relationship, even if it does feel hard sometimes. Most of the time I just feel empty, mechanical.

The only person that would occasionally evince any strong emotion in me is my baby sister, but that's maybe from the overwhelming sense of wanting to protect her. You fuck with her, I'll fuck with you ten ways to Sunday.

Yes, that was a warning to some. You know who you are. I'm coming for you, blood.

Can't think of anything better than leading a solitary life, with socialising being the intermittent burden one has to bear when one dabbles too far in isolation.

Seriously, if you feel the same way, I'd love to have a talk about it. I seriously need to understand this.

Then again, is normalcy overrated?

No, Not Going To Kill Myself.

2011-04-05T23:01:00.007+01:00

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.

And you wonder why I'm so broken.

2011-03-19T22:59:00.008Z

I would lock the door, trembling in the room as my right fist clenched a kitchen knife 'till my knuckles went white. You didn't care, shouting like a psychopath outside and kicking the door with all your masculine strength. The old lock gave way after you forced your way inside and as quickly as you balled your hands into fists to punch me, I had just as quickly thrust the knife into the air, giving you a silent warning. You scowled, shouting obscenities at me and slowly retreated, promising to get me another time.

You did.

The moment you broke the lock, the huge trust I gave to that rusty, inanimate object ceased to exist. If you went into one of your moods and I hadn't prepared myself with another weapon, it was due to be a bad day for me.

Days like these used to be copious and everyone thought it was because you were merely a spoilt brat. No one did anything about it because they thought you would grow out of it, that maturity would finally take a hold of you. But that never happened. The older you got and the more strength you garnered, the more it hurt when you would beat me up without a moment’s hesitation.

It got so bad that one day, I had a nervous breakdown. I couldn't stand the provoking, the fights, the insults, the bruises and the fact that it was becoming a daily occurrence. I hated coming home. I hated that dad was stationed across the ocean and mom was always held up at work. I hated the days when mom would have urgent matters to tend to and I would always interrupt her in the middle of it, constantly forcing her to get home as soon as possible. You were, again, in one of your moods. I would scream hysterically into the phone, afraid you would find my hiding place soon. I hated that she would frantically get home as soon as she could, worry and panic etched in her mind. I used to think that something bad would happen because she would be speeding all the way with her heart clenched by dread. I hated that the most.

I know she never left the house with a clear head, but there was no choice.

They said it was partly my fault, that it was because I refused to back down. I refused to be bullied so whenever you threw an insult at me, I would throw one right back. Whenever you punched me, I would serve you a kick with equal force. It was when they realised that you would also pick fights with our younger and (then) docile sister that it was wholly, and undoubtedly, you. You, who's the reason our eldest sought a psychiatrist (nothing serious, she just needed to talk about it), and our kind, loving youngest who is so much better than in me so many ways, started a conversation recently with "You know... I wonder if I would be sad if he would just... die. Sometimes I wonder if it's bad that I wish it were so."

The day when our parents placed you in a separate house was probably the one time I felt true relief. But you were quick to play on their sympathy, and you were very, very good at that. You made mom doubt herself, you made her feel like the worst parent on earth for having done that to her only son.

You had everything. A computer, complete entertainment system, a fully-stocked fridge, mom constantly visiting you and getting you anything you want... even a maid.

She paid for the services of a maid just for you.

In fact, it was your idea to stay in that house alone. The house was meant for me, after my nervous breakdown, after I worried mom with my talks of suicide (Though that was just in the heat of the moment). You thought mom was playing favourites, and insisted that you should get the house instead. And you got your wish. Then, a few weeks passed before you got bored of being alone and made mom think that she forced you out of our house, that she stopped loving you, stopped caring for you. You even told complete strangers about it. You manipulated and wrecked the poor woman with so much guilt she cried almost every night.

I would remember when she would be sobbing incessantly, asking us if she was a bad mother and we would coax her and persuaded her otherwise. A bad mother? She was always working and was rarely at home, sure. But that was because she was earning money. For us. To bring me to that expensive restaurant I loved every weekend, to buy the youngest the extravagant dollhouse she's been pining for, to satisfy the eldest with her rare collection of limited albums, to pay for our expensive tuition fees, piano lessons, to buy us the clothes we wanted while she continued wearing the tattered shirts that had micro-rips everywhere. She'd wear those two to three days a week.

I'm not exaggerating.

The one time she did get anything for herself, it was a cat's-eye necklace, not even amounting to RM100, one that I still keep in my drawers back home. She thought it was beautiful and mulled over the purchase one, two, ten times. She'd only bought it because we persuaded her, telling her that it was beautiful on her, and it was. She would then wear it everyday and proudly showed it off to her friends.

She would usually go home tired after work, with every muscle aching and frequent, paralysing migraines, but she made it a point to stay up a few more hours still to ask us about our day. Did we finish our homework? Are we getting behind - and if we were, would we like it if she stayed up so she would help us with Maths and Science?

She was a perfect mother.

Her husband, dad, was a perfect father.

When he failed to reject his promotion and the subsequent transfer, he paid an exorbitant amount on plane tickets so he could either visit us, or vice versa. When he visited, he was always laden with gifts. When we'd visit him, he would bring us out to eat everyday. When hunger pangs attacked past midnight, and all the shops were closed, our dad, the worse cook in the world, would try to cook something regardless. I still remember his feeble attempts and the burn marks from the cooking oil. Although he was a very busy man, he sometimes braved the insane KL traffic to come home during lunchtime. He’d call every hour if he couldn’t, and always had food delivered somehow. Once, I was excited about something so trivial but seemed so important then, and spent all his money on it. I found out somehow that he couldn't even buy lunch for himself the next day from my reckless spending.

He never said a word.

These are the two people whom raised you nobly, who would put us before anything, even them, in the world. These are the people you tormented every day.

You're a fucking monster.

