The Hunger Games

I'm think New Zealand and I don't agree. Or rather, New Zealand and my wallet don't agree. Ever since I've been here my money keeps vanishing! I'd have notes morphing into coins in the matter of seconds. What kind of evil/demented/twisted trick is this?

Of course, the real culprit could be my self-discipline-- but I'm never going to own up to that. It's never my fault, but you bet I'll keep my wallet under lock and key from now on. I'm not allowed to spend any more NZD.

On another note, one of the things I did spend on was books (does this surprise anyone?). I bought THE HUNGER GAMES, because it came highly recommended by a soon-to-be-published community of writers and was rated highly on Amazon (yes, I'm a sucker for ratings). I broke into the book at 1 a.m. and stayed up all the way till 5, finishing the entire book. The last time I had such an Unputdownable Book must've been near a decade ago (it was Harry Potter 3, and I remember reading by torchlight because we, the kids, were supposed to be in bed, rested and ready for more exploring/touristing of the fabulously romantic town of Firenze). So let me jump on THE HUNGER GAMES groupie bandwagon and just scream out: THE HUNGER GAMES IS AAAAAAWWWEEESOOOOOMEEEE! WOOHOOOOOO!

Because it is. I realise it is YA (Young Adult), and it may not be as 'deep' for those of you more sophisticated people, but it truly is an amazing concept executed in almost flawlessly gripping storytelling.

If I could have just one birthday wish this year, it would be to have just a gallon, nay, a quart, of Suzanne Collins' writing talent. Did I just jinx my wish? Darnittt!

Seriously though, if I could just package her capacity to capture readers' attention and successfully immerse them into the world I created, I would do it in pills, and take it once daily for the rest of my life. Also, I wouldn't share it with the rest of the world, coz I'm kiasu like that. Ha!

I think I'm having withdrawal symptoms from THG. I want to dive back into Katniss' world (Panem) and find out more about them. I miss Katniss' narrative voice, her thoughts and everybody she loved/befriended. Unfortunately, I will have to wait till September the 1st for the second book to come out. Aiahsighaishgiahsh!

So maybe I'll break into another book.

The 2-4 (and the Hair-scapade)

So it was my birthday yesterday. 24. Sounds...old. And boring. 24. Other than reminding me of multiplications (2 x 12 and 8 x 3 are cool ones) and the number of hours in a day, 24 is a pretty boring number. It sounds so somber and...adult. Meanwhile, I think 25 is an awesome number! I imagine huuuuge blowouts and balloons and confetti! Jubileeee!

I've been pretty much a dork on my 24th. The day of the 22nd I had a FULL day, so I retired early that night, but not without a few rounds of ice-cream (bought by my random backpacker flatmate-- thanks Holly!). On the 23rd of April, D-Day (...I turned 24), I went with a friend of mine to the factory outlet "mall"-- 1) because I needed shoes, and 2) because I felt like I needed to spend on my birthday. I walked away with shoes (they had one my size!! I was soooo stoked!) and the awesomest dress I've ever beheld! After a whole day of walking, I was ready to retire early again, only I went into super-dork mode and decided to do some writing on my birthday. Eheh. Not my fault Lady Muse attacked me with Plot Bunnies on my Birthday.

So no, I didn't have a big birthday bash. And no, I didn't get super wasted or get buried under a pile of presents-- but I still think this has been one of my fondest birthdays, only because I shared it with some of my closest, most genuine buddies, and was allowed to be the Superdork that I am on my birthday (week). *grin*

On another note, I got a haircut today. Let me just preface this by saying: 1) I don't have anything against Asians (I am one myself), and 2) I don't have anything against Asian Hair. But just because you're Asian (i.e. Chinese/Korean) doesn't mean you have to make EVERYONE ELSE's hair look like the rest of the Chinese/Korean hairstyle, especially when I DON'T have the typical poker-straight shiny Asian locks, and also when I specifically showed you pictures of Kate Moss and Brigitte Bardot's hair as reference.


Let me just say it didn't turn out like how I wanted it. This should teach me to go against my instincts (which was to pop into the hair salon I loved) and follow other people's recommendations. The last hair-raising experience I had when someone recommended my a place was that I ended up feeling like my hair was getting burned off my scalp (I had a reaction to the dye). This time around, I end up with a hairdo which is a cross between the hairstyle I had when I was 5 (I know I have that picture somewhere) and the retard-bangs I sported in the first year of uni (who remembers this???). In short, I hate it. I HATE IT!!!! FML.

My haircut looks something like this-- only less cute. The fringe is shorter.

I'm just hoping in these 2 weeks leading up to my graduation my hair will have lengthened sufficiently for me to go fix it at MY salon, in time for my graduation ceremony on the evening of the 6th of May (so I won't be stuck with stupid hair on the day I'll be conferred my degree). If they can't fix it permanently, I want them to make it look temporarily elegant. Sigh. Why do I get myself into these silly predicaments?

Weapons of Mass Consumption

If people are products of their environment, then surely all of us are somewhat influenced by our consumerist culture.

So here's a link that might make you think twice about buying those new pair of shoes, or that shiny new laptop. Watch it! It's cute, informational (even if a little preachy), and ultimately, optimistic! Watch The Story of Stuff.

There is some truth to what this Annie's saying. I do think people are less happy today. After all, keeping up with them Joneses is kinda stressful. If I'm honest, the only path to my happiness is to have accomplished my goals and be worry-free. But you know...when you can't accomplish your goals, you sometimes look elsewhere for a temporary high. Shopping is that fix for me. No more. No more.

(Classics don't count right? Or vintage? It's RECYCLING!)

p/s: Brownie points for those who can identify where I paraphrased my title from!

Because I Love the Alphabet

Or perhaps because I am a sadist...Muahahaha! It's more likely though, that I am a masochist-- I've been working pretty much non-stop for 12 hours. Darn fever isn't helping. Also, my mum just fed me some very dubious beef. If I get a stomach ache because of that, I'm gonna be hella pissed! But enough of that. Here's how I'm distracting myself...(Read on if you, too, love the torture of going through a wall of words. Wooooordsssss!)

<sub>A
- Available: No

- Age: Almost 24. Darnit!

