I was sent an email of David Becks in the nod today. Assuming its real, I'm not impressed, way too much skin in the way of the goods...
Anyway, in an unrelated story, I may have to invest in a pair of hot pants, print my company logo on the touche and get them all hot and sweaty. The pants that is. As part of our Save the Environment efforts, my company is taking part in the WWF Expedition Challange 2007. Yours truly signed up of course thinking it would make a good substitute to the Amazing Race that never was, but subsequently discovered that laps across the lake and uphill sprints may be involved in full view of gasp...onlookers! Forget stamina, my body is so not ready to be laid eyes on right now!
Anyway, training (TRAINING?!) starts tommorrow at would you believe, 730AM! And that I had to fight for - it was originally 7am! Wish me luck, save the seahorses.
Upstairs at work, the boys on the top floor are playing their little games. Power suits, Zegna shoes and I'm bigger and better than you 'strategies'. They may have silver hair and just as silver BMWs, but they're still back in that playground comparing penis sizes. Meanwhile, I continue to churn out PR fluff.
Have a good weekend folks. Look out for The Edge tommorrow!
Friday, May 11, 2007
Monday, May 07, 2007
E-yes!
Whoever created E Entertainment ought to be given a knighthood in every country the channel is aired.
Yes, yes I know, I really shouldn't be suporting any form of media that encourages the business of the paparazzi. They are a despicable lot but, honestly, aren't these pretty, shiny people just so hard to resist?
The last few nights have been filled with such pleasure. With ZW tucked into bed, I'm snuggling up to a bowl of low fat vanilla ice cream doused with Milo and learning all about Jennifer Aniston Britney Spears, Halle Berry and the like. Last night, I had to turn it off at the Olsen twins - enough is enough.
I wonder what is on tonight...Starworld? What's that?
Yes, yes I know, I really shouldn't be suporting any form of media that encourages the business of the paparazzi. They are a despicable lot but, honestly, aren't these pretty, shiny people just so hard to resist?
The last few nights have been filled with such pleasure. With ZW tucked into bed, I'm snuggling up to a bowl of low fat vanilla ice cream doused with Milo and learning all about Jennifer Aniston Britney Spears, Halle Berry and the like. Last night, I had to turn it off at the Olsen twins - enough is enough.
I wonder what is on tonight...Starworld? What's that?
Recess
Oh how I love the great outdoors.
Before we learned to dress ourselves, before we learned about decking ourselves, before we had technology do it all for us, we had our bodies and our minds and we worked them.
Why do I love climbing so much? It reminds me how to use my brain and my body. It takes me out of 2007 and brings me back to cave days where I had to use my arms and legs and my brain to plot my next move. And with the wrong step, I could die.
Yes, yes, of course there are all sorts of safety catches like ropes and harnesses and carabiners to make sure that doesn't happend, but you know, you get the idea.
I have said this before and I will say it again. I cannot live from one weekend to the other in some shopping mall, in some fancy restaurant, at some cushy little get-together. I cannot do coffees. I will stifle, I will stagnate, I will go mental.
I need to see the sky, I need to smell nature, touch the grit of soil. Be it ski, climb or sea, I just need to be reminded of where I stand in the big, big picture. And I think that if everyone did a bit of outside time in their lives, we would find ourselves alot humbler and happier.
Yesterday, after climbing at the gym, the F8 climbers ventured out to the skateboard park in Shah Alam. They've got some cool boulders and some excellent wall routes there too. When we arrived, we were like little children running around, wanting to try everything at once. The sky was blue, the clouds were amazing, the 'rocks' warm and the setting sun an excellent backdrop for cool rock climbing photography silhouttes. We attempted routes that were far too hard for us, clambering up with no technique, let alone style, stepping on loose holds and swinging out 20 feet in the air. Oh it was fun, it really was refreshing. I think this is something everyone needs to do once in a while - and that is, to PLAY!
Before we learned to dress ourselves, before we learned about decking ourselves, before we had technology do it all for us, we had our bodies and our minds and we worked them.
Why do I love climbing so much? It reminds me how to use my brain and my body. It takes me out of 2007 and brings me back to cave days where I had to use my arms and legs and my brain to plot my next move. And with the wrong step, I could die.
Yes, yes, of course there are all sorts of safety catches like ropes and harnesses and carabiners to make sure that doesn't happend, but you know, you get the idea.
I have said this before and I will say it again. I cannot live from one weekend to the other in some shopping mall, in some fancy restaurant, at some cushy little get-together. I cannot do coffees. I will stifle, I will stagnate, I will go mental.
I need to see the sky, I need to smell nature, touch the grit of soil. Be it ski, climb or sea, I just need to be reminded of where I stand in the big, big picture. And I think that if everyone did a bit of outside time in their lives, we would find ourselves alot humbler and happier.
Yesterday, after climbing at the gym, the F8 climbers ventured out to the skateboard park in Shah Alam. They've got some cool boulders and some excellent wall routes there too. When we arrived, we were like little children running around, wanting to try everything at once. The sky was blue, the clouds were amazing, the 'rocks' warm and the setting sun an excellent backdrop for cool rock climbing photography silhouttes. We attempted routes that were far too hard for us, clambering up with no technique, let alone style, stepping on loose holds and swinging out 20 feet in the air. Oh it was fun, it really was refreshing. I think this is something everyone needs to do once in a while - and that is, to PLAY!
Life Purpose
I knew a long time ago that my life's purpose was to experience everything under the sun. I remember sitting by my window late into the night as Casey Kasem played the 80s and just knowing that life was there to be experienced. And at that point I remember wishing for God to throw me everything he had - good or bad - as long as on my deathbed, I was able to rest knowing, first hand, what things felt like.
At that time, I was about 12 or 13 and the soap opera, Dynasty, was all the rage. I remember wanting to be like Alexis Colby - the bitch with the long list of surnames, because to me, she was someone who had it all - not just the luxuries, but someone who had the power of knowledge. And just like her character, I wanted to live life with all its ups and downs, all its highs and lows. I wanted to know.
And I guess, now, many people may look at my life and think that I have worked myself into a corner. After all, there are not many exit plans for women in their thirties who are divorced with a kid. Who would want her now? Some people look at me with pity - the girl who had so much promise, who ended up in a dead end. It does seem archaic but trust me, KL minds are filled with limited ideals and in reality, I am viewed by the population of prospective mother in laws and bird-brained Asian men as spoiled goods.
But thankfully, I don't think so. Well, I can't because I simply cannot conform to ideals based on what's on the outside. I may be heavier, less pretty and a lot less fashionable now, but I am also alot more mature, grounded and aware than I have ever been. Seen on the inside, I have so much more to say, so much more to contribute and am so much more than before.
I am grateful that I experienced a horrible time in the past. Grateful that I have done the breakups, the cheating boyfriends, the bad marriage, the divorce, the being poor and desperate, the whole out of control thing. They are by no means over, I am sure there is more to come in all forms and fancies, but I welcome them with open arms.
Because not only do I learn from them invaluable lessons, I also know that there are just as many highs to look forward to. And I have had the privelige of loving and being loved, of having choices, of experiencing the beauty of nature, of immense freedom, of priveliged luxury, of intense happiness and above all, of knowing.
And if God came to me today and asked me what I wanted, after the svelte body, the huge bank account, the God-like boyfriend and the roomful of beautiful children, I would still ask for him to throw me whatever he had - hopefully more good than bad, but still the good and the bad.
At that time, I was about 12 or 13 and the soap opera, Dynasty, was all the rage. I remember wanting to be like Alexis Colby - the bitch with the long list of surnames, because to me, she was someone who had it all - not just the luxuries, but someone who had the power of knowledge. And just like her character, I wanted to live life with all its ups and downs, all its highs and lows. I wanted to know.
And I guess, now, many people may look at my life and think that I have worked myself into a corner. After all, there are not many exit plans for women in their thirties who are divorced with a kid. Who would want her now? Some people look at me with pity - the girl who had so much promise, who ended up in a dead end. It does seem archaic but trust me, KL minds are filled with limited ideals and in reality, I am viewed by the population of prospective mother in laws and bird-brained Asian men as spoiled goods.
But thankfully, I don't think so. Well, I can't because I simply cannot conform to ideals based on what's on the outside. I may be heavier, less pretty and a lot less fashionable now, but I am also alot more mature, grounded and aware than I have ever been. Seen on the inside, I have so much more to say, so much more to contribute and am so much more than before.
I am grateful that I experienced a horrible time in the past. Grateful that I have done the breakups, the cheating boyfriends, the bad marriage, the divorce, the being poor and desperate, the whole out of control thing. They are by no means over, I am sure there is more to come in all forms and fancies, but I welcome them with open arms.
Because not only do I learn from them invaluable lessons, I also know that there are just as many highs to look forward to. And I have had the privelige of loving and being loved, of having choices, of experiencing the beauty of nature, of immense freedom, of priveliged luxury, of intense happiness and above all, of knowing.
And if God came to me today and asked me what I wanted, after the svelte body, the huge bank account, the God-like boyfriend and the roomful of beautiful children, I would still ask for him to throw me whatever he had - hopefully more good than bad, but still the good and the bad.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Overdose
Is it age or beauty? I think for me its beauty. I don't mind growing old as long as I am forever beautiful.
Yesterday I went a bit crazy at the pharmacist. My Mum introduced me to Millenium Pharmacy in Taman Mega that gives really good discounts on vitamins, sometimes as much as 25% off the prices marked in places like Guardian. Using that as a licence to splurge, I did.
I am on calcium, vitamin C, red clover blossoms, spirulina and vitamin E supplements in addition to a new Multivite with added B complex as well as Dermareen, an Imedeen-type supplement. Did I mention I like doing things in extreme?
This morning at 4am, I woke up with pains of burning indigestion in the back of my throat. I had swallowed 6 pills before going to sleep and my body was evidently screaming in rebellion. This was a mere 5 hours after I swallowed a previous 8. And let me add that these pills are not small - the Multivite looks like a large black beetle on steroids.
The whole idea is to space out the vitamins for enhanced absorption. I am due for 8 this morning but just can't seem to stomach it - the indigestion is still screaming its way further down my esophagus.
I mean, how nerdy can you get? OD-ing on vits...
Yesterday I went a bit crazy at the pharmacist. My Mum introduced me to Millenium Pharmacy in Taman Mega that gives really good discounts on vitamins, sometimes as much as 25% off the prices marked in places like Guardian. Using that as a licence to splurge, I did.
I am on calcium, vitamin C, red clover blossoms, spirulina and vitamin E supplements in addition to a new Multivite with added B complex as well as Dermareen, an Imedeen-type supplement. Did I mention I like doing things in extreme?
This morning at 4am, I woke up with pains of burning indigestion in the back of my throat. I had swallowed 6 pills before going to sleep and my body was evidently screaming in rebellion. This was a mere 5 hours after I swallowed a previous 8. And let me add that these pills are not small - the Multivite looks like a large black beetle on steroids.
The whole idea is to space out the vitamins for enhanced absorption. I am due for 8 this morning but just can't seem to stomach it - the indigestion is still screaming its way further down my esophagus.
I mean, how nerdy can you get? OD-ing on vits...
Thursday, May 03, 2007
For the last time, I'm fine.
Really, I am.
I did think long and hard about blogging about this, but then again, there really isn't anything to hide. Yes, its not always in good taste to comment about past relationships and air dirty laundry, but then again, that's not what I'm doing at all.
ExH remarried last weekend. Yes, it is a little awkward, I must admit. Especially so soon. A little like having an out of body experience because, well, he has only been married once before and that was to me, so it does take a little getting used to. But to those of you who look at me questioningly when the topic is raised or try to find surpressed sorrow beneath my smiles, there really isn't anything there, I assure you. And the more you look, the more it makes me question myself that perhaps there ought to be, which tends to make me look more guilty, when really, I am fine! Really, really, really!
I cannot say I wish them unwell, nor do I wish them well either. I really have no take on the issue - and don't read into that comment as if I've subconsciously numbed myself to reality because I haven't. I am the most un-numb I have been in a loooong time. And that's for you to believe or not, because it really doesn't bother me.
I only wish them luck, for I know every marriage needs a bit of that.
My only negative concerns in my life right now are my weight (as usual) and strangely enough, my climbing (that seems to have lost a bit of its fierceness lately). Yes, it's that trivial - my last post will certainly corroborate this. Actually, there is one more thing -but that one relates to a relationship with someone very close to my heart - someone from another life altogether whom I am sure will be the subject of another post to come.
So really, when it comes to this wedding, I am fine. My ex-mother in law has asked me out to tea this weekend to 'chat'. I really would rather not go. I don't see why I need to subject myelf to an hour of explanations. I really don't need them. It's in the past and nothing she can possibly say will make any difference. I have healed and rebuilt foundations by myself, with the help of my inner circle, and that's all done.
So, please don't question the point of this post. No, it's not to convince myself that I am fine either. It's to just say, please stop looking at me like that. And that's the final say on that matter. Let's move on! Next!
I did think long and hard about blogging about this, but then again, there really isn't anything to hide. Yes, its not always in good taste to comment about past relationships and air dirty laundry, but then again, that's not what I'm doing at all.
ExH remarried last weekend. Yes, it is a little awkward, I must admit. Especially so soon. A little like having an out of body experience because, well, he has only been married once before and that was to me, so it does take a little getting used to. But to those of you who look at me questioningly when the topic is raised or try to find surpressed sorrow beneath my smiles, there really isn't anything there, I assure you. And the more you look, the more it makes me question myself that perhaps there ought to be, which tends to make me look more guilty, when really, I am fine! Really, really, really!
I cannot say I wish them unwell, nor do I wish them well either. I really have no take on the issue - and don't read into that comment as if I've subconsciously numbed myself to reality because I haven't. I am the most un-numb I have been in a loooong time. And that's for you to believe or not, because it really doesn't bother me.
I only wish them luck, for I know every marriage needs a bit of that.
My only negative concerns in my life right now are my weight (as usual) and strangely enough, my climbing (that seems to have lost a bit of its fierceness lately). Yes, it's that trivial - my last post will certainly corroborate this. Actually, there is one more thing -but that one relates to a relationship with someone very close to my heart - someone from another life altogether whom I am sure will be the subject of another post to come.
So really, when it comes to this wedding, I am fine. My ex-mother in law has asked me out to tea this weekend to 'chat'. I really would rather not go. I don't see why I need to subject myelf to an hour of explanations. I really don't need them. It's in the past and nothing she can possibly say will make any difference. I have healed and rebuilt foundations by myself, with the help of my inner circle, and that's all done.
So, please don't question the point of this post. No, it's not to convince myself that I am fine either. It's to just say, please stop looking at me like that. And that's the final say on that matter. Let's move on! Next!
Monday, April 30, 2007
Steady Now
Actually, for the first time in a long time, it's all good.
There are no intense highs - no new love, no winning lottery ticket - that kind of thing. But there are no intense lows either - nothing major breaking down in the house, no bad karma coming at me in full force.
I hope I am not speaking/writing to soon, but this is good. It's stable, it's calm and strangely, Safe. There are pleasant barbeques and dinners, feel-good pressure at work, fulfilling climbing sessions, genuinely fun mummy-son bonding moments and short family get-togethers.
Around me though, it's not quite the case. Maids getting pregnant, extra marital affairs, break ups and blow ups.
Remember Bjork's It's So Quiet? What applies in love applies to life too?
There are no intense highs - no new love, no winning lottery ticket - that kind of thing. But there are no intense lows either - nothing major breaking down in the house, no bad karma coming at me in full force.
I hope I am not speaking/writing to soon, but this is good. It's stable, it's calm and strangely, Safe. There are pleasant barbeques and dinners, feel-good pressure at work, fulfilling climbing sessions, genuinely fun mummy-son bonding moments and short family get-togethers.
Around me though, it's not quite the case. Maids getting pregnant, extra marital affairs, break ups and blow ups.
Remember Bjork's It's So Quiet? What applies in love applies to life too?
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Singapore On My Mind
I'm a little psychotic and I'm sure many people who know me will gladly attest to that. I don't know if it's the A-type personality I am told I have, or just the inherent kiasuness that comes with being Chinese.
It began to show when I decided to bring ZW down to Singapore for the weekend. The idea came from feeling so tired of KL. Long weekends looming in the horizon pushes people to think they can have a break from the monotony of where they live and gives them that shove to do plan a weekend getaway. The advantages and disadvantages of KL is its location. Bangkok - been there too often. Any further north - too far, too costly. Andaman islands - been there too often. Bali - been there too often. East Malaysia - feel like getting out of the country and using the passport. Singapore - hmmm, Singapore feels like a Western country invaded by Asians, like Vancouver minus the cold. Sounded good. Besides, it's child friendly, it's just down the road and I get to use my passport.
When I research something, I tend to get a little involved. I combed through Asiarooms and Directrooms, I double researched every hotel that suited my needs and the ones that didn't by visiting their website or if there wasn't, I searched for reviews, I read almost every review, I cliked on all the photos, I noted their location on a common map, I downloaded the Sentosa Island map, drew up an Excel chart of the attractions that would appeal to ZW and their location and cost, visited the Night Safari website only to strike it off the list because we have already been there, visited the website of First Coach, Airebus and Nice Bus, called and spoke to their personnel about price and availability, and even made 2 hotel room bookings.
By the end of the day, I felt I had already gone to Singapore five times and back, with three children.
So guess what? We're staying home in KL. In fact, on Saturday, I'm going to bake, have friends over, play mah jong and enjoy my house while I still have it!
It began to show when I decided to bring ZW down to Singapore for the weekend. The idea came from feeling so tired of KL. Long weekends looming in the horizon pushes people to think they can have a break from the monotony of where they live and gives them that shove to do plan a weekend getaway. The advantages and disadvantages of KL is its location. Bangkok - been there too often. Any further north - too far, too costly. Andaman islands - been there too often. Bali - been there too often. East Malaysia - feel like getting out of the country and using the passport. Singapore - hmmm, Singapore feels like a Western country invaded by Asians, like Vancouver minus the cold. Sounded good. Besides, it's child friendly, it's just down the road and I get to use my passport.
