//of my moleskine notebook.

The New Volume

2006-12-08T10:47:00.000+08:00

I am keeping this account to comment on other blogspot blogs, but my new notebook will is at www.milkteeth.net/blog .

Blogspot has been great, but the grass always seems greener on the Wordpress side.

:) Thank you.

Song Meme

2006-10-16T19:58:00.000+08:00

I took this meme off from this fantastic young lady's blog. Thanks Lynn!

How am I feeling today?
Air - All I Need / Jose Feliciano - California Dreaming

Will I get far in life?
KT Tunstall - Suddenly I See / The Eames Era - Could Be Anything / Coldplay - High Speed / Aqualung - Left Behind

How do my friends see me?
The Kooks - Naive / The Boy Least Likely To - Be Gentle With Me

Where will I get married?
Death Cab For Cutie - Soul Meets Body / Athlete - El Salvador

What is my best friend's theme song?
The Feeling - Sewn / Death Cab For Cutie - Marching Bands of Manhattan

What is the story of my life?
The Killers - All The Things I've Done / Manic Street Preachers - A Design for Life

What was high school like?
The Stars - Reunion / Snow Patrol - Spitting Games

How can I get ahead in life?
Editors - Open Your Arms / The Strokes - You Only Live Once

What is the best thing about me?
John Mayer - Clarity / Liz Phair - Extraordinary

What was today like?
PJ Harvey & Thom Yorke - This Mess We're In / Athlete - If I Found Out

What is in store for this weekend?
The Strokes - 12:51

What song describes my parents?
Oasis - Wonderwall

How is my life going?
Coldplay - Everything's Not Lost / The Strokes - Reptilia

What song will they play at my funeral?
Coldplay - The Scientist / Athlete - Tourist / Lenny Kravitz - It Ain't Over Till It's Over

How does the world see me?
Gnarls Barkley - Crazy / Jamie Cullum - 21st Century Kid

Will I have a happy life?
Moby - Lift Me Up / Editors - Bullets / Neutral Milk Hotel - In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

What do my friends really think of me?
Beck - Girl / Lenny Kravitz - Minister of Rock & Roll / Butch Walker - Mixtape

Do people secretly lust after me?
John Mayer - Love Song For No One

How can I make myself happy?
Orson - No Tomorrow / The Beatles - With A Little Help From My Friends / Hard-fi - Hard To Beat

What should I do with my life?
Jamie Cullum - Catch The Sun / Switchfoot - Learning To Breathe / Air - Universal Traveler

What will my children be like?
Manic Street Preachers - If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next
Death From Above 1979 - Little Girl

What will you name them?
Bjork - Isobel / Interpol - Evil

What will the person you marry be like?
Regina Spektor - Us / Aqualung - Strange and Beautiful / PJ Harvey - This Is Love

Do you have a significant other?
Weezer - Across The Sea

Will you have a fulfilling life?
Robbie Williams - No Regrets / Iron & Wine - Such Great Heights

How will you die?
Aqualung - Good Goodnight / The Killers - Glamourous Indie Rock & Roll / The Cure - Just Like Heaven

After spending about an hour just scanning through my CD collection and iTunes thinking about what really describes what I feel about things, I feel all funny and fuzzy inside.

Music plays a big part in most of our lives; finding the right tracks to describe your take on it kinda makes you realise how you've been living, and mind you, as corny as it sounds, you don't know how alive you feel afterwards.

So, do this meme if you're up for it. :)

Woah.

2006-10-08T00:30:00.000+08:00

I just finished the latest book in the Artemis Fowl series not five minutes ago.

And by God was it good.

It was like five supersonic trips down the G5 of the now defunct Concorde in not more that 7.2 nanoseconds; rendering and declaring all theory of the quantum kind useless, inexistent and insipid of the highest horrid manner. It was like every single sub-atomic particle of every cell in every gland functioning in my body spewing hormones; adrenaline and endorphins: numbing the entire frontal cortex Dead.

My limbic system is in control; and I felt that I needed not to fight or flee. I was in there.

It was just like the Scientific American article I read not five hours ago in the bench in KLCC while waiting for my father to buy dates; a bench in the middle of a floor in between levels of concrete and man, where everything else was to be ignored.

The article said it was possible. They noticed "When people are busily sensing or doing something the region involved in self monitoring and suppresses regions active in perception."

And I thought : oh, ok.

My mind, after tiresome months of being unused and unstimulated of the intellectual manner had finally woken. I could feel all senses spark up and ignore all stimuli except those of which I was spewing out of imagination in my mind. I spent yesterday completely bewildered of how I can no longer think as I used to...

Functioning as a fact-regurgitating machine and having to sacrifice my ideas and thoughts and interests for a good three months (I optioned out for my French exams, I've not bought a book for 3 months, I didn't read the Guardian for four) and there as I read the last word, the last anagrammed fragment in my brain which took it not as a letter after a letter but as a picture (the brain only looks at the last and first letter of a word to recognise it), and felt every nerve, every blood cell, every single drop of adrenalin in my consensus: Alive.

The book is absolutely fantastic. I have not the patience to tell you about it. Read this fantastic blog for the review.

But as the record goes, I am back.

Merdeka

2006-08-31T17:38:00.000+08:00

Today is our country's 49th birthday, a year short of its bicentennial anniversary; but nonetheless a day worthy of proud homogenousness, though frankly I think this year's celebrations aren't as great as last year's as the media was preoccupied with somebody's wedding.

However, such a ~~an annoying media obsession~~ big event did not stop the airing of Petronas' traditional advertisement (or a short movie if you look at it in terms of length and drama) for Merdeka, and the special newspaper supplements for the day.

As I get older I tend to realise the deeper and somewhat smaller details in how much we've grown, not just as individuals but as a society. All Malaysians are defiantly proud of our cuisine, our melange of languages and the laid-back warm culture which we constantly exhibit in our Malaysia Truly Asia advertisements. Though, the factor that we are all most proud of is indeed our multicultural society.

I will not bore you with things you already know. How incredibly fantastic it is that people of different races have a consensus with each other, one that goes beyond the limits of language and colour, of common interest and religion. How our understanding and empathy towards each other has influenced the cuisine of others, our spoken language and daily lives.

On the more deeper side, how it is possible for us to intergrate into a homogenuous society, being able to look at another man or woman and look at another as equal and not based on their colour of skin or their denominational faith. I know this may not seem so new, you can argue with me that other countries such as America and Australia also have multi-ethnic groups, that they too have equal citizenship and they too have no prejudice amongst each other.

But dig this, those ethnic groups only came to their land after said country reached independence. Malaysia and it's ethnic groups grew up together, fought together as much as we did amongst ourselves, learnt and understood.

To say that there is no friction amongst ourselves is to deny reality fully. Despite growing up together, it is undeniable that we do have ingrown prejudices amongst ourselves.

Some of us have had the unfortunate event of getting to know the wrong side of another race, or some had merely insulated themselves with their own people to have such a prejudice grow from them inside.

It is something that we do not admit, that some of us try hard to purge out from ourselves, and that some are not ashamed of either. Whether it is inherant from others who have suffered, or of yourself, prejudices still exist; and we've not got the other person but ourselves to blame.

Eventhough Malaysia has aged, it is still young, only a mere forty-nine, and in need of so much more time to grow. One only has to admit that with age and "growing up", it is obvious that we will question. Which many a politically enlightened person who has looked beyond the Sejarah Form 3 textbook does.

What causes all these social tiffs? Why is it that forty-nine years on, a fight between two gangs in a street in Petaling Street where they serve the national, non-denominational dish, the Nasi Lemak; one guy looks at the other guy and still uses the shape of their eyes or the colour of their skin as reason to be against the other?

Why? We all know why. Ali, Ah Leong and Subramaniam in the mamak stall know why, kids lining up for scholarships know why, people on Wikipedia definitely know why, and we all hush-hush whisper and nudge each other in full consensus when Yasmin Ahmad embeds metaphorical lines in her movies.

I am not one to say anything. In the end, I myself have benefited from it directly or indirectly and would probably not be here writing this post to you, but probably reading URTV's Siti's Wedding Special in a rural village named something vile, like Buntut Durian or Batu Lumpur or something.

But I too cannot say that I totally agree with it. There is a reason to why it was enforced, as without it, we would have an imbalanced social body and have only certain racial groups dominating the arena.

Maybe there was a reason to why the British allowed the Bumiputera rights. In my opinion they merely wanted the economic and political differences to Converge. But I don't know how to articulate what I mean. I am not saying that it is right for it to still be going on, but I feel indebted to it and would be dissing my blessings too.

In my honest opinion, there is strong enough of a reason to why it was enforced, but not enough reason for it to carry on for far too long. I say this because I believe the social gap has not converged as much as we all would like to believe.

History and the effect of the economic stereotyping of races to different fields of economy during colonisation is what is causing this social gap. So if you look at it at this angle; it truly does make sense.

My growing up in a household privileged and sheltered; I fail to fully understand the sentiments of those who really feel the benefit and need of it. Especially those who live in rural areas, whether in Sabah or Sarawak and even the Peninsula where they bend double just to have decent meals or an education.

However, my being Malay; I am sometimes oblivious to what my fellow friends of other races go through. I sometimes forget that they have to work twice as hard to obtain a scholarship, and that they sometimes feel like second-rate citizens.

So you see fellow reader, before you post a comment or mock me, tell me I'm a pengkhianat bangsa or that I am a ignoramous tyrant, that I am unthankful or weak, I have laid the cards both way for you to look at it. I myself am forever studying it from both ways.

Warren: You know, I kinda understand how it feels, it's like someone comes over to your house and wants to be treated more than like a guest.

Ainaa: Yeah, but after a while, after some time that the guy lives in your house, he's not a guest anymore is he? He's family.

Maybe one day, that guy in the street can look in the other's eyes and have only the fact that the other guy is having sex with his sister to bash him into pieces. One day, a political party no longer represents people with the same physical characteristics but for other reasons of interest. Maybe one day, there will be no more a social gap. Maybe one day, we all can get scholarhips and put behind our kiasu attitudes. One day, I will pick up a paper and categorise it by Left-Wing, Right-Wing or Centre, rather than MIC, MCA, or UMNO.

Happy Birthday Malaysia, we are so young and so great. And soon we will fully mature.

Shelving Units are Like Rites of Passage

2006-08-24T17:20:00.000+08:00

Change is overhead in the humid air as I write this. I can just feel it.

This overcast ominous doom is astoundingly depressing; and its effects are nonetheless absurd. My mother is as gay as Lady Macbeth, my father (during the rare moments when I do see him) is showing a disastrously receding hairline, the strands of which are yet to be white are falling off.

My brother is off to the gym. Out of all of us, he had found himself a saviour in the form of physically busying himself. Do not ask me where my dearest sister has gone; I do not know.

As of late, I realise how much I have detached myself from the world. I feel no urge, no want to know of the news, to flip through the paper; to listen to the radio. And worst of yet; I feel incredibly complacent about this.

This all started with my realising my change of books to purchase; that is when I actually find the want to purchase any. (The horror; not feeling an urge to purchase books?!)

I actually missed three books of two different series which I used to follow diligently. I must admit, of the past year or so, I had turned into a down-right snob, no longer passing through and checking the area of the bookstore I had once frequented, for the more matured and somewhat so-called "more intellectual" shelves of Literature and Fiction, forsaking the rows of Young Adult Fiction.

So when I found a new book in series earlier today which once upon a time I would purchase almost instantaneously; actually had no urge, no fleeting want of it whatsoever : I was stirred.

I sat down and read it; I was lucky enough to be given a very rare wide timeframe to read it, and even as I got through to page 140; having a hundred pages or so more to finish it : I put it back when it was time to go home.

I had not bothered to read the book before it either; and frankly eventhough the new book was quite interesting in certain areas (they mentioned the book you read Lynn! The Sorrows of Young Werther!), I couldn't help but pass it off as... well, shallow.

So I question myself; have I gotten shallow? Have I forsaken the very books which had brought me up into who I am now? Am I actually turning my back on the very pages which had nurtured and comforted me through all these years? Why am I hiding the book I was reading in the bookstore earlier; ashamed of being caught with it?

Well maybe, I reason with myself.. Maybe it is due to my lacking funds and not-lacking new interests, maybe its because I'm sick and tired of my mother cursing me profane about my books, maybe its because that bookban (Yes, my parents banned me from buying books. How silly right? The goverment wants people to read, but nooooo my dear parents are anything but supportive of my growing intellect) she has inflicted on me is finally settling in, or maybe it is due to my examinations coming so near and my subconscious mind fearing such an enjoyment will be a distraction. Or maybe; as cliched to put in a blog entry, and endearingly vain as it sounds; as much as my daily thoughts shalt deny it unapparent: maybe my intellectual pursuits have simply matured.

A little.

No one can ever be too old for Artemis Fowl. Though I'll be sure, PMR or not, I'm getting that book of his that just came out a few weeks ago as soon as some bookstore stocks it.

In Memoriam

2006-07-21T14:22:00.000+08:00

Death is never an easy thing; not just for the soul that leaves for the unknown collossal void out there, but also for those who stay behind.

I am spoken to about death nearly every week or so, as death and the fear of it is the chosen diet of imposing moral conformity in agama classes. I hear it all the time, how sudden and unpredictable death is, how one can be cut off from the world almost instantaneously; with no way back whatsoever.

I, like everyone else in the class, agreed but never realised the intensity of what we were being told. Probably only few who had suffered the lost of close family members knew fully of the massive blow, the fear and distress it is.

No one really saw it coming. As much as the odds were not on him surviving, only to the exception of what I thought as pessimists; pretty much everyone in the whole waiting room was looking forward to seeing him again.

You're greatly missed Yayang.