- Annoyance: Oh soooo many! Main pet peeve(s): people who love to argue in order to appear more intelligent, ignorant people who don't seek to be enlightened

- Allergies: shellfish, fur...

- Animal: Yes! Rowrrr! Oh. Favourite animal? I love so many tho! Ok, let's see, cats, horses (shetland ponies and arabians, yum!), snow leopards, panthers, tigers, dolphins, the Resplendent Quetzal

- Actor: Is this a unisex word now? I'm always so out of it. Female: Cate Blanchett, Kate Winslet, Liz Taylor, Audrey Hepburn. Male: Daniel Craig, Heath Ledger, Jude Law, Clive Owen

B
- Beer: Nope.

- Birthday/Birthplace: 23rd April 1985, K.L

- Best Friends: My beta and future bonkbuddy. Yup. I said it.

- Body Part on opposite sex: Abs! Strong jawline! That V-shaped swimmer body! And maybe...muscular calves?

- Best feeling in the world: Feeling accomplished

- Blind or Deaf: Selective hearing

- Best weather: Tropical countries - torrential downpour (if you're inside the house); Seasonal climates - late spring/early summer

- Been in Love: Ya-hah

- Been bitched out?: Yep.

- Been on stage?: Yep.

- Believe in yourself?: HELLS YEAH!

- Believe in life on other planets: Yes. No. Maybe? Yes! I don't know...

- Believe in miracles: Would love to

- Believe in Magic: I want to

- Believe in God: Yes

- Believe in Satan: Yep

- Believe in Santa: No. Darn Santa never gave me presents anyway. *pouts*

- Believe in Ghosts/spirits: Yeah. Especially horny djinns impregnating female humans while they're sleeping. Creeepy...

- Believe in Evolution: They make a pretty compelling argument.

C
- Car: I'd have to say...Mini Cooper S.

- Candy: No! Chocolateeee!

- Colour: I love all colours! Current fave: Yellow!

- Cried in school: Yeah...

- Chocolate/Vanilla: Chocolate of course!!

- Chinese/Mexican: Oh darn...I'd say Mexican, only coz I haven't had any in a while

- Cake or pie: Cake. Cake! Mmm...Did someone say BIRTHDAY???

- Countries to visit: Soooo maaaany! Current wanderlusts: Japan (Kyoto, Tokyo, some idyllic villages), India (Rajasthan), Italy, Spain, Norway, Belgium, Holland, US (New York!!!)

D
- Day or Night: Used to be nocturnal, but nowadays, I'm loving the sunlight :)

- Dream vehicle: Oooh oooh! The personal plane with foldable wings, or the Air Jelly (which they should TOTALLY make into cabs!)

- Danced: HELLS YEA!! Imma put my ballet shoes on when I arrive in NZ!

- Dance in the rain?: Lol, yea. But not as good as this guy!

- Dance in the middle of the street?: Danced, played, laid...childhood. Good times.

- Do the splits?: Yeah...not anymore tho...will work on it.

E
- Eggs: Yum! Scrambled, omelettes and bulls-eye

- Eyes: Dark brown

- Everyone has: a talent?

- Ever failed a class?: Never

F
- First crush: Hmmm...Prince Philip in Sleeping Beauty. He STILL makes my knees wobbly!

- Full name: Aiiihhh...Wan Noor Diyana Bt. Wan Mohammad Alam. Yeah. I have to write THAT in exams.

- First thoughts waking up: 5 more minutes...just....5 more..minutes...zzzzzzz

- Food: You can't ask this to Malaysians. Seriously. I HEART ALL.

G
- Greatest Fear: Failure

- Giver or taker: Taker...working on the giving. Really, I am.

- Goals: I'd rather keep this private. For now.

- Gum: Bubba Yum! Wait, was that what it's called?

- Get along with your parents?: Sure! Most days :D

- Good luck charms: None.

H
- Hair Colour: Dark brown/Black?

- Height: grrr...this question is height-ist.

- Happy: Delighted! Jubilant! Oh, this isn't 'find-the-synonyms'?

- Holidays: HAAARI RAAAAAYAAAAAA!!!! *sings Raya tunes*

- How do you want to die: Swiftly. Painlessly. Happily. Accomplished.

- Health freak?: Unfortunately, no...I'm trying to be more healthy tho! Promise!

- Hate: Physical, emotional or mental abuse. Human cruelty confounds me.

I
(In guys if you're a girl/In girls if you're a guy)
- Eye colour: Green...mmm...

- Hair Colour: Doesn't really matter. I have yet to see a guy who can pull off red hair tho.

- Height: Since I'm short, I'd prefer men to be *much* taller than me, but hey, life isn't a plan.

- Clothing Style: Stylishly disheveled or classically clean-cut

- Characteristics: Witty, intelligent, companionable, compassionate, reliable

- Ice Cream: Is this still about guys?? Em...I'm gonna say choc mint or...hokey pokey. Wait. I forgot that very Kiwi flavour. Hokey cokey? Darnit.

- Instrument: still not about guys right? Piano. Some guitar. Would love to try the violin.

J
- Jewelry: classic or statement pieces...oooh...*has magpie complex*

K
- Kids: Two? Three?

- Kickboxing or karate: I think my guy would like me to say karate...

- Keep a journal?: Nope. Tried (as in attempted, and failed).

L
- Longest Car Ride: 11 hours?

- Love: People in my social network :)

- Letter: I <3>M
- Milk flavour: Fresh milk. And chocolate.

- Movie: Oh nooo...soooo maaaany!!! Eternal Sunshine, Gattaca, Memento, Marie Antoinette, Juno, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, etc etc...

- Mooned anyone?: No. My life is incomplete.

- Marriage: December. And June ('10).

- Motion sickness?: Fortunately, not yet. Hopefully not ever.

- McD's or BK: BK

N
- Number of Siblings: 2

- Number of Piercings: 2

- Number: 1, 3, 9, 23

O
- Overused Phrases: Omg, lol, hi, dunno

- One wish: To be published. To finish a novel and have it not suck. Oh wait, is that two? Oops..

- One phobia: Roach-phobia *heebeejeebies*

P
- Place you'd like to live: So many! Italy, France or Spain...or a Greek island...