When I research something, I tend to get a little involved. I combed through Asiarooms and Directrooms, I double researched every hotel that suited my needs and the ones that didn't by visiting their website or if there wasn't, I searched for reviews, I read almost every review, I cliked on all the photos, I noted their location on a common map, I downloaded the Sentosa Island map, drew up an Excel chart of the attractions that would appeal to ZW and their location and cost, visited the Night Safari website only to strike it off the list because we have already been there, visited the website of First Coach, Airebus and Nice Bus, called and spoke to their personnel about price and availability, and even made 2 hotel room bookings.
By the end of the day, I felt I had already gone to Singapore five times and back, with three children.
So guess what? We're staying home in KL. In fact, on Saturday, I'm going to bake, have friends over, play mah jong and enjoy my house while I still have it!
Friday, March 23, 2007
Faraway Land
I made a resolution this year that each year, I would travel to somewhere new. It's so easy to fall into the Air Asia deal cycle and end up at the predictable destinations of Bangkok, Siem Reap, Bali, Shenzen or whatever. Whilst I am sure those places are great places to holiday, I refuse to allow my travel experiences be dictated solely by price and good deals.
The project this year is Rajasthan, in the northwest of India. I have always wanted to visit India, especially the Hawa Mahal in Jaipur, whihc has been to me, the epitome of mystery, romance, epic history and drama, an India I have always imagined and wanted to see.
The more I read up about Rajasthan, the more I am convinced it is exactly what I need to have in my portfolio of travel. It's the one place that can save me from the self imposed rut of mall-shopping wherever I go without depriving me of the need to spend in return for pretty things.
Rajasthan, with its desert, culture, architecture and history, for me, strikes the perfect balance between exoticsm, adventure, sightseeing and shopping that I wish.
So the wheel begins to turn. In 7 months' time, I'll be on a camel safari - actually sitting on a stinking, spitting, hissing animal, bound like a mummy from the shifting sands and sleeping out in the open desert. Sheeit!!
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Literally!
If you were to write something that is presumably going to be read by a large chunk of the literate nation, you would of course, apart from making sure it's damn well written, ensure you get your facts right, right?
I belong to a climbing group called F8 - a bunch of fellow climbers who literally hang outdoors once a month. A reporter from The Star came along last Sunday to climb with us as part of a feature she was writing for her publication.
Her article, as endearing as it is, is peppered with misinformation.
Let me attempt to clarify.
Firstly, F8 is not a club, but a group. We're not clubby, we're not in the least official (except for paying money to a treasurer to ensure our equipment doesn't fail us), we don't do club member stuff. We don't have logos/banners/a constitution/an HQ and other such clubby things. In fact, apart from our knots, we're loose - and constantly climb with just about anyone who will climb with us - be it indoors or outdoors.
Secondly, F8 does not maintain the Nyamuk Walls of Batu Caves. Maybe apart from Jon who owns some 'bolting equipment' , I don't think any of us even know how to put in a bolt let alone maintain one. People like me have a phobia of snakes, wildlife in close proximity and take a good ten minutes to clean an anchor, so maintainence is beyond my gene capabilities. I believe I am not alone. More importantly, nobody maintains the Nyamuk Walls.
Thirdly, Orange Juice is not a top rope route, nor are the other routes in Nyamuk necessarily only lead routes. What makes a route a top rope one or a lead one is whether there is a rope threaded through the anchor. If there is, then you can top rope it. If it isn't, you have to lead it. So basically, one can top rope a lead route - as I often do in Nyamuk.
If one had spent the last 6 weeks taking intensive climbing lessons, as the reporter claims she has, I would have thought this would have been made obvious.
I don't mean to gripe, but feel I must. Mis-reporting mis-informs and creates mis-conceptions of what climbing is. Yes, it is intimidating and daunting to those who are approching it for the first time. Especially if you have a fear of heights. Unfortunately, there is a fine line between encouraging people to try and completely putting them off. And something like rock climbing really doesn't need the bad rep.
I know reporters, I have friends who are, and I deal with them on a regular basis. Yes, they are the jaded bunch they are reputed to be. Articles, badly written or not, are not for me to correct in a public forum, but please, at least get your facts right, because as I said, as great as an article may turn out to be, it is rendered a little silly with a lack of meticulous fact checking.
I belong to a climbing group called F8 - a bunch of fellow climbers who literally hang outdoors once a month. A reporter from The Star came along last Sunday to climb with us as part of a feature she was writing for her publication.
Her article, as endearing as it is, is peppered with misinformation.
Let me attempt to clarify.
Firstly, F8 is not a club, but a group. We're not clubby, we're not in the least official (except for paying money to a treasurer to ensure our equipment doesn't fail us), we don't do club member stuff. We don't have logos/banners/a constitution/an HQ and other such clubby things. In fact, apart from our knots, we're loose - and constantly climb with just about anyone who will climb with us - be it indoors or outdoors.
Secondly, F8 does not maintain the Nyamuk Walls of Batu Caves. Maybe apart from Jon who owns some 'bolting equipment' , I don't think any of us even know how to put in a bolt let alone maintain one. People like me have a phobia of snakes, wildlife in close proximity and take a good ten minutes to clean an anchor, so maintainence is beyond my gene capabilities. I believe I am not alone. More importantly, nobody maintains the Nyamuk Walls.
Thirdly, Orange Juice is not a top rope route, nor are the other routes in Nyamuk necessarily only lead routes. What makes a route a top rope one or a lead one is whether there is a rope threaded through the anchor. If there is, then you can top rope it. If it isn't, you have to lead it. So basically, one can top rope a lead route - as I often do in Nyamuk.
If one had spent the last 6 weeks taking intensive climbing lessons, as the reporter claims she has, I would have thought this would have been made obvious.
I don't mean to gripe, but feel I must. Mis-reporting mis-informs and creates mis-conceptions of what climbing is. Yes, it is intimidating and daunting to those who are approching it for the first time. Especially if you have a fear of heights. Unfortunately, there is a fine line between encouraging people to try and completely putting them off. And something like rock climbing really doesn't need the bad rep.
I know reporters, I have friends who are, and I deal with them on a regular basis. Yes, they are the jaded bunch they are reputed to be. Articles, badly written or not, are not for me to correct in a public forum, but please, at least get your facts right, because as I said, as great as an article may turn out to be, it is rendered a little silly with a lack of meticulous fact checking.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
So No Life Pt 2
So I steal things from other people's blogs. So what? Here's another:
() Stolen a car
(x) Been in love - Ouch
(x) Been dumped - Double Ouch
(x) Shoplifted
() Been in a fist fight
(x) Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back
() Been arrested
() Made out with a stranger
() Done more with a stranger
() Had a crush on a teacher
( ) Seen someone die
(x) Been on a plane
() Met someone in person from the Internet - Many persons!
( ) Been moshing at a concert
(x) Been in an abusive relationship
(x) Love someone or miss someone right now
(x) Laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by
(x) Made a snow angel
(x) Had a tea party
(x) Flown a kite
(x) Built a sand castle
(x) Gone puddle jumping
(x) Played dress up
(x) Jumped into a pile of leaves
(x) Gone sledding
(x) Cheated while playing a game
(x) Been lonely
(x) Fallen asleep at work/school - Please tell me who hasn't
(x) Used a fake id
(x) Watched the sunset - I'm still waiting
( ) Felt an earthquake
() Touched a snake
(x) Slept beneath the stars
(x) Been tickled
(x) Been robbed
(x) Been misunderstood
() Petted a reindeer/goat - ??
(x) Won a contest
( ) Been in a car accident
() Had braces
(x) Felt like an outcast
(x) Eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night
(x) Had deja vu
( ) Danced in the moonlight
(x) Hated the way you look
( ) Witnessed a crime
( ) Pole danced
(x) Questioned your heart
(x) Been obsessed with post-it notes
(x) Squished barefoot through the mud
(x) Been lost
(x) Been to the opposite side of the WORLD
(x) Swam in the ocean
(x) Felt like dying
(x) Cried yourself to sleep
(x) Played cops and robbers
(x) Recently colored with crayons/colored pencils/markers
(x) Sung karaoke
(x) Paid for a meal with only coins
(x) Done something you told yourself you wouldn't
(x) Made prank phone calls
(x) Laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose
(x) Danced in the rain
(x) Written a letter to Santa Claus
(x) Been kissed under a mistletoe - Now that would be nice
(x) Watched the sun rise with someone you care about - Read 'sunset'
(x) Blown bubbles
( ) Made a bonfire on the beach
(x) Crashed a party
(x) Gone rollerskating
(x) Had a wish come true
( ) Humped a monkey - What the ?!@%$#?
( ) Ate dog/cat food - Again, what the %@?!#&?
(x) Told a complete stranger you loved them
(x) Kissed a mirror
(x) Sang in the shower
(x) Have a little black dress
(x) Had a dream that you married someone
(x) Glued your hand to something
( ) Got your tongue stuck to a flag pole
( ) Kissed a fish
(x) Worn the opposite sexes clothes
( ) Been a cheerleader
(x) Sat on a roof top
(x) Screamed at the top of your lungs
( ) Done a one-handed cartwheel
( ) Talked on the phone for more than 6 hours in a row
(x) Stayed up all night
( ) Didn't take a shower for a week
() Pick and ate an apple right off the tree
(x) Climbed a tree
( ) Had a tree house
(x) Are scared to watch scary movies alone
( ) Believe in ghosts
(x) Have more then 30 pairs of shoes
(x) Worn a really ugly outfit just to see what others say
( ) Gone streaking
( ) Played ding-dong-ditch
( ) Played chicken
(x) Got pushed into a pool with all your clothes on
( ) Broken a bone
(x) Been easily amused
( ) Caught a fish then ate it
() Made porn
( ) Caught a butterfly
(x) Laughed so hard you cried
(x) Cried so hard you laughed
(x) :P mooned/flashed someone
(x) Had someone moon/flash you
(x) Cheated on a test
() Have a Britney Spears CD
(x) Forgotten someone's name
(x) Slept naked
(x) French braided someone's hair
() Gone skinny dipping in a pool
(x ) Been kicked out of your house
() Stolen a car
(x) Been in love - Ouch
(x) Been dumped - Double Ouch
(x) Shoplifted
() Been in a fist fight
(x) Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back
() Been arrested
() Made out with a stranger
() Done more with a stranger
() Had a crush on a teacher
( ) Seen someone die
(x) Been on a plane
() Met someone in person from the Internet - Many persons!
( ) Been moshing at a concert
(x) Been in an abusive relationship
(x) Love someone or miss someone right now
(x) Laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by
(x) Made a snow angel
(x) Had a tea party
(x) Flown a kite
(x) Built a sand castle
(x) Gone puddle jumping
(x) Played dress up
(x) Jumped into a pile of leaves
(x) Gone sledding
(x) Cheated while playing a game
(x) Been lonely
(x) Fallen asleep at work/school - Please tell me who hasn't
(x) Used a fake id
(x) Watched the sunset - I'm still waiting
( ) Felt an earthquake
() Touched a snake
(x) Slept beneath the stars
(x) Been tickled
(x) Been robbed
(x) Been misunderstood
() Petted a reindeer/goat - ??
(x) Won a contest
( ) Been in a car accident
() Had braces
(x) Felt like an outcast
(x) Eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night
(x) Had deja vu
( ) Danced in the moonlight
(x) Hated the way you look
( ) Witnessed a crime
( ) Pole danced
(x) Questioned your heart
(x) Been obsessed with post-it notes
(x) Squished barefoot through the mud
(x) Been lost
(x) Been to the opposite side of the WORLD
(x) Swam in the ocean
(x) Felt like dying
(x) Cried yourself to sleep
(x) Played cops and robbers
(x) Recently colored with crayons/colored pencils/markers
(x) Sung karaoke
(x) Paid for a meal with only coins
(x) Done something you told yourself you wouldn't
(x) Made prank phone calls
(x) Laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose
(x) Danced in the rain
(x) Written a letter to Santa Claus
(x) Been kissed under a mistletoe - Now that would be nice
(x) Watched the sun rise with someone you care about - Read 'sunset'
(x) Blown bubbles
( ) Made a bonfire on the beach
(x) Crashed a party
(x) Gone rollerskating
(x) Had a wish come true
( ) Humped a monkey - What the ?!@%$#?
( ) Ate dog/cat food - Again, what the %@?!#&?
(x) Told a complete stranger you loved them
(x) Kissed a mirror
(x) Sang in the shower
(x) Have a little black dress
(x) Had a dream that you married someone
(x) Glued your hand to something
( ) Got your tongue stuck to a flag pole
( ) Kissed a fish
(x) Worn the opposite sexes clothes
( ) Been a cheerleader
(x) Sat on a roof top
(x) Screamed at the top of your lungs
( ) Done a one-handed cartwheel
( ) Talked on the phone for more than 6 hours in a row
(x) Stayed up all night
( ) Didn't take a shower for a week
() Pick and ate an apple right off the tree
(x) Climbed a tree
( ) Had a tree house
(x) Are scared to watch scary movies alone
( ) Believe in ghosts
(x) Have more then 30 pairs of shoes
(x) Worn a really ugly outfit just to see what others say
( ) Gone streaking
( ) Played ding-dong-ditch
( ) Played chicken
(x) Got pushed into a pool with all your clothes on
( ) Broken a bone
(x) Been easily amused
( ) Caught a fish then ate it
() Made porn
( ) Caught a butterfly
(x) Laughed so hard you cried
(x) Cried so hard you laughed
(x) :P mooned/flashed someone
(x) Had someone moon/flash you
(x) Cheated on a test
() Have a Britney Spears CD
(x) Forgotten someone's name
(x) Slept naked
(x) French braided someone's hair
() Gone skinny dipping in a pool
(x ) Been kicked out of your house
Monday, March 19, 2007
So No Life
One of your scars, how did you get it?
The one on my right knee. In primary school, as I was walking to asssembly which was held on an untarred stretch of road. Some kid ran past and pushed me causing me to fall over and bleed to near death – well, almost.
What music do you like to listen to?
I like the sound of male bands. Duranduran (the early years), The Killers, U2, Suede, Pink Floyd, the like.
Do you know what time you were born?
About 7 in the evening when the tigers come out to hunt.
What do you want more than anything right now?
Equilibrium.
What is your most prized possession?
My son.
Do you get scared in the dark?
Not if I’m PMSing, no, ‘cos then I’m the monster lurking in the dark. Normally, a little. Especially if I’ve just accidentally watched a horror movie trailer.
What kind of hair do you like on the opposite sex?
Mmmm…not long as in Fabio, not mullet as in German rockstar, not bald or too closely cropped, not bobbed. Anything else is fine.
Where can you see yourself being proposed to at?
Near water – beach/lakeside/snow/pier.
Coffee or energy drinks?
Neither but a kopi tambah manis is great when I’m in the mood.
Favorite pizza topping?
Everything on it.
If you can eat anything right now, what would it be?
Zinger or Chicken McDeluxe. Or a really huge prime rib straight off the Vegas strip with some New Orleans onion rings to go with it.
Who's the last person you made mad?
The person I once had the misfortune of marrying.
Do you speak other languages?
For laughs, Malay and Cantonese. For hysterics, French and Mandarin.
Would you fall in love knowing that the person is leaving?
Do you ever have a choice?
What's the best way to tell someone how much they mean to you?
Haha… write them a letter and watch it all crumble before your eyes.
Blondes or brunettes?
Lately, blondes.
What annoys you most?
Locally produced advertisements.
Your weaknesses?
Men, shoes, clothes, emotions.
Where were you born?
Bangsar.
First job?
Perfume pusher.
What were you doing before filling out this survey?
Surfing Oprah.
If you could get plastic surgery, what would it be?
Lipo on my arms, back, thighs, tummy, face; nose job, boob job, butt lift.
What do you get complimented about most?Hair, when it was long. Tan, when I had one. Skin, when it was flawless. Legs, pre-cellulite. Figure, pre-kid.
What do you want for your birthday?
An all expense trip to far, far away.
How many kids do you want?
3.
The one on my right knee. In primary school, as I was walking to asssembly which was held on an untarred stretch of road. Some kid ran past and pushed me causing me to fall over and bleed to near death – well, almost.
What music do you like to listen to?
I like the sound of male bands. Duranduran (the early years), The Killers, U2, Suede, Pink Floyd, the like.
Do you know what time you were born?
About 7 in the evening when the tigers come out to hunt.
What do you want more than anything right now?
Equilibrium.
What is your most prized possession?
My son.
Do you get scared in the dark?
Not if I’m PMSing, no, ‘cos then I’m the monster lurking in the dark. Normally, a little. Especially if I’ve just accidentally watched a horror movie trailer.
What kind of hair do you like on the opposite sex?
Mmmm…not long as in Fabio, not mullet as in German rockstar, not bald or too closely cropped, not bobbed. Anything else is fine.
Where can you see yourself being proposed to at?
Near water – beach/lakeside/snow/pier.
Coffee or energy drinks?
Neither but a kopi tambah manis is great when I’m in the mood.
Favorite pizza topping?
Everything on it.
If you can eat anything right now, what would it be?
Zinger or Chicken McDeluxe. Or a really huge prime rib straight off the Vegas strip with some New Orleans onion rings to go with it.
Who's the last person you made mad?
The person I once had the misfortune of marrying.
Do you speak other languages?
For laughs, Malay and Cantonese. For hysterics, French and Mandarin.
Would you fall in love knowing that the person is leaving?
Do you ever have a choice?
What's the best way to tell someone how much they mean to you?
Haha… write them a letter and watch it all crumble before your eyes.
Blondes or brunettes?
Lately, blondes.
What annoys you most?
Locally produced advertisements.
Your weaknesses?
Men, shoes, clothes, emotions.
Where were you born?
Bangsar.
First job?
Perfume pusher.
What were you doing before filling out this survey?
