Girls and Monkeys. Spot the Difference.

Some places have rat, cockroach or maybe ant infestations. My college has monkeys.

For as long as I can remember, since staying in this college, we’ve been plagued by this problem almost daily. Nothing can be done to appease the voracious appetite of these violent monkeys, and nothing can be done about them frolicking in the beautiful, lush garden of newly washed clothes fresh from the clotheslines.

I don’t know, but I don’t mind it as much. I like these monkeys.

They’re not too violent, most of them, but today I was made to change my mind when we heard the most terrifying, ear-splitting, ten seconds scream in the history of my being here. Truth be told, they can be violent, provoked or not. At intermittent intervals, you would hear the errant scream or two, not a few of them blood-curdling.

It’s a frighteningly scary incident.

…As long as it doesn’t happen to you.

Since they’re hanging around near the trash cans which are very strategically placed by the bathroom/showers, they’re always chasing those going in and out to do their business. So, you can sometimes see girls covering their modesty with only towels flailing about wildly, their meagre pieces of clothing dangling precariously on their bodies as the monkeys, probably attracted by the fruit-scented shampoos and soaps, chase them ruthlessly with just a hint of a lascivious glint in their eyes.

Also, thanks to that, you do get unexpected visitors now and then.

Which, of course, gives us plenty of opportunities to exchange boisterous pleasantries and/or silent profanities. It never ceases to amuse, especially since our room is the closest to the bathroom. My favourite part is of course, when they rush head on into our room, one hand gingerly holding up a towel to their naked bodies, toiletries in the other with, get this; complete, utter, incomprehensible fear in their eyes.

Fear. Towards an animals 1/8^th of your size, with no history of an actual, injurious attack towards humans in this area, probably just lounging around the trash cans and not giving scant attention to you (Which is usually the scenario anyhow).

I so get that.

I have been chased before though, but that’s probably because I was trying to chase them away. My roommate, Mai, actually got chased the length of the corridor spanning approximately 5 rooms. But the way she runs is so funny even I’d chase her for longer than that. I guess the monkeys and I share the same kind of humour.

Besides, it’s okay what. They help us exercise what.

The one thing that I do dislike them for is the fact that playing with freshly laundered clothes seems to be their favourite pastime.

God knows how many times we’ve had to re-wash our clothes or dispose of them completely. And washing clothes means HAND WASHING them, mind. I’d be the minion of Satan under an interminable contract if it meant having a washing machine around. I can send my clothes to the laundry, but that means having to walk all the way from one block to another (3 minutes walk, people! Know how tiring that is?!) with heavy clothes in tow and having to pay RM1.60 per kg.

…Okay maybe I’m just a pathological cheapskate.

But then, the monkeys do commit acts that you may find endearing.

It’s hard to stay angry at them. They can be as cute as kitties, even. Speaking of which, we do have well-fed cats loitering about. I can’t wait to watch a monkey vs cat showdown one day. I’m rooting for the one with opposable thumbs!

And if you’re wondering what the mad hatter scream we heard earlier was all about, Kak AD, who just happened to be around the vicinity of the toilet, told us all the gory and frightening details. I don’t think I’ll be able to rest easy now.

Sometimes, I swear. It’s the girls. Not the monkeys.

…And there goes another scream.

GO GET ‘EM, MONKEYS!

I got tagged! Here's me feigning excitement!

Instructions: Remove ONE question from below, and add in your personal questions, make it a total of 20 questions, then tag 8 people in your list, list them out at the end of this post. Notify them in their chat box that he/she has been tagged.

1. Do you believe in love at first sight?

*Strokes 120GB FreeAgent Seagate Harddisk lovingly*

Yes...

2. Do you eat without brushing your teeth?

Yes, but for err... medical reasons! If you um... brush your teeth too often, your uh... gums weaken! And they bleed more! If you don't believe me, you can ask any dentist. But um... just don't cite your source lah. It's because... I very pai seh when they think I so li hai know this difficult stuff. Yup that's it.

Eh seriously don't tell them what I said.

3. Where is the place that you want to go the most?

Orlando Bloom's shower!

Currently, I really want to go to the co-op and buy nasi lemak. Hungry weh...

4. If you can have 1 dream to come true, what would it be?

I had a dream once that I was pigging out on Carl's Junior. Another dream I had was when I was playing cards with Nobita and Doraemon. There's also one where I was in a house built solid with jigsaw puzzles.