Remember when you grew gradually worse? When the punches weren't just to channel your anger towards me, but to beat me to a bloody pulp? When dad had to fly home damn near weekly to settle things? Or the night you punched his face so hard that his tooth flew out? After you called mom a pathetic mother and a prostitute? When you went so out of the control we had to call the police? Twice?

This is just a mere speck of dust within my dirt of knowledge on all the bad memories you wrought. My head is swirling with all your evil deeds, your iniquities, everything you did as a monster in human form, but I refrain myself from exposing more of it. Otherwise, I would literally be typing the whole night. Or, several nights.

I guess the realisation that I'm coming home and having to meet you soon has been eating at me. It's all I could think of right now and it's diminishing the happiness of meeting friends and family.

All the memories are simmering, resurfacing like bubbles in the sea. Finally, there's that one memory that overpowers all the rest. The one that resolved me to hate you for the rest of my life. To never ever accept you as my bond through blood.

It was the night our parents got into an accident. The last night we'd see them alive.

You were happy that night.

Something I Read Today

2011-03-16T13:21:00.003Z

I woke up with a jolt, startled by the sound of my mom calling my name from the kitchen.

I was annoyed but it sounded so loud and urgent I stumbled out of bed and slowly made my way.

On my way over, a pair of hands grabbed me from inside a closet, and pretty soon my mouth was cupped.

It was my mom, holding me tightly and whispering;

"Shh, be quiet. I heard it too."

Have a good night everyone.

Can I Has a Job?

2011-03-15T12:55:00.004Z

I regret not being a student anymore.

Right now my friends are busy attending classes, gossiping about their lecturers and the cute guy sitting two rows over and whining about assignments.

I hate all of the above. But still, between work and playing truant, getting admonished for not completing coursework and lambasting friends for their desperate need for a guy's attention, work definitely takes a backseat.

Work will be about attending seminars, gossiping about colleagues and the cute boss two floors above and whining about workload. Oh dear the vast chasm between both worlds. So unnerving.

I'm in the process of applying for jobs, and honestly I've learnt so much about résumé polishing that it seems like I am an accomplished musician / aspiring astronaut, with particular talents in English, Malay and dolphin speak. Extra-curricular activities? I co-composed Canon in D before that arse Pachelbel stole all the credits. My recreational activities include reading, writing and swallowing fire.

Seriously, how could you not employ me?

No more bonding with you guys.

2011-03-15T02:35:00.005Z

In my attempt at bonding with the minions (they prefer the term younger housemates), I orchestrated a movie night with one of the awesomest mindfuck movies of all time, The Signal.

These narcoleptic idiots slept about 3/4th into it. This is after skilfully deceiving me into thinking they're paying attention when I pause every 10 minutes during the first half to make sure they're still awake and giving their undivided attention.

Cunning bastards.

My biggest mistake was organising the venue in my room, seeing as I have a complete TV and speakers set. Now it's almost 3am, all three of them are peacefully asleep on my bed leaving no room for yours truly, I really don't want to sleep on the floor or their beds (not sure why), and I'm actually writing up this post in the hopes of having the cacophony of keyboard noises from literally banging the keys jolting them awake.

...

No such luck.

I'm screwed for tonight.

Love Chronicles

2011-03-11T22:48:00.005Z

I've finally decided to expose the inner workings of my much mundane mind when it comes to love, relationships and all that sort. Uncharacteristic, sure. Makes me feel vulnerable, of course. Maybe I should just skip this terrible idea altogether and hide behind my comfortable gadget-frenzied cushion post, why not.

Better get this over with before I change my mind.

I've never been in love, never remotely liked anyone in a "special" sense, and never felt the need to allude to a relationship. I have, however, nurtured the idea of a pseudo-relationship in the hopes of opening my horizons and hopefully, making epiphanies along the way that would make the notion of being in a relationship that much more feasible.

Never acted upon it, however.

There were times though, when I forged friendships with the opposite sex and had gotten on very friendly terms with them, and considered a relationship because I know there'd be up for it. But then, reality kicked in when Peter, my imaginary Flying Unicorn Friend would advise me against it because deep down, I know enough about myself to acknowledge even in that phase that I would never fall in love with them. Peter said it, so it must be true. Also, Peter said to stop smoking weed.

In the course of growing up, or what I thought was my journey towards adulthood, I've made and severed several friendships. Mostly because I got bored. I have to admit when a guy shows interest, I would assume a personality that's not mine, where I would hide all judgments and criticisms and pretend that everything they do makes them cool and unique.

Men says women are easy, just shower them with expensive things. Well, you know what? Guys are easy too - Just feed their ego.

There would then be constant texts, occasional calls and one or two outings as "friends" which, to the casual observer, would seem like a relationship that's headed somewhere "special". This is the last time that I quote "special", I promise. In the end, after few weeks, or two months being my longest run, I would disappear once I've seen him in every angle I can imagine and make a deduction as to the sort of person he is. He has lost the allure of being a "stranger", I can guess his behaviour and jokes, and since I had always emphasised the "as friends" part, there would always be an almost clean break. "Almost clean" because sometimes I get angry texts or voice mails about my abrupt change of heart, but I know that it would last a few days before he moves on to his next female target.

I never start a friendship with the intention of doing the above, but that's how it always ends up. There's never been that one person that made me go "You know what, I can see myself with this guy in the long run" before running up the mountain made of marshmallow with Peter that's traipsing along with virgin pixies by his side. I did rationalise once that, maybe it's because the friendship lasted for such a short duration and there was never enough time to truly assess my feelings about the relationship. I tell you what, if you're bored with a person, spending another week would be torture. Another month would be a trip to the store for some razorblades, noose, guidebooks on tying a noose and Gummi Bears for Peter who explained that Unicorns are almost extinct because they can't exactly just waltz in a store to buy Gummi Bears which are like, their only source of sustenance.