Surfing Oprah.
If you could get plastic surgery, what would it be?
Lipo on my arms, back, thighs, tummy, face; nose job, boob job, butt lift.
What do you get complimented about most?Hair, when it was long. Tan, when I had one. Skin, when it was flawless. Legs, pre-cellulite. Figure, pre-kid.
What do you want for your birthday?
An all expense trip to far, far away.
How many kids do you want?
3.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Since when has it been a crime to want more?
Two weekends ago, I spent a sweltering Saturday night out in one of the hottest spots of KL's night life. As I walked passed ISKL teenagers downing tequila shots, the latest Dior bags wearing their wearers and supposed 'It' girls sashaying out of BMWs (a sight to behold I warn you), I realised it was a scene I did not miss. On the unfashionable end of the Asian Heritage Row, in a trendy restaurant bathed in the neon glow of the mamak shop across the street, an old friend and I dined on the garlickiest fettucine and the cheesiest risotto on the strip.
Princess and I have known each other for a good ten years. I used to go out with her brother, so we were forced from the start, to like one another. But then, she is not difficult to like and over the years, as romance faded from the relationship that brought us together, our friendship has managed to withstand the superficiality of KL friendships - we swear to 'do lunch' and end up actually 'doing' dinners instead, rare as they may be.
Princess is extremely eligible. If she was a horse, many would say she is of good breeding but then, she is not. She comes from a perfectly respectable family, is well educated, works hard at her career, is well dressed, pretty, fashionable and above all, mature and intelligent. The problem she faces is that everyone - especially her mother, reckons she is a bit odd.
You see, Princess has remained single ever since she returned from the UK - a good 5 years ago at least. Even more mind boggling to many, is that she has chosen to remain single.
Her mother is at a loss of words and is on the verge of a crisis. Her friends have run out of male friends to introduce her too and guys whom she wants to be 'just friends' with think she's playing them. And poor Princess is just sick and tired of everyone around her asking "who?", "when", "why", "how" and "what?"
"Who are are you waiting for?"
"When will you find a boyfriend and get married?"
"Why won't you go out with so and so?"
And etc etc...
Why is it a crime to want more? Why is it a crime to expect more out of life? Why on earth should she just date someone just 'cos its expected? Many of you single women out there would agree with me in saying that as it is, talent is lean in this town. Mind you, that's not say that Malaysian men are of a lesser breed. No not that at all. Only that we - the women who expect more - connect lesser with them.
We want to be with the one who takes our inquisitive minds to places its never imagined, make our hearts sing in tune for once, make us laugh like hyenas, makes us feel like Elizabeth Taylor and make our bodies sizzle like sausages on a hot grill! The one that rocks our world, shakes our foundations. The one that makes it all worth the while. Is that asking too much?
I have blogged enough about this, dating someone you are SO not into, is not only unfair to the guy (especially if he is into you), it's downright tedious. Staying at home watching reruns of CSI is far more appealing.
People get me wrong and call me a snob, just like they call Princess a snob. But in this day and age where we are striving for more as women - better pay, more senior positions at work, voting rights at outdated country clubs we belong to, why, oh why then, is society telling us to settle for less?
And you know what? Let's leave society out of it for the moment. It's women themselves judging other women by indirectly telling them that they are worth less walking into a party on their own instead of off the arm of a distinguished man. Women are the ones reminding us that our shelf life is running out when they constantly moan about the importance of really knowing a man before marrying them. Mothers are the ones rushing their daughters into marriages when many of them bitterly regret theirs. And so on so forth. Oh, the irony of it all.
And the men? Well, they never go into too much detail. They just think we're a bunch of lezzas.
Princess and I have known each other for a good ten years. I used to go out with her brother, so we were forced from the start, to like one another. But then, she is not difficult to like and over the years, as romance faded from the relationship that brought us together, our friendship has managed to withstand the superficiality of KL friendships - we swear to 'do lunch' and end up actually 'doing' dinners instead, rare as they may be.
Princess is extremely eligible. If she was a horse, many would say she is of good breeding but then, she is not. She comes from a perfectly respectable family, is well educated, works hard at her career, is well dressed, pretty, fashionable and above all, mature and intelligent. The problem she faces is that everyone - especially her mother, reckons she is a bit odd.
You see, Princess has remained single ever since she returned from the UK - a good 5 years ago at least. Even more mind boggling to many, is that she has chosen to remain single.
Her mother is at a loss of words and is on the verge of a crisis. Her friends have run out of male friends to introduce her too and guys whom she wants to be 'just friends' with think she's playing them. And poor Princess is just sick and tired of everyone around her asking "who?", "when", "why", "how" and "what?"
"Who are are you waiting for?"
"When will you find a boyfriend and get married?"
"Why won't you go out with so and so?"
And etc etc...
Why is it a crime to want more? Why is it a crime to expect more out of life? Why on earth should she just date someone just 'cos its expected? Many of you single women out there would agree with me in saying that as it is, talent is lean in this town. Mind you, that's not say that Malaysian men are of a lesser breed. No not that at all. Only that we - the women who expect more - connect lesser with them.
We want to be with the one who takes our inquisitive minds to places its never imagined, make our hearts sing in tune for once, make us laugh like hyenas, makes us feel like Elizabeth Taylor and make our bodies sizzle like sausages on a hot grill! The one that rocks our world, shakes our foundations. The one that makes it all worth the while. Is that asking too much?
I have blogged enough about this, dating someone you are SO not into, is not only unfair to the guy (especially if he is into you), it's downright tedious. Staying at home watching reruns of CSI is far more appealing.
People get me wrong and call me a snob, just like they call Princess a snob. But in this day and age where we are striving for more as women - better pay, more senior positions at work, voting rights at outdated country clubs we belong to, why, oh why then, is society telling us to settle for less?
And you know what? Let's leave society out of it for the moment. It's women themselves judging other women by indirectly telling them that they are worth less walking into a party on their own instead of off the arm of a distinguished man. Women are the ones reminding us that our shelf life is running out when they constantly moan about the importance of really knowing a man before marrying them. Mothers are the ones rushing their daughters into marriages when many of them bitterly regret theirs. And so on so forth. Oh, the irony of it all.
And the men? Well, they never go into too much detail. They just think we're a bunch of lezzas.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Yeesh, Love Again
How many times have you sat there with your girl friends asking yourselves what love is. And you rake through your resume of boyfriends and assess each relationship only to gaze back at each other with a resounding no. No. We do not know what love is. We do not know what love is because we have never loved.
See, I have been in such a situation before. I have sat there countless times, and had this same conversation, with the same people. And each time, despite having had amazing relationships, and sometimes during an amazing relationship, we each concluded that we do not know what love is.
Funny that thing called love. You just can’t write about without sounding like a catalogue of old songs. Its very nature is clichéd.
My theory is this. That being in love is one thing. But knowing what love is quite another. You see, of course people find love. The love that everyone talks about. The love that makes the world go round. The one that everyone wants. That rare elixir of life that nourishes the being. Mostly people do recognize it and are grateful for being blessed. And they go on and live happily ever after until one dies and the other one dies soon after from suffocation (‘cos when you love deeply and a lover goes, you can’t breathe).
But then there are other people who are not so switched on. Those who maybe don’t know themselves so well. Or others who are so entangled with issues that they cannot grasp the notion without tripping and falling flat on their faces. Others are maybe a combination of the two. They just don’t see the trees from the woods and are unable to identify that love has hit them in full force.
I am one such person. I found love and it was a lightning bolt. Not a loud one. But there was certainly a jolt that came from within that electrified me into noticing that this person was worth more than just a glance. That was finding love. Finding love is loud. It’s exciting, mind-boggling, heart-racing, pulse-hyperdrive, sensational and irrational kind of stuff. It’s vivacious and bursting with flavour. It makes you happy, it makes you suicidal, it makes you feel alive.
That’s all well and good, but finding love is one thing. But knowing it, is quite another. You could very well have found the love yet be completely oblivious to it. And then you sit in that café with your girls and talk about how great this guy is but, heck, you don’t know what love is ‘cos we expect more, more, more.
I know that there are things that you are just born knowing. But if you are say, too young or too tanked up with issues, or maybe even too afraid, how do you identify one happiness from another? What separates one good boyfriend from another? You can’t and therefore, you think you haven’t found true love, because you think true love is an aggressive creature and it’s supposed to hit you in the face until your black and blue because it will not be ignored.
What we expect of love is what we see in the movies. But we forget that movies are a condensed version of life. Yes, some things are portrayed realistically and some things aren’t – but they all have to fit into a 3-hour slot or else people wouldn’t come and watch. So we always expect and wait for a clear and unmistakable sign or act and ignore the slow realizations - the ones staring at you in the face. We wait and wait for the clouds to part and for love to shine on to us, but has anyone ever told you that’s not how it happens in real life?
Alas, really knowing true love is subtle and quiet and has none of the showiness that first attracted you to it. For some people, it could take years to realize that they truly loved and were loved in return. Knowing love is like the silent dawn. The one where you are convinced it’s the dead of night and suddenly when you least expect it, there’s a glimmer of light in the horizon. It’s as unstoppable as the sunrise but just as sure. And before you know it, you just know it and its broad daylight. A new day has dawned, and it’s dawned upon you and finally and quite simply, you know.
For some, like me, the dawn comes late. Sometimes the lover has fled the scene and you are enjoying the sunrise alone. Now, that is a sorry situation to be in. What can I say? Well, on the bright side, you are no longer in the dark.
See, I have been in such a situation before. I have sat there countless times, and had this same conversation, with the same people. And each time, despite having had amazing relationships, and sometimes during an amazing relationship, we each concluded that we do not know what love is.
Funny that thing called love. You just can’t write about without sounding like a catalogue of old songs. Its very nature is clichéd.
My theory is this. That being in love is one thing. But knowing what love is quite another. You see, of course people find love. The love that everyone talks about. The love that makes the world go round. The one that everyone wants. That rare elixir of life that nourishes the being. Mostly people do recognize it and are grateful for being blessed. And they go on and live happily ever after until one dies and the other one dies soon after from suffocation (‘cos when you love deeply and a lover goes, you can’t breathe).
But then there are other people who are not so switched on. Those who maybe don’t know themselves so well. Or others who are so entangled with issues that they cannot grasp the notion without tripping and falling flat on their faces. Others are maybe a combination of the two. They just don’t see the trees from the woods and are unable to identify that love has hit them in full force.
I am one such person. I found love and it was a lightning bolt. Not a loud one. But there was certainly a jolt that came from within that electrified me into noticing that this person was worth more than just a glance. That was finding love. Finding love is loud. It’s exciting, mind-boggling, heart-racing, pulse-hyperdrive, sensational and irrational kind of stuff. It’s vivacious and bursting with flavour. It makes you happy, it makes you suicidal, it makes you feel alive.
That’s all well and good, but finding love is one thing. But knowing it, is quite another. You could very well have found the love yet be completely oblivious to it. And then you sit in that café with your girls and talk about how great this guy is but, heck, you don’t know what love is ‘cos we expect more, more, more.
I know that there are things that you are just born knowing. But if you are say, too young or too tanked up with issues, or maybe even too afraid, how do you identify one happiness from another? What separates one good boyfriend from another? You can’t and therefore, you think you haven’t found true love, because you think true love is an aggressive creature and it’s supposed to hit you in the face until your black and blue because it will not be ignored.
What we expect of love is what we see in the movies. But we forget that movies are a condensed version of life. Yes, some things are portrayed realistically and some things aren’t – but they all have to fit into a 3-hour slot or else people wouldn’t come and watch. So we always expect and wait for a clear and unmistakable sign or act and ignore the slow realizations - the ones staring at you in the face. We wait and wait for the clouds to part and for love to shine on to us, but has anyone ever told you that’s not how it happens in real life?
Alas, really knowing true love is subtle and quiet and has none of the showiness that first attracted you to it. For some people, it could take years to realize that they truly loved and were loved in return. Knowing love is like the silent dawn. The one where you are convinced it’s the dead of night and suddenly when you least expect it, there’s a glimmer of light in the horizon. It’s as unstoppable as the sunrise but just as sure. And before you know it, you just know it and its broad daylight. A new day has dawned, and it’s dawned upon you and finally and quite simply, you know.
For some, like me, the dawn comes late. Sometimes the lover has fled the scene and you are enjoying the sunrise alone. Now, that is a sorry situation to be in. What can I say? Well, on the bright side, you are no longer in the dark.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Flood Waters
I am sorry to say that I am taking a break from this blog. Many things are happening in my life right now that require my serious attention and focus, many of which dig into the very core of my personal life. There are many issues and experiences to blog about but sadly, it's something I am only willing to share anonymously. So, as you know who I am in 'real' life, know what I do, what I like to eat and where I climb, until all these issues are resolved and life takes on its rose-tinted, light-heartedness once again, I bid you adieu.
This blog has helped tremendously along my journey and I've tried hard here to be truthful and honest. I won't be serving it any justice by blogging about trivia that does not touch on what I am feeling at the moment. And in case that sounded like I'm having a major meltdown, I'm not. I'm feeling what everyone in their thirties feels, only my life has spun itself into more complications than the regular.
If you notice, this is not the first time on this blog that I have taken a hiatus. It just needs to be done every now and then. Time now, to move on to another subject - to lie low until the flood waters recede (sorry, I have to make some reference to the sad situation down south). Perhaps its time to revive the old food blog.
Thank you for stopping by and for all your thoughtful comments. I am grateful for the interest and the sharing.
This blog has helped tremendously along my journey and I've tried hard here to be truthful and honest. I won't be serving it any justice by blogging about trivia that does not touch on what I am feeling at the moment. And in case that sounded like I'm having a major meltdown, I'm not. I'm feeling what everyone in their thirties feels, only my life has spun itself into more complications than the regular.
If you notice, this is not the first time on this blog that I have taken a hiatus. It just needs to be done every now and then. Time now, to move on to another subject - to lie low until the flood waters recede (sorry, I have to make some reference to the sad situation down south). Perhaps its time to revive the old food blog.
Thank you for stopping by and for all your thoughtful comments. I am grateful for the interest and the sharing.
Friday, January 05, 2007
New Year, New Beginnings
Happy New Year everyone. May 2007 bring you lashings of happiness, good fortune and health. May you find what it is you are looking for.
I certainly hope I do.
The fact that my microwave broke down as it was defrosting my leftover lasagna and my new-ish Nokia decided not to work as I was receiving new year messages left me wondering. As I pondered whether someone upstairs was trying to tell me something about my life, the pen I was writing with broke in half and my son dropped the house phone thereby rendering it unworkable.
This is after I discovered a few days before 2006 closed its sleepy eyes that my maid had been sneaking out of the house to meet her Mexican boyfriend and giving out my home address to literally, every Tom, Dick and Harry.
Then a series of little mishaps, my Touch 'N Go card refusing to work as I exited a shopping mall, my electric gate refusing to lock, my cheques bouncing because of the holiday period and the bank charging me RM100 for it, my son starting school with a schedule that no flexi-time could possibly adhere to. All this culminated in some rapid decision-making as 2006 handed over the torch to 2007. The live in maid structure goes, I will do everything myself with the help of a part timer. I am selling my house and buying a new apartment. Returning to full time and a full bank account has to wait until some dust settles.
I don't mean to begin the new year with a big whinge and frankly, I don't see it that way at all. In fact, I have discovered that while gardening is absilutely no fun at all, hanging clothes up to dry is.
Yes it's certainly an unusual situation to find oneself in and though some may argue I am denial, I think not. I am sitting alone in a dark house after throwing out the garbage with a wry smile on my face rather that in a pond of salty tears. The shit has hit the fan and funnily enough,I reckon that shit raining down on you is an experience one must savour at least once in their life time.
I guess, it's all a message, a cause and effect. Perhaps I ventured on with my life too soon. Rushed into things. Ran a hasty race. Cut too many corners. Too eager to get to the finish line first with all the trophies in hand. And certain foundations, pillars and corner stones were not put in place.
Lesson No. 1: You can't get from A to Z and bypass all the letters in the alphabet without a proper infrastructure in place.
So 2007 begins back at square 1. It's back to basics beginning with a process of re-evaluation, putting workable and reliable systems in place and only thereafter can the building blocks come out to play.
I suppose not everyone will have a blast doing this. It is in essence, taking several steps backwards, but a move that is both necessary and essential for any future growth. I am as ever, grateful for this to happen now - better sooner than later I have been saying.
This is not about of horrid luck, in fact, its a blessing in disguise.
So whilst I don't wish shit to rain down on everyone (there must be a better way of doing this!), but I do wish you all progress, smooth transitions and welcoming chapters.
I certainly hope I do.
The fact that my microwave broke down as it was defrosting my leftover lasagna and my new-ish Nokia decided not to work as I was receiving new year messages left me wondering. As I pondered whether someone upstairs was trying to tell me something about my life, the pen I was writing with broke in half and my son dropped the house phone thereby rendering it unworkable.
This is after I discovered a few days before 2006 closed its sleepy eyes that my maid had been sneaking out of the house to meet her Mexican boyfriend and giving out my home address to literally, every Tom, Dick and Harry.
Then a series of little mishaps, my Touch 'N Go card refusing to work as I exited a shopping mall, my electric gate refusing to lock, my cheques bouncing because of the holiday period and the bank charging me RM100 for it, my son starting school with a schedule that no flexi-time could possibly adhere to. All this culminated in some rapid decision-making as 2006 handed over the torch to 2007. The live in maid structure goes, I will do everything myself with the help of a part timer. I am selling my house and buying a new apartment. Returning to full time and a full bank account has to wait until some dust settles.
I don't mean to begin the new year with a big whinge and frankly, I don't see it that way at all. In fact, I have discovered that while gardening is absilutely no fun at all, hanging clothes up to dry is.
Yes it's certainly an unusual situation to find oneself in and though some may argue I am denial, I think not. I am sitting alone in a dark house after throwing out the garbage with a wry smile on my face rather that in a pond of salty tears. The shit has hit the fan and funnily enough,I reckon that shit raining down on you is an experience one must savour at least once in their life time.