It's so hard to choose between the three!

5. Do you believe in seeing a rainbow after the rain?

How could you not believe in an optical and meteorological phenomena that cause a spectrum of light to appear in the sky? Crazy.

6. Do you like being who you are today?

An impecunious student who's greatest talent is extreme procrastination and is continually de-motivated? Oh gee, I have to really think long and hard on this...

7. If you win $1 million, what would you do?

In a lawsuit? Sue for more under extended personal injuries.

Buy a top-of-the-line desktop rig with really bitchin' graphic cards, at least 4 game consoles, latest Zune play-

Charity. Give to charity. People should all give munificent amount of material possessions to charity.

8. If you could change your name, what would it be?

Charity.

9. If you meet someone that you love, would you confess to him/her?

I confess to my Wenworth Miller poster (Thanks Nurisya!) everday, but I don't seem to be getting any response...

Maybe I'm doing it wrong.

10. Would you swim in a vat of chocolate?

*Strips clothes* WHERE!?

11. Do you love yourself more than you love others?

Okay, I'm imagining a situation where a high-speed truck is heading straight to my direction. In my hands, I'm holding a Fujitsu Lifebook, series T2010. I can only jump away in time if I discard the lifebook. Should I jump to safety at the cost of this precious laptop?

Thinking...

Thinking...

Thinking...

Can't decide.

Okay, second scenario. I'm walking hand-in-hand with my sister. A high speed truck is heading our way. I only have two options; Save myself or push her to safety, negating any chance I might have of saving myself.

Thinki-

BYE AZRIN! :D

12. Which do you prefer from your other half? hug? or a kiss?

That's freaky man. I have an other half? When did I divide my physical body?!

That aside, can I opt for money?

13. If you have faults, would you rather the people around you point out to you or would you rather they keep quiet?

*Points gun to offender's head* And what did you say my faults were?

14. What do you think is the most important thing in your life?

Having the right people around you. My brain is rotting from extreme exposure to the culture of:

Gediknye die!

Hensem lah budak tu. Asyik je I usha die. Teehee!

Hi, name I Ashley. AhaKz~

15. Are you a shopaholic or not?

No. I'm much too mature and rational to be affected by such a ridiculous weakness of affluence. What? Don't look at me like that, it's true!

...

Okay fine its because I'm piss broke.

16. What kind of electronic device/gadget you own that you like most?

Maynard's laptop I'm going to steal.

My Zune player.

17. If you have a chance, which part of your character you would like to change?

Nothing. I just love how I'm so bubbly and optimistic! Well, maybe I can change the teeny, tiny, miniscule, infinitesimal hint of just the sliiiiightest bit of sarcasm I may have exhibited once or twice. It's okay though, it's hardly noticeable.

18. What makes you feel disappointed?

Obviously, when I can't get what I strongly desire. Someone go buy me that nasi lemak... :(

19. If given a chance, do you want to see your future?

I'd prefer to see into Orlando Bloom's shower.

Probably not. It's actually quite hard to feign surprise at something you're already expecting.

"What, I'm going to marry Wentworth Miller?!"

I know it's destined, but I'd like my reaction to be genuine. Hey, why are you making retching noises?

20. What would you do when your secret is being found out?

Depends.

i) Oh, you found out I'm secretly dating Orlando Bloom? My this is so embarrassing, teehee.

ii) I've been insulting UiTM peeps on a blog I'm trying hard to keep from them? Such wily nonsense, child!

iii) *Reloads gun* Name your source, bitch.

Who I tag:

1. Maynard (Dare you tag me, bitch? Now do these all over again!)

2. Nurisya

3. Frederick Loh

4. Elaine Wong

5. Larry Nyanti

6. Maynard

7. Maynard

8. Maynard

I think that makes for eight.

PS: Just got a hell load of pictures of my roommates from Kak Azleen. Will introduce you guys to them muhaha.

UiTM Shah Alam’s APAcS (Association of Professional Accountants) Annual Grand Dinner, 21 March 2008

If there was ever a time when disemboweling yourself with a butter knife or scooping out your eyeballs with bacteria-infested fingers is more pleasant than what you have to currently endure, it was definitely tonight.

Anyway, enough with these bubbly and cheery opinions of mine; here’s the scoop.

It was made compulsory for my batch to attend. As that was the case, we were given a discount for the tickets.