Birthday Letters

2006-07-05T22:42:00.000+08:00

So this is it. This is when I shall sit down and look back on the good times and the trials which I have undergone in the past year, when I shall say that I am glad for all that I had experienced, for all it's worth; whatever the outcome. This is when I compare myself to the person I was a year ago; and frankly I do not see much difference but I know there is many.

When I turned eleven, the world opened up, somewhat almost suddenly; the bright lights just spread far and ahead into the asymptotes of the mind. I gawked and stared.
At twelve, I knew exuberance and energy to be something more. I hungered and learnt.
At thirteen, I had felt angst, the confusion and the sheer decadence of it all. I questioned.

And at fourteen, I learnt how to cope; I accepted my faults; tried to make peace. I grew to understand.

And now I hope.

Fifteen. I am in the want of something pure so much, so much more.

If God willing, then steadfast I shall be.

The Age of The Question

2006-06-29T23:50:00.000+08:00

It will dawn on you; to make your own decisions one day or another; to take action something purely critical of yourself; no matter how unamiable that action might be. Some may call this enlightenment of the consensus a somewhat enlightenment of self, or others may just call it pure destruction. The latter mode of reasoning owing to the fact that this course of cognition is likely taken in the early years of adolescence.

While not all decisions taken at this time are as volatile or perverse as the controversial adolescences taken by certain writers or philosophers, an empowerment to better the state that one is found to be in is ever apparent. In my point of view, as much as it opposes Kohlberg's Theory of Moral Development (Conventional Stage, Stage 1), one gets selfish; whether out of rebellion or pure belief of good interest.

As I was having a conversation with a friend of mine (of whom I shall plug here), we had come to a realisation that the average age of this course is that about of fourteen. Notably, the denounciation of belief and the awakening of sexuality. For at thirteen; we are far too angsty and enraged by ourselves to actually do anything; and at fourteen; we start utilising fully internally the greatest gift of all; our ability to question.

That very charming friend and I agreed, that fourteen was an age of pure reckoning, when, the id reviews and questions; (though I might add) often cynically, about God, orientation, emotions, and how we relate to the world around us.

Questioning; is when we try to vindicate our relationship with the world. For our relationship with the world strengthens our understanding of our own being, our place in society, and pulls the curtain on what reason we wish to uphold in this arena.

I'm turning fifteen next week, and I'm glad I've gone this far without a haemorhage for Fourteen, was quite of a turbulent one though I must say, not my most turbulent of years. At twelve, At thirteen, I had been bombarded by questions by caring and affectionate people who had cared enough to take off the load off my 14 year old cognitive syllabus and help cram it in my thirteenth. Despite at thirteen I was in shreds, at fourteen I am starting to make peace with my own defects.

In conclusion, I had an intellectually stimulating, sometimes incredibly emotionally constipating, year which I have spent just trying to find odds with myself.

I have not denounced Jesus (not that I can seeing I'm not Jesuit or Catholic or in any sect of Christianity, or plan to jump off my boat), in the likes of Simone de Beauvoir or James Joyce or Brian Molko from Placebo, or lose my virginity to an adolescent my age and feigning excuse that I had a nosebleed instead about the blood stains on my sheets; but I have;in the slightest bit, simply; grown up.

A bit.

Of Human Bondage

2006-06-27T16:59:00.000+08:00

The human relationship is probably the world's most fragile thing. Something completely unseen, metaphysical and obtuse. An existence that is not matter, something that cannot be chipped or pulled apart like an object with interlinking atoms; yet something impossible to define; a somewhat mutual understanding how to relate to others or lack of it.

How we relate to each other plays a big role in being humane. Humans are social creatures no matter what loners many of us might be. Our complicated minds with protruding emotions is what sets us aside from the other animals in the kingdom. Our ability to create or destroy beyond our own means, our ability to make decisions and define what is morally right or ethically sound; and our power of building cultures, languages, religion and beliefs.

We take this thing for granted. We take our connections to our parents and families; our friends and comrades; our hopefuls and hopeless; our loved and unloved; nothing but somewhat accidental happenings in a random and coincedental world. As from the very moment we are pushed into this world; bleeding and alone- we are obligated to have a dependant nature onto this activity of relating.

We depend on the bodies which called forth for our creation for food and drink; for love and understanding; and for the worldly gifts and needs that we are in need of. And we grow closer to them, we feed on their beliefs, and imitate their principles. More less those principles and beliefs, being good and universally true, are accepted into our grey matter and embedded for moral cognition.

As we grow older, we loosen those ties to our parents and latch our emotions on other individuals who we have not the relation of blood ties with. More or less, our parents too, yet discerning and half-heartedly, let us go slowly; and fully as we have fully matured as adults. We too, imitate their actions that precede our birth, we put trust into the hands of an excuse called Love, are probably bonded with a constituition that upholds Fidelity or defended by our ideals of co-habilitation; and soon the offspring come rolling around to continue this cycle.

Most of the time however, despite how much we try to deny it; none of us go unscathed. Our ever trying to adapt to accepting new emotions and reasons will stir us; and hurt us.

Hurt is no longer the breeching of trust, or the shaming and humiliation of confidence; hurt is a universal epidemic, crossing through all ties and constitutions. Marriage, family, love, friendship; as much as we all; the human race and its all, want these simple things and purely just that- we accept the fact that those things were made to be created; and occasionally, made to destroy; not because we are born sadistic or anything of that mean sort, but because we are only humane, but because we are imperfect; and obliged to sometimes give in to our inner demons.

Emotion, and desire is no-longer and probably was never a clean cut thing. Ruling out emotion as a monosyllabic word such as happy or sad is condensing and a near impossible thing to fulfil the truth. Such words only mean anything to children with colouring books.

Psycho-analysts with their text-books use take this opportunity to express their frustration in definition. Freud for one, penned a perfect disaster; The Oedipus Complex. Piaget studied the way children developed and reacted to controlled stimuli around them. Kohlberg studied Moral Cognition.

And simply and generally, defining human relation and emotion is one ludicrously tedious thing. And this all comes down to the simple existence of relation. A beautiful and disastrous thing; the building blocks of life; the volatile and acerbic after effect; of when Adam met Eve.

I love him but have no absolute carnal desire whatsoever for him, atleast not anymore. He cannot be a friend, or a lover, neither a brother or anything above, between or before. I feel no complete or fleeting want; this being not infatuation and as he stands as not an object of limerence.

But God knows, out of all these confusing and peaceful conflicts between stereotyped and textbook-proven emotions; I love and truly adore that boy.

Sleep or Lack of It

2006-06-24T01:08:00.000+08:00

Hello all! I know I know, I've not posted anything for an age, and I know I should put up a picture and change my layout. I will, really.

I had a tiring week, with the workload and jet lag and all, and I couldn't possibly think of anything interesting to say. Or I'm probably just too lazy to say anything. Haha.

I arrived here last Sunday evening, and the thing about jet lag is that you happen to be awake at hours normal people are asleep and as for a result you are alone in your plight for sleep or for amusing oneself. Jet lag in my case means tossing and turning all night, not being able to lull myself to slumber and thinking about big things you should not think about when you're quite unstable at the moment unless you want to get a scorched cranium or induce manic worry onto yourself. Thus in the past years, I end up crying, getting a blocked nosed and being completely emotionally unstable.

This trip however, I tried (or still am trying) something slightly more different. Sleep as late as you want and drink lots of water. And it actually works, though I end up sleeping really late so it makes no difference anyway. Ha-ha.

On the sunday I arrived itself I started work on my homework, (called up Farhanis) though I did not finish it (I'm redoing it, long story), doing something productive is much better than torturously trying to induce sleep that ain't working.

I also read a sleep related article in The Guardian, how that it doesn't matter in what hours you sleep(afternoon or night or whatever), as long as you get enough hours of sleep. Meaning sleeping 5 hours at night and sleeping two hours in the afternoon. You just need enough hours of sleep a day, and not at night.

I guess I can quite agree with this. As I do know people who sleep in the afternoon until about 9p.m. at night, and stay awake all through the night to study, until the afternoon the next day. Though if you think about it, this is a whole other story coz this is just defying the body clock.

Though I realised, no matter how much I sleep at night, I can't help but lull myself to sleep in the afternoons. Which is bad because I end up sleeping and not doing my homework, and night isnt really a condusive time to be studying (atleast for me, due to the fact that everyone only comes online at night and tv is better).

Now I've got to go. I've been procrastinating sleep long enough.

Verse, Fame and Beauty are Intense Indeed....

2006-05-12T23:48:00.000+08:00

I feel dry. I can't help but write such obscenely disastrous posts which echo the rants of every other blog (of every other adolescent) when I feel so completely turgid and stiff.

I was just looking through some of the sketches of prose I have typed out about nearly six months ago, and I can without a doubt point out from reading them; that I have gone completely dry.

Frankly, I believe the reason to this is my complete complacency and ambivalence to being indifferent in my emotions.

I've not had a fleeting emotion for quite a long time, unless you can call heated frustration; fleeting. While this lack of infatuation or fleeting giggles or butterfly in the stomach crap calls for a hurrah, it certainly isn't doing any good for my writing.

Pathetic as it sounds, it really does seem to work better when you have that concept to let your words vie for. I believe this is not due proportionately to how much you feel for that person, but how much the idea of that noble concept of emotion and sacrifice and sharing seems. I sometimes believe that we are not attracted to being secured by someone, but merely attracted to the idea that being secured by someone leads to something holistic which will make us complete.

And that alone is enough to give you that walk on water feeling, that fragile-ness and tacit way of seeping emotion through your words. When completely infatuated with someone, your prose tends to echo reasons for others; when you are bitter and skeptical and alone; everything turns selfish.

Don't get me wrong, I am happy with my state of having nothing to really feel for, though my despondence in writing really makes me feel like a cow.

I feel like a selfish cow who might as well die a virgin spinster with forty cats who wishes to her death bed to win the Booker Prize with a rotting manuscript that stinks of cats piss.

No, not really, I don't feel like that. But it sure does have a nice ring to it. And hey, I actually wrote a post without deleting it!
:) Hope that was enough to entertain you; though I'm sorry I can't make it up for my absence.

I Can't Write.

2006-05-11T22:39:00.000+08:00

The mind is a malleable piece of dough that is constantly being shaped by everything around it. As we all age into adulthood, bits and clumps of that play-doh-like structure hardens to form itself principles and morals that will soon become the fundamental building blocks of one's ethics. One without these hardened clumps and bits will prove to be loose and lost. Those whose bits and clumps which have hardened and which change is constantly tried to be implemented onto, will break off and result them to get lost too.

Yet no one suffers more than the skeptic. The skeptic who builds a wall of defence around her own vulnerable self only to exit it with the ideas she had unwillingly wrapped around herself to make it all seem better.

Weak is the skeptic who cannot write. Who cannot feel. Who can't flailingly accept things as others; most, would. Turgid is the skeptic; for her skeptical principles push her in the end to judge others. Because she is too ashamed to admit she is weak.

I am the skeptic, and my demons are eating me within.

Dim Sum Sum Sum...

2006-04-11T14:32:00.000+08:00

There is uncontrollable laughter downstairs. The air is infiltrated with different concoctions of perfume, cigarette smoke, and voices of different pitches are struggling to be louder than the ones that expressed before them. Michael Buble is crooning full blast on the stereo, ignored by all.

I am merely describing the atmosphere of my living room, with my mother and four of her old friends having their rare get-together. What are they talking about? I don't know, and I seriously don't want to.

Earlier on we had gone to a Chinese restaurant for some dim sum. Since all of these friends of my mother live in KL, they had decided to meet up at Holiday Villa for lunch, then retreat back to my house for a long uninterrupted chat and coffee.

And since my father is off on the other side of the world on a business trip, I had to tag along for lunch as there is no one to save me.

They're taking pictures of themselves the way Hanis enjoys. (Two people in a picture with one stretching her arm out holding the camera) They're teasing each other, calling each other a bitch, and on the way back here there was a plastic bag filled with boxes of tampons on the passenger seat.

After setting up the coffee table and laying out the desserts and dishes, I had to search for my cat, and now as I sit down to type this down, I can see him peeking from the back of my desk. He is scared. I am scared.

I look at them, and I think of my friends. I look at my mother and think of what Oscar Wilde said, and what my father enjoys reminding me.

All I can say is : oh, shit.

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his.
Oscar Wilde

A Day In The Life...

2006-04-08T09:59:00.000+08:00

I called up a good friend of mine who I've not contacted in a very long time. We used to see each other really often, but earlier this year she transfered to Sri KL, so her schooling hours and extra curricular activities just clash terribly with mine.

This conversation with her was quite a jagged one, as we've not heard from each other or a long time, and both were spewing of guilt for not picking up the receiver earlier but it was a good conversation none the less, though after I hung up the call, I just realised one blatant fact about this life of mine in state school : We're in like a goddamn playground.

She : So how's classes?
Me : Er, good I guess. I have no idea, I hardly ever am in class. And when I am the teachers are hardly there.
She : Seriously? So what do you do all day?
Me : Er, sit down, do nothing. Go off to the school co-op and get ice cream to eat in class. Sit at the back and talk nothing with friends. Sleep. Get horny. The normal stuff la~
She : Serious? I miss not having a teacher in class.
Me : It's a sad place, really.

Well, even if there IS a teacher in class, everyone is inclined to be bored out of their wits. Our geography teacher is hospitalized, our math teacher is being sent to courses, our BM teacher is being hospitalized this Monday if my information is right, our KH (living skills) teacher is nowhere to be found.