I guess, it's all a message, a cause and effect. Perhaps I ventured on with my life too soon. Rushed into things. Ran a hasty race. Cut too many corners. Too eager to get to the finish line first with all the trophies in hand. And certain foundations, pillars and corner stones were not put in place.
Lesson No. 1: You can't get from A to Z and bypass all the letters in the alphabet without a proper infrastructure in place.
So 2007 begins back at square 1. It's back to basics beginning with a process of re-evaluation, putting workable and reliable systems in place and only thereafter can the building blocks come out to play.
I suppose not everyone will have a blast doing this. It is in essence, taking several steps backwards, but a move that is both necessary and essential for any future growth. I am as ever, grateful for this to happen now - better sooner than later I have been saying.
This is not about of horrid luck, in fact, its a blessing in disguise.
So whilst I don't wish shit to rain down on everyone (there must be a better way of doing this!), but I do wish you all progress, smooth transitions and welcoming chapters.
New Year, New Beginnings
Happy New Year everyone. May 2007 bring you lashings of happiness, good fortune and health. May you find what it is you are looking for.
I certainly hope I do.
The fact that my microwave broke down as it was defrosting my leftover lasagna and my new-ish Nokia decided not to work as I was receiving new year messages left me wondering. As I pondered whether someone upstairs was trying to tell me something about my life, the pen I was writing with broke in half and my son dropped the house phone thereby rendering it unworkable.
This is after I discovered a few days before 2006 closed its sleepy eyes that my maid had been sneaking out of the house to meet her Mexican boyfriend and giving out my home address to literally, every Tom, Dick and Harry.
Then a series of little mishaps, my Touch 'N Go card refusing to work as I exited a shopping mall, my electric gate refusing to lock, my cheques bouncing because of the holiday period and the bank charging me RM100 for it, my son starting school with a schedule that no flexi-time could possibly adhere to. All this culminated in some rapid decision-making as 2006 handed over the torch to 2007. The live in maid structure goes, I will do everything myself with the help of a part timer. I am selling my house and buying a new apartment. Returning to full time and a full bank account has to wait until some dust settles.
I don't mean to begin the new year with a big whinge and frankly, I don't see it that way at all. In fact, I have discovered that while gardening is absilutely no fun at all, hanging clothes up to dry is.
Yes it's certainly an unusual situation to find oneself in and though some may argue I am denial, I think not. I am sitting alone in a dark house after throwing out the garbage with a wry smile on my face rather that in a pond of salty tears. The shit has hit the fan and funnily enough,I reckon that shit raining down on you is an experience one must savour at least once in their life time.
I guess, it's all a message, a cause and effect. Perhaps I ventured on with my life too soon. Rushed into things. Ran a hasty race. Cut too many corners. Too eager to get to the finish line first with all the trophies in hand. And certain foundations, pillars and corner stones were not put in place.
Lesson No. 1: You can't get from A to Z and bypass all the letters in the alphabet without a proper infrastructure in place.
So 2007 begins back at square 1. It's back to basics beginning with a process of re-evaluation, putting workable and reliable systems in place and only thereafter can the building blocks come out to play.
I suppose not everyone will have a blast doing this. It is in essence, taking several steps backwards, but a move that is both necessary and essential for any future growth. I am as ever, grateful for this to happen now - better sooner than later I have been saying.
This is not about of horrid luck, in fact, its a blessing in disguise.
So whilst I don't wish shit to rain down on everyone (there must be a better way of doing this!), but I do wish you all progress, smooth transitions and welcoming chapters.
I certainly hope I do.
The fact that my microwave broke down as it was defrosting my leftover lasagna and my new-ish Nokia decided not to work as I was receiving new year messages left me wondering. As I pondered whether someone upstairs was trying to tell me something about my life, the pen I was writing with broke in half and my son dropped the house phone thereby rendering it unworkable.
This is after I discovered a few days before 2006 closed its sleepy eyes that my maid had been sneaking out of the house to meet her Mexican boyfriend and giving out my home address to literally, every Tom, Dick and Harry.
Then a series of little mishaps, my Touch 'N Go card refusing to work as I exited a shopping mall, my electric gate refusing to lock, my cheques bouncing because of the holiday period and the bank charging me RM100 for it, my son starting school with a schedule that no flexi-time could possibly adhere to. All this culminated in some rapid decision-making as 2006 handed over the torch to 2007. The live in maid structure goes, I will do everything myself with the help of a part timer. I am selling my house and buying a new apartment. Returning to full time and a full bank account has to wait until some dust settles.
I don't mean to begin the new year with a big whinge and frankly, I don't see it that way at all. In fact, I have discovered that while gardening is absilutely no fun at all, hanging clothes up to dry is.
Yes it's certainly an unusual situation to find oneself in and though some may argue I am denial, I think not. I am sitting alone in a dark house after throwing out the garbage with a wry smile on my face rather that in a pond of salty tears. The shit has hit the fan and funnily enough,I reckon that shit raining down on you is an experience one must savour at least once in their life time.
I guess, it's all a message, a cause and effect. Perhaps I ventured on with my life too soon. Rushed into things. Ran a hasty race. Cut too many corners. Too eager to get to the finish line first with all the trophies in hand. And certain foundations, pillars and corner stones were not put in place.
Lesson No. 1: You can't get from A to Z and bypass all the letters in the alphabet without a proper infrastructure in place.
So 2007 begins back at square 1. It's back to basics beginning with a process of re-evaluation, putting workable and reliable systems in place and only thereafter can the building blocks come out to play.
I suppose not everyone will have a blast doing this. It is in essence, taking several steps backwards, but a move that is both necessary and essential for any future growth. I am as ever, grateful for this to happen now - better sooner than later I have been saying.
This is not about of horrid luck, in fact, its a blessing in disguise.
So whilst I don't wish shit to rain down on everyone (there must be a better way of doing this!), but I do wish you all progress, smooth transitions and welcoming chapters.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Let It Snow, let it snow, let it snow
Happy year-end all! Wishing you good tidings for the year ahead, may it be filled with happiness and fulfillment.
December is one of my favourite months in the year, apart from February which the month of my birthday, and June just because I like the sound of it. December is when people take time off work, dress in shorts, gush loudly about their holidays in the snow, bump into old friends in neighbourhood shopping malls, throw parties and are generous with the invitations, up the ante on charity work, make long distance calls and frankly, eat themselves silly. A time when young children cry at the realisation that snowflakes don't exist in Malaysia.
It's a time when people are relaxed, jolly, friendly and as genuinely caring as they are going to get in a town like KL. It's a time of nostalgia and hope, of spirit and energy. I think it's a time where people adopt a hidden grace and unlike the din of CNY where its actually expected of you to be big and brash, Christmas and New Year demands a certain refinement of character that suggests that all the well wishing may actually rub off on you after all.
Nonetheless, it's still an unbelievably hectic time of year. Of baking, shopping, eating and socialising. I really feel like I've slogged the whole year, where in actual fact, I've really just pushed myself in the last 3 weeks. My belly would make a moist char siu, my internal organs are groaning in unison from its squashed confinements, my eye are bags the size of the latest Samsonite model and my voice resembles a scratchy old record discovered in the attic.
The pressies have been good this year. I got a funky vanity case, M&S underwear, snacks and trinkets, Tom Parker Bowls' The Year Eating Dangerously, a carabiner, accessories, Pink Floyds's newly released The Wall DVD, a jar of home-made lemon curd and a tin of ginger biscuits. Yayy!
I am looking forward to welcoming the new year at home, with my son, watching the Star Wars special on telly. Maybe I'll throw another party. Hmmm...shall I, shall I??!
December is one of my favourite months in the year, apart from February which the month of my birthday, and June just because I like the sound of it. December is when people take time off work, dress in shorts, gush loudly about their holidays in the snow, bump into old friends in neighbourhood shopping malls, throw parties and are generous with the invitations, up the ante on charity work, make long distance calls and frankly, eat themselves silly. A time when young children cry at the realisation that snowflakes don't exist in Malaysia.
It's a time when people are relaxed, jolly, friendly and as genuinely caring as they are going to get in a town like KL. It's a time of nostalgia and hope, of spirit and energy. I think it's a time where people adopt a hidden grace and unlike the din of CNY where its actually expected of you to be big and brash, Christmas and New Year demands a certain refinement of character that suggests that all the well wishing may actually rub off on you after all.
Nonetheless, it's still an unbelievably hectic time of year. Of baking, shopping, eating and socialising. I really feel like I've slogged the whole year, where in actual fact, I've really just pushed myself in the last 3 weeks. My belly would make a moist char siu, my internal organs are groaning in unison from its squashed confinements, my eye are bags the size of the latest Samsonite model and my voice resembles a scratchy old record discovered in the attic.
The pressies have been good this year. I got a funky vanity case, M&S underwear, snacks and trinkets, Tom Parker Bowls' The Year Eating Dangerously, a carabiner, accessories, Pink Floyds's newly released The Wall DVD, a jar of home-made lemon curd and a tin of ginger biscuits. Yayy!
I am looking forward to welcoming the new year at home, with my son, watching the Star Wars special on telly. Maybe I'll throw another party. Hmmm...shall I, shall I??!
Friday, December 08, 2006
What is it about love?
That has us up in arms, entangled in questions, spun up in theories and rhetoric? How come it is that some people just have that je ne sais quois, that intangible magnetism, that draws romantic interest to them effortlessly, whilst others are so magnetically insipid they may as well as have dropped of the edge of Planet Love. And I'm not talking about looks or anything like that here. Whilst yes, it is probably correct to assume your regular celup VJ on telly openly gets more fanfare than the regular lian on the street, but then again, the regular lian on the street, may just well be the silent one to watch.
There exists a particular breed of female species of questionable origin (maybe they are aliens?) that appear in various forms. They range from superhot to super normal, some have blonde streaks, some have black roots, some prefer LV bags, others prefer knapsacks. But they all have one common denominator. They have an innate ability to draw men to them. In hordes.
No, these men don't flock, they throw themselves at these girls, not in search of something as banal as sex, but brandishing jewels, supplementary platinum cards, G3 phones and champagne roses - serving up their eternal love on gold platters alongside self-composed song lyrics and marriage proposals. And what have these girls done to be worthy recipients of so many suitors? Apparently, absolutely nothing.
"I was just crossing the road", claims one.
"All I did was smile", says another in defense.
Then there are the regulars (guess which category I fall into?), who are non-offensive, resonably intelligent, fun-loving and capable of a conversation or two. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Empty glass. No man, no woman. Nothing. Like the dry, dusty road in the middle of North Dakota that witnesses the pleasure of a passing car once in six months. Or is it a year?
Exactly how does this work? I just don't understand it. I've studied these chicks in action and I am sad to say, I am no closer to their secrets than before - is it in the wink, the subtle drop of the eyes, the manicured toes, the accidental brush of a shoulder? I just don't know.
A bunch of girly friends and I practiced our "come hither" looks last night which had us rolling on the floor, cackling like hyenas rather than smouldering like seductive goddesses. Maybe we should have spent our time painting our toe nails instead.
Whatever it is, kudos girlies with the pearlies. Perhaps one day, you will share. Meanwhile, the market is yours to conquer!
There exists a particular breed of female species of questionable origin (maybe they are aliens?) that appear in various forms. They range from superhot to super normal, some have blonde streaks, some have black roots, some prefer LV bags, others prefer knapsacks. But they all have one common denominator. They have an innate ability to draw men to them. In hordes.
No, these men don't flock, they throw themselves at these girls, not in search of something as banal as sex, but brandishing jewels, supplementary platinum cards, G3 phones and champagne roses - serving up their eternal love on gold platters alongside self-composed song lyrics and marriage proposals. And what have these girls done to be worthy recipients of so many suitors? Apparently, absolutely nothing.
"I was just crossing the road", claims one.
"All I did was smile", says another in defense.
Then there are the regulars (guess which category I fall into?), who are non-offensive, resonably intelligent, fun-loving and capable of a conversation or two. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Empty glass. No man, no woman. Nothing. Like the dry, dusty road in the middle of North Dakota that witnesses the pleasure of a passing car once in six months. Or is it a year?
Exactly how does this work? I just don't understand it. I've studied these chicks in action and I am sad to say, I am no closer to their secrets than before - is it in the wink, the subtle drop of the eyes, the manicured toes, the accidental brush of a shoulder? I just don't know.
A bunch of girly friends and I practiced our "come hither" looks last night which had us rolling on the floor, cackling like hyenas rather than smouldering like seductive goddesses. Maybe we should have spent our time painting our toe nails instead.
Whatever it is, kudos girlies with the pearlies. Perhaps one day, you will share. Meanwhile, the market is yours to conquer!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
No Words
Yesterday, a friend walked into work, turned on his computer, opened his emails like we do day in, day out and discovered that his brother had passed away a week ago. It's not the best news to start the day off with, but then again, is there ever a good time for bad news?
I imagine he must have been in a daze, but he was surrounded by support, and the presence of a Tibetan monk, that whilst in no way makes the pain any lesser, is more than what most people have around them and I guess, makes that first day easier to deal with in the face of the many to come.
I watched my friend blink back the tears and carry on, step by step. I only imagine how difficult it must have been. And today is another day. Another day to carry the loss, and another day closer to healing.
Compassion welled up within me and my throat choked with emotion, yet I could find no words to say, no actions to impart that could make the pain go away.
Death confounds me. Over the years, I have come to realise that I don't know how to deal with it. Therefore, I have admired from a physical distance as my closest and dearest friends and family move through the motions of mourning the departed.
I would not say I am fortunate to be spared the experience so far, for whilst I do not wish death to come anytime soon or under tragic circumstances, I am aware that it is inevitable and so is dealing with it. It may not happen today or tomorrow, but it will somewhere down the line. I can only imagine the shock and pain and I truly doubt that I have it in me to see it through with grace.
I can only express my highest regard for people around me who have lost a mother, a father, a brother, a sister or a child. For they hold themselves up so well in the face of grief, and moved on in acceptance. It's strength in at its steeliest, bravery at its best and I have nothing but utmost admiration in return.
I just want to say to my friends and family who have lost, and you know who you are - that I am sorry I did not comfort you at a time it was most needed, for it's not that I do not care, it's just that I don't know how. I only know how to make people smile, but in the face of death, smiling just doesn't seem to be right. I have racked my mind for the most appropriate thing to say but it doesn't exist. Even sending my condolences or saying "I'm sorry" seems empty. Please take my silent presence as support for that's as much as I know how to give.
I imagine he must have been in a daze, but he was surrounded by support, and the presence of a Tibetan monk, that whilst in no way makes the pain any lesser, is more than what most people have around them and I guess, makes that first day easier to deal with in the face of the many to come.
I watched my friend blink back the tears and carry on, step by step. I only imagine how difficult it must have been. And today is another day. Another day to carry the loss, and another day closer to healing.
Compassion welled up within me and my throat choked with emotion, yet I could find no words to say, no actions to impart that could make the pain go away.
Death confounds me. Over the years, I have come to realise that I don't know how to deal with it. Therefore, I have admired from a physical distance as my closest and dearest friends and family move through the motions of mourning the departed.
I would not say I am fortunate to be spared the experience so far, for whilst I do not wish death to come anytime soon or under tragic circumstances, I am aware that it is inevitable and so is dealing with it. It may not happen today or tomorrow, but it will somewhere down the line. I can only imagine the shock and pain and I truly doubt that I have it in me to see it through with grace.
I can only express my highest regard for people around me who have lost a mother, a father, a brother, a sister or a child. For they hold themselves up so well in the face of grief, and moved on in acceptance. It's strength in at its steeliest, bravery at its best and I have nothing but utmost admiration in return.
I just want to say to my friends and family who have lost, and you know who you are - that I am sorry I did not comfort you at a time it was most needed, for it's not that I do not care, it's just that I don't know how. I only know how to make people smile, but in the face of death, smiling just doesn't seem to be right. I have racked my mind for the most appropriate thing to say but it doesn't exist. Even sending my condolences or saying "I'm sorry" seems empty. Please take my silent presence as support for that's as much as I know how to give.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
It's that time of the month when I.....
* Wonder why my life resembles the plot of Das Boot
* Ask myself what I want and my answers are the same as my son's - KitKat Chunky, KitKat Lemon Cheesecake, KitKat White Chunky, KitKat, KitKat, KitKat
* Sob uncontrollably watching festive commercials
* Turn into a knife-wielding psycho if my maid slices the carrots diagonally instead of julliening them
* Suck in my stomach and I still look alot like Roseanne Barr
* Have options but consider them to be obstacles
* Want to drink - alot - but can't handle the hangover(s)
* Think my life is hopeless and it is
* Truly believe that I will die the infatuated old woman at the beginning of Superman Returns minus the money
* Fool myself into believing that chee cheong fun, nasi lemak and Frosties cornflakes contain no carbohydrates nor sugar nor fat
* Want to buy a carton of Salem Lights and smoke the night away
* Dream of climbing but paranoid that I might leave a giant red stain on the wall that might be mistaken as a hand hold
*Actually buy daisies and rip out their petals whilst melodiously singing, "he loves me", "he loves me not" and then tearing their heads out of their stems
* Am so bloated, I may just float away like a giant red balloon.
Happy, happy Mid Week everyone!
* Ask myself what I want and my answers are the same as my son's - KitKat Chunky, KitKat Lemon Cheesecake, KitKat White Chunky, KitKat, KitKat, KitKat
* Sob uncontrollably watching festive commercials
* Turn into a knife-wielding psycho if my maid slices the carrots diagonally instead of julliening them
* Suck in my stomach and I still look alot like Roseanne Barr
* Have options but consider them to be obstacles
* Want to drink - alot - but can't handle the hangover(s)
* Think my life is hopeless and it is
* Truly believe that I will die the infatuated old woman at the beginning of Superman Returns minus the money
* Fool myself into believing that chee cheong fun, nasi lemak and Frosties cornflakes contain no carbohydrates nor sugar nor fat
* Want to buy a carton of Salem Lights and smoke the night away
* Dream of climbing but paranoid that I might leave a giant red stain on the wall that might be mistaken as a hand hold
*Actually buy daisies and rip out their petals whilst melodiously singing, "he loves me", "he loves me not" and then tearing their heads out of their stems
* Am so bloated, I may just float away like a giant red balloon.