I've never, ever felt affection towards a boy. At most it's a sense of strong connection from shared interests or ideas. And that worries me. I've entertained the idea of being a Lesbian, and was almost convinced I was indeed one, but that's the problem with our generation. We only think we're something else because we need a label and we've got infinite access to the most tired source of information - the internet. Suddenly everyone's self-diagnosed with OCD, ADD, BPD, and the list goes on. I don't know what I am. Straight, bisexual, gay, asexual, I'm not sure but it would admittedly be awesome to put a label on it.

I'm twenty-two now, and if you asked me a year earlier, I would have a fuck-all attitude about relationships but as they say, things change and people change. In my case, I need to change because what I am is not normal. When I say "not normal", I don't mean in a cool, stand out in a crowd and having my own identity sort of thing, but in a literal, psychological and physiological "not normal". The bad sort of "not normal".

And no, not all my friendship with guys were based on the premise of testing the waters, I do have several male friends whom I knew from the beginning that I would never have a romantic relationship with, but a long and reciprocal friendship with. You tend to know when guys want to be just friends or more than that since they don't waffle about as much as girls.

I'm waiting for a guy to, as they say, blow my mind but I'm not holding my breath. Under that unrealistic and fantasy-like expectation, I'm going to end my post with an appropriate;

Signed,

Forever Alone.

Marvel what? DC Comics who?

2011-03-11T03:35:00.002Z

Possibly the best comic strip I've encountered in my life.

Sourced from Reddit.

I Hate Them.

2011-03-09T11:47:00.003Z

My sister and roommate are just remarkable. Case in point;

My beauty sleep has been bothered even before the sun barely filtered through the sparse clouds of spring, thanks to the hammering of tools from some construction work just outside my window. I've been tossing and turning in bed, trying to ignore it, but how do you ignore a sound that drowns out even your television at the highest volume? Now here I am with bloodshot eyes and a steaming cup of coffee to soothe the twitching on my right eyelid.

MY SISTER however, blissfully slept right through it, only waking up when the minimal tone of her phone started ringing. Not the ear-deafening jack-hammering. Not the constant shouts of labourers. Her phone. I'm now trying to stifle an angry drivel on teenagers and their unnatural connections to their phones.

While MY ROOMMATE...

...is still sleeping like a baby.

I need to kill these two.

"So when are you coming back?"

2011-03-04T18:33:00.003Z

I'm due to come back to Malaysia now that I've completed my ACCA. So many people have asked me this question repeatedly, despite telling them that I'm not sure and will not be sure for quite some time.

Thus, here's a promise. When I've decided on a date after careful contemplation, and after I've bought my plane ticket for Malaysia, I will:

Photostate it.
Authenticate and stamp it.
Mail it to your homes.

If it's an e-ticket, I will:

Photoshop it with happy faces and purple rainbows.
Watermark it with my name.
E-mail it to your inbox.

Then everyone's happy.

Guys, when I know the date, you'll be the first to know. For now, being badgered with the question by 10 different people 20 times a day gets a bit tiring.

Introverted.

2011-03-01T00:58:00.005Z

Introversion isn't the same as shyness or the social outcast. Introverts can socialise just as well as the archetypal extrovert, but choose not to. Rather than thrive on social interaction, introverts see social situations as a burden which requires the expansion of energy. It takes energy to socialise, rather than creates it. Introverts prefer thinking. And reflections.

You can now see more introverts online, as social networking sites are banding us together. The perfect combination of interacting with others in a minimal social situation while being able to share our thoughts or bemused reveries caters to our needs. Facebook has status updates, blogs are online journals for public consumption, Twitter is a succinct regurgitation of our thoughts we think are worth sharing.

And quite honestly, you extroverts and your exhibitionist ways are tramping on our turf. If you need a place to show off how social and popular you are, find one where others learn to care. Of course, that's a selfish thing to say and a little bit elitist. I do admit I enjoy stalking your pictures and doing a bit of digging about more of your personal secrets you tried to hide from public - all made possible by the internet.

But that's what introverts do - We don't live in the moment, we live it vicariously and disseminate it for extensive analysis.

If you're reading this and not out chugging a keg of beer, then like me, you're possibly an introvert. I'd probably never see you at a party or feel compelled to have coffee with you, but thanks for reading a little bit about my life - and yours.

Ode to Azrin

2010-07-21T03:53:00.001+01:00

I love my youngest sister. She’s such a perfect blend of sarcasm, cynicism and bluntness and it complements her razor-sharp tongue. If she hates you, she makes it known in the harshest and most sarcastic way possible. She doesn't give a fuck as to what people say about her and somehow, she's managed to make like-minded friends.

I still remember some of the things she would say in our normal course of conversation (Red’s hers, Green’s mine);

Watching Unrest, a B-grade horror-flick centred around a hospital backdrop

“What does the OR stand for on that door?”

“Operation room, duh.”

“Oh... you mean not the O-mergency room?”

“...”

Staring outside for god knows what reason (to fully appreciate nature?)

“Oh look, a squirrel!”

“Yeah, I see ‘em a lot. They’re always running around in the front yard.”

“Aww... poor squirrels. Too bad we took away their habitats and they don’t have a place to live in and now they have to eat the garbage from every house and grow into giant mutated squirrels.”

“...”

Random

(In a British Accent) “You know dearest sister, I am rather fond of that... that elegant classical dance, wot do you call it? Wot? Street dance?”

“...”

Me griping about UiTM

“UiTM this... blah blah... Malays that... etc etc...”

“...”

“Why are you so silent? Are you thinking about what I just said and agreeing with it?”

“Um... no. I’m just wondering why you think I care.”

(In a similar breath as to the one above) Talking about something that pisses me off

"...So that's what gets me mad."

"OMG I CARE SO MUCH ABOUT YOUR PROBLEMS!"

"..."

"Hey let's go eat something I'm hungry."

Complaining about losing her Vincci shoe at her hostel

"It costed me RM50!"

"So what do you want me to do about it?"

"Well I have your bank card and pin number."

"..."