So whats left is our English teacher, who is very nice and enjoys giving our exercises from a book, our Moral and Agama teacher (a vigilant lady who didn't let me and a few of my friends out to recess after three periods of Agama, and who kept us for an extra period in the Surau [while we had classes downstairs]), and our Sejarah teacher, who we hardly see due to the minisicule amount of Sejarah we get a week. Oh and our Science teacher. But I'll stop there.

While I was doing my english work (cutting and pasting paper into a book) yesterday, a fellow classmate came over to Hanis and my table, and asked the weirdest question ever.

Him : Ainaa, what do you think of my ass?
Me : Stand up, Hanis what do you think?
Hanis : Err.
Me : Ok what. quite cute oso. *laugh*
Him : *insert fellow classmate name* and *another name* say its very big.
Me : Er, no? If your ass is big what size is mine huh?
Him : No, no, I mean MINE. I want a very flat ass you see. Well not FLAT but you know, no shape.
Me : Err.
Him : Like that guy *insert name*
Me : Yes. He's got a cute butt.

Then as Hanis and I laugh this off and arrange our books.

Him : Do you know that the average vagina length is six inches?
*Hanis and I looking at the ruler, thinking this conversation is shitmad*
Him : Do you know what the average penis size is? I've been wanting to know but all they say is "Size does not matter"
Hanis : IT'S A FRIDAY FOR GODSSAKE.

The conclusion to this post is that : We need teachers. Fast. Please. Give us homework but please get yourselves in class. It's my PMR year, I need to learn about calcium compounds, not the average size of sexual organs.

It's my PMR year for godssake, I'm in the class stereotyped to yield the most science stream students for next year, where are the teachers, correction: where are my class Teachers?

What's the time Mr. Noony?

2006-04-04T21:19:00.000+08:00

Five years ago, my brother was studying his A Levels and had called this room where I now sleep; his. The out of place wall bookshelf (which my sister had installed when she called this room Hers, prior to it being a His, about eight years ago), which used to shelf unfinished copies of literature Which Thou Shall Not Be Read by The Little Sister for unfathomable reasons (politics, fiction, more fiction), is now replaced by my cubes and box book dividers.

One fine day back then when I was ten, I finally got my hands on one of the books out of this room to be read peacefully. It looked madly attractive due to its simplistic white cover; with a zoomed out picture on a ladybug, and had a very exotic (though as I would find out later; equally erotic) title, Nymphomation.

The book was set in futuristic Manchester, where BLURBS (which are robotic advertising machines) set the pace by mad advertisements of sorts. The book is about a lottery, which you buy domino bones instead of a ticket, and you wait for every friday night to win. It's about addiction, about drugs and onions, about math students and probability, about love and just plain lunacy.

The book, looking back, wasn't that amazing. The first three quarters were completely mindboggling, but the last quarter was confusing and had everyone having sex with everyone through some machine in some maze in some mathematician's house in some deserted place in some.... Yeah you get the point.

Though the good parts of the book still lingers in my mind till now. Parts about human behaviour, resilience to survive, about youth and intelligence, and most of all about winning.

Play To Win.

A line repeated endlessly throughout the book, acting as page dividers, chapter dividers, for no other reason than decoration and style. Five years on, and I'm still collecting his books, though none of them are as turbulent and disastrously beautifully written as this one. My brother noticed this, and noted for the record, that he only bought the book for its cover. What Probability. Luck. Luck. Lucky me. :)

Why not chance a throw?
You might as well have a go!
With your lucky little domino!

Small People are without Small Feats

2006-03-26T01:25:00.001+08:00

A child is a little person who lives in each of us. For we all have been children, and we have all been wronged as one. We all had our frustrations and some of us are fortunate enough to have those frustrations be with reason; or something like it. So as soon as we as children are old enough to realise this irrationality, we, from the pureness of our hearts pledge to not befall the same to other children or ours (if we are not disgusted at such though at that age).

Now, why is it that as we grow older, our image of a childhood norm diverges from what it was before. You could argue with me, as we are not children anymore, or because what was normal to us as children then is different from the norms now, or even children now are different. But I shall retort by saying, what if that time span is too short to change a norm, too short to actually make a major difference in popular culture or lifestyle to actually affect them so much to what they are now.

I have a younger cousin by the name of Aryna. She is the most angelic child I know, probably the only twelve year old I know who isn't on a diet of GMO foods, young adult fiction, MTV, and music magazines. Despite knowing that she is indeed 12, and that I at the age of twelve was immune to most things, I cannot think of myself letting her do the same. I cannot think of myself lending her any of my young adult books, or actually seeing her read, godforbid, Fanfictions.

Though I should be thinking otherwise, I should think that three years is a big difference in popular culture, I should realise that development in the world today is so fast paced now, that even a short period is enough to change our view of the cosmos. But I'm not thinking that way, I'm actually becoming quite backward on this whole child thinking thing. Heck, I want to enlighten the kid, I had gotten her a book of her choice a few weeks ago to make her read something, but I swear if she took a copy of gossip girl or whatever from the shelf I would've flipped and gone to hell and back. She picked a book with some super spy cat who speaks british english or something, (I swear I don't understand kids books these days), thankfully.

So now I completely understand why my sister, the most open minded person I know, recommended me to get Animal Farm by George Orwell rather than 1984 because "you'll need to read Animal Farm first to understand 1984" and only after err err erring hastily added "he really loves this girl and all, but they can't and all because of the government, and sex and all....". This was about a year ago, and now I get it.

This woman actually told me to tell another kid to "eff off" when I was in the standard one when I complained of being bullied. She was seventeen at the time, but now as she gets older, as much as she is being incredibly sporting and accomodating as ever, but I know somehow, some small part of her is obliged to protect me.

The reason behind this, I believe, from my observations, is that as we get older, we try to maintain that inner child of ours by creating an illusion of what it once was. As we grow older, we change certain sentiments of our memories to support our new beliefs.

We look at young children and listen to their conversations and tutt, when I was your age... or kids these days are so smart, ,I was still doing this this this at your age while you're doing this this this. Truth is, its a cycle, we were told the same things too, and we enjoyed it, we felt smug of our intelligence and our progress into maturity which took far longer for our older peers. Even then, we still do the same to children today, and we know as hell they enjoy it.

"you find yourself in a position of superiority to the child characters because you know more about the world they live in than they do and so you have a kind of patronizing, perhaps amused, protective attitude towards the characters.........most of us, at least most of us who are lucky you might say, and, we are brought up in a kind of protective bubble, even if we are not physically moved away or isolated from the adult world.. i was very aware that i did this with my own daughter when she was younger.. i censored information .. not just censored bad news on the tv, but i would have this kind of lighthearted walt disney-ish air about me when I was near her...and in fact even if you walk around in the streets with a young child.. im talking about you know, four five, all the strangers who you encounter, enter into this conspiracy with you, they too turn into walt disney characters and turn.. you walk into a shop with people arguing and they stop because they dont want this little child to realise that the world isnt quite as nice as she thinks it is, we want to fool children because i guess we want to protect them and we instinctively feel that for a while at least we should deceive them.. children do grow up in this kind of a strange bubble, and as they get older, we the adults , we manage very carefully what kind of information gets dropped into this bubble.. " Kazuo Ishiguro, 23rd March, The Guardian Book Club Live Discussion Podcast on Never Let Me Go with John Mullan.

Ok, I did have to listen to a two minute part of the whole thing again and again to get those lines. And even though he was using it as an explanation to the metaphor of the boarding school in Never Let Me Go, I believe this whole protective thing is very well said, very true and well said indeed.

Random Post

2006-03-24T01:31:00.000+08:00

Updating too frequently gives you the displeasure of not knowing what to say. Updating once every two lunar cycles gives you the equal displeasure of having too much to say. So I shall break the ice by this random post, which I hope will get me out of my tacit concern.

In this past month, I discovered digital radio.
Last month I got Sewn with The Feeling.
I am actually getting fond of the Arctic Monkeys.
Today, my school won 1st place at the Interschool Drama Competition (Zone).
I was Stage Manager/Props/Kuli Azlan a.k.a Best Actor/Zachary Fischer/My best friend.
I got passed a nice orange post card for This.
I turned down an opportunity to become a prefect.
We turned down multiple debate competitions.
We are going to Scrabble Finals this 22nd of April.
I am currently reading my mother's rotting copy of 1984 by George Orwell. It is so old, the price on the back reads 45p. Hey, why buy a new one when you can use this.
I purchased Desiderius Erasmus' In Praise of Folly, and I've hardly touched it. Yet.
I need more books. I would probably never finish War & Peace or Anna Karenina as it is just as unlikely am I going to finish my copy of James Joyce's Ulysses.
I cried during Brokeback Mountain.
I watched all three parts of To The Ends of The Earth. I have an odd fixation for the lead actor.
I'm Bloc Party sentimental again.

Can you keep a secret? I'm trying to organize a prison break. We have to first get out of this bar, then the hotel, then the city, and then the country. Are you in or you out?

No, it's not LSD, it's Ponstan

2006-01-14T22:42:00.000+08:00

Drug abuse is quite a simple thing in Malaysia. This thought came to mind when I was in the clinic this morning (I have the disastrous flu again), and the doctor prescribed me Polaramin, Zyrtec and Panadol at the same time, without any explanation whatsoever except that Polaramin makes you drowsy.

This may sound all very eyebrow raising to you all, I mean, so what? He prescribed you medicine?. Well yeah, but Polaramin is a very strong anti-histamine, which beats Zyrtec anytime. But Zyrtec is still a strong antihistamine, but without the effects of Polaramin, so it's good for everyday use. So, why should I eat Zyrtec and Polaramin AND Panadol at the same time?

I explained to him I had some Clarinase this morning before the trip to the clinic, and that I cannot possibly eat those other drugs, and he said, yeah ok. Alright, maybe I'm being bias on his not informing me that eating all those drugs at the same time is lethally dangerous, I mean, he's been prescribing me those drugs since I was in primary school, so I guess he thinks I should be smart enough to not eat a dose of each at the same time.

I went out and told my dad what he prescribed me, and he just laughed. Yes, my liver will be down and dead by the time I finish the packets of dosages.

Well what I'm trying to say in this post is not about about how I feel all happy and smart for pointing out what should and shouldn't go together, but that drug abuse in Malaysia is just dead easy.

A very good friend of mine had a headache and had his mother's Ponstan, which is a painkiller I take sparingly only when I get a badass pain from the orthodontist. To add on to that unnecessary dosage, he also had paracetamol. He said he felt so high after that.

I know some people who have abused paracetamol due to depression. One got admitted into a hospital and had to have her stomach pumped. One got sent home with a hell lotta antacids. The point here is, that not how much or how little damage and pain it can cause you, but the fact that there are so many outlets in this country to abuse ourselves with objects that were meant to heal.

I know a pharmacy near my school where you can walk in and demand a normal behind the counter drug and get it with or without the pharmacist around. I also know that, walk into any Guardian here and ask for Zyrtec, and ta-daa, you'll get it if theres a pharmacist on duty. Overseas, you might even need a prescription from a doctor to get you one packet of lovelies.

Fucking up your liver is the slowest, most subtle, hardest way to die with the simplest methods of doing so. Having a failed liver will cause havoc to your health, will make you even more yellow than you are, and will kill you softly and slowly unless you are lucky enough to get a liver transplant. And survive under the knife and the risk of rejection.

I have a whole cabinet dedicated to anti-histamines, pain killers, and uneaten packets of different types of paracetamol in my kitchen. Now, tell me, if I were really really mentally unstabled,really depressed, being on my last nerve and so exhausted out of life; how long exactly is the period of time for me to finish those paracetamol packets and gladly declare my one way ticket to death?

Not long at all. I guess it's to make way for the really long ride to hell.

Of A New Year

2006-01-13T02:17:00.000+08:00

There are a million other things for me to be doing right now, one of them being sleep. It is currently 2A.M. on Friday morning and I find myself awake albeit lethargic and tired, but clearly conscious and functioning.

I know it is clearly too late for me to say this, but I would like to wish you all a Happy New Year 2006, as this being my first post into the new year. I'm sorry for the complete halfhearted dedication which I put forth into my blog, and I hope to change that, as well, it is a new year and all.

My new year had started off pretty fine and dandy, despite the looming clouds ahead. As many as you may know, (as do my relatives who clearly know my age yet can't resist asking " Eh, this year you're having your PMR right?") I shall be sitting for a big examination at the end of the year.

This would mean less online time, less blogging, less late nights doing nothing but surfing on wikipedia and less extra-curricular activities, of course. But as I have quite the complex of wanting to make an arse out of myself by trying to be different, the whole sentence I said before should not apply to anything ;P

The first week of school saw the distribution of the school magazine which I believe fared smoothly. As you may all have already know by now, Stanley did a great job on the nature-themed cover, and that the magazine had been distributed faaar earlier than it had last year. The sections are nicely done, and I have nothing to say but as much as he was a complete pain at times, Peter coordinated the magazine well.

On a lighter note, I had also gotten the opportunity to publish my first completed attempt at a short story, and had gotten good criticism, though it is quite aggravating when people tend to think I was writing about myself, and that I smoke. It's quite amusing really, considering I believe I harbour a naughty childlike image (oh how I completely wish!) in school, and that it's completely absurd even to the most gullible student to believe so.

I have been blog-hopping these past few days, and just realised (yes, I am quite daft at certain things) that most people seem to share their darkest and best moments online for everyone to see. I know this is the point of blogging, but I am not talking about posts about school trips, hangouts, dates and events, arguments, fights yada yada yada, I mean those posts are usually tame rants fuelled by rage and broadband, but I am talking about some really surprising and eyebrow rising posts.

What is surprising about it to me is that it is not a blog of a friend of a friend, but a blog of a complete stranger from a different country, talking about things I would probably hide in a closet; despite my open and obnoxious nature. As I read the blog, and the about me section of the site, I felt like I was intruding somehow, stalking, as I was actually reading about another person's, not just daily life, but private life, private workings of the mind, darkest secrets and dees are exposed fully.