- Pepsi/Coke: Neither.

Q
- Quail: Bird

- Questionnaires: Question

R
- Reason to cry: It's too much to hold inside

- Reality T.V.: Guilty pleasure, esp. those game shows (Project Runway, Stylista, ANTM). Oh. And The Hills. Yea yea, I like it ok!

- Radio Station: Not really a radio person.

- Roll your tongue in a circle?: Had to practise it, but yes!

S
- Song: Too many! And it changes depending on mood/occasion

- Sushi: OMG, yummmm

- Skipped school: Fo sho (even got warning letter! I feel so...wild!)

- Slept outside: Camping counts?

- Seen a dead body?: Yes. Funerals. News.

- Smoked?: Once. To try.

- Skinny dipped?: Not yet...

- Shower daily?: Definitely.

- Sing well?: Probably not, but do I caaaaare?

- In the shower?: Sleep. Sing. Dance.

- Swear?: Only when I'm fucking pissed off.

- Stuffed Animals?: Nope. Does a stuffed rugby ball pillow count?

- Single/Group dates: Group dates are weird...aren't they? I'd rather PDA in front of friends. Hahaha!

- Strawberries/Blueberries: Oooh..never had fresh blueberries, so I'll say strawberries. Favourites are black cherries tho. Mmmm..

- Scientists need to invent: Ok. Scientists. You listing this down? 1) Time machine, 2) Wormhole pathway thingamabob, 3) Rayguns, 4) Cyborgs (that won't kill us), 5) the Fountain of Youth, 6) Faster-than-Light travel, 7)...

T
- Time for bed: when I have work: 11-12; when not working 3-4 am

- Thunderstorms: Loooove

- Touch your tongue to your nose?: No...

U
- Unpredictable: I suppose so...

- Under the influence?: Of Awesomenessss? Or my fever? Then I'd have to say yes. To both!

- Understanding?: Sometimes...

V
- Vegetable you hate: PEAS!! They're not even veges..they're like..green poop pellets.

- Vegetable you love: Lots! Including, but not limited to, carrots, spinach, pucuk paku, cauliflower, onions, tomatos (it's a vege!! and a fruit!!), chillis...

- Vacation spot: Places on my wanderlust list

W
- Weakness: Ice Queen-ness

- When you grow up: I hope to be contented and happy (jubilant! ebullient!)

- Which one of your friends acts the most like you: Em...none really...

- Who makes you laugh the most: My beta

- Worst feeling: Betrayal...being ostracised...failing...

- Wanted to be a model?: Yeah...is there a petite modelling agency somewhere? :P

- Where do we go when we die: I'm not sure. Our body returns to earth. And that's all I'm certain of.

- Worst weather: Rain in winter.

- Walk with a book on your head?: No...

X
- X-Rays: For medical examinations?

Y
-Year it is now: 2009

-Yellow: Bright and beautiful!

Z
- Zoo animal: Love 'em. Tho the ones here in Malaysia are a little scrawny...poor things...

- Zodiac sign: Chinese - Ox, Western - Taurus (double bulls yeah. No wonder I'm stubborn.)


Wowwww! I finished it! This was a good procrastination technique! Will be doing it again. Till next meme!
xoxo~</sub>

In Which I Scare Myself

So.

Some of you may have notice my recent hiatus in blogging. In the grand scheme of things, the world continues, on-course, same as it ever was (war, poverty, economic downturn, orbiting the sun). But here, I will put my narcissistic mask back on and pretend that the world revolves around me, and that you have missed my blog posts. :P

Here's the DL (down-low, E! Online speak) of what's been goin' on:

1) I have been dumped by a friend. I will expand more on that, if I feel like it, in future posts. In sum, if he/she feels like he/she needs to sever our friendship due to a minor miscommunication + a clash of egos + bad behaviour (on my part, I admit), then he/she probably has harboured some resentment/dissatisfaction with me for quite a while, and this is merely the straw that broke his/her back. In that case, I will say: Adieu, my friend. It was nice knowing you. All the best to you.

And I mean it. I only wish everyone I know, love and cherish every happiness in this world, and if he/she is better off without being my friend, then so be it. I will not partake in dragging any person down.

2) I went to an interview with a big firm/corporation. How did it go? Other than feeling like a squid on a bbq grill, fine I suppose. I did the assessment to the best of my ability, managed to control my nerves enough to fake my way through an otherwise uncomfortable interview. I don't know what exactly made me feel like I was sitting on the devil's throne...maybe their direct (read: no-nonsense) style of questioning, bombarding me with toughies such as "Give me an example when you were a leader", "Give me an example when you failed as a leader", "Have you ever missed a deadline", "What are your weaknesses?", "How would you handle this situation?" and "Explain in your own words what [insert industry] is all about". Phew! After 1.5 hrs of that, I was just ready to put my feet up and sigh the interview away.

Anyway, according to another friend, H, knowing a certain girl in the corporation (hence referred to as 'The Darling', because really, she IS the darling of the firm) should give me huge brownie points. Man, I certainly hope so. I want any points I can get! Plus, if I get in, I get to goad H about getting to see The Darling more often than he does :D

3) I have just calculated that if I want to complete my current ongoing project before I leave for my graduation ceremony, I need to work at the staggering pace of 10 pages per day. 10 pages!! PER DAY! I don't know if I can do that. Not only do I have to research those 10 pages, I'll need to type it up, insert figures, pictures, tables, references, and come up with the Self-Check Questions and Learning Activities!

I will console myself by factoring in some more figures: I have 24 hours in a day, 18 of which I will spend awake (er...). Out of that 18 hours, 15 of those I will spend by BEING PRODUCTIVE (errrrr....) That makes it 1 page per every 1.5 hours! That's...somewhat more manageable. Isn't it? ISN'T IT???

4) I just remembered...I have ANOTHER project. Data entry. D'oh! What am I going to dooooo...

5) Obviously, with all these other deadlines looming over my head, I will have to put The Story on the back burner.

...Who am I kidding? I'll probably end up scribbling away in my little notebook and forget all about those Paid Projects. Goshdarnit.

Scenes and Songs (o' Sicknasty Songs!)