Back from Usher's recent concert in Malaysia

"Aziemah! It was awesome!"

"Stop making me jealous."

"No really, it was! He's so sexy it's okay if he wants to rape me."

"..."

Such an impertinent, arrogant and insolent person.

...I’ve trained her well.

Zune HD vs iPod Touch

2010-07-16T03:19:00.002+01:00

Classes have started just today and here I was getting excited about my 254th consecutive days of pelting peanuts at inanimate objects. A tragedy, really. I'm this close to making a dent on that horridly brown-hued closet with the speed I possess in pelting said peanuts.

Some people are just born talented.

Speaking of which, there was a purpose for this particular post...

I recently purchased the Zune HD.

IN.

YOUR.

FACE.

BITCHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes it's so remarkable to see how mature I am for my age.

I've grown weary of explaining multiple times what a Zune is, but I won't mind telling it again for your sake.

Just kidding. I love to hear myself talk.

So here's a brief summary:

Basically, all of you effing pathetic Apple fanboys are gushing over the latest releases by the devil incarnate (sometimes referred to as Steve Jobs). He has like, the Midas-Fucking-Touch when it comes to releasing the latest, up-to-date, age-defying, I-wank-to-it-in-my-parent's-basement gadgets. The iPod, iPod touch, iPhone (all 400-fucking-version of it) has been well received by society due to its brilliant, flawless designs and novelty sizes.

With all his pioneering status and knack for the trendy and kitschy, he's also brilliantly named said gadgets with simplistic, yet memorable and esoteric names that appeals to just about everyone within this neo-futuristic age. He'd never, ever do something stupid like name a product to something that bears a striking resemblance to a woman's menstrual pad, however.

OH WAIT.

I however, am one of the (unfortunately) minority that completely abhor the hype surrounding a singular brand. I'm not denying that it's nice to look at or nice to touch (Like Amirah's bewbies),

Such soft... err.. hair. My right hand is touching her, err... hair.

...Admittedly, the name even has a unique ring to it (save for a particular new Apple release...);

The Apple iPod Touch and the iPhone

Now doesn't that sound like something that would leave her knees weak when you whisper to it passionately in her ear (as you hang out together under your parent's basement)?

Also, the Apple App Store is a force not to be reckoned with. An old statistic I remember seeing stated that they dominate about 80% of the world's mobile app world.

They sold 1 billion app last year. In the span of 9 months.

And of course, learning management science, we're told numerous times how brilliant the marketing strategies they've adapted and how world-leading their after-sales service are. Bla-fucking-bla. Leave a few gaps of silence in reverence to the benchmarking status they've upheld and get ready for the blow-by-blow comparison I feel obliged to disseminate to you ignorant masses.

ZUNE VS IPOD

When the world was pining over the latest Apple and granting too great a consumer hold over it, there exists a disgruntled few who just couldn't understand how someone could salivate over something with diminished capacity compared to other better brands, save that it looks better. There were notable competitions, like the Creative Zen, Sony and iRiver but they hardly stood a chance against the might of Apple fanboys (forthwith referred to as The Retarded Ones), egregious in their enthusiasm and overflowing in numbers.

Finally, Microsoft (Yes, Microsoft) took a stance and teamed up with Toshiba to create what is to be then referred to simply as Microsoft Zune. As Apple evolved, it gradually did too, with the release of the 2nd and 3rd generation, extricating themselves from the alliance with Toshiba in the process and fully propelling the project within their own capacity. It was performing adequately enough, it boosted and outperformed Apple is several categories, but non critical enough for us Zune fan-PEOPLE to go head-to-head with our retarded Apple counterparts... That is, until the Zune HD was released.

HOW THE ZUNE HD FUCKING RULE THE WORLD.

Zune is cheaper (MOST IMPORTANTEST FACT OF ALL).

Pricing (taken from Amazon US):

iPod Touch 8GB: $175.90

Zune HD: No equivalent product range.

-----

iPod Touch 16GB: $199.00

Zune HD 16GB: $164.00 (Black in colour)

----

iPod Touch 32GB: $264.00

Zune HD 32GB: $238.00 (Platinum in colour)

----

iPod Touch 64GB: $349.00

Zune HD 64GB: $349.00 (White in colour)

(Okay, maybe this one might be similar, but give it some time. It was just released April this year. :P)

The iPod sound quality pales in comparison to the Zune.

When I say blow-by-blow, I really mean I-am-too-much-of-a-distracted-person-to-type-all-that-much-but-hey-here's-a-useful-link-insert-smilie-face.

There are plenty of audiophile forums singing high, laudable praises for the Zune (I might exaggerate this a teeny bit) in terms of audio quality, comparing it incessantly with the iPod, all the while noting the iPod's glaring inferiority. In case the technical jargons might confuse you, here's an amazon-forum based discussion:

Sound Quality, Zune VS iPod

Don't take my word for it, take Amazon's (I think Amazon should pay me for typing that. I'm running a petition soon).

The Zune has far superior display.

Alright, the iPod Touch might have a slightly wider diagonal measurement at 3.5" (beating the Zune at 3.3") but that's just superiority in numbers, not actual performance. The deficient 0.2" is more than made up by the fact that the Zune outfits more pixels in a similar space (480 x 272), making it so much more vibrant and the colours strikingly brilliant. Or, if you're going to be all fuck-all for that slight technical difference, consider this: The Zune uses OLED display while the iPod Touch is still stuck with the same ol' boring LCD.

You have to be daft not to be aware of the mountainous quality difference between an OLED and LCD display. In fact, the strongest selling point of the Zune is in its display quality and how it upstages just about every other brand not by a slight, but staggering margin.

The Zune weighs less and is smaller in size.

The initial measurements would have the iPod winning preliminarily again. The thickness of 8.5mm is slightly smaller than Zune's 8.9mm. However, that's as far as it extends. The Zune totally beats it in all other aspects.

Apple's product is 2.4" wide, the Zune is 2.1".