I also had a nice long teen-y debate with Hanis on the phone, whether Laguna Beach really is a reality tv show, or a tv show that is portraying a reality tv show style. Despite it being clearly a reality tv show (checked thoroughly online), Hanis and I couldn't really come to terms with complete normal human beings, living their lives out on television, for every single continent with MTV, to watch. This, like certain blogs above, are so eyebrow raising that I can't stop myself from asking myself "Isn't this self exploitation?".

I want to be famous, point taken. I know everyone pretty much wants to be famous somehow, in another way or another, small or big, subtle or loud, but whatever, everyone wants to be known somehow. I want to write, I want to say things people could relate to, I want to philosophise, write out and express the inner workings of my mind; but where should I start? And where should I have the decency to stop?

What is sacred really? I know in this new age, some things are best to not be left sacred, due to increasing confusion and popularity of complicated outcomes due to the first factor. Like sex education, political debate, divinity of such. It is a good thing to express everything that goes on beneath the skull, and break the taboos to bring us closer together.

But when you broadcast yourself to any other tom dick or harry who would just past by your blog, shouldn't there... Be some.. undisclosure?

It's three a.m. now, and I realise I've been spinning the web around, again. My mum is right, I am slowly turning more conservative as I get older.

While my grandmother gets younger by the day. She started using the word poyo before I did.

I am amused.

Stir,Fry,Newspapers and Vladimir Putin

2005-12-05T04:30:00.000+08:00

Well not really stir fried newspapers and Vladimir Putin in a plate. Or anything like it.

If you are wondering about what I've been doing for the past week, or if you were waiting for a disastrously hilarious and amusing post about all the interesting things I've come across this week, then you'd be quite disappointed to know that my week had consisted of two main activities.

Reading the weekend paper. And eating.

Well not really. I did go to the gym on tuesday, watch four dvds, go out with my sister's boyfriend to buy him a laptop, go out for dim sum, walk around Soho, perform experimental cooking and experimental tempera paint making (it's a long story), and erh, as I have a crappy hazy memory on holidays, nothing much.

Right at this moment, I am also watching Top Gear (yes, very much a Lad show) but I am also thinking about Simone de Beauvoir's The Mandarins (very much a feminist that woman). I am thinking about a part in the story where Henri, a journalist who owns a newspaper called L'Espoir, and how he at first wants to keep a neutral front on the paper. Meaning how he didn't want to have any political preference, which was quite the thing for papers at that time, (as much as it is a preference now) as the book is set in war-time Paris.

Now this came out of random really, as I was reading the papers and wondered why my siblings prefered The Times to The Guardian. I usually buy The Guardian, but it has come to my realisation that my family does buy more of The Times, when they can actually be arsed to buy the paper. I remember asking my brother about this a few weeks ago on which political front The Times represents, and he probably answered something that didn't really etch into my memory, something something centre, (wouldn't be different if he said front-back-left-right-centre).

Truth is, I can't find it out myself, as I'm hardly overseas long enough to observe the paper and the local news here, and also because my father is against me wanting to get a subscription to the New Scientist, let alone The Sunday Times. And well anyway, back to the point, it made me realise the fact that when in most countries, even when there are no impending wars or big political ongoings, papers always take sides, may it be left, right, or neutral, subtly but still something there; yet the papers in Malaysia however, blatantly sound the same.

I remember the time when the whole Mahathir/Anwar case was going on and how The Sun (pre-it's reincarnation into an advertisement infested circular) were anti-Mahathir and therefore did some things unsatisfactory to said politician. Most of the reporters in The Sun were then fired and well, it went completely down hill until it's new revamp into the circular it is now. Its rise from its fall was admirable, but I can't help but feel sorry for the insatisfactory being of a paper it is now, a polarised difference from the adamant, passionate free speech reporting it once had. So yeah, that's meddling with politics for you.

I like the newspapers here, regardless of publisher. Though I must admit, maybe the Guardian's new layout has made me more attracted to it, but unlike the notion my brother accuses me of; I'M NOT ATTRACTED TO THE SIZE. Having a tabloid size isn't really a problem to me but the reporting. Though I must admit, The New Straits Times looks like a tabloid now, with it's size, it's new logo, AND it's reporting. So maybe the layout does play a part on how you look at it. Hell yeah.

Another observation with the "DO-NOT-MESS-WITH-POLITICIANS" rule is one I was reading about these entrepeuners in Russia and how when they start to mess with Vladimir Putin they end up in jail or getting exiled. Which is funny. In a sad way.

Now, you may have realised that the title of my post wasn't refering to stir fried newspapers and a russian politician all at one time as a dish, but more like a train of thought I have right now. The only missing part is the Fry, which is another thing on my mind right now, Stephen Fry. I was watching his movie Bright Young Things the other day and the thought that came to mind was "this movie is awesome.". After watching the extra features: "this director is awesome". Why this guy crossed my mind again is because I was just looking around Borders on Friday and I realised a row of books written by him.

I was tempted, believe me, but for that price I would rather buy something I wouldn't get at home and a hardcover for the price difference. But I didn't buy a book in the end. Because I bought a Jeff Noon book at Waterstone's about half an hour before knowing we were going to Borders. But for one thing I know I can't get that Jeff Noon book in Malaysia.

Then I went to Borders again on Saturday, as this time George wanted to get himself a book (he got Aldous Huxley's Brave New World as recomended by yours truly), and we were passing by the Gabriel Marquez section which is beside Stephen Fry section and he noticed this book I didn't really give much thought to until he pointed it out. Moab is My Washpot is the title. I read a bit of it, and it's good. But it's an autobiography and I wanted something more substantial. And light. I'm going home on Economy Class with only 20kgs.

So I got Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea. And it's a nice novel and all. But I am STILL tempted to get Moab is my Washpot. But I'm scared I'll go over the 20kg limit.

Then I realised why his name is so familiar, as I remember watching him get an honorable degree from my brother's alma matter when attending my brother's graduation last July. And the fact that he has a show on tv called QI. And that he's actually more influential around here than I thought.

The book? I'm tempted.

Of Tesco Reduced

2005-11-18T07:03:00.000+08:00

I had just came back from Tesco Metro! Or Tesco Ghetto as my sister's boyfriend would call it as well, this IS East London. Anyway, one of the things I enjoy the most about the UK is its supermarkets. May it be Tesco, Sainsbury or Waitrose, there are bound to be ready made food that goes 75% off the night before expiry. I mean the food is still edible and all, and is actually in good condition, yet it's priced at such a low price, you just have this urge to get it anyway, though you're probably not hungry at all.

My brother had been a bit bored just now so he decided to go to the Tesco (which is next door, ha-ha!) and I decided to accompany him. What I was looking forward for was maybe some drinks or a magazine, but when I reached there, I had found a whole fridge tempting me out of my rational.

I had gotten:
a whole packet of Spring Onions for 19p.
a salmon bagel for 29p.
a medium sushi set for 1.59.
a chicken tikka sandwich for 29p.
and well a bottle of water, but it's not reduced so it doesn't count.

The pakistani/bangladeshi man behind the counter was well, very amused, when he scanned my items he went on about "oh, this is expensive yeah? oh no, not expensive" or "see? it is very cheap in england" and looked to my brother and went "see? you spend five pound" and then he points to the fact that I bought more items but cost less. Hehe, the sushi is hard. And had chili in it which was funny. I have no idea what to do with the bagel and the sandwich. My sister has the flu so I doubt she would take any risks. Sigh.

Anyway, today my sister's boyfriend was so nice to take a day off work to take me to the Natural History Museum. The only thing I caught myself saying after looking at one and a half levels of exhibits is "Wow". And really wow. We hardly covered a fraction of all the exhibits, and I skipped the whole dinosaur part as I loss all concentration at that time, wanting to conserve all the energy I had left for the Darwin's Natural Selection section; only to find it: closed for refurbishment.

That was alright though, because there was this whole exhibition about how homo sapiens evolved from the early humans and how we are indirectly linked to the primates. There is no exact direct link from which animal we evolved, but all these similarities and such. I've learned a great deal today which is just far too much to go on about.

There was even this latest exhibit into this study, about the new discovery of a Homo Floresiensis in the Java Islands in the early 2000s. I still need to read up more about that too, so I'll post something up here when I do read it up. :)

After spending a few hours in there, I believe I lost all my concentration as I was so in awe and decided I have to visit the place again some other day. So we went to get souvenirs and I got myself a 25inch human skeleton replica to put on my table back home. George called it Skelly at the first time we saw it so I decided to name it that and bring it around the apartment putting in on table tops and all. The good thing is I can disassemble it and reassemble it when I get back home so that's good. :) I wonder what the cleaners at home might think though, I have this feeling my mother will be displeased, as much as I know that my brother doesn't want that skeleton in the lounge. Haha, so yeah it's sleeping in my sister's room tonight, I forgot to take it out from there, but then again my sister wouldn't care less if the skeleton was alive I suppose.

2005-11-15T22:36:00.000+08:00

I have not done anything productive today except for the brief half hour I had spent drawing a near believable 3D box and claiming it as "perspective drawing". I hope that amused you as it did leave my sister, who was frantically walking around the house cleaning everything up, as you may have guessed it : Not really that amused.

We had planned to go out and watch The Constant Gardener today, the plan was to watch it yesterday, but you see, the problem is that I'm fourteen, making me one year shy of the 15 Rating they have here.

It's sweet and all the law wanting to protect children from so called "nudity" (oh just because Rachel Weisz was pregnant in the movie and Ralph Fiennes was all lovey dovey with her)but believe me, I had seen more nudity in a day after spending time at the Tate Modern Gallery.

So, since my sister doesnt want them to card me- "Identification please?", she decided maybe we should go to the British Library or National History Museum. But then again, since she was having temporary-obsessively-compulsive-neurotic-yet-not-properly diagnosed-disorder-that-probably-doesn't-exist-anyhow, I told her I wouldn't mind staying home today as long as we did something productive tomorrow.

Which was not much of a lost since I watched, well, The first and half of the second season of Grey's Anatomy in the past 24 hours? And if I were more mad and foolish due to influence of the show, I would proudly puff my chest and say I'm going to be a doctor 'cause after episode after episode, I can say I know how to intubate a patient. Or tell if a malignant tumour is benign or cancerous. Or sprout out big long explanations about why things turn out the way they are from an MRI scan.

If I get through school, get a a scholarship, do crazily well in my pre-med course, spend five years in Med School......

Conclusion is : I should go out and take a walk, never watch two seasons of a tv show back to back EVER AGAIN, and wake up to smell the coffee that I'm fourteen in a normal instituition, and stop procrastinating whatever it is I am procrastinating... especially the whims of my bladder.

Its quite whimsical, I feel like peeing, but I couldn't be arsed to go to the bathroom.

I shall also touch on the fact that if I were a simpler person, who had not much exposure, I would have concluded that after watching many seasons of medical tv shows is that despite the hellish ride to the way to becoming a real doctor, all doctors end up having more sex than any other profession. And oh yeah, despite having to wake up at 4.30a.m to do your rounds, you most probably spent your night off at a bar. Which was the place that happened to be where every other doctor went to too.

Which is nice, but truth is, tv or reality, when it comes to blood, gore and guts, I think I would make a shit doctor.

2005-10-31T03:07:00.000+08:00

I lie awake in bed, with neither sleep or conscious dreaming lulling be back. For some reason the light is on and the room is quite warm to the extent that my face feels a bit sticky. My semi-conscious sister asks me to open the window, and does an exasperated grumble about the lights. So I wake up and turn them off, while slipping in to the kitchen to get myself some water.

Now I'm awake. I'm the lone awake person in this house. In this very tiny neighbourhood, in this part of the east, in the whole of the city. I'm the one solitary conscious person in the whole of London, except for the late nighters, the night shifters, the drunk and the jaded, the insomaniacs, the drinkers, the clubbers, the disturbed, the working few, and the praying ones too.

I have made the mistake of falling asleep a bit too early on tonight. I had eaten too much crisps and ice-cream not counting the heavy lunch I had earlier than that. I found myself getting a cardiac about 9 o'clock and fell asleep straight away in full clothing.

So now I'm awake. As everyone is asleep, only the blinking lights of the sky line keep me company. Only the faint glow from the Canary Wharf, the dark, unfathomable outline of the Gherkin, the bright orange lights from the other HSBC tower, and city banks. Only them, this laptop and the table lamp.

Only they are awake with me. On this sleepy autumn night.

2005-10-30T15:43:00.000+08:00

I've been staring at this window for quite some time now. I've been trying to think of something to type out, as I know if I don't type it now, then I never will. So all sorts of things crossed my mind. All the questions I ever wanted to discuss but don't find it important enough.

Like for one thing, how much of our characteristics are genetic? Till how far are the sins of the father to be the burden of the son? Does it count to do good yet have yourself spitting in the inside? What is a divine cause? Is there a bad so evil, it is unforgivable? Is the conventional family something undo-able anymore? Why are there so many rape cases, incestous doings, divorces, cheating, infidelities in this age? Or am I starting to realise them? Is it evolution taking it's toll on us? Why do I care?

Maybe one day I might find myself answering all these questions myself. Maybe I might wake up tomorrow morning and turn on the computer and answer them. Maybe I might realise the answers later in life when it doesnt matter anymore. Maybe baby, I don't know.

Though just so you all might, or might not want to know. I shall be writing. :)

2005-10-19T23:42:00.000+08:00

These are the days, where I find myself in a safe corner away from idleness, with much abated work load lessening and lessening each day. Here is the crossroad of the year, where time has passed too much for it to stop, and when a new beginning is so near for time to end.