As my blog is littered with Youtube videos, I suppose it’s no surprise when I admit I am something of a Youtube fiend. Youtube is my numero uno reference source, alongside the ubiquitous Wikipedia of course. I live on Youtube. I watch Jonathan Ross interviews, sing along to Estonian Lolita-Goths, and even watch some anime online.

Most of the time, I’m listening to music I don’t currently have—or more precisely, music I WANT but don’t have. Either I have yet to buy the CD, or…er…I haven’t bought the songs off iTunes. Just because I italicized it doesn’t mean I’m hinting at something. I just like italics sometimes…*shifty eyes*

I love music. I *heart heartiliciously heart* music. I am not a very religious person, but every time I hear an epic song, it’s like an intensely religious experience. It’s like having your senses heightened and then being elevated onto a higher plane. It’s through scores of notes that I feel closest to The Creator, and thank him for that profound experience. I am not usually a sensitive person—I don’t cry at sad scenes in a movie; I don’t cry even when girlfriends decide to pull a Mean Girl on me; but I can shed bucket loads of tears at the philharmonics orchestra—I even cry watching the Firebird Suite off of Youtube (that end bit always kills me!).

I suppose it’s no accident that 4 out of the 9 Greek muses happen to manipulate songs, and the ‘Chief Muse’, Calliope, is the Muse of Epic Song. How many of us have been inspired by the songs we hear? In my case, I ‘see’ the songs—I imagine scenes painted by the harmony of notes—I see adventures, I see life, I see wars, I see death (and all his friends), I get goosebumps. Imagine if I had synaesthesia! That would be awesome actually.

Thus, is it any surprise that the songs I love most (and inspires me most) are mostly classicals and movie theme songs? So here is an homage to my personal muses! (Prepare for onslaught of Youtube vids)

Arise: E.S. Posthumus: Deciphered [upcoming album]

[Also listen to: Unstoppable, Nara]


Firebird Suite: Igor Stravinsky: Disney's Fantasia 2000

Tell me your heart sang at 7:10!
[Also listen to: The Rite of Spring; Watch The Man conduct]

One of my most influential muses: Muse! (Band's name makes so much sense...)
Stockholm Syndrome: Muse: Absolution

That outro is siiiiick! Seriously, among the Things to do Before You Die: WATCH MUSE LIVE!
[Also listen to: Assassin, Hysteria, Muscle Museum, Newborn, Sunburn, Screenager, Falling Away With You, etc. etc.]

And finally, Sigur Ros!
Njosnavelin: Sigur Ros: The Brackets/Parentheses Album ()

See how everyone's all silent and transfixed? Oh my lord, this has to be one of the most ethereal/dreamy/unreal song in existence! I absolutely love the whole cello bow on guitar thing.
[Also listen to: Gobbledigook, Hoppipolla, Staralfur, etc. etc.]

Whoa. My posts are turning into novellas. Well, hope you peeps were inspired! I'm off to write battle scenes. Wop wop!

Go Fly, Go Fly...

If my posts on labour and deliveries didn't creep you out enough, here's a good dose of freaky that will remedy that.

Enter Kerli (Care-lee) Koiv-- the Lolita-Goth girl from Estonia. Love the song, love her style...I even love the video!

WATCH IT!!



Feel it, and breathe it, believe it, and you'll be walking on air...

Anybody notice how she sounded like Bjork in the bridge?

Also, did she say: go fry?

I was thinking of being all healthy today, Kerli...but if you insist, I will go fry some fish.

Ease into Midwifery

It began, as most adventures do, with an unassuming situation. The hospital my aunt was in didn’t allow members of the opposite sex to sleepover with the patient. You’d think since my aunt was tremendously pregnant and starting to have contractions they’d allow the husband to stay over—after all, they’ve already had that special hug. That’s why my aunt was in there in the first place!

But no, the hospital was adamant about their (outdated) policy, so my aunt asked me to accompany her in the hospital instead. I was the best person for this job, as I am, by most accounts, a glorified bum. My mum decided she’d go with me—I think she wasn’t confident that I would be able to handle an emergency situation. I concur.

As usual, I packed enough for a week-long camping trip. I’d like to think there was a good reason for it…

…Of course! I needed to exercise these biceps! Look at them guns…*flex flex*

Anyway, I worked out all the way to my aunt’s ward that by the time I reached it I was tired, sleepy and ready for bed. However, as usual, hospital wards resemble the Arctic, like they were actively trying to reinvent themselves as an Ice Wonderland. It made me regret not packing my winter coat. Mama and me camped out on a small strip of mat and tried to keep warm, but to no avail. (A/n: I know it’s ‘and I’, grouchy grammarians)

After a while, my aunt came to my rescue, because she scooted over and let me sleep with her on the bed, which was far warmer than the floor. Although really, she only did that because she wanted me to massage her back whenever she had a contraction. They were coming in quick and strong. It was 4am by this time, and the last time a nurse checked her dilation, it was 1230am. It was 2cm at the time—the same as it has been since 11am the previous day; the same, even though she had been given a shot to induce the labour. The nurse had given her a shot to ‘relax’ her after that—apparently so she could sleep. Obviously it didn’t work. It was 4am and her contractions were less than a minute apart. Like anyone could sleep through that.

My aunt became more restless. I soon became masseuse-cum-hot pack warmer. I think I was good at both. After a while, we called the nurse in—my mum was under the impression that such frequent contractions meant something. I wouldn’t know. I was expecting lots of screaming as a marker that delivery was on the way, and my aunt was definitely not doing that. When the nurse checked her dilation again (a procedure which got my aunt’s legs shaking), it was already 5cm. 2cm past the point where they can administer an epidural. 2cm more than my aunt bargained for. 2cm closer to panic.

My aunt tried to negotiate for the epidural, but the nurse laughed (kindly) and told her that by the time the anaesthetist arrived, she would have already given birth. She was wheeled into the labour room. 10-20 minutes later, she was already fully dilated and pushing. I was in there for a while, but as soon as her hubby showed up I was unceremoniously kicked out. Another one of those charming ‘hospital policy/procedure’. I opted to eavesdrop instead.