Happy, happy Mid Week everyone!
Friday, November 17, 2006
School's Out!
Today is the last day my son will spend in his nursery school. It's the closing of a chapter for him and come January he will begin a new one as he steps beyond the gates of a big new school with red uniforms.
He skips happily to his classroom and it is me who feels the sadness creep up. As I walk down the long open hallways, pass the mini toilets and gaily-coloured pictures of friendly lions, I wonder if he knows that life for him is about to take one of its many twists and turns - you know, those inevitable ones that change everything as you know it to be.
I am the one sending out notes to the Mums, desperately willing for them to call me lest our children lose touch. When I think back to my primary school days and recall my best friends then, all I can see are blurred images with form but no features. Sadly, they are the ones that I've not kept in touch with since school broke out.
The older I get and as time winds its course around, the childish quality of detachment gets slowly eroded away and I find myself increasingly reaching out and grasping whatever I can to just try and slow it down. Permanence is always elusive, forever out of reach.
He skips happily to his classroom and it is me who feels the sadness creep up. As I walk down the long open hallways, pass the mini toilets and gaily-coloured pictures of friendly lions, I wonder if he knows that life for him is about to take one of its many twists and turns - you know, those inevitable ones that change everything as you know it to be.
I am the one sending out notes to the Mums, desperately willing for them to call me lest our children lose touch. When I think back to my primary school days and recall my best friends then, all I can see are blurred images with form but no features. Sadly, they are the ones that I've not kept in touch with since school broke out.
The older I get and as time winds its course around, the childish quality of detachment gets slowly eroded away and I find myself increasingly reaching out and grasping whatever I can to just try and slow it down. Permanence is always elusive, forever out of reach.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Nowhere
If only you knew
How I've tried to erase
Your eyes from my gaze
The smile on your face
If only you knew
About my spirit you've enlivened
The sins that I’ve forgiven
Of being shy once bitten
If only you knew
The rush of my heart
Yet the calm I impart
Each time you depart
If only you knew
Of the stories of our lives
You would be surprised
To see the world I've weaved and contrived
If only you knew
Of the heart I wish I could fill
Your soul I would capture
The passion we could instill
'Cos then we wouldn’t be here
Me at mine, you at yours
Way past midnight
Wondering if there could be more
If only you knew, if only you knew
If only
How I've tried to erase
Your eyes from my gaze
The smile on your face
If only you knew
About my spirit you've enlivened
The sins that I’ve forgiven
Of being shy once bitten
If only you knew
The rush of my heart
Yet the calm I impart
Each time you depart
If only you knew
Of the stories of our lives
You would be surprised
To see the world I've weaved and contrived
If only you knew
Of the heart I wish I could fill
Your soul I would capture
The passion we could instill
'Cos then we wouldn’t be here
Me at mine, you at yours
Way past midnight
Wondering if there could be more
If only you knew, if only you knew
If only
Monday, November 13, 2006
Worried Wart
If you could add up all the time that you spent doing something completely worthless, you could add a good 10 years to your life I reckon.
Take worrying, for example. Some worrying is good, mind you. Like if you are worried about an exam, it may just be the impetus you need to get some revision done.
The worrying I'm talking about is the type that is completely unfounded. Ie. the one that has nothing to do with what's going on outside, but everythng to do with what's going on inside - in your mind to be exact.
Those who read my last blog entry and those who spoke to me last week would have known of the plight that consumed me 24 hours a day for about 7 days. I fussed over my diet, over whether to rest or to climb more that week, and nights were restless as I went over moves on imaginary routes in my mind. I was tired before I even began.
Saturday came and went, as did Sunday and I realised from the moment I sat down to listen to the instructer, white-knuckled and tense, to the moment I unclipped my last quickdraw at the bottom of the route in Batu Caves, I realised that I had been wasting my time.
And I don't mean the lead climbing course.
I did not get kicked off the class, did not do anything unneccessarily stupid (except for forgetting to clip myself to the anchor on my first climb and for not screw-locking my carabina on the daisy chain). I may not have known the answer to some of the basics, but then again, I was there to learn. I was in essence, qualified to attend. And to appease my inner kiasu bitch, I don't think I was any lesser or weaker a climber than the rest of the 6 people who were on the same course, all of whom were male, by the way.
I have to consiously remind myself of how well I have done, how committed I am to it, how hard I work at it, and how lucky I am to have found a sport I can see myself doing for years to come. (Right now, I think I could devote my life to it, but that's cos I'm on a high.)
I do wonder that if I can apply this kind of self confidence to other areas of my life, that would a large problem solved wouldn't it? Why are we always doubting before we have a chance to prove ourselves? Why do we rely on reassurance to find our confidence?
I will never ever doubt my climbing again. Or allow anyone to cast a shadow of doubt over it. No, I am not a superb climber but I am not talking about standards here. I'm giving myself (the one with the forked tail sitting on my shoulder) a hard talking-to about knowing what I can do and what my limits are. It's highly personal information that only I am privy to and therefore nobody alive is in the position to sway me into self-doubt.
On that note, climbing ROCKS!
Take worrying, for example. Some worrying is good, mind you. Like if you are worried about an exam, it may just be the impetus you need to get some revision done.
The worrying I'm talking about is the type that is completely unfounded. Ie. the one that has nothing to do with what's going on outside, but everythng to do with what's going on inside - in your mind to be exact.
Those who read my last blog entry and those who spoke to me last week would have known of the plight that consumed me 24 hours a day for about 7 days. I fussed over my diet, over whether to rest or to climb more that week, and nights were restless as I went over moves on imaginary routes in my mind. I was tired before I even began.
Saturday came and went, as did Sunday and I realised from the moment I sat down to listen to the instructer, white-knuckled and tense, to the moment I unclipped my last quickdraw at the bottom of the route in Batu Caves, I realised that I had been wasting my time.
And I don't mean the lead climbing course.
I did not get kicked off the class, did not do anything unneccessarily stupid (except for forgetting to clip myself to the anchor on my first climb and for not screw-locking my carabina on the daisy chain). I may not have known the answer to some of the basics, but then again, I was there to learn. I was in essence, qualified to attend. And to appease my inner kiasu bitch, I don't think I was any lesser or weaker a climber than the rest of the 6 people who were on the same course, all of whom were male, by the way.
I have to consiously remind myself of how well I have done, how committed I am to it, how hard I work at it, and how lucky I am to have found a sport I can see myself doing for years to come. (Right now, I think I could devote my life to it, but that's cos I'm on a high.)
I do wonder that if I can apply this kind of self confidence to other areas of my life, that would a large problem solved wouldn't it? Why are we always doubting before we have a chance to prove ourselves? Why do we rely on reassurance to find our confidence?
I will never ever doubt my climbing again. Or allow anyone to cast a shadow of doubt over it. No, I am not a superb climber but I am not talking about standards here. I'm giving myself (the one with the forked tail sitting on my shoulder) a hard talking-to about knowing what I can do and what my limits are. It's highly personal information that only I am privy to and therefore nobody alive is in the position to sway me into self-doubt.
On that note, climbing ROCKS!
Thursday, November 09, 2006
You Are What You Eat
So there I am sitting underneath the 6B+ route wondering why I can't reach the top when I had done so on two previous occassions, and why my climbing buddy yesterday could practise - practise - his he-moves on the purple (probably 6a) when I couldn't even lift my torso above the small - small - overhang at the top. It is a route I know I can fly up and I don't why I was struggling.
Now, I'm taking the plunge and taking the lead course this weekend, which means large falls are in order. There are climbers who climb far better than me who don't feel they are ready to do it. Yet, I'm impatient to get to the good stuff and well, some people think I'm ready, and I would love to believe them.
But I simply cannot afford to climb like the woose that I have been in the last few weeks and scramble up a 6a. To say that I am nervous does not do my wobbly jellied stomach any justice. I have been obsessing about lead climbing for the longest time and being the irratic climber that I have been just does not cut it.
So I have spent many hours pondering about my suddenly atrocious climbing. Bad habits overtake technique when you are desperate to make a move. I'm placing my hands far too high above my head, not twisting enough for holds and not using techniques like the drop knee that I have learned (and used!).
Then I realised my diet. When I was eating anything I could get my hands on - ie. overloading - I was strong - in fact, I had to consciously tell myself to let my feet do the work and not my upper body. Then I became vegetarian for a month and quite frankly, that killed my climbing ability - I just did not have the strength to get very far. I really began climbing like an idiot. Then I started eating like a pig again and then climbing improved. But now, since I've been on Atkins, I am findung that whilst I have the strength to get quite high up the wall, I don't have the endurance. I get pumped so easily it's not funny.
So theoretically, if I begin including carbohydrates again in my food this week, I ought to be on track to climb up 6Bs without red pointing it. Ahh, if only it were that easy. The confidence is rattled and without that, you could have all the muscle in the world but it would still have you climbing like an idiot.
So what to do? Neorvous like hell. The course is from 10-3 on Sat and Sun and I just have a nasty feeling I'm going to make a complete fool of myself in front of everyone. It's like being back at school again and not being able to do the math.
Inner voice speaks:
This attitude won't do! You know you can handle 6Bs! You have done it indoors and outdoors! You just need to eat properly and you will be fine! You are just as capable as eveyone else on the course! No the instructer is not going to pick on you! Stop acting like a big baby!
Yeah yeah whatever....Boohooo, I'm scared!
Now, I'm taking the plunge and taking the lead course this weekend, which means large falls are in order. There are climbers who climb far better than me who don't feel they are ready to do it. Yet, I'm impatient to get to the good stuff and well, some people think I'm ready, and I would love to believe them.
But I simply cannot afford to climb like the woose that I have been in the last few weeks and scramble up a 6a. To say that I am nervous does not do my wobbly jellied stomach any justice. I have been obsessing about lead climbing for the longest time and being the irratic climber that I have been just does not cut it.
So I have spent many hours pondering about my suddenly atrocious climbing. Bad habits overtake technique when you are desperate to make a move. I'm placing my hands far too high above my head, not twisting enough for holds and not using techniques like the drop knee that I have learned (and used!).
Then I realised my diet. When I was eating anything I could get my hands on - ie. overloading - I was strong - in fact, I had to consciously tell myself to let my feet do the work and not my upper body. Then I became vegetarian for a month and quite frankly, that killed my climbing ability - I just did not have the strength to get very far. I really began climbing like an idiot. Then I started eating like a pig again and then climbing improved. But now, since I've been on Atkins, I am findung that whilst I have the strength to get quite high up the wall, I don't have the endurance. I get pumped so easily it's not funny.
So theoretically, if I begin including carbohydrates again in my food this week, I ought to be on track to climb up 6Bs without red pointing it. Ahh, if only it were that easy. The confidence is rattled and without that, you could have all the muscle in the world but it would still have you climbing like an idiot.
So what to do? Neorvous like hell. The course is from 10-3 on Sat and Sun and I just have a nasty feeling I'm going to make a complete fool of myself in front of everyone. It's like being back at school again and not being able to do the math.
Inner voice speaks:
This attitude won't do! You know you can handle 6Bs! You have done it indoors and outdoors! You just need to eat properly and you will be fine! You are just as capable as eveyone else on the course! No the instructer is not going to pick on you! Stop acting like a big baby!
Yeah yeah whatever....Boohooo, I'm scared!
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
May The Force Be With You
I am the classic consumer. The one you want walking into your shop. Throw me anything with a story, and most likely, I'll lap it up and buy one in every colour.
Lately, strange things have been happening, that have lead to even stranger things. It began with the snatching of the handbag. Then came the losing of the parking ticket and subsequent RM50 fine. Then the three failed attempts to the IC department to apply for a replacement - it just so happens that each time I went, their system happened to be down. And then the corresponsing 3 - also failed - attempts to KLCC Maybank to bank in cash - because funnily enough, their system was also down. The straw on the camel's back? Maybank charging me RM50 for being overdrawn as a result of a cheque clearing before I could bank in the money.
My yoga-practicing friends urged me to clear my qi. The chakras were clogged, they said. Practive yoga everyday and sweat it out, said one. Come visit my friend, a crystal healer, said the other.
The consumer in me stirred and I ran, money in hand, in hope for solutions in return.
What I got out of my crystal healer was not what I expected. Firstly, by peering into my chakras she saw thoughts and feelings that I had not even begun to put into words. Things old and new that I had known inside but not outside. I came out feeling refreshed - yes - like I just had a good cry. And for days after I felt calmer, more settled and for once, accepting.
But now, a few weeks later, I am faced with several unanswered questions. You know, those that don't have an answer? Those that you will probably have to search your whole life for and then discover on your death bed that there is no answer?
Do you believe in the universe? Not just about the existence of the planets and stuff they teach you in encyclopaedias, but the energies that dwell within. Do you believe in 'angels'?
The whole notion of asking from the universe and receiving, is foreign to me. Reward was always something you earned, something you did more than just will. But the more I think of it, the more it makes sense. Why would I not receive if I asked? If the universe is loving, if good and bad are principles created by man and therefore inapplicable in the larger scheme of things, why would I be deemed to receive if I merely asked?
It does appear to be the easy way out. Want something? Well, just ask for it. But isn't that what we do sub consciously anyway? It's no secret that you can will things to happen because without realising it, you are conditioning your mind and will to achieve it.
Strange but true. Since my session with the healer, new opportunitities have come my way. And I suppose it would be easy to say that they came because I asked the universe. But equally easy also to say that they came because the session centred the subject in my mind and I talked to people about them and when you do, I suppose opportunities make themselves seen.
I don't claim to fully understand the power of the universe and how it works. But if anything came from cleaning my chakras, it was a reminder of the power of the universe and the reinforcement that yes, things do happen by what we view as chance - messages sent from someone/something upstairs to draw our attentions. And then, once we are engaged, our minds and will are powerfil. We do the rest of the work really.
We do determine the path of our own lives ultimately, but I believe, within a pre-detemined setting and unseen parameters, and certainly with a little help along the way.
That's what I believe anyway. Right now. But who knows? What I believed 10 years ago, I don't now, so who's to say what new beliefs lie in the future. But that's life isn't it? Change.
Lately, strange things have been happening, that have lead to even stranger things. It began with the snatching of the handbag. Then came the losing of the parking ticket and subsequent RM50 fine. Then the three failed attempts to the IC department to apply for a replacement - it just so happens that each time I went, their system happened to be down. And then the corresponsing 3 - also failed - attempts to KLCC Maybank to bank in cash - because funnily enough, their system was also down. The straw on the camel's back? Maybank charging me RM50 for being overdrawn as a result of a cheque clearing before I could bank in the money.
My yoga-practicing friends urged me to clear my qi. The chakras were clogged, they said. Practive yoga everyday and sweat it out, said one. Come visit my friend, a crystal healer, said the other.
The consumer in me stirred and I ran, money in hand, in hope for solutions in return.
What I got out of my crystal healer was not what I expected. Firstly, by peering into my chakras she saw thoughts and feelings that I had not even begun to put into words. Things old and new that I had known inside but not outside. I came out feeling refreshed - yes - like I just had a good cry. And for days after I felt calmer, more settled and for once, accepting.
But now, a few weeks later, I am faced with several unanswered questions. You know, those that don't have an answer? Those that you will probably have to search your whole life for and then discover on your death bed that there is no answer?
Do you believe in the universe? Not just about the existence of the planets and stuff they teach you in encyclopaedias, but the energies that dwell within. Do you believe in 'angels'?
The whole notion of asking from the universe and receiving, is foreign to me. Reward was always something you earned, something you did more than just will. But the more I think of it, the more it makes sense. Why would I not receive if I asked? If the universe is loving, if good and bad are principles created by man and therefore inapplicable in the larger scheme of things, why would I be deemed to receive if I merely asked?
It does appear to be the easy way out. Want something? Well, just ask for it. But isn't that what we do sub consciously anyway? It's no secret that you can will things to happen because without realising it, you are conditioning your mind and will to achieve it.
Strange but true. Since my session with the healer, new opportunitities have come my way. And I suppose it would be easy to say that they came because I asked the universe. But equally easy also to say that they came because the session centred the subject in my mind and I talked to people about them and when you do, I suppose opportunities make themselves seen.
I don't claim to fully understand the power of the universe and how it works. But if anything came from cleaning my chakras, it was a reminder of the power of the universe and the reinforcement that yes, things do happen by what we view as chance - messages sent from someone/something upstairs to draw our attentions. And then, once we are engaged, our minds and will are powerfil. We do the rest of the work really.
We do determine the path of our own lives ultimately, but I believe, within a pre-detemined setting and unseen parameters, and certainly with a little help along the way.
That's what I believe anyway. Right now. But who knows? What I believed 10 years ago, I don't now, so who's to say what new beliefs lie in the future. But that's life isn't it? Change.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Say No To This!
Isn't Edwin a genius?I don't know why he didn't post this. It is by far my favourite photo of the Fairground Series.
It was the second ride we went on - when we were in between feeling really good and really bad, so it was a good ride.
Did I mention we are going again this weekend? And bringing suckers with us? It's going to be a hoot!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Ageing Junkies
The Euro Fun Fair behind the 1 Utama Shopping Complex is a blast and brings me back to a time when I was at school in England, crunching on toffee apples and sneaking puffs from cigarettes.
It has the same tacky feel of a small fair - you know, the type where you wonder whether you will make it out alive but you still go anyway. As the Cranberries' 'Linger' blasted us up into what felt like space and caught us as we fell, I wondered why I was doing this to myself. Apart from the obvious exhilaration, the feeling also made me sick to the bone. At this age, one cannot afford to be knocked around like before.