Thus, instead of starving myself for three weeks, I only starved myself for two (TWO!) weeks by paying RM60 instead of RM80. Oh, such generous motherfuckers souls they are.

Blithely, I handed them a mere pittance in exchange for a ticket to a fabulous event I was rather anticipating!

Oh screw that.

I handed them two weeks’ worth of allowance to purchase a ticket that would gain me entry into four hours worth of cheap entertainment and lousy food. I sure know which anatomy of theirs I’d like to stick my ticket up…

Optimism aside, I did take pictures.

That’s my best friend Izyan. We’ve been roommates for two semesters, go on outings exclusively together, spent almost every waking hour with each other, attempt to walk to classes together and even seek each other out during classes (she’s not a classmate, unfortunately).

Of course, it was more than appropriate that during a special dinner where we should’ve mingled with friends and acquaintances and get to know them out of the element we’ve gotten acclimated to, an environment which is less subdued by restrictive university policies and the critical glares of lecturers, we only stuck to each other.

As Izyan endearingly puts it;

“God we’re pathetic.”

Ah, such warm sentiments that tugs at your heartstrings.

Of course, I also managed to somehow acknowledge the existence of the others I shared a table with.

Here’s their picture, and there’s a bonus too; With very skillful and professional photography techniques, Izyan has managed to flawlessly adjust the lighting so as to create a wondrous and spellbinding effect on their pleasant visages. Watch:

Normal face.

Hooker face! :D

I applaud your talent, Izyan.

I’ll introduce you to another good friend of mine.

She’s the one giving the camera a sexy, steamy glare. Don’t you think she just exudes elegance?

Her name’s ‘Iffah and I love spending time with her. She’s fun, animated and humorous. You can tell by that twinkle in the eye that doesn’t look like it’s possessed by a demonic presence.

Here’re pictures of us goofing around and the happy and bubbly conversations we had:

Me: Oh hey! These are REAL flowers!

Izyan: Yeah. The petals are perfect and undamaged. I know a perfect way to appreciate these little gifts of nature!

*Izyan takes out her camera*

Me: We… bash them to miniscule pieces?

Me: Hey, you know some other way to appreciate what you call ‘little gifts of nature’?

*Short silence*

Both: CAMWHORE TIME!

Me: Why the hell are you holding a butterknife to my chest?

Izyan: It’s called creativity in camwhoring.

Me: Oh, okay. Let’s do it properly.

Izyan: I’ll hold it to your neck and make it seem like I’m going to slit your throat.

Me: …Does that in any way reflect how you really feel about me?

Izyan: Shut up.

Me: …Oh yes, Izyan. The first rule of blunt-object decapitation is to give a smile. You nailed it!

Izyan: Shut up, you’re smiling too.

Me: No I’m not. I’m uh… wistfully looking at my soon-to-be-ended life embodied by the wilting flowers and--

Izyan: Whatever. We’ll take another one. I’ll look angry this time.

Me: …So uh, Izyan… in which dictionary does angry means perverted?

Izyan: SHUT UP.

‘Iffah: UhHhHhhh?

Izyan: Haha. Terrer lah engkau buat muka bodoh ni, ‘Iffah.

Me: Uh… dia tak perlu buat pun dah jadi.

*Everyone nods solemnly*

‘Iffah: HEY AKU SEPAK KANG.

*Few minutes and plenty of kicking later...*

Me: FEWD!

Izyan: Wait. Let’s take pictures first. Okay, you guys act hungry.

Me: …We don’t have to act. Iffah’s stomach started rumbling 20 minutes ago. *Impatient*

Izyan: Well, whatever. I’ll take a quick shot.

Izyan: …Aziemah, are you wearing the napkins as a bib?

Me: Why of course not. It’s my cloth-made accessory. ¬_¬

Izyan: I want to kill you so badly right now.

Izyan: ‘Iffah, kenape buat muka perempuan Melayu terakhir ni?

‘Iffah: Kenape? Comel sangat ke?

Izyan: …Tak. Nak termuntah adalah.

*Highfives Izyan* :D

Tasteless, diluted orange cordial drinks that was just oh-so-worth the RM60 we paid.

The bizarre soup that tasted like an odd mixture of chicken and sardines stirred in condense ketchup. The main course and dessert were similarly horrendous, so you’re not missing out on anything if I don’t post pictures. Here's the last one for now:

Sexy, Innocent and Badass. ...Cue the gagging.