There were the sounds of the two nurses cheering her: ‘Push, push, very good, Lin…now a little more!’; there was the sound of the clanking of the bed rails; sometimes the approving grunts of the doctor. The only sound missing was my aunt screaming in agony. She didn’t even give a little groan, or so much as a whimper! Aiyo, no drama at all lah.

And then the doctor said, ‘Take the baby’. The baby screamed. My mother cried. The baby was born, alive and kicking and announcing it’s presence to the world.

Welcome baby Julia! We’ll hang out soon, my littlest cousin.

The Ex-Box

Interestingly, the only awkward breakup I ever had is with someone I never dated in the first place!

Now he wants to do the whole 'breakup box' thing. *sigh*

Also, we currently communicate with each other using backhanded insults and not-too-subtle sarcastic comments. A far cry from the days when he was the sweetest person ever and brought me lamb shank at midnight. Of course, at the time, he was trying to get into my pants. Or wanted a serious relationship with me, though what am I to make of his comments about wanting to impregnate me to have kids with me? He also kept telling me that he wanted to marry me. Are flings allowed to say that?

I think there needs to be a Rulebook for Flings. Iron-clad regulations that ensure flings don't transition into more serious territories-- like an actual relationship.

Mood: Resigned

Because Yesterday was Valentine's...

Here's my present to you! I give you...

The calf aptly named 'Heart'

Isn't it cute? How precious is it to have a calf marked with a heart? Actually, I feel a deep connection to anything with heart-shaped birthmarks, only because I have one on my calf. Wait, I just realised-- a calf called Heart, a heart on my calf. This is getting strange...

Anyway, just because baby animals (or really, baby anything) inspire 'awww', I will give you more! (Did that rhyme?) Here are some of my favourites:

What long legs you have Mooseys! (am jealous)

I'll take the flowers! And the red panda too!

Where did you get them ickle boots Piggy? You must tell me the name of the store!

Hope everyone had a lovely Valentine's!

xoxo

Work and Other Cheerier Subjects

I haven’t updated in a while, and I have a very good reason for it!

I’ve been sick of words.

Seriously. I started work last week, and it involved me reading up to fifty articles (that’s 5-0!) all in the same pompous academic tone, write the introductory chapter to the research paper in a similar manner (like an assignment, it’s upwards of 2500 words), and worse, editing a 10,000 word chapter written by somebody else.

Now, even though I am sort of a good editor (which is why I'm always made editor in college/ university), I actually hate it. I hate that people make grammar/ spelling/ punctuation mistakes, muck up their referencing, write non-cohesive paragraphs and/or incongruous content, and I am the one who has to straighten that mess out.

Let’s just say an editor is the equivalent of a cleaner/janitor in the supermarket. “Clean up in Paragraph 2, Sentence 3!”

The worst part? Right now I get sanitation engineer’s pay too. If I don’t get paid in the ballpark of the market value soon, imma find other clients—people who are a bit more generous to their employees.

That said, I hope my current employer is happy with my work. I worked hard. I don’t think people realise this about me, but I am sort of a perfectionist and/or obsessive when it comes to my work. It makes it a little harder and takes me a little longer than other people, I suppose, but I never really knew how to do a half-assed job. I tried several times to just let it go in university (when it came to assignments), but no matter how I whined and threatened to fail my course, I always ended up holing myself up in the room for upwards of three days, working feverishly from day to night to complete the (admittedly, one-month) assignment. So, I’m super happy to have completed this one, but…you know…it won’t be long till the next project comes in. I’m really gonna have a chat with that lecturer. Seriously. I know why other people charge 200 bucks per page.

In other news, I died watching Count of Monte Cristo. Having never read the book, the entire story was novel to me, and I enjoyed every moment, every plot twist, every deceit and syllable. Maybe I am too effusive with my praise—but really, it’s been a while since I watched an adventure like this one. I want more adventure! More tales with pirates and prisoners, swordfights and betrayals! Seriously, the way he went Black Ops is so freaking cool! And the scars on his back: jarring! And the last swordfight scene: wickedly epic! I really just needed to watch this kind of high fantasy storytelling.

Mood: Inspired
[Source: Anagram Bookshop Ad]

Blame it on the Estradiol

A study conducted by Dr. Kristina Durante and her team from the University of Texas at Austin found the following:

Women with high levels of an oestrogen known as estradiol:
1) look and feel prettier
2) dress more provocatively and engage in more thrill-seeking behaviour
3) reported a greater likelihood of flirting, kissing and having a serious affair with someone other than their primary partner
4) engage in opportunistic serial monogamy (i.e. open to affairs and moving on to a higher-quality mate should the opportunity arise)

Until I read that article, I had always blamed my inclination for having flings and jumping out of airplanes on increased testosterone levels…or maybe a lapse in sound mental judgement.

But now I can blame it on a female hormone—thereby making me feel less masculine and more in touch with my feminine side. My cleavage baring tops, my serial-dating…my vanity…I can blame it on Estradiol. Oh how I love new scapegoats!

Post-script:
Note to the boyfriend: Having done extensive research on the male population, I have concluded that you alone are the perfect one for me. So you can stop being jealous/upset/sad now! Mmmuahh!

Attractive Girls Union

This makes so much sense!

Guys, take note! As a member of the AGU *ahem* I cannot stress the importance of all the demands outlined by our Union Leader-Goddess.

Oh darn, they spotted my Uggs! Ruuuun!

Time Warp

There is nothing as pointless as 'Time Warp', that show on Discovery channel where they show things happening in slow motion. I mean, I like slow-mo as the next person, but...a whole show on it? Half an hour of slowing down drops of water or a slap across the face?

I'm guessing they had to pay for those expensive cameras one way or another and decided, hey! Let's make a show about it!

Gah.

Does My Head look Like a Zorb-ball?

'Coz it feels like one! Or rather, like a weighted one-tonne ball they use for demolition. You know that one? THAT'S WHAT MY HEAD FEELS LIKE! Ow.

Despite the fact that nobody likes a rambling sick person talking ramblingly about their illness, I am going to do so anyway. Besides, people probably don't understand the overwhelming urge for less-than-healthy persons to indulge in verbal diarrhoea. And since I'm ill and y'all out there are happy, healthy and wise, you can muster some sympathy and lend your ears (eyes) to my plight.