Apple's is 4.3" tall, the Zune is 4.0".

And despite its smaller size, the Zune manages to weight about 36% less than the iPod, measuring at 76g as opposed to Apple's hefty 115g. It doesn't look too light, thanks to the shiny metallic exterior but when you pick it up, you might be somewhat surprised by the contrasting weight (as I was).

Zune has better battery life.

I hate it when my battery is completely drained and it's getting all that much harder to pretend to listen to music so that the shower-challenged guy beside you might take a hint or two (true story). Here's a short recap:

Apple has 30 hours music playback, Zune HD has 33.

Apple has 6 hours video playback, Zune HD has 8.5.

Apple charges at an 80% capacity by two hours via wall adapter, Zune at 100%.

Via a USB port, Apple requires 4 hours for a full charge, Zune requires 3.

Zune support more video formats at a far, FAR better quality

This is highly imperative for myself, since I primarily watch movies and series while riding the Underground. I've watched two seasons of Ugly Betty and Desperate Housewives... Err I mean House and CSI on my old 1st Gen Zune and several countless movies, so the fact that the Zune processes 640 x 480 video resolution at 30 frames per second, and is able to decode MPEG-4 and H.264 compression schemes at up to 2.5 Mbps (H.264 PEOPLE!) I literally screamed. In addition, it also handles Microsoft's native WMV format, which the iPod is simply unable to (They're restricted to MPEG-4).

Not only that, but the quality of 480p can be extended to a frikkin' 720p seamlessly, in which even some laptops can barely handle it. The video can be outputted at that quality to a HD TV via composite cables sold separately. And while the iPod plays videos of up to 2.5mb in speed, Zune can perform at a whooping 14mb.

I'm sorry for all the technical jargons, there's no other way to explain just how superior the Zune is. I doubt telling you "IT IS THE FUCKING BEST BOOYA BITCHESSSSS!!!! FUCKING LOOK AT THAT PICTAHSSSS!" would help much.

Zune is scratch-resistant, Apple is basically designed to be covered in scratches within several hours of usage.

I noticed this trait when I dropped my 1st Gen Zune for about 5 tim- err once. ONCE. And noticed that there were no visible scratches on the screen or the casing, despite dropping it on gravel at a magnitude of... well, very hard. I was more than exalted when I discovered the same trait was extended to the Zune HD, since the sleek metallic exterior made me figure it was built the same way as the iPod: classy and elegant, yet magnetized scratches like no one's business.

Seriously, does any Apply fanboy dare to comment on how scratch prone all the Apple products are?

If you're in the US, you have a choice of five colours with free engravings:

Latest additions:

Last but not least:

Honorouble mentions

The NVIDIA Tegra Chip.

Zune would be the first media player to use this ground-breaking technology. If you're wondering what exactly the fuck it is, I don't have a fucking clue either. Google plskthx:

It's a graphics-based processor inputted into laptops mostly, to ensure quality video playbacks at staggering processing speeds and minimum power output.

Oh man, does this sound bitching:

"Specifically, the Tegra provides the Zune HD with eight independent processors, each designed for a specific class of tasks - among them are an HD video processor, an audio processor, a graphics processor, and two ARM cores. Furthermore, the processors can work together or independently to minimize power consumption."

The Zune also has Wi-Fi, a Web browser (with tap-to-zoom technology), built-in accelerometer, and a touch-screen QWERTY keyboard.

Seriously, what more can you ask for? Okay, maybe a shirtless Jake Gyllenhaal.

Well hello there, Prince of Persia.

ALL MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED!

One thing to gripe about however, is that it is only released in US and Canada. I've been waiting for an Europe release (rumoured since Fall of 2009) but it was just grapevine shit. The only way of buying it was either purchasing it at exorbitant prices from UK-based inofficial stores... or eBay (New at slightly less exorbitant prices and refurbished at much less).

Of course, cheapskate me chose eBay. Refurbished.

Whatever I have a Zune HD.

PS: Yes, this post update is because it's 4am and I have to get ready for class at 7am tomorrow... err today.

My aunt joined Facebook

2009-08-01T13:13:00.001+01:00

...and now my vocabulary is lacking profane words and suddenly rich with semi-inspirational ones like 'studying!' and 'thinking of lesbian porn classes!' My facebook status, you know, that space where you post all your epiphanies, mood, current activities and everything related to things people don't give a flying fuck bunny about will drastically change. I'll always be "happy about the new class schedules" and "eager to start studying yay!" and would always be engaged in "reading up on new accounting policies LOL SO FUN".

...Just kidding. She's a very cool aunt (my favourite, actually), and it's nice to finally be able to interact with her virtually (I have a bad habit of checking my phone once a week and that typically doesn't bode well with people much SURPRISINGLY...). Good advice to everyone. Can't get me on my phone? Then it's probably shoved between my layers of ass-fat (Sound doesn't carry all that well here) as I accidentally sat on it in my haste to get to the laptop and start LOLCat-ting READING ONLINE EXAM TIPS. In other words, E-mail is probably the safer option.

I know a lot of friends who've gotten through this experience in one way or another:

You wake up, bleary-eyed and breath stinking of zombie pits and yesterday's chicken meatloaf, ready to start the day anew. You grab your modern-day toothbrush, otherwise known as the laptop and start with the morning makeover, otherwise known as poring over the internet for 2 hours before you start doing anything productive, IF you ever start doing anything productive. Of course, useful news-generating websites like The Star or Metro Online is so passé and you prefer to stalk your ex-boyfriend (*cough*Neesa*cough) or enlighten yourself on your friend's recent blind-date mishap. Your finger immediately types the 'F' in the browser before auto-completion sets it to 'facebook.com'. See? Even your browser known you don't have a life.