Somehow or another, we all go through this phase sooner or later in our lives. This is when we finally start to come to terms with ourselves and our flaws, to spit out our regret and start a-new for the next cycle to come on by. Not to be confused with total self content, as that is a whole new stage altogether. But to talk about the first step, the hardest stride. The acceptance of the truth.

I do not mean this as a personal post, but as a brief not too directed study into this phase that we all go into. For as much as I observe my mental development, I have realised the same sparks of light flicker in the minds of my peers too.

One of the few things I have learnt (by books and experience of others, as my 14 years worth of experience has not left me contented yet) about trying to reach self actualization is that the main and most important thing about it is to accept yourself for your own self, your own mutations and strengths and just live with it. That however is easier said than done. Put yourself into a hut in the middle of the woods like Henry Thoreau and you probably might find peace in nature, and go on about how you have found your place in nature, but how can you go as far to do that without actually having an adverse effect on you before that?

How can you feel accepted in nature, or society for that matter, if you have not felt shunned away from it somehow? How can you stop yourself from being oblivious of your place in this world for when you came out into this world, your surroundings had always been like that in the first place?

It is a matter of opinion about how much we can learn about life from the experiences of others, but it is without doubt that the salt we taste ourselves is saltier than the empathy of tears we cry for another.

I have realised that for once I can feel belong into a group of people, of individuals that have nothing except for the being of nothing to do with each other, for no other reason than that of acceptance.

And as we accept, we start to accept to change our views, our preprogrammed minds, our goals and our dreams. We make real of our hopes. Whatever reality means anyway.

The whole point here is that these are the days. These are the days that we leave our oblivion. This is when we face facts that life is to be questioned, and seldom to be answered.

When I went to school this morning, and the mornings before this one, since the day of realisation, I have come to the conclusion that my peers and I are starting to accept. That we are preparing ourselves to grow, we are preparing the mental place for which we can feel as our own skin. After the last whiff of childhood had passed, we had already known it was time. It was time to grow.

And we're on our way to that place where all trees grow towards. Believe me, we're on our way towards the sky.

2005-10-06T20:10:00.000+08:00

I find myself here, looking at the blogger window, actually finding myself BLOGGING after, what, four to five months of missing in action? I don't know, I suddenly got this very nice urge to sit down and write again. Or maybe it's just another subconscious way of procrastinating for my exams. Hmmm.

I've not written in an age, so please apologise for me Noodle Blogging as Edrei would call it. Ooh, and also apologise for my mad nonsensical way of writing now, I seriously don't know where all the prose went.

I really have been idle in the internet area, in school, (and quite in the head mind you), and I seriously don't know what happened to me. I can't hardly remember what I did in the last four months, except for fragments here and there. I know that I went on a holiday for two weeks. But I seriously, don't really remember what I learnt from that holiday. It's completely mad, I'm telling you.

Well actually I do remember what I did, I'm not completely off my rocker, but I certainly don't remember doing anything of substance.

The moment when I finally woke up and realised how messed up and idle I left my life to be was when having a phonecall with our school's Interact Club's ex-president. I was getting this weird panic attack right then on the phone and it nearly killed her.
Haha, I know that sounds so Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye, but I really do have a certain fondness for that book.

I think I have written about this before in my older, more tangled up, less straight to the point posts. But I seriously think I have this temporary burn out through the years. Call me a whacko but seriously. I see myself going through the exact emotional slump I went through last year, and it was about this time of the year.

I realise that I'm at my peak usually around the starting of the year, and really start going a bit blahh at mid year. This can usually be cured by having a holiday, like the one I had in standard six that left me in such a productive mood I actually had gotten an A in BM (how in the world did THAT happen?) and I made more graphics than I've ever done during that short span of one month.

It's mad really, because the holiday I took mid this year just made me a bigger laze than ever. I probably spend 3/4 of my time daydreaming on something to write or whatnot, and end up forgetting about it. Which is mad, it nearly killed me.

I should start reading up on my revision, pass up the graphics to Peter before he really gets off his rocker, get my exams done and over with, then I shall make myself sit down and start back the life I had tried to start here. And I definitely need to change my blog layout.

Geez, this post is really mad.

Oh I realised one thing. My blog is really depressing. Even the wallpaper is peeling.

2005-06-15T12:17:00.000+08:00

I stayed home from school today, for probably the 10th time this year, to see the doctor about my throat. So there I was, looking like a pale dead bat, entering the doctor's office, being quite dissapointed that I got Dr Rosli (the guy who owns the clinik)instead of Dr. Nasir (the mad happy guy with the beard).

The thing is, I have been going to this clinic for as long as I can remember, right from my kindergarten days, through my primary years, and till now, though I don't visit the doctor as often as I did before. Dr Rosli isn't really one of my favourite doctors, as he is, well, weird. Again, today, he went on about how the clinic wasn't going into profits yadayadayada, how the medicine they prescribed took most of the overhead, yadayadayada, and how lucky my dad was lucky working in a company, yadayadayada.

Last time I visited the clinic was on account on my broken toe nail, which was treated by Dr. Nasir, thankfully. The visit was quite short, compared to the fact that when I was in standard two, my mother and him would take 2/3s of the checkup time talking about politics.

"Demam ke tak?" my doctor asked, asking me if I had fever. I answered no, as I would get the same Raza antibiotics I get everytime I go there, which will lead to it being unfinished. Every single time. So then he asked me which school I was in, and went into a whole conversation about Encik Khalid, some teacher who was supposed to teach my class Technical Drawing, but ended up not showing up.

So he went on again about how the USJ 4 Branch made more money than the SS19 one that I visited, and how the Islamic Boarding school that went there had a flat rate, and how they lost out because, as said before, their drugs were somehow expensive

"Gunalah, ubat generic doktor" I retorted back eyes pointing to the Pharmaniaga Slimvastin montage on the wall. And he retorted back if I wanted generic drugs, though I know he wouldn't do that, as he had already written down my own demand of prescription in the panel book. Heeeheee. Booya.

2005-05-27T01:48:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I wonder if I have a disability that causes me to act a bit spastical when I'm not. I get all excited and giddy and start rocking in my chair back and forth with a big grin on my face, just rocking and rocking till I burn out and forget what I was excited about anyway. I don't even think spastical is a word, and even if it isn't, does it make me an imperialist for defining actions as spastical? Because I have nothing against disabled people. They deserve a lot of attention, but certainly the goverment can't give that because they're too busy repainting the new putrajaya tower or what not. I'm not even sure about any towers in putrajaya, or maybe there is one in the big palace of justice but that im not so sure either, since, you know, it IS a building. With a dome. Or something.

So yeah, I go to a cafe right? And I'm there, taking out my book and looking through my dictionary because I can't really understand half of the words, and stuff, on my book, or paper, I forgot, and I was like; yeah. Anyway, suddenly this guy comes over right, and says, hi can I sit here? And of course I say yeah, the whole cafe is practically packed with people smoking cigarettes and having coffee or what not, though some people are having lunch, and stuff coz it is Malaysia and cafes serve eggs on toast. And stuff. So this guy is like 50 over, and the conference bag thing he carries says something on top, I forgot, and, hey, he's old. So yeah he's starting classes and I'm like oh ok. And really, I didn't know what to say.

Same goes to the time in class, the preparation class and my teacher gives us these papers which are photocopied and they had movie posters on top and so she asked our opinion on the movies. So like, yeah, my friend gave her opinion first because she speaks the language fluent and I'm nodding and agreeing because I understand her but I really didnt know what to say. My head was calculating stuff again and again like how it does in scrabble, going ok,okokok, what are we gonna do now? And suddenly right, my teacher looks at me and asks me what I think about Scary Movie 3. So yeah, I say I don't really like it because it's not real and I started crapping about how blatant and empty it is because it doesn't have social or cultural aspects and.. stuff and my teacher just nodded and the whole class was quiet and like, blah, and I'm like, shit, my teacher must think I'm a total idiot and stuff and she was nodding and acting like she agreed with me, though I don't know, I know she likes Brad Pitt or something.

I don't know man. I seldom talk like this right. And like, it's just so far out.

2005-05-21T01:51:00.000+08:00

What's in a game? A game that has an objective after it's many twists and turns and pieces of confusion alike. What's in an objective of a game? Play to win.
Three words I have read so many times in the same order of sequence. Like a mantra or a magic wish that might just come true if recollected about often enough. Play to win, play to win, play to win, play to win.

Play. Win.

In a game with an objective, there is the main winner, there is the main loser. Shades of gray do not count at the first basic stage, because right now, on the first game, everything is simple. You've got practically nothing to lose, except for the reputation of not losing.

So you play, you calculate, back fire, launch and block. You score, and realise it was an opening slot for your opponent, who strikes back and puts you back in your first square in three steps in clacks of four. But you win nonetheless. May be by a slight pinch. May be by a landslide. Either way, triumph under your nails have never felt so good before.

So you play yet another game. And become a statistic. Or win. Again.

These past few months have had me in that situation. A cold slaughter of an innocent mind of another if not my own. Not to refer to a real board game, but to life itself. I realised that the more mannered and polite the game is to be, the even more cruel torture it causes.

The instinct to win is not from the inside of us. It is merely a whole new person entirely which takes up your anatomy with the sole desire to conquer. It's a state of mind, a whole new person in psychosomatic format, burned into a disk, to be taken out at times of needed will. In other words, the winner is Winzipped and kept away.

Like what Yasmin Ahmad once said, something about the people who are the closest to you that hurt you the most. Well, the winner is you, and when she is down and feeling revengeful, she attacks. She hurts. The winner plays to win over you. The loser made empty shell of useless tactics and strategies.

So tell me, if you were playing a cold hearted game of two players with limited time aside. And that other Winner came in.

What would happen?

2005-04-24T03:39:00.000+08:00

Jasmine buds are beautiful. When dried, they look like identical small green ball like rolls, with the leaf edges slightly frayed but nonetheless intact. As when it is infused with water, they give off a faint green hued colour that carries it's distinct taste of something you usually pair with green tea. Real jasmine buds are troublesome to find, if not just luxuriously flamboyant when it has the exact taste of the canned descent if not less.

I now stare at my clear cup of lukewarm tea. Peeking from where I see it, algae-ish hues give a discreet smell that wafts only into the willing or nearby noses. Or I think could say it to be the colour of the green fairy, liquor compared to a cloudy liquid which tastes like lemon, honey and nothing at all, a drink when taken in the wrong ratios of items, tastes worse than absinthe itself.

If only these fingers could stroke those forms of reality without paint and paper, and nothing else but the soft mumbling of the lips, they would most probably trace a cup. A cup of which the colour says nothing about what is in it, and of which the sight tell nothing of it's colour. It would be too deep to be fully comprehendable even to the artist, who in that exact moment becomes devoid of all human emotion from the strokes and furls stamped and prodded into the mediumless art.

One knows that he is an artist when he cannot specialise in something to fully save his life, yet as he accepts and understands it in it's rough view, or something of the sort, he sees the vivid image as what he wants to be in his mind. Right there, in the official jury of the heart, the little revelations that mean nothing to nothing.

But what happens if that mind gets overwhelmed by things that attack it by no notice at all. Beauty, such infinite logical beauty that comes from nothing at all. A piece of skin, the bright moon's loan of light from the sun taking creeps onto the hairline and brows. What if desire steals the substance and becomes the dominator and ruler of the one man show road. The topic of all canvases of minds.

Can desire be substance? As the desired ownership is to have substance, granules of digestable thought by other walks of mankind. But what if those granules become desire, desire being the train of thought, the quasimodo of the ringing heart, taking stirs by the hour.

Then substance dies entirely. It has good things in it of course, the prose, the train of thought is so beautiful now, but it is far too much, and desire dominates, it sleeps and it hates, it lies and it wants. It wants too much. Far too much. Far too many lines and fireworks than the artist can afford and muster.

Sometimes my substance dies entirely. I write with burning desire, that corrodes the ideas and the neutrons of the minds that know the answer, but are only mumbling it under a gray sheet of muffled sound. I've been like that these past few days. It's been a year. A year.

And desire is still burning high, burning through the shirt pockets, beneath the tag, the cotton, the embroidered undergarments. Under the cholesterol in the artery. Where art doesn't seem to make sense, anymore. As it reaches the mind.

2005-04-20T17:32:00.000+08:00

The flu leaves you with that flat and sour smell of phlegm in your system, with that sticky coat of shiny wax over the layer of hair and skin, a concentrate at it's best on the nose and the forehead, if not the back.

Sick I have been, of the hectic yet at times unstimulating commune called school. Yet in this curse over me, I find it as a blessing in disguise. Feeling useless and weak as you sloth around the house has it's blessings, as it finally makes your mind wander towards things.

Nostalgia is a perfect subject. Making the domino walking mind trail into each other's connections to tip tap tip top, strengthening the nerves to bring us a distant memory of a place, the smell, the bright vividness that puts us in picture perfect mood. A child who carries the face of yours, supple and slightly dimpled, looking the other way round, with her arms around a disneyland mascot. It seems that her brown hair was on fire, but it was only a sunny afternoon. In winter. In the city of Paris in the Nirvana year of 1995.

It makes you think about your current sorry state of mind. Am I really burning out or is that paracetamol getting to my head? It's both sweetie, now take another one and go to bed.

I can say that the wage my father got from Glaxo had been repaid in minor installed subconsious amounts from all the Panadol bottles bought since birth. Herr, Herr doctor.

It really amazes me what you can learn in a day, or realize, or regain strength in. Wait make that three days, three whole sets of 24 multiples of 60 minutes having 60 seconds in one. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the peanut crunching crowd as Sylvia the poet anak perempuan Plath has said, I now add, behold the days of absentia I have put myself into. Only to be demerited by a shirted man in blue, caught in flagrante delicto.