You know how when you're ill it's like you regress back into childhood and sometimes all the way back into babyhood? You're vulnerable and slow and dependent on others. You're given non-solids, like porridge (which I love) and sleep 16 hours a day. Actually, that's a lie. I sleep way more than that, once passing out for TWO days on my friend's bed because she had an electric blanket and my room felt like a freezer (Thanks, Az!). On top of that, your eyes are constantly teary and snot freeflows down your nose (too much information?). I wish this virus would just leave me alone.

Moving on. Why have I not been updating as of late, you ask.

1) I've been job-hunting instead.
It's been a pretty productive week or so. Thus far, I am focusing on freelancing, and thankfully I have secured TWO jobs now. Woop! I start Monday.

2) I've been procrastinating.
Self-explanatory. I'm the self-proclaimed Queen of Procrastination. I was only doing what I do best.

3) I've been doubting myself.
I wish I could attribute the recent hiatus in activity to writer's block (yes, that convenient scapegoat all writer's inadvertently blame), but I think I can be more honest than that. I can credit it to self-doubt. And fear. I have been paralyzed by the fear that I don't have any thoughts of importance. I doubted my own ability to string a couple of words together. Some of you must think, all this self-doubt over a blog? But it isn't just about the blog. It's about my personal project: a novel in the works. I want nothing more than to complete it.

The world is a strangely lonely place. Even with 6.7 billion people crawling about the planet, one can feel so isolated and detached. It gets even lonelier when even your faith in yourself leaves you.

So, I've decided not to be too harsh on myself. I'm not exactly sure how to do that, but the way I see it, I stand to lose more just being paralyzed by fear than if I just followed through and then fixed the faults. Also, emo-ness just doesn't become me.

And now, for some reason I think Red Bull might be the panacea for my flu. Mmm...Red Bull Bulleh! (Lol, the Malaysian tagline always cracks me up. Always.) Someone give me wings!

Star Wars: Retold

I love Star Wars.

However, I might just love recounts of the Star Wars movie(s) even more!

Here's one told from the POV of a (deprived) chica who has never seen any of the original trilogy but insists she knows the gist of it.


Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it) from Joe Nicolosi on Vimeo.

I might just love what Joe did on Final Cut even more than the actual retelling. Yay for animation!

And here's a retelling of the first original Star Wars film (Star Wars IV) as told by a precocious 3-year old.



She is precious! My ovaries are singing praises!

Now where's my light-up sword?

Strawberry Swing

If this song was a tangible object, I'd totally do it. 

STRAW-berr-y SWING. 

Two delicious words. I love strawberries. I love the swing. Heck, I love to swing. Nah, jokes (or am I?) 

Rolling Stone pegged Coldplay's strange guitar sounds (unsure of actual instrument) as a 'North Pacific Japanese lilt' -- but all I hear is the enthusiasm (and influence) of the Irish in it. 

I feel like tap-dancing and whirling around giddily (kinda like how Kate & Leo did in that steerage party on Titanic). 

Yes, Chris Martin, it's such a perfect day! :)

Dancer in the Dark: The Tear-Jerker that Threatened to Wrench My Heart Clean out of My Chest

I love Bjork. I realise most people think she's a tad odd, if not completely off her rocker, but I love her for it! She is true to her art and has a style that is inimitable and completely her own. But I had pegged her as that artiste with the weird videoclips and haunting voice and certainly did not expect her to be able to act at all, much less in an emotionally demanding drama like the ones Lars von Trier is so renowned for.

Imagine my surprise when I saw her in this!

If you can't read this, you need an eye test. For reals.

She was able to capture the innocence and simpleness of Selma Jezkova. In fact, she was the embodiment of cute -- I wanted to cup her in my hands and put her in my pocket!

I bet Catherine Deneuve was thinking of the EXACT SAME THING.

I won't spoil the story for you -- I hope you'll find out for yourself. Be warned though, this is: 1) a musical; and 2) one of those movies which people either love or hate; no middle ground.

And now if you excuse me, I have to find the soundtrack to the movie.

Selmasongs: The soundtrack to Dancer in the Dark

Letting Off Steam

When upset, I pull up all the walls around me—a reflexive habit borne out of self-preservation to protect/hide my vulnerable state. I become hardened; cruel; impervious; reducing countless numbers of people to tears with my conduct, including my loved ones. Amendment: especially my loved ones. Among the unfortunates: my parents, siblings, ‘lovers’ (current, former or otherwise) and my closest friends.

They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—I think they meant me.

I transform into a merciless witch only because the alternative is (in my mind) an emotional wreck void of spine or pride. Once I give in, the floodgates open. And everyone knows (and by everyone, I mean myself, and of course, the Sex and the City girls) that once a woman shows her tears they are never again taken seriously. Tears are a sign of weakness, and the only way to avoid that discomfiture is by hardening one’s heart. I am much too proud to be seen as weak.

I realise I am ego-on-legs; the only time I met my match was when I dated a guy whose ego was as large as mine. That made logging heads resemble a WWF match, only I got the courtesy of a handicap (translation: I was allowed to hit, as long as it was above the belt). Verbal abuses flew from our mouths—I never knew I was capable of such vulgarity till then. We were a charming pair who loved as fiercely as we fought. Sadly, our brief affair couldn’t last—though exciting, it was too tempestuous; too volatile. The emotional drama proved to be too draining for me.

So here I am: furious and indignant with my current amour. He lies at the other end of the spectrum: patient and sensible, allowing me time to cool down when I’m being ridiculously hot-headed. I am the little kid who needs time-out to reflect on my thoughts and actions, and he knows it. Even as I write this, my umbrage melts away into something akin to shame.

In the light of sobriety, my initial thoughts/reactions—ignore him for a week, never pick up his calls, give him the wintriest of receptions if I do pick up, break it off—are revealed for what they truly are: IRRATIONAL.

I suppose I will pick up my phone when he calls. I might even sound happy.

Design Spotting

Patricia Urquiola's Lazy Night Bed -- I WANT!

CB2's cheaper alternative -- I'm really into these double headboards!