Your eye wanders over-excitedly coolly over the red notification on the lower right and upon noticing that you have 7 notifications today, you start clicking it maybe just a bit too quickly. In that split of a nanosecond, you generate hope that it's your crush commenting on your photo or someone decidedly popular posting something on your wall, which, by logic, means that you're popular too despite your addiction to social media websites. Unfortunately, it's just Mafia Wars telling you that so-and-so has just won a fight with your help and someone has bought your pet away from you in Friends For Sale. But hey, what's this? Someone has GIVEN you a gift in Mafia Wars! It's probably a pathetic shotgun but hey! SOMEONE SENT ME-- ERR YOU! I MEAN YOU-- A GIFT! Social domination is a just a hair's breadth away. You will be drinking Apple Martinis with Paris Hilton at some posh club in Hollywood in no time.

Completely satisfied with your social progress, you start typing in Omar Afiq *cough*NEESA*cough* your ex-boyfriend's name in the search box before you notice something else. A comical green icon on the upper right, stating that you have a friend request. How pleasant! You ignore the other icons which details 78 application invites, 23 group invites and 56 "other" (note: sex related quizzes) invites and again, start clicking on the thing a tad too enthusiastically. You just KNOW it's some random brazillian hunk or media tycoon who got so mesmerised over your gorgeous profile picture (which hardly looks anything like you what the hey photoshop / myspace angles) and wants to get to know you better over apple martinis. Paris Hilton might come around, too.

Your mind pore over the details, the name and the picture of this new friend applicant and you say to yourself 'Why is this brazillian dude wearing spandex and looking a lot li-- DAD?!"

Congratulations. You're in social media hell.

You get a bit curious and start going through your dad's seemingly risqué profile and pictures. Soon enough, your housemates will swear that they heard muffled noises from your room that sounded a lot like "THAT'S NOT MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Okay, maybe that scenario's a bit too far-fetched, but I bet these are a bit more realistic:

http://myparentsjoinedfacebook.com

It's a hilarious website.

Reminded me when I had a friend-request from a relative I despised (Whom I bet visits this website). It immediately became a quandary, I started discussing with friends if I should fake my death or approve her and if I do, what's the grace period to ignore her request before she starts suspecting something. After LOL-ing with my sisters about her having a facebook account and OMG-ing with batshit crazy friends (the same dipshits I love but would spell out death if my relatives find out existed), I finally approved her after three short weeks because she called me up to specifically inform of her friend request and why haven't I approved her yet? I realised she's not so bad and hey she's family after all, so what the heck you know? And then, I fell into morbid depression and committed suicide.

Believe me, it's a happy ending.

Wacko Jacko

2009-06-30T21:20:00.002+01:00

Finding a decent picture of him is like figuring out rocket science.

You know, as shocking as Jacko's death might be, there's another thing that impacted a stronger "What The Fux0rz" reaction;

The aftermath.

Right now, headlines of him getting a Muslim burial, claims of his alleged child molestation being fictitious (they claimed the child confessed to lying as per his parent's request), his death bearing a suspicious cause, and more of his conversion to Islam tales are mushrooming. So now, I'm fasting from any world-related news for a few days. Then I can be like those boarding school kids who can elaborate on the atom's structure word-by-textbook word but still go "Obama? Is that like, a new breed of llamas?"

Not that they can speak decent English though. It would probably sound something like this; "Obama? Is that likes.. new breeding of the animal that looking like llama?"

Assuming they know what a llama is. (If you're wondering why the sudden animosity towards boarding school kids... let's just say there's one particular person who's grating my nerves. If she's not careful, I am so featuring her on this space).

I'll miss the guy though, even though I don't exactly live next door to him and have evening tea and scones together or anything.

As a kid, I remember watching his music videos together with my little sister on laser disc all the time. We'd skip 'Thriller' because the music video would scare the crap out of us...

Okay, maybe just me.

I honestly still can't watch that music video until now and it's the only Jacko song I haven't heard 'till the end. 'Remember The Time' and 'Rock With You' will always be an all-time favourite though.

By the way, you might hate me for this but I'm one of those who believe that his previous child molestation case was fabricated. Not blown out of proportions but completely fabricated. Media hype. Greedy, manipulative parents. Puppeteered, innocent kids. I'm ready to be humiliated and proven wrong however, and I think Kak Wani's the only one who can do that.

A last note from me;

SO true.

Nokia's 'iPhone Killer' N97 First Release

2009-06-19T13:29:00.002+01:00

Just this morning I was rudely awakened by this annoying thing called sunlight (Curse you sunlight!) at 10am and sensing an urgent need to relieve myself, I hobbled in a half-stupor towards the lavatory. Just 5 steps away from the bathroom door, my other housemate beckoned in a frenzied manner towards her room. She was forcing me to get in, and I felt a slight pang of annoyance intermingled with a slight desire to pee on her. I dragged my footsteps towards her room, my mind still muddled by the remnants of sleep as I bumped into the cupboard that's in the middle of the second floor hallway (do not ask).

She had a huge grin plastered on that Pee-On-Me! face and I was about to bark at her when she started pointing excitedly at a black box. I didn't have my glasses on then, so I squinted long and hard, my mind still registering the shock of being shown a black box. (Oh wow... a black box... Shocking, thrilling, exciting, etc etc...). Just then, her boyfriend/scandal waved something white in front of me. It fitted snugly in his hands, and its opaque whiteness drew me in.

And then it clicked.

There in his hands, was the resplendent, opal white N97 and it ired me that he waved it in a nonchalant manner instead of putting it on a pedestal and kneeling before it. I was about to ask the exact price he paid for it, when my friend interrupted eagerly;

"It's my birthday present!"

Then and there, my jaw dropped to the floor. Internally, I was cursing at the two, muttering to myself "Stupid spoiled rich brats. I hate all of you rich brats.", before they made another announcement;

"We're giving you my old phone!"

AWESOME SPOILED RICH BRATS. I LOVE ALL OF YOU RICH BRATS.

What she was more excited about was not the phone itself, and as show-off-syndrome has it, this attracted her even more.