Mais oui, bien sur. I shall post when I am not so utterly, intoxicantly, mad.
Staring at this page, writing unsuccessful drafts of psychology then another unsuccessfull one of evolution does that to you. You realize you're walking around a stick in a circled triangle. Only to stop for toilet breaks or sips of Ribena that tastes like Blood since anything mixed with phlegm tastes bad. Yucks, the aftertaste of chicken rice. Man it was good.

You go maaaaa-ad. Just to tell you all I'm fine. Just maaaa-aad.

2005-03-20T04:04:00.000+08:00

I have gotten myself a copy of Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita today. I must admit, it has been a delayed purchase, with my buying other books instead of getting Lolita straight away. The first time i heard about the book was from a review written in another language which drives my teacher to the edge. And from that we can conclude that what I have derived from it would be lacking some words, if not the whole substance itself.

I can clearly recall that the review was a short blub of Sofia Coppola's, of whom became idolistic to me for some moment above some reason or another, and that when I read it, I was far more pure and naive than I am now. The first time I picked it up from the store bookshelf and read the first few pages, I thought it was a mere obsessive love story. When I reread the first page for the thousandth time today, for the first description in my eyes is the most simple and beautiful introduction ever, I realized the disclosed prose of clearly, uncivilised longing. Hey don't blame me, I read it in French Vogue.

If you are as naive as I was, and the word Lolita didnt ring any bells for you, the word has actually become a pseudonym for "A seductive adolescent girl" to dictionary.com, "nympets" to those who understand the concept of nymphomania or forms of ulysses, or "kiddie sex" as a friend of mine says it.

I'm not going to explain the whole book to you... Because I believe I have said some obscene words and imaginative prose here already. So click here, as I believe this book's beauty is in coming to the facts yourself and not someone else. That is the exact copy they have in Kinokuniya, though I purchased the second last copy so go on and try your luck.

Yet don't get the story wrong, the prose, the obsession, the intoxicating heartfelt words that go on for paragraphs without stop, choking choking you with beauty itself is actually really really good. I won't put my foot into any area that agrees or disagrees with the book. I agree it is indeed obscene, purtrid and sinful. Yet I can't disagree that its beautiful, enchanting, critical and raw with polished poems in every paragraph.

Language-wise, since I don't really understand Salman Rushdie's prose that much, I can say the prose here beats The Ground Beneath her Feet anytime. Ok, you have the right to say I'm being facile. But really, if it wasn't for Ulysses by James Joyce, The Ground Beneath Her Feet would be the hardest book I've tried to read so far. And Henry Thoreau. Yeah. Hmm.

On a lighter note, my english teacher makes us bring a novel to school everytime there is english. We would do our work normally and when there is time, we would be given time to read and then present our books. The presentations have not started yet, though I know the first one to go upfront and talk would most probably be me because of my sometimes-quite-unfortunate-at-times-like-these name. I think I might present something more cheerfull, like the Great Gatsby or something. Really, try imagining me presenting Lolita.

"Er. This is an obsessive yet beautiful story of which prose I ador-"

"Get to the point Ainaa."

"Errr.Its a story about apedophilewhoishauntedbyhischildhoodgirlfriendwhodiedfromsomewierdtyphus
thinganditsastoryabouthimcourtingthe12yearoldgirlandfornicateswithherandallander."

*Whole class stares in silence while I get sent to the counsellor's office for being mentally disturbed*

Yeah anyway I'm not too bummed if I have to read a part of the first page. I love it so much. Here's a small part of it:

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo.Lee.Ta.
She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

2005-03-16T13:38:00.000+08:00

I have spent a night in Kuala Lumpur last night, the reason being that my parents bought a voucher for a night's stay at a hotel there for a charity auction. The place was beautiful, but the view was just magnificient.

I slept facing the window, a view of the KL skyline and everything else below us. Cars, like lighted ants, sprawled across the roads beneath us, simeaultaneously, never stopping for anything. Other from buildings, I could see construction, a building untiled and roofless at check in, and nearly ready at check out.

Last night, as I was feigning sleep and staring out the window at the same time, I pondered on what will become of this city in a decade's time. It's a rat race out here, with dial a suit people walking back and forth in Starhill, art spots like PageOne closing down, to only move and be compressed into space in Kinokuniya, and hackneyed determination to "not lose out".

I feel so old, with everyone and everything I thought I knew moving forward into worlds unreachable by myself. My mother has read up on some courses on my further education, a degree in economics and language. As industrious as it sounds, as then I can professionalise in MacroEcons and get to work in cool places or a nice office anyway, I really really don't actually give a damn about Bursa Malaysia. I realized this as my parents were talking about the malaysian banks liquidifying blahblahblah to stimulate the economy blahblahblah yesterday over brunch, and the only thought that could come to mind was, What the foo-sh?

Maybe I'm going through a bohemian phase myself, as I can see that my family does have some Hippy tendecies, with my sister and her free speech and mother with her protesting, or maybe I really shouldnt have bought Walden by Henry Thoreau. Heck, I didn't even finish that book. This may sound impertinent but I find it impassively boring.

I really don't know much of what I want to do, as you all know all my obsessions with art and building, and numbers, yet I really don't want to wait till I turn 17 to do so. On the daily want status, I just wish that my KH teacher would come to school and teach us Technical Drawing already, my mother would let me use her brand new not even touched Camcorder, that proves she was buying for the sake of buying, again, and that I can sort all my trivial little mess bundles.

Sounds really facile, but no matter how much I stare at the twin towers, or at books or words with it's flawless prose, life still seems to have no grounding, or not much at least. I'm thankful for all the exposure the world had offered, but sometimes one can't help but feel dettered and greedy, and the gleaming building, the pages and the words just seem to fade away.

Life as we know it, is far larger than our approximation of it, as our approximation hardly has any stand at all as our ideals are not even ideals in the first place. Ideas are wafting thoughts that stir in idle minds and content brains, to build and to destroy this virtual world we look at, as our mind, is always on something else, anyway.

I really can't see how anyone can comment on that. I ramble to much. Pardon me.

And oh yes, I watched Wicker Park, and it's impeccably beautiful. I've yet to watch the original version of L'Appartement, (like how?) and reviews say that the latter seems to be better, so i guess I'll have to hunt that somewhere. And oh yes, there is a track on the soundtrack, called We All Have a Map of the Piano by Mum, and it's really good.

And to humour you all a bit, the hotel charged me RM24 for the buffet breakfast, thinking I was 12, and my friends in language class said I look like a school girl. I have once been told by my friend when we were talking about legal age, that I can hardly pass through any club, with my china doll fringe, but really, the hotel people thought I was TWELVE? Must be those socks. I really blame those socks. And the shoes. And the skirt. And-

And yes, a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY (!!! ?? !?) to my sister who turns 24 today. Hope you have a nice one. =)

2005-01-12T16:27:00.000+08:00

There's this thing about me and my nose. It's forever blocked and perpetually wet, well slightly runny but not like a dog mind you, yet I always notice smells. May it be the smell of the neighbour's Compost, someone's signature smell or perfume, or just the smell of my bed sheets after a long day. And the thing is, its a normal thing to relate to things with your sense of smell, as it triggers a part of your brain which remembers it somehow. Its a wonder how much Bill Nye the Science Guy's facts at the age of 7 can last till your nearly fourteen.

The irony is that never have fully realized these things until I was in tuition the other night. The class was held in the living room of the teacher's house, or second house as I was told. The lights were bright blue flouroscent hues, somewhat reflecting against the whiteboard while my tutor boomed about negative signs.

And then I realized, there was a soft smell in the air. I don't remember what the scent was called and is, but all I could remember was that it made me feel good. It made me feel welcome somehow, yet before I can fully get accustomed to the ever fading wifting smell, the clock strikes ten and my date with integers are over.

Smells don't last yet they still strike you somehow. Just like the smell of my daily shampoo used during the holidays in 2003 still make me feel 12 again, for some reason, it puts me in that state of mind of complete ease. Yet once the bottle had finished, another trip to the Pharmacy for another one proves unworth it as even the spirits of scent can't be ressurected again.

The end of 2003 was a nice time, I spent my still as death Ramadan at home staring at the screen discovering new things while the smell of my father's perfume somewhat froze in the scorching hot and slow midday. Its something hard to pinpoint on that time, probably something like Jason Mraz said about eating and sleeping just living and learning the ways. But this was better, for at 12, your mind is at it's peak, ready to absorb anything in it's path.

Theres this bright orange lunchbox in my house that I brought over from UK when I was a little kid. It had a white handle and tiny thermos inside. On the front of the thermos and lunchbox, it had an illustration of a cartoon made famous on BBC that time called The Animals Of Farthing Wood. The thermos is the typical kid thermos you would get at the age of four. You would have to unscrew the cup from the bottle, then unscrew the corkscrew to pour your drink into the cup, drink, then screw them back together in opposite direction of openning it.

I had always brought that lunchbox to kindergarten during my time there, with grape juice in my thermos. A ripe soft smell I can still smell till now after countless of times of being washed and used back in primary school. But even then, the smell is still there as I sneak into the store room and unscrew in delight. And for a moment, it felt like every little drop of my childhood was in that thermos, in that abstract scent of grape juice.

But then, grape juice doesn't smell like faded dishwashing liquid too does it?

2004-12-07T01:51:00.000+08:00

Nothing happened much since I last posted. Just raya, exams, events, hostages, world war ten, and and and.... bleah forget it. Today however, I felt that I just had to post, because my blog looks worse than a delapidated flat with peeling wallpaper and rotting books that turn yellow from the damp leaking ceiling. Yes that bad, I hope for a new layout soon, but I have to do that with Eddie, and he needs to be fixed with more RAM or the last kick to his processor might be the last. Yes, that bad.

It was raining this afternoon in Subang, causing my mother to scream from the television room about how the astro doesn't work during the sky's short spell of gloom. I was dastardly bored, lack of stimulation, especially from my boyfriend who sometimes I believe turns me on at a 32.3kb rate when he's supposed to be 1mb by now. He was as slow as that 192 RAM's worth on a slow pc. His drive drove me crazy at some nights, screaming, but sometimes I fell asleep just looking at him. I needed something big, something huge, something drastic.

And that was when, I deflowered Edvard.

As most of you know, Edvard or Eddie as he is sometimes known, and I have been together for more than a year now. We've gone through a lot of problems but problems usually get taken care of in less than a day. We've done a lot together, and with him away from his creator's wrath, he could open up.

We took it slow I guess. He was very quiet and cautious as I brought him down and unplugged him slowly and slowly. He was practically bare when we finally realized what we had to do. There was no turning back now. With the tip of the finger, we slit the white piece. And all was let free.

At first he couldn't open up, he was designed in a way quiet difficult for me to lift the cover without getting electricuted. And on the dusty floor, free of wires and USB ports which usually litter my room, I realized one thing about our love. Our crazy sexy sensual love.

I had hoped big. But it was never near there. I had wanted it nice, a 256 mb i expected. But I was outwit. It was hardly a 192mb. I was cheated. Bad.

Anyway don't look at me like that. Especially before you say anything. We used protection, lucky HP did try to take our space and time to prove that.

Here is a picture of my boyfriend, horribly breaking my heart, as I found out about what he had. And didn't. Parental guidance needed.

This is what happens when you're surrounded by hormonal sex raging teenagers and geeks of the planet as friends.

Till next time, you @!! l33t!

2004-10-18T20:08:00.000+08:00

The day that I lost my mind was an endless set of rollercoasters from ground zero gravity to by all means the sky. It was like those stories we learn in literature, the story went up well, had a climax and futhered on good enough. With ofcourse the exception that a story spans for atleast a week, yet mine took less than 12 hours. Fate knows how to manage her time for me it seems.

I spent my time back at home trying to get back to what I thought I had left but it turned out that was taken too. So I took all my letdowns to the sofa and slept until it was 15 minutes to seven, when I was supposed to break my fast. Sleep is a beautful thing, despite my soreneck from sleeping on the sofa and that grumpy after effect of afternoon naps, it did take my mind off the fact that my ego and reputation was at stake. I couldn't remember what I dreamed of, probably nothing, or probably my mind was just going along the lines of the F word to blind whatever my mind was worrying about before I slept.

The second half of the day was just as bitter as the defeat that blow the very same afternoon. I found myself aranging my father's cd collection nearly twice, while aranging the ones on the shelf according to colour coordination. So here I am now, just after snapping at my father, who came in dancing like Maya Karin to make me think a pontianak came into my room. His sense of humour is quite mind boggling actually.

So there I was, wanting to complain to him about his company's E-Solution, when its very obvious that the old man won't understand a gibberish I say. Apparently, the company's asp program has an error so my dad can't get his webmail. At first he thought it was because I was using Mozilla, not the crapped up IE that apparently has been updated with the new service pack. After a few minutes, he gave up from my irritation and I got back to listening to Tim Foreman sing about how he doesn't belong here.

So there it was, the day I got 3 trophies from the school, shaky results and a C from my art teacher who said my art looked more like graphic design- therefore "salah format". Which I do disagree but if she wants it in one frame, then I can't question. I am mentally stable thank you very much, and I'm not going to say all art is useless. Because in the end, not all art perishes. The soul is an art and now, that won't perish will it?

We are a beautiful let down, painfully uncool,the church of the dropouts and losers and sinners and failures and the fools, oh what a beautiful let down, are we salt in the wound, let us sing one true tune.

I don't belong here.

2004-09-19T15:19:00.000+08:00

Have any of you ever thought of what you really are? Well, of course human but ever thought about your identity? About your life and it's meaning? Well, when it comes to that topic, I am just as confused as I were years ago.