B&B Italia's Maxalto Armchairs

I love these so much I want to take it behind the middle school and get it PREGNANT!

I suppose I'll either have to get a job which pays ridiculously well to fund these purchases, or...marry up? Maybe Oprah will take pity on me. 

And They Will Say...

So here I am, 3 days prior to my ordained ‘reporting for duty’. I am unsure how to break the news to my other friends; tell them that, no, I won’t be doing it; I refuse! —especially considering a majority of them are in the same predicament. All those ‘reporting for duty’ within this state are supposed to congregate at a specified venue this Monday for a briefing (at an ungodly hour, I might add) — and, if they (The Authorities) were the least bit human, they would hand out joints to lessen the hysterics and anxiousness of my comrades.

So how exactly do I tell my friends that, hey! I made it out, guys. Tough luck for you…but I’m FREE! Free as a bird!

Even in my wildest imagination that doesn’t seem to go down so well. In the past, my seniors have been quick to condemn those who slip away from service. It doesn’t matter if you paid it back, ho, they say, the point is I’m still in this sinkhole of a situation! I can understand their sentiments—I’ve passed on the same judgement to other friends who were braver and luckier than myself and freed themselves much, much earlier.

I can’t even bring myself to just whisper the fact that I won’t be joining their ranks and participate in the camaraderie of being in the frontlines of our education system—not even to my closest friends in college. Although I am ashamed to admit it, I fear their rebuke and judgement. These are my companions—people I have transitioned from adolescence to young adulthood with—the people who know my hopes, my dreams, my fears. They are the ones who’ve had a peek past my frosty exterior, seen me break down, seen me cry. There is more at stake here than a salaried income. I could lose my friends.

But perhaps I’m too quick to abuse them with my trepidation. Maybe they will stand by my decision and, if not actively supporting me, at least taking a step back and allowing me to go in peace. Maybe they will bite back the diatribes at the tip of their tongues and hold back their sentiments, pegging my personal decision to another one of my quirks.

In return, I will be there when they want to feel superior and tell me, Let’s just say I don’t see you shovelling no five hundred unmarked books from your corridor, bitch! And I will applaud them for their bravery, for their unparalleled effort to teach yet another generation of kids resistant to the idea of growing brain cells, and more interested in gunning a host of creatures down via their game consoles.

Good luck, my friends! My ears are all yours (unless they fall off from so much wear, in which case I will allow emails. Only ONE a day!)

To borrow a well-chosen (and wildly popular) closing phrase from our eminent director: I love you all.

Tasty Tobacco: I Want Me Some Flavoured Smoke

They should TOTALLY make shisha ciggies. I'd buy a pack of those. Heck, I'd buy 20 packs, one in every flavour! 

Although apparently smoking shisha is 'more harmful than smoking cigarettes'. 

But ciggies don't taste as good, do they? Seeing as how a hookah is so unwieldy and not quite mobile, I think re-packaging the fragrant fumes could be a good move, not to mention an opportunity to tap into a yet-unexplored market. They could be sold with a long-stemmed cigarette holder, which could double as a receptacle for the water so important in shisha-smoking (apparently a Mughal physician thought tobacco smoke passed through water would be rendered harmless-- I believe him!) 

Lesson #31: How to smoke in style

So which tobacco tycoon is going to produce this highly awesome product for the masses?

Thinking...

Should I sleep now?

Should I just stay up and reset my whack circadian rhythm?

I should read a book. Go through Briefer History of Time again. 

I should be productive today. 

Monday is Productive Day!

Onwards, soldier!

In The Womb: Twins, Triplets and Quads

I forced myself to stay up for this show 'coz I've been wanting to watch it since it debuted on Astro 3 years ago. It was worth it! Here are some of the highlights:

1) Probability of conceiving identical quads - 1:16 000 0000

2) "Identical" twins are not really identical. A.k.a monozygotic twins, they can even be of different sexes! This happens if the fertilized egg carries an XXY chromosome, and during the split, one of the egg loses an X chromosome, while the other loses a Y; leaving it with an XY and an XX chromosome! Amazing!

3) Probability of Asians getting fraternal twins - 1:400; probability of Caucasian Americans conceiving fraternal twins - 1:88; probability of Nigerians getting fraternal twins - 1:25. Do we somehow have an inbuilt network of our ethnicity and its global spread? I mean, it appears as if nature is conspiring to slow down the Chinese from over-reproducing. 

4) You can actually give birth to twins sired by different fathers. Rare, but possible. Just like a litter of pups/kittens. 

5) Mirror-image twins occur when the egg splits late (9 days into conception). By that time, the egg has already decided its' left from right. The twins will have mirror-image sensibilities-- like one would be right-handed, and the other left-handed. Sometimes, even their organs are mirror-images, so one of the twins will have their heart on the right!

6) Womb-behaviour: In multiple births, foetuses in the womb have little real estate to themselves. Sharing a womb, separated only by placenta, chorion or sometimes, nothing, every action carries a reaction. Foetuses display their first social behaviours in the womb through play or touch. 

1. Belly-bullying: In a pair of twins, one of the twins was more aggressive than the other, constantly kicking and hitting out at the other twin. The 'victimized' twin, who is also more passive, will retire to the far end of the placenta and lay its head against it (probably for comfort). 4 years later, whenever a fight breaks out between the twins, the quieter one would retire to the bedroom and lay his head on the pillow. So sad!
   
2. Foetus-play: Another pair of twins liked to caress each other through the chorion and placing their cheeks against each other. Fast-forward to 1 year later, their favourite 'game' is to stand on either side of a thin curtain and caress each other, giggling as they do so. How precious!
   
3. One 4-D ultrasound scan showed a pair of twins sharing an amnion looking like one of the twins was kissing the other! Probably they just got tangled up with each other and the twin bumped his lips into the other's cheeks. Ah well. (Cute) accidents happen. 
   

7) The woman in labour is a rock! She's giving birth to twins and all she's doing is grimacing as they're crowning! WTF?? Oh ok. Now she's groaning. A little. Well. That makes me a little less terrified of the prospect of pushing Object A: an object roughly the size of a bowling ball, through Object B: an opening no larger than a coin slot. 

It's magic I tell you. How else would it be physically possible for the above phenomenon to take place? The miracles of Life. That's what it is. 