Nevertheless, I still found myself venturing from one ridiculously scary ride to the next. Egged on by Edwin and our combined sense of kiasuness, we surrendered our bodies to the machines. Like rag dolls, we were swung us around at crazy speeds as centrifugal forces flung us into the sky and centripetal ones sat down hard on our chests, making breathing sorta out of the question. Not to forget also the strobe lighting placed at strategic spots to distort whatever sense of sky and earth we had left.
I can still taste the bile on the back of my tongue.
Still - I highly recommend it. There are plenty of kiddy rides too and on an earlier family visit, I proudly witnessed my son's first ever bumper car ride that ended appropriately beneath a stack of blockades. He also went on his first roller coaster with my father crammed into the front seat with him and I had the privelige of his muffling his bawls on the top of the Ferris Wheel - that came not from fear but anger from being deceived by this large wheel that did nothing but go round and round at a snails' pace.
It was a time to bump into friends in family mode - hungrily eyeing the bigger rides but having to settle for the kiddies carousel instead.
It comes by once a year I am told and I find it pretty reasonable. RM3 to get in of you are an adult, less for kids, and each ride, depending on fear factor ranges from RM4 to RM8. For great photos, click on to Edwin's Photoblog.
It has the same tacky feel of a small fair - you know, the type where you wonder whether you will make it out alive but you still go anyway. As the Cranberries' 'Linger' blasted us up into what felt like space and caught us as we fell, I wondered why I was doing this to myself. Apart from the obvious exhilaration, the feeling also made me sick to the bone. At this age, one cannot afford to be knocked around like before.
Nevertheless, I still found myself venturing from one ridiculously scary ride to the next. Egged on by Edwin and our combined sense of kiasuness, we surrendered our bodies to the machines. Like rag dolls, we were swung us around at crazy speeds as centrifugal forces flung us into the sky and centripetal ones sat down hard on our chests, making breathing sorta out of the question. Not to forget also the strobe lighting placed at strategic spots to distort whatever sense of sky and earth we had left.
I can still taste the bile on the back of my tongue.
Still - I highly recommend it. There are plenty of kiddy rides too and on an earlier family visit, I proudly witnessed my son's first ever bumper car ride that ended appropriately beneath a stack of blockades. He also went on his first roller coaster with my father crammed into the front seat with him and I had the privelige of his muffling his bawls on the top of the Ferris Wheel - that came not from fear but anger from being deceived by this large wheel that did nothing but go round and round at a snails' pace.
It was a time to bump into friends in family mode - hungrily eyeing the bigger rides but having to settle for the kiddies carousel instead.
It comes by once a year I am told and I find it pretty reasonable. RM3 to get in of you are an adult, less for kids, and each ride, depending on fear factor ranges from RM4 to RM8. For great photos, click on to Edwin's Photoblog.
Friday, October 27, 2006
The Layan
Like in the brochure, The Layan sits gaily on a hillside, terracotta and green against the stark blue sky of occasional clotted cloud. It strides the ridge it lives on, smiling prettily back at the lifeless, damp stretch of sand that is Layan Beach, a lesser-known, lesser-appeal cousin of postcard-exploited Surin and Bangtao further down current.
The two staff and the one grey-looking manager who greeted us at the reception did so with such zeal – as if they had not welcomed guests in an age. Smiles as large as calzones; eyes focusing just beyond our heads, as if we are shorter than meant to be.
“We welcome you vely much to Layan. We hope you stay vely long and enjoy.”
Gentle, melodious voices of hollow seduction.
In a triangle, the three lead us on an undulating garden path that seemed to take us nowhere, fringed with the sweet scent of jasmine, ash and fallen tropical fruit. I marvelled at how silent it was despite being so close to the sea. No squealing kids, no beach tunes, no wish-wash of waves in the distance. What a secluded hideaway!
The swaying gait of the three brought us finally to our room, at the far end of the resort, just before it hinges off the cliff. I blinked twice at the familiar sight of blackened trees in the sea. In a flashback they were green. The equatorial sun again, distorting colour and form.
Still, it was sunny, though the room had not been aired and smelled like well-aged dust.
We tipped the smiling porter, his shirt sleeve receiving the gratuity.
The three departed.
That night, tanked with too much local brew, the tuk tuk driver hurtled through the inky blackness, seemingly lost. He had looked a little perturbed when we asked to be taken back, glancing often at his rear view mirror at our pale, untanned faces. The salty sea air raked through our hair, breathing life into split ends.
After dead turns that met at the sea, we stopped for directions at a small, fluorescent-lit hut in the shadown of a hill. We gazed back at its ware of dead cockroaches.
We watched the Thai exchange and the wide-eyed look of disbelief register on cabbie’s pock-marked face.
He turned back at us, eyes in slits.
“You say Layan?”, he asked, voice suddenly gruff.
We nodded drunken yeses.
He paused. Right hand inched closer to his back.
“Cannot be…fire. Burn down 9 years aledi.”
"Evelybody die. All the staff. All the guests...", his voice trailed off as we smiled.
The two staff and the one grey-looking manager who greeted us at the reception did so with such zeal – as if they had not welcomed guests in an age. Smiles as large as calzones; eyes focusing just beyond our heads, as if we are shorter than meant to be.
“We welcome you vely much to Layan. We hope you stay vely long and enjoy.”
Gentle, melodious voices of hollow seduction.
In a triangle, the three lead us on an undulating garden path that seemed to take us nowhere, fringed with the sweet scent of jasmine, ash and fallen tropical fruit. I marvelled at how silent it was despite being so close to the sea. No squealing kids, no beach tunes, no wish-wash of waves in the distance. What a secluded hideaway!
The swaying gait of the three brought us finally to our room, at the far end of the resort, just before it hinges off the cliff. I blinked twice at the familiar sight of blackened trees in the sea. In a flashback they were green. The equatorial sun again, distorting colour and form.
Still, it was sunny, though the room had not been aired and smelled like well-aged dust.
We tipped the smiling porter, his shirt sleeve receiving the gratuity.
The three departed.
That night, tanked with too much local brew, the tuk tuk driver hurtled through the inky blackness, seemingly lost. He had looked a little perturbed when we asked to be taken back, glancing often at his rear view mirror at our pale, untanned faces. The salty sea air raked through our hair, breathing life into split ends.
After dead turns that met at the sea, we stopped for directions at a small, fluorescent-lit hut in the shadown of a hill. We gazed back at its ware of dead cockroaches.
We watched the Thai exchange and the wide-eyed look of disbelief register on cabbie’s pock-marked face.
He turned back at us, eyes in slits.
“You say Layan?”, he asked, voice suddenly gruff.
We nodded drunken yeses.
He paused. Right hand inched closer to his back.
“Cannot be…fire. Burn down 9 years aledi.”
"Evelybody die. All the staff. All the guests...", his voice trailed off as we smiled.
Monday, October 16, 2006
The Weekend
The Banquet - Whodunnit?!
Spent the weekend glued to the TV - The Devil Wears Prada (You go Meryl!), Basic Instinct 2 (the only things looking up were Sharon Stone's fake boobies), Crash (wow!), The Banquet (the ending is killing me!)
Why is rock climbing such an expensive sport?
(RM330 for the most beautiful pair of Evolv shoes, RMXXX for sending my shoes back to Saltic to be re-soled, RM300 to join CFas so that I can climb outdoors once a month, RMXXX for discovering I now have sweaty hands and am in need of chalk)
Does anyone die from OD-ing on eggs?
(Been on Atkins about a week now and it's been pretty OK except for the tub - yes tub, of pork floss I inhaled yesterday. Been eating truck loads of eggs...has anyone on Atkins ever died from high cholesterol?)
Why do men never call when they say they will??
(A universal mystery - enough said)
Spent the weekend glued to the TV - The Devil Wears Prada (You go Meryl!), Basic Instinct 2 (the only things looking up were Sharon Stone's fake boobies), Crash (wow!), The Banquet (the ending is killing me!)
Why is rock climbing such an expensive sport?
(RM330 for the most beautiful pair of Evolv shoes, RMXXX for sending my shoes back to Saltic to be re-soled, RM300 to join CFas so that I can climb outdoors once a month, RMXXX for discovering I now have sweaty hands and am in need of chalk)
Does anyone die from OD-ing on eggs?
(Been on Atkins about a week now and it's been pretty OK except for the tub - yes tub, of pork floss I inhaled yesterday. Been eating truck loads of eggs...has anyone on Atkins ever died from high cholesterol?)
Why do men never call when they say they will??
(A universal mystery - enough said)
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Shopping Binge Disorder (SBD)
People totally underestimate a woman's vanity. It often defies all logic and any measure of reasonableness. Take me, a prime example. Yesterday, like most days, I felt horribly horribly pudgy. I put on my 'slim' clothes and nearly fell over at how much weight I've put on from my vegetarian service to the environment. I stuck my tongue out at the Monster Fat Girl who stared back at me, defiantly waved my middle finger at the resolution to stop shopping, and drove like a maniac to Cats Whiskers - the shopperholics supermarket - and proceeded to shop, Shop, SHOP away the fat.
In this fat month, I daresay I have spent a shameful RM2k on attempting to beautify myself and make myself...well, less fat. I admit, it's a disgusting amount to spend when on a tight budget. I already shopped myself to near death on my trips to Bangkok and with ongoing house maintenence, two holidays coming up, road tax, car insurance, and other year-end expenditure, shopping is simply too expensive and frivolous a therapy to be engaged in. Yet I just can't help myself. I am stupidly convinced that eye lash extensions, ball gowns, baggy black tops, yet another black dress, shoes, shoes, shoes, and enough lipgloss to make a whole cookbook shine gloriously will make me beautiful and attractive to all.
Oh state the obvious why not. That beauty comes fron within...blah, blah, blah. Try telling a fat girl that! Beauty comes from within alright - ie. there's a thin girl inside me just dying to get out!
The point I'm trying to make is that vanity has everything to do with what's ticking upstairs. To others you may look alright but to the mind's eye, alright means hideous. Stomach rings, thighs, butt cheeks, face cheeks, arms, calves are magnified ten-fold. Oh, someone call the plastic surgeon please!
The battle against delusion is a much harden one to win than than the battle against the bulge. The physical can be modified with diets and exercise but upstairs, the wiring is complicated. Years of conditioning, brain washing and image haunting from let's-not-name-the-sources can take decades to undo and is an ongoing, tiresome, boring boring issue to have to overcome.
Mind you, some days are good, when the hormones are stable, the jeans button up and the boy you fancy makes eye contact. But most days, the oestrogen ODs and your face shines worse than the Exxon Valdez slick, the fat has nowhere to go and spills into your jeans pockets and the boy you fancy gets chatted up by the hot chick with the long legs and shiny hair.
I know, they say if you feel good, you look good. But seriously girls...how true is that?
While you try to come up with a convincing answer, excuse me, I have some shopping to do.
In this fat month, I daresay I have spent a shameful RM2k on attempting to beautify myself and make myself...well, less fat. I admit, it's a disgusting amount to spend when on a tight budget. I already shopped myself to near death on my trips to Bangkok and with ongoing house maintenence, two holidays coming up, road tax, car insurance, and other year-end expenditure, shopping is simply too expensive and frivolous a therapy to be engaged in. Yet I just can't help myself. I am stupidly convinced that eye lash extensions, ball gowns, baggy black tops, yet another black dress, shoes, shoes, shoes, and enough lipgloss to make a whole cookbook shine gloriously will make me beautiful and attractive to all.
Oh state the obvious why not. That beauty comes fron within...blah, blah, blah. Try telling a fat girl that! Beauty comes from within alright - ie. there's a thin girl inside me just dying to get out!
The point I'm trying to make is that vanity has everything to do with what's ticking upstairs. To others you may look alright but to the mind's eye, alright means hideous. Stomach rings, thighs, butt cheeks, face cheeks, arms, calves are magnified ten-fold. Oh, someone call the plastic surgeon please!
The battle against delusion is a much harden one to win than than the battle against the bulge. The physical can be modified with diets and exercise but upstairs, the wiring is complicated. Years of conditioning, brain washing and image haunting from let's-not-name-the-sources can take decades to undo and is an ongoing, tiresome, boring boring issue to have to overcome.
Mind you, some days are good, when the hormones are stable, the jeans button up and the boy you fancy makes eye contact. But most days, the oestrogen ODs and your face shines worse than the Exxon Valdez slick, the fat has nowhere to go and spills into your jeans pockets and the boy you fancy gets chatted up by the hot chick with the long legs and shiny hair.
I know, they say if you feel good, you look good. But seriously girls...how true is that?
While you try to come up with a convincing answer, excuse me, I have some shopping to do.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Remembering Your Dreams
Before the flakes of daily life landed on your shoulders and snowed you down. Before your last thoughts as you dozed off at night were about the scheduler on your Outlook. Before weekdays became chock-a-block and weekends were spent recuperating, what did you think of? What carried you off to cloudless sleep, what sprung you out of bed in the morning, what kept you going - forward on the treadmill, up the ladder, or down that garden path called life?
I spent so much of my teenage years in a permanent dream state. Sitting by my bedroom window gazing out at the twinkling lights of a city asleep, as Casey Kasem droned on for 40 songs. I dreamt of being Madonna, of being swept up on stage at a Duranduran concert like Courtney Cox was by Bruce Springsteen, of being a millionaire by 30, of the name to paint on my fleet of private jets, of my Oscar acceptance speech, of being on the cover of Cosmo, of being thin in pink legwarmers.....the dreams were many, and manyfold, with every detail imagined, enacted and relived day in, day out.
My twenties were spent inside a bottle of Absolut where I only came up for air every few months. Time imploded a little because I believed I was invincible and that everything would remain as it was forever. And the dreams, they slowly whittled away because who needs dreams when there are so many drinking games to play?
Sobering up now and smarting from mistakes of the past, I wonder why I walk listlessly, am constantly overwhelmed yet haunted by sleepness nights and a blank mind. I realised that, like many, I had forgotten my dreams, the intangible food that nourishes my soul.
We have become so robotic in acting out of instinct that we have lost the skill to analyse why is it we feel what we do (or don't). Why we crave. Why we urge. Why anything?
In order to live rather than exist, I've tried to recall my dreams. Do or die, there are things I need to get done or I will forever haunt this earth in a state of unrest. Oh, they range from the monumental (winning an Oscar for adapting something amazing for film or climbing Mount Everest [serious!]), to achievable if I got my arse together (publishing damn good written work), to the frivolous (finding the poppy field in Ismail Merchant's A Room With A View and once there, be passionately kissed as in the film). Possible or not, is not the issue.
Cleo-Jean reminded me of one thing. That it is now or never. While dreams may float about until you breathe life into them, our bodies sadly don't have that kind of shelf life. They wither away. What could be worse than having the will but not the capability? Why waste all the capability we have now on lack of will? Wake up! Get moving! It's now or never! You can't rely on your next life, what if you came back as a Freesian cow?
I spent so much of my teenage years in a permanent dream state. Sitting by my bedroom window gazing out at the twinkling lights of a city asleep, as Casey Kasem droned on for 40 songs. I dreamt of being Madonna, of being swept up on stage at a Duranduran concert like Courtney Cox was by Bruce Springsteen, of being a millionaire by 30, of the name to paint on my fleet of private jets, of my Oscar acceptance speech, of being on the cover of Cosmo, of being thin in pink legwarmers.....the dreams were many, and manyfold, with every detail imagined, enacted and relived day in, day out.
My twenties were spent inside a bottle of Absolut where I only came up for air every few months. Time imploded a little because I believed I was invincible and that everything would remain as it was forever. And the dreams, they slowly whittled away because who needs dreams when there are so many drinking games to play?
Sobering up now and smarting from mistakes of the past, I wonder why I walk listlessly, am constantly overwhelmed yet haunted by sleepness nights and a blank mind. I realised that, like many, I had forgotten my dreams, the intangible food that nourishes my soul.
We have become so robotic in acting out of instinct that we have lost the skill to analyse why is it we feel what we do (or don't). Why we crave. Why we urge. Why anything?
In order to live rather than exist, I've tried to recall my dreams. Do or die, there are things I need to get done or I will forever haunt this earth in a state of unrest. Oh, they range from the monumental (winning an Oscar for adapting something amazing for film or climbing Mount Everest [serious!]), to achievable if I got my arse together (publishing damn good written work), to the frivolous (finding the poppy field in Ismail Merchant's A Room With A View and once there, be passionately kissed as in the film). Possible or not, is not the issue.
Cleo-Jean reminded me of one thing. That it is now or never. While dreams may float about until you breathe life into them, our bodies sadly don't have that kind of shelf life. They wither away. What could be worse than having the will but not the capability? Why waste all the capability we have now on lack of will? Wake up! Get moving! It's now or never! You can't rely on your next life, what if you came back as a Freesian cow?
Monday, October 09, 2006
Breath Of Fresh Air
Hack, hack, hack...the haze is killing us all! What does sky look like again?
I pulled away the curtain of smog two weekends ago and played under the loving gaze of blue skies and sunshine. In yet another pursuit of nature and spirit, I gathered a bunch of friends up to Gopeng, Perak where we abseiled down a waterfall and flew over the rapids and white water of Sungai Kampar. Neither activity was particularly difficult, and perhaps a little disappointing in the fear factor department, but I still had buckets of fun in Mother Nature's playground. There's nothing like mandi sungai, swinging of tree branches, being carted around like cattle in a lorry and eating damn good sambal al fresco.
Thumbs up to Nomad Adventure who do a great job of hosting adventure trips where you can customise activities of choice - combining the fun of white water rafting or kayaking, caving, high traversing over chasms, firefox, waterfall abseiling, jungle trekking and so on.
Whilst out in the middle of nowhere, we chanced upon a quaint little resthouse with rolling grounds and cute 'lil huts, called Rumah Rehat Adeline. If you close the eye that rests on the humungous waterpipe that runs alongside it, it is actually located smack in the middle of the most beautiful surroundings. There is the smell of nature, the lull of chirping crickets and babbling brook, and the invaluable feeling that lots and lots of wild, wild life out there, outnumbers us humans.