You probably noticed how limited the backdrop and location of our pictures are. Truth be told, Izyan and I only traveled as far as the ballroom entrance to our table (which is a lengthy and exhausting three metres in distance). We did wander around during all some of the scheduled performances and hung far away from the ballroom and the snore-fest events to make for another area where skimpily clad, deaf tone female performers were singing and dancing awkwardly to a group of angmoh spectators.

Sad to say though, these were far better than the performances organised by our student committee from what I hear.

In the end, we went back early because our seniors that didn’t attend the ball picked us up right after their late dinner outside. I’m not complaining. Though, it was too bad for Izyan since her crush was crowned ‘King of the Night’ nearing the close and we missed it. Well, more like she missed him and I missed the opportunity to make fun of her. :|

Overall, I gave the night a 4 out of 10.

-6 for the suckiness of everything; and

+4 because Izyan wore make-up and a dress! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

You should know the bruises I had from the initial laughter are still visible.

Peninsulaysian

I’ve been here for about 8 months already and I can safely say this is a harmonious and stately part of Malaysia. Everywhere around you, people are happy, polite and considerate. Places are clean, buildings are well-maintained and satisfaction is etched in everyone’s smiles… until the third-rate drug you knocked off Chow Kit Road wears off. Seriously? This forgotten part of the earth (and for good reasons) needs to grow a brain.

The strongest conviction one has of the general stupidity permeating the foul air of East Malaysia is their language.

The bastardization of Bahasa Melayu.

The degradation of general intelligence, and;

The introduction of douche bag-esque words.

Here’s the top three that tops my list:

1. “Tau takpe.”

“Kenape die pakai macam tu? Tak cun lah…”

“A’ah. Tau takpe.”

“Dah buat assignment tu ke? Mesti belum, saya pun belum buat lagi.”

“Haha… tau takpe.”

“Nasib baik tak pakai baju tu tadi. Pak Guard on duty hari ini.”

“Ye? Eh… a’ah. Tau takpe.”

Like how rice is staple food to Malaysians, “Tau takpe” is a staple phrase to every living human in existence. Left, right, front, centre, up your butt crack, this phrase spreads like wildfire that burns the smallest brain cells you may have miraculously inherited. If you didn’t say it at least once in a 3 minutes conversation, you’ve probably already breached about 3 state laws, 4 federal ones and scheduled to burn in hell.

Fortunately, yours truly, out of pure adaptive skills, has long started the incorporation of this overused phrase in daily conversations. Though… I might not have exactly nailed the timing…

“Eh, awak nak makan apa? Ayam, ikan, sotong?”

“Tau takpe!!!”

“…”

“What?”

2. “Tulah pasal”

“Kaler bilik tu hodoh lah… macam warna muntah.”

“Tulah pasal.”

“Kena hantar assignment esok?? Mati laaa…”

“Tulah pasal!”

I don’t exactly get what it means, but I have toed the liquid surface, tried it a few times and now I have a few tricks up my sleeve. When someone says something in an annoyed tone and pucker their lips in a I’m-a-whiny-bitch-who-thinks-everyone-cares-what-my-imitation-lipsticked-toad-ugly-lips-are-saying way, you just shout out “Tulah pasal!!” in a similarly annoyed way and attempt to look annoyed too to satiate them, although you are completely in the dark as to what they are referring to.

Nothing shuts them up better.

3. "Gedik."

“Eee… Gedik nya budak tu…”

“Tengok cara dia jalan. Gediklah!!”

You can’t imagine how much this word irritates me so. It’s sort of our version of ‘kenjet’, I think.

Initially, when I came here, I noticed everyone was saying it. This may be third in the list, but it actually wins the horse race against “Tau takpe” by a fraction of a millimetre.

Whenever you’re visiting Peninsular Malaysia, always remember that everyone around you is ‘gedik’, everything they wear is ‘gedik’, their manner of walk and speech are ‘gedik’, and the shotgun and manuals are in the backseat. Kill at whim.

The word has a simple equation, really. 1 breath to inhale oxygen into your zombie rotting dumbass brain x 2 gedik = your average Peninsular Malaysian.

I should be a wordamathecian. :D

There are so many words to annoy me, but I’m not sure if they’re exclusively Penisulaysian. Masa tu time… Cuba try… and that’ll all I can remember though I know the list is inexhaustible.

Peninsulaysian. The language of future dolts, rednecks and inbred children. Synonymous with politicians.

God bless Malaysia.