Genesis

Today is Sunday, the 4th of January, 2009. I realise I could have read that from the dateline above; I only mention it because the days are drawing ever closer to D-Day.

As schools nationwide open tomorrow, I am forced to face the overwhelming weight of my decision. On the one hand, I am certain this is the right move—I do not have the heart for the vocation offered, nor am I prepared to mediate a system I do not believe in. On the other hand, these are tough times; to turn my back on the promise and security of a consistent pay packet seems like snubbing a divine privilege that have till now intervened in providing me with comfort. I fully expect some form of karmic retribution later in life; in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was smote upon on this sofa right this very moment for sheer impertinence.

…

Phew! Nothing. (Yet).

I have 7 days before I am asked to report for employment.

My future hangs on my decision—I could either be gainfully employed or go against the grain and forge my own path in life.

The last time I had to make a decision, I faltered and let others decide for me. Had I strengthened my resolve and insisted on a different education, I would not be in this precarious position. The fault is entirely mine; I have to own up. Besides, wasn’t it J.K. Rowling who said “…there is an expiry date for blaming parents”?

And here I am again—at crossroads. ‘Overwhelmed’ does not provide an adequate descriptor for my emotional state. ‘Hysterical, nauseated and disoriented’ is a little closer to home, though still not quite apt. My body feels like it is collapsing upon itself, crushing my lungs and constricting airflow, while unbidden tears spring to my eyes (yet again!). Unfortunately, this isn’t an isolated incident—every time I think/talk about a future in this profession not my calling, this happens. During practicum, it occurred with such alarming regularity, I feared I had sunk into a depression so deep I would never be able to see light again. My body itself showed its rejection through numerous ailments, with the result that I had to go back to school for an extra week (when everyone else was done) in order to complete my practicum.

In all honesty, I think my reaction has less to do with my default vocation than it is about the fear that my life is no longer my own. Ever since I put down my signature some six-odd years ago on a piece of contract, I had not been able to make a decision which was entirely my own. I don’t mean those daily choices like choosing a bowl of tomyam over a plate of kuey teow—but decisions like university placement, courses I’d like to take and a major of my own choosing. When I put down my signature, it was like I had sealed my soul with it.

I had put up with this for six years. I hated every single day of it, and hated myself even more for having brought it upon myself. I am not prepared to lose a decade of my life (I am bonded for a minimum of 4 years). I don’t want to regret anything anymore. Regret is possibly the worst feeling in the world—worse still than grief or bereavement. Its that question: What if…; a referent to an alternate outcome had we carved a different path—a path that could have lead to happiness.

I don’t think I can put myself through that again.

And so I’ve decided.

But with this decision comes serious implications. Having never really learnt how to swim, I am now thrown into the deep end, without support, without a lifeline; awash in a sea of uncertainty. I think they call it unemployment. Or maybe it was recession? I am one among many—just another individual seeking employment in a time where jobs are scarce.

I am terrified—and at the same time, exhilarated. The world seems a brighter place; there’s so much to do! so much to see! I could spend my days catching up on Sartre, reading Michio Kaku’s Physics of the Impossible, relearning Japanese, painting, writing (!) while sending out queries about jobs. I will have to intrude on the kindness of my parents for a while longer, but surely they’d prefer their own daughter to the empty shell of one?

Though some people view my decision as a death sentence for my future (oh, ye faithless ones!), I see it as the kiss of life for my dying soul.

Worry not, I will be fine. I am free. I am alive.

The only obligation you have in this life is to be true to yourself.

You are so right, Richard Bach. So right.

Thinking...

Pet Society is addictive. 

Word Challenge is even more addictive.

Ice-Queen Vanquished

I've been bestowed with several titles throughout my years, the most popular of which are variations on the theme 'Ice Queen' or 'Emotional Zombie'.

True, I've never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve—years of being a girl taught me how dangerous it was—but of course I had feelings! Thanks to several traumatic high school dramas, I learnt to bottle up those things called feelings, which was really more nuisance than I’d care to bother with. Besides, I would not allow myself to be associated with something resembling an after-school special during those years full of pubescent angst.

Now however, several years later and free from all that adolescent rage and anguish, I find myself having trouble with these things called feelings. Perhaps I’ve bottled too much of it those 7-odd years that now it’s threatening to explode. In fact, every time I try to suppress an emotion it seems to make things worse. Having no other outlet, the feeling I tried to restrain has nowhere to go except out of my eyeballs.

Thus ends my reign as the notorious Ice-Queen.

I feel so much nowadays, it takes next to nothing to make me cry. I explode into hot angry tears when I’m tired, tear up with rage, shed sympathetic/emphatic tears in movies, and even snivel at songs. Though, it has to be said that those songs…they are very emotional songs. Seriously. For example, who doesn’t cry at Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite? Or to the Schindler’s List theme song performed by fiddler-maestro Itzhak Perlman? Really? You don’t? Are you an EMOTIONAL ZOMBIE?!

I am still proud that I am able to hold a decent conversation without bawling. That has to be commended.

I blame my emotional anarchy on my lineage, particularly my maternal roots. Legend has it my mother once bawled at a commercial. It’s no secret though that she cries at every movie she watches, even crying her eyes out for three hours straight once the credits rolled in that first LotR movie, not stopping even when fixing us Bolognese sauce to go with our spaghetti.

At a family reunion (probably Hari Raya), someone popped in a Hindi movie, and all the women in my family (on my mother’s side) wept together for a good solid two hours plus—all! My aunts, my girl cousins, even my grandma—they were all united in their blubbering solidarity, in the camaraderie of passing the tissue-box around and snivelling together. I have never been a part of that—this emotional rampage is something I gained recently—but now, I too can join in the sniffing and tissue-box pass-the-parcel!

So, pop in that Kabhi Kuchi Kabhi Gham I say, and bring that tub of keropok. Oh yes, and don’t forget that tissue box.

Post-script: See if YOU don’t cry to this song!
Per Te. Performed by Josh Groban.

Thinking...

I shouldn't have gone back to sleep after the alarm went off.

Thinking...

Am I a turning into a dork or is my inner-geek recently surfacing?