The experience is what I would akin to posing for a nude photograph (not that I have, I can only imagine). A heady sense of fear but complete freedom as you are stripped of fluff and reminded again, in your birthday suit, of whom you are and where you stand in the grander scheme of things. A mere human being in the face of far greater picture of life and art in motion. I reckon the jungle is a fantastic place to get off your face, run around naked and syiok your nerves nicely.
I wonder if it is age that's getting to me, or the city. But the need to get out of KL is getting stronger. Out of its shopping centres and night clubs and away from the 'fringe' people (people that don't actually feature in your life - but who are just there to periodically irritate you by asking probing questions like 'still no boyfriend yet?' or 'when's your next baby coming?' or the best one yet - 'do you know you have put on weight?').
My inbox these days are a reflection of my inner urge - newsletters from nature from organisations like Wild Asia and The Malaysian Nature Society.
I asked myself when I was in Gopeng, ducking my head in the face of oncoming tree branches as we hurled our way through the wilderness. Could I live out here? Forever? Could I practice what I preach? Live in a hut and feed chickens? Thing is I really don't know. But what I do know is that lately, I see through my life as it has been. I see its utter frivolity, its unnecessary frills, its man-made adventures. It doesn't mean I wish to pack up and head for the jungle but it sure has me rethinking about what really matters.
I know I rant on about this but I can't say it enough. That life is so much more than material wealth, climbing the corporate ladder, than being smarter than the next person or leading a more 'successful' life. I want my son to grow up feeling wet grass on his feet, knowing the scent of rain, experiencing the icy cold of river water, being awed by the complex hues of the sky and feeling in his bones the true greatness of the earth. Not from the flip of an Astro decoder, the pages of a travel magazine or even worse, from a lame re-enaction in a video game - but by him, first-hand, standing on top of a mountain, or looking down from a rock face or from inside the vastness of an cave in the hollow of the earth.
This is what I believe life should be.
Note: Save the rainforest! The 300,000 hectare Belum-Temengor virgin rainforest is partially located in Perak and stretches North, is 130 million years old (older than the Amazon - wow!). It's right here at our doorstep! As with every other natural or historical thing in this developing country, it's under threat, in this case by logging and deforestation. Just thought you might want to know...
I pulled away the curtain of smog two weekends ago and played under the loving gaze of blue skies and sunshine. In yet another pursuit of nature and spirit, I gathered a bunch of friends up to Gopeng, Perak where we abseiled down a waterfall and flew over the rapids and white water of Sungai Kampar. Neither activity was particularly difficult, and perhaps a little disappointing in the fear factor department, but I still had buckets of fun in Mother Nature's playground. There's nothing like mandi sungai, swinging of tree branches, being carted around like cattle in a lorry and eating damn good sambal al fresco.
Thumbs up to Nomad Adventure who do a great job of hosting adventure trips where you can customise activities of choice - combining the fun of white water rafting or kayaking, caving, high traversing over chasms, firefox, waterfall abseiling, jungle trekking and so on.
Whilst out in the middle of nowhere, we chanced upon a quaint little resthouse with rolling grounds and cute 'lil huts, called Rumah Rehat Adeline. If you close the eye that rests on the humungous waterpipe that runs alongside it, it is actually located smack in the middle of the most beautiful surroundings. There is the smell of nature, the lull of chirping crickets and babbling brook, and the invaluable feeling that lots and lots of wild, wild life out there, outnumbers us humans.
The experience is what I would akin to posing for a nude photograph (not that I have, I can only imagine). A heady sense of fear but complete freedom as you are stripped of fluff and reminded again, in your birthday suit, of whom you are and where you stand in the grander scheme of things. A mere human being in the face of far greater picture of life and art in motion. I reckon the jungle is a fantastic place to get off your face, run around naked and syiok your nerves nicely.
I wonder if it is age that's getting to me, or the city. But the need to get out of KL is getting stronger. Out of its shopping centres and night clubs and away from the 'fringe' people (people that don't actually feature in your life - but who are just there to periodically irritate you by asking probing questions like 'still no boyfriend yet?' or 'when's your next baby coming?' or the best one yet - 'do you know you have put on weight?').
My inbox these days are a reflection of my inner urge - newsletters from nature from organisations like Wild Asia and The Malaysian Nature Society.
I asked myself when I was in Gopeng, ducking my head in the face of oncoming tree branches as we hurled our way through the wilderness. Could I live out here? Forever? Could I practice what I preach? Live in a hut and feed chickens? Thing is I really don't know. But what I do know is that lately, I see through my life as it has been. I see its utter frivolity, its unnecessary frills, its man-made adventures. It doesn't mean I wish to pack up and head for the jungle but it sure has me rethinking about what really matters.
I know I rant on about this but I can't say it enough. That life is so much more than material wealth, climbing the corporate ladder, than being smarter than the next person or leading a more 'successful' life. I want my son to grow up feeling wet grass on his feet, knowing the scent of rain, experiencing the icy cold of river water, being awed by the complex hues of the sky and feeling in his bones the true greatness of the earth. Not from the flip of an Astro decoder, the pages of a travel magazine or even worse, from a lame re-enaction in a video game - but by him, first-hand, standing on top of a mountain, or looking down from a rock face or from inside the vastness of an cave in the hollow of the earth.
This is what I believe life should be.
Note: Save the rainforest! The 300,000 hectare Belum-Temengor virgin rainforest is partially located in Perak and stretches North, is 130 million years old (older than the Amazon - wow!). It's right here at our doorstep! As with every other natural or historical thing in this developing country, it's under threat, in this case by logging and deforestation. Just thought you might want to know...
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Life Or Something Like It
Yesterday, I attended a wedding of an old friend. When he walked down the aisle, so handsome in his tux with lovely wife on arm, my heart lurched with pride. So this is what it feels like to see someone close get married. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to a million weddings- after all, it’s a KL past time – only that this isn’t a shot gun one (!), and it was the wedding of a friend who was close during a very happy part of my life. The event filled me with wonderful memories and glad tidings for the future.
The wedding was a reunion of old friends too. People I partied with, cried with, laughed with, could have slept with, worked with, fought with, holidayed with, dined with, drank with, ended up in the police station with.
When you attend a funeral and a wedding back to back, it does things to you. I guess I am reminded of what life is. No matter where you are – in India or in Ireland, in hiding or not, you cannot escape the cycle of people being born, people uniting, and then eventual death. From the coolest person you know, to the saddest, the prettiest to the not so, everyone follows the same old cycle. Life is just that – a book with many chapters. The same for everyone.
With childhood friends, we all grow up together, lead our separate yet inextricably parallel lives – whether some marry or not, divorce or not, have kids or not, live abroad or not, make money or not – we all age, we all get our fair share of wrinkles and handles and we all meet perfunctorily at each other's life's milestones – at weddings, funerals, full moons, etc.
It’s strangely comforting to see other people go through what you are going through – albeit with a small degree of variation. There is comfort in numbers. We are all finding ourselves, dealing with ourselves, adapting as we journey together on this giant bandwagon community along the road called life.
The wedding was a reunion of old friends too. People I partied with, cried with, laughed with, could have slept with, worked with, fought with, holidayed with, dined with, drank with, ended up in the police station with.
When you attend a funeral and a wedding back to back, it does things to you. I guess I am reminded of what life is. No matter where you are – in India or in Ireland, in hiding or not, you cannot escape the cycle of people being born, people uniting, and then eventual death. From the coolest person you know, to the saddest, the prettiest to the not so, everyone follows the same old cycle. Life is just that – a book with many chapters. The same for everyone.
With childhood friends, we all grow up together, lead our separate yet inextricably parallel lives – whether some marry or not, divorce or not, have kids or not, live abroad or not, make money or not – we all age, we all get our fair share of wrinkles and handles and we all meet perfunctorily at each other's life's milestones – at weddings, funerals, full moons, etc.
It’s strangely comforting to see other people go through what you are going through – albeit with a small degree of variation. There is comfort in numbers. We are all finding ourselves, dealing with ourselves, adapting as we journey together on this giant bandwagon community along the road called life.
Goodbye Saw Eng
On Friday, my stepmother’s mother passed away, with her three children and host of grandchildren around her. They say she was at peace, despite her laboured breathing, a result of an impossibly blocked heart.
Her funeral, on the same day, filled me with so much regret, a feeling that by rule, I try not to entertain. I am a believer that you act to the best of your ability given the information you have and state you are in at the time. But death always has a way of eating into that, leaving me with nothing much but a bunch of half baked excuses.
Auntie Por Por, as I called her, for want of a better name, was a woman whom you could never think anything ill of. She was one of the most generous people I've ever known and she always looked out for everyone around her. And I mean, always.
If my son were to cough once out of the blue, she would dispense advice on what herbs to buy to improve his respiration. If you were to step in to the house, her first concern was whether you had eaten. And if you hadn’t or replied with a moment’s hesitation, she’d already be in the kitchen whipping up a storm. Indeed, when she was lying in ICU for the last 2 weeks, hooked up to a gazillion tubes and high or morphine and discomfort, her only concern was to send her children away so they could be more comfortable at home. The day they discharged her out before she relapsed and had to return, she cooked up a storm for 40 people at the mosque and managed to feed the whole family for buka puasa.
My regret is that I never tried to get to know her better. She was a woman of no barriers. And I am one with many. I approached her as somebody else’s grandmother (whom she is), but I have no doubt that she would have embraced me warmly if I had let her in. I am a critic ultimately, and I don’t give many people the honour, but Auntie Por Por was a role model. Yes, she puffed, gambled and danced her way to death, but in her treatment and respect of others lies her ultimate salvation.
Did I mention that she died on a Friday? Of Ramadan month? And for a joss stick-wielding Muslim that she was, it was also the 15th of the month – the night of the Moon Festival.
I know she is in a good place because bad places don’t take people like her in.
After the funeral, I picked up the phone and called my grandmother.
Her funeral, on the same day, filled me with so much regret, a feeling that by rule, I try not to entertain. I am a believer that you act to the best of your ability given the information you have and state you are in at the time. But death always has a way of eating into that, leaving me with nothing much but a bunch of half baked excuses.
Auntie Por Por, as I called her, for want of a better name, was a woman whom you could never think anything ill of. She was one of the most generous people I've ever known and she always looked out for everyone around her. And I mean, always.
If my son were to cough once out of the blue, she would dispense advice on what herbs to buy to improve his respiration. If you were to step in to the house, her first concern was whether you had eaten. And if you hadn’t or replied with a moment’s hesitation, she’d already be in the kitchen whipping up a storm. Indeed, when she was lying in ICU for the last 2 weeks, hooked up to a gazillion tubes and high or morphine and discomfort, her only concern was to send her children away so they could be more comfortable at home. The day they discharged her out before she relapsed and had to return, she cooked up a storm for 40 people at the mosque and managed to feed the whole family for buka puasa.
My regret is that I never tried to get to know her better. She was a woman of no barriers. And I am one with many. I approached her as somebody else’s grandmother (whom she is), but I have no doubt that she would have embraced me warmly if I had let her in. I am a critic ultimately, and I don’t give many people the honour, but Auntie Por Por was a role model. Yes, she puffed, gambled and danced her way to death, but in her treatment and respect of others lies her ultimate salvation.
Did I mention that she died on a Friday? Of Ramadan month? And for a joss stick-wielding Muslim that she was, it was also the 15th of the month – the night of the Moon Festival.
I know she is in a good place because bad places don’t take people like her in.
After the funeral, I picked up the phone and called my grandmother.
It’s All Gone!
Five days ago, I fell victim to the phenomenon that many Malaysian women are already too familiar with. No, not the Grand Nationwide Sale.
Snatch thieving.
See, I have this theory that if I were a snatch thief, I would never pick on someone like me. Simply because of my build. I mean, I look like the type who is likely to drag you off your bike instead, that I wouldn’t go without a fight. I also seem like the type who could really scream and draw enough attention to myself.
But I naively assumed that the modus operandi of snatch thieves are confined to grabbing bags when on foot or on a motorbike. Well, these days, they hunt in packs of three, on board red, shiny Kenaris. And they get you in quiet leafy neigbourhoods, outside hospitals that you would otherwise have no reason to go to unless visiting a sick friend or relative. They get you when you choose to walk on the road because the sidewalk has been turned into a flower box sprouting thorny bougainvillea every five paces. And they get you when festival time is approaching, when they need the money to celebrate.
It was of course, a terrifying experience. And shocking, no doubt. And something else I can’t put my finger on. I looked into my attacker’s eyes as we played tug on my poor bag. Maybe it is my imagination, for it is easier to feel hate rather than sympathise with a man who is so desperate for an easy way out – but I thought I saw ruthlessness in him. That he had crossed many points of no return and would stop at nothing for he could not. And I felt defeated for they won. Out of sheer strength and advantage, they won. It was not an equal fight. I go mad in the face of injustice.
I let go because of vanity. Because I did not want to see the road scrape the skin off my face. And the best I could do was a feeble “bloody shit you!”
So, ladies, and gentlemen too, beware on the road outside Damansara Specialist Centre – apparently snatches occur there twice a week, right outside the guardhouse. I know it seems like you hit a gold mine when you find a plethora of lovely available spots - all in the shade right outside the hospital. Free and legal too! And you don’t wonder why they are empty? Park inside and pay your RM2!
Snatch thieving.
See, I have this theory that if I were a snatch thief, I would never pick on someone like me. Simply because of my build. I mean, I look like the type who is likely to drag you off your bike instead, that I wouldn’t go without a fight. I also seem like the type who could really scream and draw enough attention to myself.
But I naively assumed that the modus operandi of snatch thieves are confined to grabbing bags when on foot or on a motorbike. Well, these days, they hunt in packs of three, on board red, shiny Kenaris. And they get you in quiet leafy neigbourhoods, outside hospitals that you would otherwise have no reason to go to unless visiting a sick friend or relative. They get you when you choose to walk on the road because the sidewalk has been turned into a flower box sprouting thorny bougainvillea every five paces. And they get you when festival time is approaching, when they need the money to celebrate.
It was of course, a terrifying experience. And shocking, no doubt. And something else I can’t put my finger on. I looked into my attacker’s eyes as we played tug on my poor bag. Maybe it is my imagination, for it is easier to feel hate rather than sympathise with a man who is so desperate for an easy way out – but I thought I saw ruthlessness in him. That he had crossed many points of no return and would stop at nothing for he could not. And I felt defeated for they won. Out of sheer strength and advantage, they won. It was not an equal fight. I go mad in the face of injustice.
I let go because of vanity. Because I did not want to see the road scrape the skin off my face. And the best I could do was a feeble “bloody shit you!”
So, ladies, and gentlemen too, beware on the road outside Damansara Specialist Centre – apparently snatches occur there twice a week, right outside the guardhouse. I know it seems like you hit a gold mine when you find a plethora of lovely available spots - all in the shade right outside the hospital. Free and legal too! And you don’t wonder why they are empty? Park inside and pay your RM2!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Beauty
Noticed this on a friend's blog. Sent goose bumps up my right arm. I often wonder if lyrics are lost in songs and melody - they seem so much cleaner on paper or read out loud to yourself. Anyway, this one is beautiful and surmises the uncompromising creatures of the world that we all are today.
To have every man but to love only one
To wake with the moon and sleep with the sun
To be a sinner and saint, a lover and friend
To know a beginning but never an end
To fly in the ocean and swim in the skies
Believer in truth, defendant of lies
To know the purest love, the deepest pain
To be lost and found, again and again and again
To know the power of wealth and poverty
To taste every moment and try everything
To be hailed as a hero and branded a fool
Believe in the sacred and break every rule
To give into pleasure with no boundaries
Living in chaos and harmony
To feel the touch of a man, a woman's caress
To know the limits of torture and tenderness
These are the dreams of an impossible princess
by K.Minogue/S.Anderson/D.Seaman
To have every man but to love only one
To wake with the moon and sleep with the sun
To be a sinner and saint, a lover and friend
To know a beginning but never an end
To fly in the ocean and swim in the skies
Believer in truth, defendant of lies
To know the purest love, the deepest pain
To be lost and found, again and again and again
To know the power of wealth and poverty
To taste every moment and try everything
To be hailed as a hero and branded a fool
Believe in the sacred and break every rule
To give into pleasure with no boundaries
Living in chaos and harmony
To feel the touch of a man, a woman's caress
To know the limits of torture and tenderness
These are the dreams of an impossible princess
by K.Minogue/S.Anderson/D.Seaman
Monday, September 25, 2006
Foo-Liauuu!!
I finally took my climbing shoes outdoors to smear some limestone on Sunday.
I knew it would be good.
I didn't think it would be fantastic.
But, it was fantabulous!!!!!!!!!! If only there was such a word...
A bunch of hard core climbers took pity on the top rope climber that I am and permitted me to to tag along and use their equipment. Would you believe I actually went outdoor climbing without a belay device?! Time I get one methinks...
I was treated to a 5 minutre trek through hard core jungle (well, hard core for me urban person) and I say 'treat' beacuse I have been longing to get into some green for the longest time. My only comment is that I could still hear the sound of traffic from the Kuantan highway up on the wall - but I guess that's the small price you pay for fab walls within the vicinity of KL.
Nyamuk in Batu Cabes is aptly named because the mosquitos are the size of horses and come charging at you as you step off the grass of the kampung behind you and the enter the beckoning lushness. We practically smoked the place to death with mini fires, mosquito coils, insect repellant and insect spray and managed to stave them off for a while. The climbing was really really fulfilling. I started off with Orange Juice before nearly getting stuck up on In Guns We Trust (forgot to come out of a crack and realised that I had overshot the skinny exit - so had to retrace a few steps). Then the rain came down and we were forced to trek back on slippery mud.