[caption id="attachment_349" align="aligncenter" width="640" caption="Not sure if the number denotes the serial release, but if she says it does... then it does."][/caption]

The fact that it was the first N97 phone to be released in London. As proof, they also showed the letter from Nokia that refers to him as the first customer for the N97.

I resisted the urge to persuade her to sell it on eBay as a first edition and snatched the phone from his insolent hands screw them both asked politely to toy with it, and they nicely agreed. I half-expected to be disappointed but I was monumentally disappointed by the fact that I wasn't disappointed. I was a prospective disappointment that turned out to be not disappointing to my disappointment.

Pros:

Response time was minimal, if non-existent. Physical keypad usage was a breeze (major upgrade) and touch-screen sensitivity was significantly better than the previous N-series. The placement of side buttons (Both physical and touch) was creative and strangely gave me a sense of novelty. Even the stylus design had me blubbering nonsensically. They all originally thought it was a small pendrive added as a free gift. The earphone looks and feels expensive, and I'm loving the wire enclosure and its fibre optics-inspired design (supported by the phone's 3.5mm audio output jack. Win win win. It's a bit to the lighter side though).

It boasts a 32GB internal memory, with a memory card extension of up to 16GB and that's another win-win for me. If it promises extended battery life (yet to be ascertained), then I might have strike the 3rd gen Zune player from my wishlist and go for this phone myself.

Cons:

It opens up to a full-sized QWERTY, except for the usual displacement of the space bar button that's minimised and placed to the lower right. It takes only half a second to get used to, unless you have three broken fingers in which I broke out of pure jealousy from seeing that you own this phone. This is not one of the cons, but the fact that it opens and closes rather awkwardly (and loudly to boot) turns me off. It reminded me of how flip and slide phones gets easily damaged because of the lack of smooth open/close movement. The fluidity leaves much to be desired. The green and red LED-lights you see on the right side of the phone (refer to above picture) strongly contrasted the rich feel of the porcelain whiteness with its plastic, toy-like feel.

The phone is bulkier than the Nokia 5800 but that obvious statement is to be expected. It might turn a lot of owners from donning skinny jeans (a blessing in disguise) so I'm expecting this one to be a hit-or-miss for phone lovers. The phone also uses a different charger jack which comes with an adaptor for the old one, and I'm wondering if Nokia's gonna standardise this HTC-like charging outlet.

The camera's decent enough; boasting a 5-mp resolution, and I'm not too sure if I'm asking for too much but Nokia still pales in comparison with the other phone brands in the market in the camera phone sector, namely LG and Sony.

Lastly, I was disappointed by the lack of better functions. You would expect a phone that generated so much hype would cover a lot more new and mind-blowing functions, but it turned out to be pretty standard. The advertisement that showcased Myspace, Friendster and Facebook, sans Twitter might attract a lot of people, but it seems like a cheap trick to me. Nokia uses Symbian OS and I am of the opinion that although sufficiently satisfactory, it still needs to go through a major overhaul. In this technologically-relevant world, we get bored easily and the entertainers need to step up their game, not pander just to social networking website whores.

One final hat-trick from me. Now the friends I have here are spoiled, check; rich, check; brats... well maybe one or two, which means that they have a lot of goodies for me to play with. So far, I've had my fair share of playtime with these phones;

The Nokia E63

The Blackberry "Javelin" 8900

Last and I swear, god-friggin' least, the iPhone 3G

And my final decision?

If you want to get a phone that annoys you the most, get the iPhone.

If you want a standard phone for standard usage and a standard price, get the E63 or its more expensive kin, the E71.

If you want an eye-candy phone with satisfactory functions and best value for money, get the Blackberry Curve.

If you want to die of starvation;

Get the Nokia N97.

Summer Joy (Impending)

2009-05-14T01:36:00.001+01:00

Summer's a'comin', remnants of spring shakes its plethora of colours from its leafy green branches.

There's so many things that can brighten your day in summer. The sun beating down on you, the canvass of pristine white clouds against an encompassing cerulean blue, rays of sunlight cascading from the sky to bask you in that much appreciated warmth especially if the weather's been bitingly cold as of late... and most of all, layers of protruding abdominal fat publicly showcased by the walking heart-attacks who would redefine obesity if they could.

Summer attire, you are the bane of my existence.

Body-hugging baby-Ts, spaghetti straps and tank tops, miniskirts and summer shorts.

Foreigners are so considerate. How did they know I've been oh-so-eager to see their glaringly obvious stretch marks and that I find it endlessly entertaining to count how many layers of fat they have? (For the purpose of preserving mental health, this math-related, graphic-heavy mind exercise is suitable for those aged 7 and above). Looking at your unshaved underarms and legs also fills me with such happiness and joy.

1 out of 4 people in the UK are overweight, and they're proud of it, damnit. The parade of the morbidly obese will commence within a few weeks and this is when I ask; "Why, God? Why did you only give so very few of them heart attacks this year?"

Have God no mercy on my sanity? Oh wait, swine flu.

My prayers have been answered.

I think the thing I should be noting is the intensity of the sun's rays at times. London is very different from Malaysia. Here, people actually purchase sunglasses to like, use them. Outside. When the sun gets blindingly unbearable (it's a daily occurrence). I mean, who does that? In Malaysia, we wear them inside shopping complexes, because darn it, those KLCC lights are too much for our fragile eyesights! They're goddamn necessities!

Silly Londoners.

Should I purchase a pair or risk reduced eye capacity from rolling my eyes (in glee. When I see another skimpily clad, fat person passing by) and accidentally looking straight into the sun too often?

A decent pair from a decent brand (Next, Topshop, etc) could range from £5 - £20. Not bad, if you ask me. But then again, I'm saving up for Sennheiser's PX100 or Koss's KSC75. Haven't made up my mind on which of these two headphones to get. Let's label them glasses as luxury items for now.

My ears > My eyes.

A picture post, for you too-lazy-to-read douches.