It's growing. Stop asking.

I’ve been badgered with the same question for the past two months.

“Why did you cut your hair short?”

Usually, this would be followed by a disappointed sigh, a noted shake of the head or the more polite continuous staring at the mass of short, dried, though stylishly spiky dead rat perched on my head (Which evidently, I refer to as my hair).

In my defense however, I did not intentionally decide to impersonate a Korean actor and subsequently failed miserably at doing so. Here’s a few snippets of conversation between myself and the hair stylist whom decided so abruptly to make me the butt of all hair jokes.

“What hairstyle do you want?”

“I don’t know. Anything? Just make it short.”

“Short?”

“Yeah, like real short. I want to save shampoo.” $_$

“Are you sure? Short?”

“Yeah… sure…”

“But how short?”

“Just… short lah. Everything else is up to you.”

“Yeah, but what kind of style? With bangs, or with longer side hair, or longer tail? What style?”

“Err… short… style?” >_>

By then he probably gave up soliciting anymore hairstyle suggestions from the girl with the fashion sense of a lamp post and just started slashing away. At the speed he was going, he looked a bit like Edward Scissorshands, only with more blood in his face and, if possible, more gel in his hair. The spikes in his hair could’ve held up three bricks and half an elephant.

After hair-spraying and waxing my hair for what seemed like hours, he charged me RM48 and happily I got back to my college bearing a lighter-feeling head and yes, a heavily hair-sprayed and waxed dead rat.

Yay.

I thought it would be a happy ending from there on, but no.

I saved on shampoo but I had to now spend on hair wax.

I had to style my hair before going to class because apparently, people have a penchant for commenting when your hair looks like it’s been electrocuted (That’s how it looks like pre-waxed).

People stare at my chest very often to verify my sex, and don’t bother doing it surreptitiously; o_o --> O_O

Though sometimes, the more polite breed of people in our society would simply approach yours truly, asking “Excuse me, are you a He or She?”

And sometimes, people whom think that voices don’t carry over one metre in distance, would barely pass me before turning towards their companion and asking audibly “Did you see its chest? Did it have any?”

To answer that; Yes. I do have a chest. And yes, it is flatter than Keira Knightley’s… ahem.

I thought it was amusing the first month, but after the umpteenth chest-staring and I-can-still-hear-you-morons side whispers, the novelty wore off and it got slightly annoying. Not to mention the bashing I got from my sister who’d lecture on how it’s a sin in Islam to be mistaken as a boy.

Oopsies.

Anyway, it’s a bit longer now so everyone can lay off my back once it reaches my shoulders. I’d cut my hair short again just because of its practical properties, but unless I manage a way to grow three chest sizes overnight, I’m going to have to find cheaper shampoo alternatives that doesn’t leave my scalp with a burning sensation.

UiTM Shah Alam Convocation, 2007 (Faculty of Law)

No, not mine, my cousin’s. I just happened to hover around sending homicidal telekinetic waves to people to see if I could kill them.

Alas, I need more practice.

So here’s the thing, there I was, full from being fed McD burgers and fries by my generous relatives. We just got off on UiTM and were prepared to enter the halls where they were going to project the ceremony on a huge-ass screen, since the hall where the actual ceremony was held couldn’t capacitate that much people.

I could hardly sleep the day before, imagining the excitement, the anticipation, the pride, the chaos that would entail such a momentous event. Of course, my excitement was gratifyingly rewarded. Imagine the thrill I got upon having to sit for four hours tapping my feet to the sound of my brain cells dying. Imagine my elation at being suffocated by the aroma of decaying corpses that emitted from the other similarly overjoyed spectators. Obviously, their hormones went into over-drive from brimming with such joyous anxiety that they decided to have me permanently brain damaged from having to smell such pleasant body odours. Imagine my joy at having to finally catch a glimpse of my beloved cousin getting on stage to get her scroll for a WHOLE 6.5 seconds! Out of the 14400 seconds that we waited until our asses got sore!

In fact, I was so trigger happy you could hardly pry my happy fingers from the happy imaginary gun that I happily fantasised about during the happy 14400 seconds out of the happy whole.

But then, it was in fact, worse for another person.

Do you notice the guy who has to plaster the fake smile every time he gives out the scroll? The same guy who shakes hands with all the recipients of these scrolls?