Over fried chicken and chapati in downtown Bolton Industrial Park, the sun came out again and we decided 2 hours wasn't enough. We made it to Damai for the rest of the afternoon and I had the best fun up on AciAci Buka Pintu and another with a boulder start that I can't remember the name of.
I'm still suffering from a major high and its hardto focus on work when your mind is still outdoors. I'm so proud - I managed a 6b rating without red pointing but then again I did that top rope so its more like a 5c - 6a. I am so proud of myself for not freaking out at all - not even for a second despite the 30m high walls and very disconcerting red ants and bird shit on my hands.
Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous.
Can't wait to climb on Wednesday, even if it is indoors.
I knew it would be good.
I didn't think it would be fantastic.
But, it was fantabulous!!!!!!!!!! If only there was such a word...
A bunch of hard core climbers took pity on the top rope climber that I am and permitted me to to tag along and use their equipment. Would you believe I actually went outdoor climbing without a belay device?! Time I get one methinks...
I was treated to a 5 minutre trek through hard core jungle (well, hard core for me urban person) and I say 'treat' beacuse I have been longing to get into some green for the longest time. My only comment is that I could still hear the sound of traffic from the Kuantan highway up on the wall - but I guess that's the small price you pay for fab walls within the vicinity of KL.
Nyamuk in Batu Cabes is aptly named because the mosquitos are the size of horses and come charging at you as you step off the grass of the kampung behind you and the enter the beckoning lushness. We practically smoked the place to death with mini fires, mosquito coils, insect repellant and insect spray and managed to stave them off for a while. The climbing was really really fulfilling. I started off with Orange Juice before nearly getting stuck up on In Guns We Trust (forgot to come out of a crack and realised that I had overshot the skinny exit - so had to retrace a few steps). Then the rain came down and we were forced to trek back on slippery mud.
Over fried chicken and chapati in downtown Bolton Industrial Park, the sun came out again and we decided 2 hours wasn't enough. We made it to Damai for the rest of the afternoon and I had the best fun up on AciAci Buka Pintu and another with a boulder start that I can't remember the name of.
I'm still suffering from a major high and its hardto focus on work when your mind is still outdoors. I'm so proud - I managed a 6b rating without red pointing but then again I did that top rope so its more like a 5c - 6a. I am so proud of myself for not freaking out at all - not even for a second despite the 30m high walls and very disconcerting red ants and bird shit on my hands.
Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous.
Can't wait to climb on Wednesday, even if it is indoors.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Justice Prevails
To be sung to the tune of Nirvana’s Lithium:
“I’m so happy
‘Cos today my man’s in th’house
Lookin’ good
‘N kicking Dilana in the mouth
Friday morning
What Evs down and Ice Man fried
To head the band
‘Till forever comes and goe-sssss……
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeaaaaaaaaaah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah!”
“I’m so happy
‘Cos today my man’s in th’house
Lookin’ good
‘N kicking Dilana in the mouth
Friday morning
What Evs down and Ice Man fried
To head the band
‘Till forever comes and goe-sssss……
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeaaaaaaaaaah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah!”
Thursday, September 14, 2006
A First
Hahah! Inspired by TLee and his gang of rockers every Weds and Thurs (and after today no more for a year - boohoo), I've written my first poem/verse of sorts - ever! It's fun!
My One Regret
I’ve traveled beyond the endless seas
Flown with a dozen airlines
Shaved ice off brand new skis
With a ton of air miles they call mine
I’ve sunk into caves under the waves
Found holes to hide in the skies
Stood up for myself eyes ablaze
And cried for a million good byes
Life has been kind
Life has been wise
But I still cannot forget
The smile you left behind
The key to my acquittal
You dared me to find
I’ve walked on moonlit nights
Feathered pages of volumes old
Giggled with Google and other sites
Apologized for the lies told
I’ve sung Canto and popped
Flushed toxins from inside out
But the memories they do not stop
Of a time when we loved out loud
Life has been kind
Life has been wise
But I still cannot forget
The smile you left behind
The key to my acquittal
You dared me to find
Time ticks its usual reminder
Memories fade and turn sepia
But each day the truth grows stronger
I await redemption but for how much longer?
Life has been kind
Life has been wise
But I still cannot forget
The smile you left behind
The key to my acquittal
You dared me to find
My One Regret
I’ve traveled beyond the endless seas
Flown with a dozen airlines
Shaved ice off brand new skis
With a ton of air miles they call mine
I’ve sunk into caves under the waves
Found holes to hide in the skies
Stood up for myself eyes ablaze
And cried for a million good byes
Life has been kind
Life has been wise
But I still cannot forget
The smile you left behind
The key to my acquittal
You dared me to find
I’ve walked on moonlit nights
Feathered pages of volumes old
Giggled with Google and other sites
Apologized for the lies told
I’ve sung Canto and popped
Flushed toxins from inside out
But the memories they do not stop
Of a time when we loved out loud
Life has been kind
Life has been wise
But I still cannot forget
The smile you left behind
The key to my acquittal
You dared me to find
Time ticks its usual reminder
Memories fade and turn sepia
But each day the truth grows stronger
I await redemption but for how much longer?
Life has been kind
Life has been wise
But I still cannot forget
The smile you left behind
The key to my acquittal
You dared me to find
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Eye of the Storm
You know, there is so much to be said about breaks. I say breaks and not holidays because often, holidays aren't - I have been on holidays and returned even more stressed out than when I left - and breaks are. A respite from everyday, that is, a reminder of life and its meaning. Because as I mentioned before, we are all born knowing deep down.
In the last few weeks, I have travelled quite a bit - twice to Bangkok and Hua Hin. And though they have been for work, one was more like an awakening and the other, the absolute in retail therapy.
Hi, my name is Candice and I am a shopper. I admit I never fully realised the benefits of shopping until now. Snigger and pigeon-hole me all you want. There is something about raking a city's malls with a fine-tooth comb that at once exhausts the physical self but nourishes the soul. Indeed, snigger and piegon-hole me all you want.
The deep meaningful conversations I had with myself as I combed Chatuchak market were a classic. The noise and din of salesmen yelling, the burn of the sun on my freshly-tattooed shoulder, the suffocating heat underneath the makeshift plastic roofing were like the necessary conduits to hear my inner voice. Meditative peace amid the chaos?
"Oooh, love that top, let's take a closer look."
"Are you kidding me? You'd look like a housewife. Not being seen with you in that!"
"You know housewives are a misunderstood species - given alot of bad press."
"You don't say. If only people truly felt what it was like".
"The repressed few. Well, not few. A good slice of the population these days. Who fights for their rights?'
"God I expect. In salvation. Housewives go to heaven where they become men and screw women around."
"Ha...so they come back to earth then..."
Conversations like that....either the beginning of my descent into madness or elevation to enlightenment. Same thing, in essence, no?
Anyway, there is a book that I am writing as a Work In Progress. It's called Caffe Conversations. I once showed bits of it to an ex who brushed it off as cockswallop. It smarted at the time, but I giggle now at the memory. Ah well, not everyone can be a fan.
You see, I am a lover of conversations. When I chance upon a good one (with or without myself), my heart races, my eyes dilate and I am yours truly 100%. Conversations are like nights out on the town in KL. You keep having them, but none are memorable until suddenly when you least plan it or least expect it, a mother of one hits you. Like having the best fun in a really uncool bar or pulling when wearing stone-washed jeans for example.
And strangely enough, I've had the best conversations mostly in cafes or places of drink (ie. pubs). Some under the influence of alcohol; inevitably, one's throat gets dry from all that talking, but mostly sober.
So this little book is a compilation of conversations - the ones that blew my mind. The ones that I can still recall, word for word, to this day. The ones that are a bit like the little vinyasas in life, that bridge one chapter to another. Perhaps the faded manuscript shall be discovered when I die by mourning grandchildren, at the bottom of my underwear drawer, moth-balled amid tents of granny knickers. A bit like the ribboned love letters in the attic but not as romantic.
It's always good to dream. 'Cos without realising it, we make them happen. Every inch of our actions, every lift of an arm, every step in the direction, every decision made is sub consciously an effort to steer ourselves towards the heavens. Make concrete that cloud in the sky.
I know you may question my sobriety at this point. For goodness, sake, it's 10am on a Wednesday morning. I have a 4-year old to pick up from school in 2 hours. Sometimes I too forget I am a mother. I haven't consumed a drop of alcohol in 2 months, not inhaled a puff in one and not taken a bite of meat in 2 weeks. Things have never been clearer.
In the last few weeks, I have travelled quite a bit - twice to Bangkok and Hua Hin. And though they have been for work, one was more like an awakening and the other, the absolute in retail therapy.
Hi, my name is Candice and I am a shopper. I admit I never fully realised the benefits of shopping until now. Snigger and pigeon-hole me all you want. There is something about raking a city's malls with a fine-tooth comb that at once exhausts the physical self but nourishes the soul. Indeed, snigger and piegon-hole me all you want.
The deep meaningful conversations I had with myself as I combed Chatuchak market were a classic. The noise and din of salesmen yelling, the burn of the sun on my freshly-tattooed shoulder, the suffocating heat underneath the makeshift plastic roofing were like the necessary conduits to hear my inner voice. Meditative peace amid the chaos?
"Oooh, love that top, let's take a closer look."
"Are you kidding me? You'd look like a housewife. Not being seen with you in that!"
"You know housewives are a misunderstood species - given alot of bad press."
"You don't say. If only people truly felt what it was like".
"The repressed few. Well, not few. A good slice of the population these days. Who fights for their rights?'
"God I expect. In salvation. Housewives go to heaven where they become men and screw women around."
"Ha...so they come back to earth then..."
Conversations like that....either the beginning of my descent into madness or elevation to enlightenment. Same thing, in essence, no?
Anyway, there is a book that I am writing as a Work In Progress. It's called Caffe Conversations. I once showed bits of it to an ex who brushed it off as cockswallop. It smarted at the time, but I giggle now at the memory. Ah well, not everyone can be a fan.
You see, I am a lover of conversations. When I chance upon a good one (with or without myself), my heart races, my eyes dilate and I am yours truly 100%. Conversations are like nights out on the town in KL. You keep having them, but none are memorable until suddenly when you least plan it or least expect it, a mother of one hits you. Like having the best fun in a really uncool bar or pulling when wearing stone-washed jeans for example.
And strangely enough, I've had the best conversations mostly in cafes or places of drink (ie. pubs). Some under the influence of alcohol; inevitably, one's throat gets dry from all that talking, but mostly sober.
So this little book is a compilation of conversations - the ones that blew my mind. The ones that I can still recall, word for word, to this day. The ones that are a bit like the little vinyasas in life, that bridge one chapter to another. Perhaps the faded manuscript shall be discovered when I die by mourning grandchildren, at the bottom of my underwear drawer, moth-balled amid tents of granny knickers. A bit like the ribboned love letters in the attic but not as romantic.
It's always good to dream. 'Cos without realising it, we make them happen. Every inch of our actions, every lift of an arm, every step in the direction, every decision made is sub consciously an effort to steer ourselves towards the heavens. Make concrete that cloud in the sky.
I know you may question my sobriety at this point. For goodness, sake, it's 10am on a Wednesday morning. I have a 4-year old to pick up from school in 2 hours. Sometimes I too forget I am a mother. I haven't consumed a drop of alcohol in 2 months, not inhaled a puff in one and not taken a bite of meat in 2 weeks. Things have never been clearer.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Switched On
My friend Edwin and I have lately fallen into a mode of mutual respect. I admire his amazing sense of composition and technical know-how in the photographs he displays on KLDP - which pampers his ego; and he talks of my writing as if my sentences were constructed of gems strung together - which pampers mine. So for the moment, our Tiger stripes are in sync and there is harmony between us.
With childhood friends, familiarity tends to breed a blind spot over appreciation. There is much beauty and talent I see in each one of my inner circle friends but I cannot remember the last time I told them so. It's as time-enduring friendship is a tacit approval of who you are and everything you will ever do - which in a way, I guess it is. Well, this time, I throw a spanner into the works. I simply must give Edwin kudos for travelling down a less trodden career path. In this town of assembly line lawyers, doctors and investment bankers, try telling people you are an actor and not receive a gushed "Why on earth?!"
Without an actor friend, I doubt if I would be so exposed to the little known shoplot otherwise known as Malaysian Theatre, in this shoppping mall-infatuated city.
Excuse me while I go off on a tangent and vent - KL, the city I live in, is sucked into the powerful vortex of Consumerism - an apparently inescapable fate of this modern age. It is a town where children are brought believing they are allergic to the sun like their snowy-skinned, SK-2-brandishing mothers and prefer to live from one weekend to the next from home to car to shopping mall to car to home. They can name you the latest Dreamworks movies faster than they can islands in the sun. Life may have become more global but certainly less about getting out. It's all Smart this and IT that and less about touch, feel, sense, taste and smell of what's real and yet intangible.
Of course, I once happily surfed the waves of this deluge of designer brands, hot hot trends and the art of being seen in the right outfit. Ahh, yes, I do still gets shivers at the mere mention of a sale, but these days, I also realise that shivers are possible inside a local theatre.
I have almost always gone to the theatre merely in suport of a friend, never for the love of the art. You see, I was (maybe still am) a bit of a blockbuster buff - art house movies, little indie productions and two-bit, low-budget theatre with minimal props have never staved my appetite for big=beautiful.
But to answer your question Edwin, "Yes, The Second Link did indeed restore some faith in Malaysian theatre". But more importantly, it created a new chapter in my book of beliefs - a faith in Malaysian writers. My, do we have a talented pool. I am awed, sincerely amazed and very, very humbled.
After listening to what we pass of as advertisements on TV and God-have-mercy, the ones on the radio, and reading the used-to-death phrase "loved ones" - so much so that it sounds cornier than a corn field, I had closed the door on anything English, Made in Malaysia.
The Second Link reminded me of a sepia-toned era when people were henteel in thought and manner, when Prime Ministers confessed to having soft spots for whiskey and tiger hunting. Back to an age of innocence and face value, before the flag of surpression was waved in the name of national good.
I thank the writers who captured the spirit of Malaysians then, which without their scribbling pens jotting down every innate detail, those who had once tasted it would never be reminded in such technicolour and for those of us who never lived it, never been given the gift of imagining.
I thank the writers who expressed with such honesty the Chinese passion for pork; and for capturing in such heart-wrenching beauty, the grief of a mother who lost a son in the racial riots of 1969 - a story with such clear parallels in my family, that although I was not born then, caused me to feel the pain that was so real to my grandmother. I thank the writers who like magicians who effortlessly pulled out an endless stream of literal gags from their luggage of letters.
I can only ever aspire to be in the same league.
For someone like me who envisioned myself as a bit of a literary artist, The Second Link fed me a bite of humble pie. I apologise for ever lumping Malaysian writers together under the same spool as human waste, for I learn that there are writers and then there are writers. And not all are of the same make.
With childhood friends, familiarity tends to breed a blind spot over appreciation. There is much beauty and talent I see in each one of my inner circle friends but I cannot remember the last time I told them so. It's as time-enduring friendship is a tacit approval of who you are and everything you will ever do - which in a way, I guess it is. Well, this time, I throw a spanner into the works. I simply must give Edwin kudos for travelling down a less trodden career path. In this town of assembly line lawyers, doctors and investment bankers, try telling people you are an actor and not receive a gushed "Why on earth?!"
Without an actor friend, I doubt if I would be so exposed to the little known shoplot otherwise known as Malaysian Theatre, in this shoppping mall-infatuated city.
Excuse me while I go off on a tangent and vent - KL, the city I live in, is sucked into the powerful vortex of Consumerism - an apparently inescapable fate of this modern age. It is a town where children are brought believing they are allergic to the sun like their snowy-skinned, SK-2-brandishing mothers and prefer to live from one weekend to the next from home to car to shopping mall to car to home. They can name you the latest Dreamworks movies faster than they can islands in the sun. Life may have become more global but certainly less about getting out. It's all Smart this and IT that and less about touch, feel, sense, taste and smell of what's real and yet intangible.
Of course, I once happily surfed the waves of this deluge of designer brands, hot hot trends and the art of being seen in the right outfit. Ahh, yes, I do still gets shivers at the mere mention of a sale, but these days, I also realise that shivers are possible inside a local theatre.
I have almost always gone to the theatre merely in suport of a friend, never for the love of the art. You see, I was (maybe still am) a bit of a blockbuster buff - art house movies, little indie productions and two-bit, low-budget theatre with minimal props have never staved my appetite for big=beautiful.
But to answer your question Edwin, "Yes, The Second Link did indeed restore some faith in Malaysian theatre". But more importantly, it created a new chapter in my book of beliefs - a faith in Malaysian writers. My, do we have a talented pool. I am awed, sincerely amazed and very, very humbled.
After listening to what we pass of as advertisements on TV and God-have-mercy, the ones on the radio, and reading the used-to-death phrase "loved ones" - so much so that it sounds cornier than a corn field, I had closed the door on anything English, Made in Malaysia.
The Second Link reminded me of a sepia-toned era when people were henteel in thought and manner, when Prime Ministers confessed to having soft spots for whiskey and tiger hunting. Back to an age of innocence and face value, before the flag of surpression was waved in the name of national good.
I thank the writers who captured the spirit of Malaysians then, which without their scribbling pens jotting down every innate detail, those who had once tasted it would never be reminded in such technicolour and for those of us who never lived it, never been given the gift of imagining.
I thank the writers who expressed with such honesty the Chinese passion for pork; and for capturing in such heart-wrenching beauty, the grief of a mother who lost a son in the racial riots of 1969 - a story with such clear parallels in my family, that although I was not born then, caused me to feel the pain that was so real to my grandmother. I thank the writers who like magicians who effortlessly pulled out an endless stream of literal gags from their luggage of letters.
I can only ever aspire to be in the same league.
For someone like me who envisioned myself as a bit of a literary artist, The Second Link fed me a bite of humble pie. I apologise for ever lumping Malaysian writers together under the same spool as human waste, for I learn that there are writers and then there are writers. And not all are of the same make.
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