2009-05-11T02:23:00.001+01:00

Remember when I said the Malaysian community in London is especially close-knit? I've made some few good friends here, met some annoying ones, have despised some others and forged what I hope to be a close bond with a few that stand out in my books. I'm featuring four of 'em, each identified by yours truly by single adjectives;

Pleasant;

Interesting;

Despicable; and

Annoying.

It's your call to mix and match the faces with whichever words you deem befits them, but here they are. Also, I believe these pictures represent each in the light of their own seven deadly sins...

Gluttony

Vanity

Lust

Camwhore-ity

Huh what? It's not a sin? Whatever it should be one. Here are chronological pictures of us (I took most of 'em whee :D). And hey, if you noticed that we had a colour theme for this particular outing to Barking's own Park, then congratulations. You have the unique talent of pointing out the obvious.

A very sorry attempt at camouflage.

Papparazzi-inspired shot, while they pretended to be celebrities. I took this... because no one else in their right mind would.

A metal fence freak accident waiting to happen...

Funny enough, they all didn't know each was doing the Angelina Jolie-inspired puckered lips. Neither also knew how terribly they failed at it... (I'm not gonna be the one to tell them).

I think they'd be happy if I point out that oh look! Your shadows are shorter than you are, you little midgets!

Numbers!

Alphabets!

Father Time!

The three previous pictures exhibit a posed remembrance of one's lost youth... or four really sad people with too much time on their hands.

Oh wow, they remembered to take a picture of me too.

I love the colour montage. Red (sad people/us) against green (trees), against blue (sky).

Picture taken moments before I broke my back.

Here are my favourite pictures of the lot. I took 'em too! :D

Spring time (Oh hey I can point out the obvious too).

They sorta look like cherry blossoms in the distance.

The haunting sinewy vines of the trees reaching upwards to the darkening sky. Eerie.

Quick trivia. Am I really grabbing 'em? This is Nuha, by the way. Of Thai descent, which explains her exotic features. She's capricious, easily irritable and fashion conscious... that's why I really like her. :D

That's Kamal... God willing, he'll be married to another member of our little group by next year... I hope they do it here, it'd be my first wedding in London. It's funny how budding romance can flourish into something beautiful and sacred as you're miles away from home. How you find comfort in each other's presence initially as friends, desolate as you are after having taken off so far away from home... and eventually developing sincere and conflicting feelings for each other as you try to sort out your friendship and desire for something more. Cliched and overused in Chic Lit, it's a plot I didn't think I'd witness personally. But it's there and it's cute. :D

Like my little friend here, Mr. Bushy-Tailed-Widdle-Cutey-Wutey-Aww-So-Adorable Squirrel. I believe he's referring to the Names Registrar for a change soon

Anyway, have fun matching the four distinct people with the four distinct personality traits I mentioned earlier. Here's to the theory of your face, the creases on your complexion, and the architectural, subtle nuances and inflections in your facial structure being the determining factor for your innate personalities. What's that field of science called again? Roasted squirrel on a pit to anyone who can tell me.

the intarwebs

Peak

I'm happy

I'll just leave this here

Our generation is fucked up

Strength of genetics... or just influence?

Angsty post.

I want a boyfriend.

I almost blinded a friend.

Probably not the best look.

Goodbye, world.

We don't joke about this shit.

Me, the fashionista.

I hate it when I'm being pointed out as an ass, and they're right about it.

Hey guys, I found the perfect job for anti-social people.

Today is...

Google Dabai. "Did you mean Dubai?"

God, What a Drama Queen

Three Layers of Pure Awesomeness

Kidnapped by Con Men

Oh, I'm just heading to Hell. You?

Acid Man's Inspiration

Letting Go

I cried.

I Liked You.

It's a secret!

Midnight Uses for Tissues

I'm dying here.

How I Entertain Myself

Fuck it, what was I thinking.

I Feel...

No, Not Going To Kill Myself.

And you wonder why I'm so broken.

Something I Read Today

Can I Has a Job?

No more bonding with you guys.

Love Chronicles

Marvel what? DC Comics who?

I Hate Them.

"So when are you coming back?"

Introverted.

Ode to Azrin

*Watching Unrest, a B-grade horror-flick centred around a hospital backdrop*

*Staring outside for god knows what reason (to fully appreciate nature?)*

*Random *

*Me griping about UiTM*

*(In a similar breath as to the one above) Talking about something that pisses me off*

*Complaining about losing her Vincci shoe at her hostel*

*Back from Usher's recent concert in Malaysia*

Zune HD vs iPod Touch

I recently purchased the Zune HD.

OH WAIT.

ZUNE VS IPOD

HOW THE ZUNE HD FUCKING RULE THE WORLD.

Zune is cheaper (MOST IMPORTANTEST FACT OF ALL).

The iPod sound quality pales in comparison to the Zune.

The Zune has far superior display.

The Zune weighs less and is smaller in size.

Zune has better battery life.

Zune support more video formats at a far, FAR better quality

Zune is scratch-resistant, Apple is basically designed to be covered in scratches within several hours of usage.

If you're in the US, you have a choice of five colours with free engravings:

Honorouble mentions

The NVIDIA Tegra Chip.

The Zune also has Wi-Fi, a Web browser (with tap-to-zoom technology), built-in accelerometer, and a touch-screen QWERTY keyboard.

My aunt joined Facebook

Wacko Jacko

Nokia's 'iPhone Killer' N97 First Release

Summer Joy (Impending)

A picture post, for you too-lazy-to-read douches.

Gluttony

Vanity

Lust

Camwhore-ity

Watching Unrest, a B-grade horror-flick centred around a hospital backdrop

Staring outside for god knows what reason (to fully appreciate nature?)

Random

Me griping about UiTM

(In a similar breath as to the one above) Talking about something that pisses me off

Complaining about losing her Vincci shoe at her hostel

Back from Usher's recent concert in Malaysia