I still remember a year ago when I turned 12 and decided to find myself (oh reaaaallyy) and just get self actualized. 14 months down the road and I'm nowhere near that level. So it hits me, why?

Am I not sure of what I am, my strengths and what I want to do because I am hardly experienced enough to really know what I want? Or am I disillusioned by other influences that blind me into my pure form?

Either way, or both of them together, I really feel like a contradiction when it comes to that. Sometimes when I am idealistic, I paint my nails black, I try and act all artsy fartsy, or I dress up in boring work clothes and act like a Bloomberg fiend, yet sometimes, I just sit down in front of the tv, and forget it all, only to feel a sense of guilt for nothing describeable after Ed and his friends from stuckeyville leave me for next week.

But that's just plain facetious isn't it? No matter how I paint my nails or dress like a teenage corporate who attends Bursa Malaysia's Evening Talks, thats just another pose I'm hiding behind and in the end, I'm nothing but another actor who acts out the lives of other people.

Life's a stage, and men and women are merely actors - William Shakespeare.
Well, its along those lines.

And I quite agree with him, in the end, we're doing everything for someone else, not ourselves. In the end, we don't update our blog for ideas but for the sake of having to update for readers. Not that I am doing that, as far as I know, the only guy who actually follows my blog is a crazy Naruto Fan who uses Lord of The Rings soundtrack songs for his school presentations. But thats not the point.

I bet you have felt that way or something. Being pushed to do things you know you don't want to. But then again, do you even know what you want? What you know fully that you want without having to think of the word YES in your mind? Have you?

A long time ago I was soo dead sure. Now? I have no idea whatsoever. Well so what, some may say? You're young, you're hormonal, you've got the rest of your life to figure that out. Why bother about it now?

Well my sis is back in KL, and we had a mind opening session as we talked about everything last Friday night. And she seems so sure about her life. And what she wants, and what she loves. Just like from another Jostein Gaarder book, she breathes her own philosophies and unlike Maria from The Solitaire Mystery, she found herself in Greece.

And me? I'm still battling with what I want to believe from Ustazs and Ustazahs and teachers in school. I'm still trying to get a voice. Still trying to be more assertive. And now, I think I am on hiatus on that trying part.

After spending years overseas, she said she feels like belongs there and it feels more like home because she is more accepted. She feels like despite being born here, she doesn't agree with the mentality and just doesn't fit in. But thats her point of view and I totally accept anything she wants to say. But that leaves me here. What do I feel?

I know for one thing that I don't fit in my school. I don't agree with our society on certain things, and I definitely want to get experience living overseas. But do I want to leave Malaysia entirely when I am older and cut off all my roots? Like my sister, do I want to steer into a home far away from where I called home and never look back?

Well no, because this is part of who I am in the end. But then how come I caught myself when pissed with the traffic and people, saying when I leave Subang I'm never coming back?

Is home a place where you accept & love and are accepted and loved eventhough in a foreign place? Is home is a place you originate from eventhough you sometimes suffer in? Well I made a search on Dictionary.com and here it is.

a.An environment offering security and happiness.
b.A valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin.

Talk about contradiction.

Well I've got to end this trivia someday. And to rest my thoughts about home for today, I guess the only home I've been in is this house of mine in Subang Jaya which I moved in 3 months after birth. And I guess, it will be, despite all the arguments and annoying things that happen everyday here, it is indeed, for now, my definition of home.

What I feel right now might not be the same things I feel in a few years. And in the end, I feel that all we want is to be contented. We may want to do this and do that, but why? Because in the end, we want to be contented. Am I right?

2004-08-24T16:03:00.000+08:00

The one which intruiged me

What drives you? Is it fear? Is it passion? - Driven

Well what drives you? What is that special force that pushes you to aim higher and run for it's worth. What gives you the air to breathe? Or have you just been living an empty role, waiting till the end of your days? Yeah we are given food to eat, oxygen and carbon dioxide, water vapour, nitrogen and inert gases for respiration, but really, what is that thing that stirs the eagerness of yours to move forward?
What drives you? Oh don't think about Caltex and its petrol but deeper, the deeper fuel in you.

What is your muse?

Number One
Dreams you say? Life you say? Faith maybe? But what is faith when you don't believe it anymore? What is the term "dream" when all it seems is that and nothing more? Why life when it's giving you the lowdown?

What drives you to live? To live in this challenging yet beautiful, yet sometimes ugly world? This place of temporary-ness which spans a good 70 years? What makes you study like mad for your exams?Your future you say. But what future? I know, if you work hard and well enough then God will reward you with the fruits of this world and the after life.

Two
So yeah, my point is not that we're living for nothing but there's got to be some kind of force, petrol that pushes us, that deep bit of strength in us, the one that makes us feel mental fatigue when we lack it. But what is it?

Have you heard , or do you remember Robbie William's song, "Let Love Be Your Energy"? It's something like make love want you to push higher and better for the likes of those you love. Its the emotion that a soldier has when he fights for his country, that he loves his nation. Or is that so? So could it be love?

Could it be anger? Ever heard of those cases when someone puts you down and the only thing that wants you to prove and care about the subject and hand that you are better than that person's expectations. And you know, that the emotion that makes you strive for it is your anger and grudge against that person?

Could it be frustration? After failing at wanting to do something, you change that emotion of yours of being so uncontrollably angry that you have no other option but to move ahead?

Three
Realise the similarity of these options? They are what you feel, of yours of an individual, not of anyone else except yourself. Not by the expense of care of anyone, but yourself. Its you. Its you that feels it, not me, not anyone.

But what is it that you feel? Emotions? Do emotions push you?Or you can say, Oh, i'm doing this for Mama/Papa/ my girl/ my guy/ my cat/ my boss and so on...

But they don't do anything. They don't send signals and push you literally, neither do emotions. Well yeah hormones are known for their capability of driving you to do things but if you think about it, hormones are not the reason of you, say, winning the race for your girlfriend, but its the THOUGHT of winning that makes you want to win.

Its the thought of the emotion that drives you.

Four
If you agree with me enough to be reading this chapter, then lets move on.

Well think about it. I'm doing this for etc... I'm doing this for the thought of etc..

So am I saying thoughts is our petrol? Maybe. And petrol will last in the next 70 years or so and the fossil fuels will be done by then. Same with thoughts.

And when we lose the thought of striving is when we give up.
And when I lose the thought of writing this post I shall stop.

What thought drives you?

2004-08-13T18:46:00.000+08:00

//My first ever puisi

Dunia ini
berlalu seperti khayalan
kita hanya mimpi seorang diri
dengan perasaan dan permintaan

Adakah itu makna dunia ini?
sebagai sebuah perantaraan
satu permainan
satu percarian yang dinamakan cabaran

Bayangan lain orangnya termain main di depan mataku
seperti wayang atau filem yang rekodnya rosak
tetapi diriku tersedar
ini semangat hati mereka, bukan yang aku sedang berdebar

Mereka kata dunia ini
adalah satu tempat kita sebelum berserah kepada-Nya
tetapi kepadaku, disamping itu, dunia ini adalah
tempat kita mencari diri kita yang sebenar

Dan dari dunia ini-lah
kita akan beredar

Please do comment =)

And oh yes btw:

I know I don't do this but- SCORE! I mean come on, me, shag 56 percent of Hogwarts? That is the best thing I've ever heard from a quiz in a long time.

And yes, I know it sounds, very very, sad.

2004-08-10T14:25:00.000+08:00

//Genre: Prose

She was awoken with the soft stirring and buzzing of an F.M radio. It was those belted out tunes that made her make her way down to the surface straight into
The Room . It was the restriction of choice that made her soul move and bustle to get to yet another place, for the future she did not know and did not own.

She felt fatigue.

Of orange juice and a chocolate coated pastry, she challenged time and left. The background of vibration? Conte Patiro , Mr Cole and a bit of Mr. Young. She felt guilt, she felt fatigue yet again. Theres so much in this world to live for, but I can't think right.

Think of what? You'll never know.

So the minutes and bits and clumps of chalk dust floated through. Laughter echoed across the compound of stray elements, trying to keep its own form. We are so young, why try to find ourselves now?

And so she left with her scholar trademark over a shoulder, and nothing but unseen sins and maybe deeds on the other. Its only existence is in the thoughts, and thoughts now are unpredicatable.

Then she saw you. Would you please listen Horatio? I saw my King's dead spirit flying over my castle and I need you to talk to.

But you don't hear her. You seem ignorant to the many Hamlets and Ophelias in this world.

You yourself had your scholar trademark, and your other shoulder looking seemingly fine. You turn to face her for a second, nothing out of the ordinary. Then you clutch your advanced mathematics textbook tighter.

Your wearing it like an accessory. Why, left your bonnet?

Truth is, I've never seen anyone look so good with numerals.

2004-08-07T09:13:00.000+08:00

I realized I've not blogged for a long time. And believe me, it's been at the back of my mind, bugging me ever so much. Well truth is, I've been occupied with school activities and it kinda made me forgot about my blog and milkteeth and whats not.

And I was also holding a grudge, thank you very much Soket. Here's a not serious post and I must admit that I was offended by your statement.

Oh well.

Have you guys ever dreamt of living your ideal life? Living your dreams you say. Living to what you think is bliss but in other words, living out perfection is your perception.

We live in this world for a purpose that we don't really know (or do and fail to do something about) yet in the end all we care about is to be perfect.

I read an article in the NST, like months and months ago and this guy said something along its another year and another year for the quest of perfection. I didn't really understand it then but now when I lost some sense of clarity I once had, I truly understand.

Look at our everyday activities for example. Look at a normal school student. In the morning, they go to school, then what more they go for extra classes, tuitions and what not. Then, they participate for competitions and join as many clubs as possible. Compete for number one in the class, get 8 A's for PMR and say your content.

Repeat that for a few years, then battle for a place in a top 10 university. Get an honors degree, get another degree or mba then get a job that goes from 8-7 making lots of money while your mother brags about your pay. Get married, breed as many as possible, make them live your past then die happily like another clone from Frikking-Perfect Land.

Or maybe that is not your ideal life.

Or maybe your ideal life is going to school, having fun. Living a great school life and get a really cool degree like Media, Music and Film. Graduate and get a really nice job. Live the boheme life and die happy in your minimalist apartment with nothing to worry about.

Face it, what ever is your ideal life or state of mind, your asking for perfection. If you think about it, even Zen is perfection. Its too extreme, too minimal. Zen is when you want nothing, feel nothing and have nothing to think of. And, NOTHING is perfect.

Even so called laid back people who don't care about these arguements care. They care so much that they say "Like, who cares?". The only reason you make that statement is coz you care. If you didn't you wouldn't even voice it out in your blog, your conversations or your songs.

But is being flawed a good thing. Imagine the world if everyone was number one on the charts while they had an IQ of infinity. It won't be normal anymore. It won't be a challenge. It won't be satisfying to live and compete anymore coz its just too easy.

I guess thats why we are not living a perfect life. Coz struggling for a perfect one is a challenge that we want. Without that challenge, what else would we do?

2004-07-16T18:38:00.000+08:00

Have you ever looked at someone and summarised what you thought of them in 5 seconds flat?
I bet you have.
I bet you've done that more than once. More than twice in fact.
Whether you said it out, or not.

But then, have you ever summarised YOURSELF?

In other words, as you stereotype others, have you done the same to your very own being?

I'm Dumb. I'm Stupid. I'm Fat. I suck. I'm a Loser.

I bet we all have gone through that Self Stereotyping Phase once. But thats not the point of my post.

Do you realize that our society likes to bring one down? How in some communities, they call their child "Wok" as in the short term of "Buruk" which in Malay, means ugly. Why do you ask? Why call a child you have not even seen grow such a word? Such a literally ugly word? Oh, they say its to make the child not grow ugly when it's older.

For some strange reason, we all think bringing one down, is a good thing, it shows that you are "being humble". But really, malaysians do stereotype others, and themselves for the worse.

Have you realized that sometimes when we stumble over a long lost relative in a mall or a cafe, the first thing they do is
a) ask what your education status is now
b) comment on how you gained weight

I'm not going to stereotype this post into saying its short and uneventfull, eventhough I think it is. (Refer to post below)
I'm not going to say how horrid i feel today.

Heres my theory anyway.
I am my worst hypocrite. And you are yours.

2004-07-07T22:06:00.000+08:00

I have realized that my past 2 posts were emotional babble therefore I think I better write something better then.

What's on my mind? I'm thinking. I'm thinking about the way we think.

Why think about such a thing you ask? Maybe because I am intruiged by the way we think about things in different ways of thinking.

OH ! Who would've THUNK Ainaa could baffle the way you THINK with using the word again and again?

Okayokay, enough with that. Here are my thoughts.

Interlude
Have you ever thought about the way our minds work? How we are all spontaneous and random when it comes to thoughts. How everybody's thoughts are unique because we all have been shaped in different ways, seen different things and have different personalities. Even siblings who grew up closely with each other's thoughts differ. So theres no doubt about it, we are all individuals in the way we think.
Or so we think.

//Openning
So why list this all down Ainaa? Whats the point in you writing down what all that we know ? Well have you ever thought about the way we think? The way referring to the concept and category that we think?

For example, to certain people:people who think in a postive way are called optimists when thinkers who think negatively are called pessimists. People who dare to have different views are called open minded and those conservative are called narrow minded.
But then, to certain people, its the other way round.
What if, those were wrong ways of putting it? I mean come on, there aren't any SI Units for behaviour and personality, good and bad, right and wrong and of the sort. They all seem different to everyone.

So, my movement today is, Is There A Right Way Of Thinking ?