Since I have telekinetic abilities (It’s just not advanced enough to kill people… yet. I’m trying), I quickly focused my energy on him, to get a reading. I read his mind, and it was not pleasant. There were torture devices, bodies sprawled everywhere, mutilated heads of the students he had to, god forbid, have physical contact with, and also there were your occasional bunnies hopping about. Obviously, he’s bitter. And probably a bit insane.

I don’t blame the guy. If I had to shake hands with 600 students who had disgusting habits and dubious personal hygiene, I’d be thinking the same thing. I know some of them didn’t wash their hands after using the toilet. I know they picked their noses and scratched their asses. Those germ-infested, beacon of viral plagues, pathetic excuse for hands.

At the end of the day, after my lawyers advised me that it was not moral or legal of me to kill everyone I shook hands with under the excuse “But they’re filthy pigs! Ew~!”, I would go straight back home to disinfect my hands twenty-nine times with bleach before amputating my arm.

But I’m not him, so it was easy for me to forget about it and continue engaging my mind with the intellectual activity we call staring at the wall.

I thought the entertainment they provided was pretty tacky too. They had a choir group. They sang. First, they sang the national anthem. Then, the UiTM theme song. Then… they sang the Lion King theme song.

Yes, my friends. The Lion King theme song. The Disney movie. The one with those African (I’m assuming) lyrics we don’t understand. This unibrow choir guy, who looked as if he had a fat, unbelievably long and hairy caterpillar resting on his forehead sang the intro, and I immediately went, “What the fettuccini?”

On a day and event, where they commemorate the efforts of hundreds of students whom arduously finished their tertiary course, some with honours and all with pride; On a day where they were to receive their scroll, their iconology of excellence and completion, their baby steps into the real world and the beginnings of a new, mortifying phase in life, it’s apparently very appropriate to reflect the life-altering achievement with……….. The Lion King theme song.

To be honest though, these people were pretty good. They sang a few other songs in between the scroll-giving ceremony. They had harmony, rhythm, and most importantly, talent. Unfortunately, they still cannot compare to the local and international singers, albeit having the nicest voices I’ve heard in a long while. And you know why? Because popular singers are different. Popular singers have showmanship, entertaining skills, marketable packages, excellent networking, physical beauty. The UiTM choir not only lacked all that, they only have the ONE skill that’s probably the most useless, insignificant thing to have when you’re talking about the music industry; actual vocal talent.

There were some excellent students among the mass. They were honoured with “Anugerah Kecemerlangan Diraja” or something like that. Only, they were not separated from the group of students. The scroll-receiving order still followed the alphabetical orders of their names, so now and then there would be a suspenseful pause, and the announcer guy would raise his voice a few thousand decibels and exclaim “Adik xxx, pemegang anugerah kecemerlangan diraja!”

It was debasing. Imagine the announcer droning the list of names of the recipient of the scrolls, one-by-one listing them in the same tone of voice you’d use when you’re forced to read something by yourself In class. As if all your happiness and joy was sucked out of you. Then there was that pause. You could almost hear him drawing in his breath sharply, and then his voice boomed to proclaim to the whole world another winner of this limited award for academic excellence. After the thundering applause, all goes silent, and again he goes to using the same bored, listless tone, like his wife ran away with his mechanic, stray cats killed his children and he’s diagnosed with prostrate cancer; and life has nothing more to offer. Though, the cynic in me couldn’t help but snicker at those unfortunate students and the obvious distinction of their inferiority, their embarrassment, their loss of confidence and ultimately, monetary loss from years of psychiatric help. He-he.

I don’t really remember all that happened in the span of the four hours that I spent sitting and sharpening my ESP skills, but I do remember the highlight of the event.

Finally, it came the time when it was my cousin's turn to go on stage. With bated breath and brimming pride, we waited. In fact, I clenched my fist from the intense anticipation, and then… Okay I’m lying. One millisecond after receiving her scroll, my other cousin turned to me and said “Okay thank god. Now we can get out of here.”

I love how we think alike. Almost as much as I love how the blood rushed back into my numb and partially paralysed ass the moment I stood from my seat. I could feel my ass again!

All in all, it was a good day. My relatives brought me to eat at this seafood restaurant in Shah Alam for dinner, and it was delicious. If it were not for me losing half my IQ points from all that wall staring, I would probably remember the name of the restaurant and tell you. For now, I’m going to call it “that restaurant beside that filthy man-made lake.”

Oh, and my cousin is one of those who graduated her degree in Law with Honours. She's smart...