Verse One
Phsycologists who make money from talks and motivational camps and the sort would say this this this and that that that and we all would think its the right way of thinking and soon enough we'll be getting straight As.

Some of us however will only scoff and would do better without wasting that 100 bucks. So, this goes to show that some ways of thinking doesn't apply to some people. We all arent cloned cds with the same crack. We're different, we're unique, we have our own serial number.However, we're not the same game.

//How about categorisation of thoughts? Psychoanalysts look at you and say you're pessimistic and optimistic and God knows what but in the end, what do they know?

Is being optimistic thinking about the most positive outcome? Does being pessimistic mean you're doing the opposite when all you are doing is just thinking of the most possible outcome?

If you catch my drift then thanks.

And like I said, different people think differently. Lets say,Group A ,thinks not caring about differences in religion or race and so on is fairly open minded and Group B thinks thats just plain crap and Group A are just trying to look openminded.

Does that make Group A open minded or just plain poseur? Does that make Group B really really narrow minded?

Does narrowminded look like thinking you're the only right soul?

Try and put yourself into one of those shoes, think about it.

Chorus
When you really believe in someting and hold tight to your judgement, you tend to think your points are right. Especially during arguements.

But then, won't that make YOU NARROWminded because you think YOUR VIEWS are RIGHT?

So think about it. In your own way of thinking in what is right.

But then, is thinking the right way, the right way to think?

2004-05-30T10:43:00.000+08:00

Hello there, yes, I am aware that I'm not a constant blogger, but I think I'll make an effort to. Or at least write something good for once.

Well since its holiday's and all, I'm bound to idle thinking and talking and as I was going through it all, theres one topic thats been bugging me for years. Faith.
So I shall argue with myself about this topic. Please comment.

Number one
Its been repeated again and again in my mind as I slowly think about the meaning. And to me faith is something we all believe in, whether its real or correct or whatsnot, its just that something thats unexplainable. Its something we refer to in moments of doubt, need of reassurance and hope. No dictionary can make you understand this word except for your own dictionary of understanding that is God given. I know I never did till now.

I mean, we're born into this world, and we're already decided on what faith we should believe in when we hardly know the meaning of faith itself. How do you expect one to feel content and feel self actualized when they hardly know what they believe in? I know we go for religious classes and whats not, but do you realise that when you open a textbook of said class, they don't make you come to terms with your faith but actually just give principals of it.

Number Two
I guess we all have to come to terms with it by ourselves, without the help of a textbook. But then again isn't that what they are trying to do? Trying to put the settings on our minds to listen to the textbooks and them without actually coming to terms with it ourselves? Whats the use of wearing a tudung if your only doing it to get through in school? Whats the use of understanding the religion's principals without doing it with your own faith but with someone else's forcing? You'll end up doing it for someone else, not God.

Number Three
One more thing, prejudice against other faiths. How did this happen? We all are turning so superficial, so what if we think and know in our own faith that its the "right one"? Good for us then, don't have to make an enemy of everybody else. I still remember being "warned" to not befriend a friend of another faith by a girl. I didn't listen to her ofcourse, I found it ludicrous, but what happened? I didn't have any friends and went to recess alone that school year. And that's not counting the warning I got for joining the Interact Club and sending someone a balloon for Vday from a teacher in school this year.
I was in a chat with someone and she said the f-ing word along with God. Okay maybe it doesn't actually matter since she didn't mean it, even I accidently say it sometimes without meaning it, and I asked her what she meant and she said Oh I don't mean our God, I mean't the Christian's God.

Sorry to say this in my blog, but don't you realize that this is prejudice? Prejudice against other's faith? It may be a different faith but its the same God we're talking about here in Islam and Christian and Judaism. All in all it's God's creation and theres no hurt in respecting it.

Oh well.Who am I to preach?

I know this is a controversial subject but I need something to get out of my system.

2004-05-23T00:12:00.000+08:00

As the chords were pressed and gently stroked,
the child in me it evoked,
all of my senses were in the beat and i ended in a trance,
I was lost without a mind, I was following you in your dance.

We got closer and all of my senses were working in hyperdrive,
the beats and hymms all turned alive,
i felt your lips on mine,
we've done it,
we crossed the line.

A fantasy it was, as sooner as I pulled away you were gone,
your eyes were nowhere to be seen, the deejay disappeared,
in the empty club i was all alone,
making me feel guilty that this even occured.

A daydream it is. A fantasy. We all go through it some time in our hormone laden lives. I on the other hand tried to write a poem about getting lost in the music like i usually do during Coldplay's Clocks but it ended up like this. Oh well.

Have you guys ever had a dream that felt so real you could feel every single emotion in your chest? Well all dreams are like that but like really really? The ones when you wake up your like "Oh God, how did my mind even think/create that?!"

Isn't it amazing? How our subconcious mind creates things we didn't even realize and sometimes didn't even admit in real life. That it creates scenes and places that we would never think of in real life. That its such a complicated sketch of drama that lasted probably 2 hours and it felt too real to let go. Amazing isn't it? How we were given a mind that was possible of making and creating things up. What more, a mind that is possible of making and creating things up when we're asleep.

It makes us think doesn't it? How detailed and cool every single atom and neutron in our body is special. How we are truly blessed to feel all of this all.

2004-05-21T13:40:00.000+08:00

Heres my theory for today, " Despite all the knowledge we get as we grow older, we are turning more stupid".Okay, don't throw tomatoes and cabbages at me just yet.

I'm not saying that we are turning dumb or anything, but we are turning less obervant. A child would have passed by the street and say how many cars were parked there, yet an adult or teenager would have just taken it for granted and not care about it.

A child has more reasons eventhough some of them are obsolete. They look at patterns easier than adults, they give a brief statement that is true eventhough truth hurts. They don't go on trying to please anyone when speaking their minds.

They are detailed. They look at things and draw things that some of us don't even care or notice about. Lets say if there was a murder and there were 2 witnesses, a child and an adult, its obvious the child would be a better witness.

I noticed this as I age. I noticed I was getting even more oblivious and ignorant to this world than I was when I was 11 or 10, or even before that. That when I paint my elements arent as detailed as they were when I was a child. That I am changing for the worse, eventhough i am changing for the better, as I age.

Ding dong. Anyway.

Art sucked. I usually love art nomatter if its an exam or nething but I couldn't get my strokes right, my under wash was too thin, my foreground was too dark, i couldn't get the right stroke and I got paint spilt all over my pastels. I'm still kinda peeved with Hanis... My bruuuusshhH! Heh, I'm just not used to sharing.

Geo was a killer. But it was easier than sejarah since I didn't feel stupid and sweaty like thursday. But it wasn't as suicidal as maths.

So geo was okay relatively speaking. I just bantai a few questions. The others were fine.I was crawling in the dark doing some, my mind arguing all the points so I can reassure myself it was the right answer. Riiiighttt, logic versus fact. Hoohaa.

2004-05-20T19:03:00.000+08:00

Have any of you found blog comment posts annoying at times? I tried commenting and it was slow so i thought it didnt get it like some of the commands on my comp, so it just doubled it! Grr.

How are you guys? I'm good. I'm alive. I'm so dead. I have a geo exam tomorrow. I've not memorised the banjaran's ketinggians which i have asked around and found out that only my batch of form ones have to do so. Well not sure bout last year's. So you see, I am dead. I read a very good book worth mentioning that day, its called The Curious Incident Of the Dog in the night-time. Its about this autistic kid and its a really fun read.

Damn, he knows about malaysia's highest point and I don't. That shows that I need to get the books out. Well geo books. But after 12.30 tomorrow, I don't have to bother myself to read a geo book for the next 2-3 weeks. Breathe in Ainaa. Just one more day. ONE MORE. Then on Monday I've got English Paper One and Living skills. Then, [quoting Prince], "Lets party all night coz its ninety ninety nine"

But its not. Its 2004.

2004-05-14T17:58:00.000+08:00

Yes... I've not updated. Well heres the 411
a) I got a new bed and switched new bedrooms since my sis is coming back. So I've moved into my old office with Eddie so everytime I wake up, after I go down the bed ladder, I see my dear flat screen hubby. Awww. Yeap, I got that Ikea loft bed coz it saves space and ... no, its not bad sleeping near the ceiling. And no, I did NOT bang my head on the ceiling NOR fell off the bed like my parents predicted.
b)I was ill and pretty much dead for two days. I sounded like a guy on the phone and my dad couldn't understand me when he called home. So when I came back to school, since my mum didn't let me go to school during those days of my fatal health, I HAD A TON OF HOMEWORK WAITING FOR ME and WE JUST LEARNT A NEW CHAPTER THAT WILL BE IN THE EXAM NEXT WEEK FOR SCIENCE! Unfair! Why did we JUST learn it?!! The exams NEXT WEEK AND I HARDLY UNDERSTAND IT THAT MUCH. *groan*
c)And pretty much nothing else.

As you can easily see, I am high on water and gatorade as I just came back from tennis so there is no time for beautiful words and proses of the beauty of life. Bek. Okaaay.. Tennis was good. I didn't hit the building at the side of the courts like I did last two weeks. And traffic lights were very nice to me today.
Have you guys ever felt that The Darkness is a bit.. funny? Well im addicted to their songs for some reason. Oh uh, pls don't let me turn into Grace . =P Well I was okay about it and actually found the songs stupid when I see it on tv, but when I heard this guy from one seroja,Adli singing it, I downloaded it and im addicted. And yes, Swing Swing by All American Rejects is SO STUCK IN MY HEAD. Thanx Anisah, thank you.

Sweet beginnings do arise She knows I was wrong The notes are oldThey bend they fold And so do I to a new love -Swing Swing- The All American Rejects

2004-05-02T01:40:00.000+08:00

Wooooh! Amber is the colour of your energy, shades of colours spreading naturally- Amber, 311
Woooh, what a tiring day. Well woke up this morning lazing around like a slug, then we went to Bangsar for lunch. Why Bangsar you may ask? Well my mum wants to buy tix for that Sean Ghazi show, and I was like =| okaaaay....
Don't ask me why my mother suddenly wants to watch theatre, she even called TicketCharge to ask about Staurday Night fever!
And no freaking way am I going to let my parents spend $600 on tix just for some overrated show which doesn't even have a frikking storyline! Purleez. I don't know why I'm not at all ethusiastic about theatre these days, I was standing outside the box just now and I was feeling ashamed for God knows what reason. I guess I'm never gonna live up to my 10 year old ambition of being an actress as it died after me leaving. My mum must be so proud.

Well afterwards, we went back home and I bummed around till five, then went to Dhanusha's Suprise burpday party. Sadly, I got lost in USJ 13 (trying to find USJ 20) and I was a lil too late to scream HAPPY BURFDAY! when she came in. Daaaangiiittt!! Anyway, we were having a Tabasco Challenge between Izzan and I. We loaded lots and lots of Tabasco in our pizza (I put 30 drops) and we added seven drops of Tabasco in our drinks.

My lips were burning and believe me, Tabasco is corrosive. Tee hee.

The after result is being hyper, getting a temperature, and yes, moo-ing at the bufday girl and mistakening Grace for a goat. It was quite amusing being high, but I think I'll lay off Tabasco for a while. For the sake of my sanity.

Anyway, we went to Putrajaya and had dinner in Cyberview Resort where the lush landscape gardens have never failed to impress me. I had an ais kacang actually, I wanted to cool the Tabasco down but it didn't really cool myself down.Well then we stopped over Opah's house, and I fell asleep, I was like FLAT. I even slept in the car before that, and on the way home. But whenever I see Eddie, I can be high on Panadol for all I care, I just HAVE TO GO ON9. Teehee. I am such a geek.

2004-04-30T13:48:00.000+08:00

Mary mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow?
Ainaa is turning back against the traffic, she's gone full on nostalgia. This morning, I stayed in bed reading A Child's Garden Of Verses by Robert Louis Stevensons, an hour later, I combed her house for my old Secret Garden Tape. After that, I combed her house again, looking for the old VCR plug, followed by a two pin plug. I poked and proded but finally realized that my relatively new television doesn't outstand the vcr's needs. After two sore arms and hurt neck, I finally gave up and went to search for Secret Garden on the web.

I regret my childhood. I totally do. I should have watched whatever stupid cartoon, i should have watched autroman, I should have played pokemon or something, I should have bought a doll house, I should have went out instead of staying in, I should have this.. that... To anyone out there, if you have a young sibling, niece, cousin, whatever, don't let them watch bloomberg till they get a degree, don't ever let them get near political books, get them away from magazines other than K Zone and Disney, never let them go to a Microsoft Launching, and yes, make sure they remember Secret Garden, Black Beauty and Sound Of Music .Believe me, they'll thank you.

Fail to do so will make young infants end up like me, broken, twisted, cold and hungry. They'll just realize that missing part of them when they are too old to do those things children do (like me), and when its too early to just forget it and act like an adult(like me) or when they have a faulty VCR (like me).

I always told Joel that I hated being twelve, but now I understand why he was just laughing at me, telling me that he loved being twelve and would like to be again. Now I'm not sure whether to feel sad that I'm twelve and I can't really be that, or that I'm not twelve for long. Now I think I never actually had a normal childhood, growing up when your siblings are in their late teens is hard, you end up not being able to have anyone to play with, and when I read Robert L.Stevenson's book I felt quite left out. It made me realize what I had missed.

Its not worth it trying to think older than you are, its not worth it leaving your childhood behind and asking for stocks instead of plushies, after all, childhood plays quite a big role of shaping who you become to be.
Its not worth it , mourning for something that was never even there. Don't believe me? I'm living proof.

2004-04-30T01:05:00.000+08:00

Ahh, finally, my blog is up. After countless of ideas that have been put aside, i decided to use this pic that was slowly collecting pixelled dust in my Pictures folder. I wanted to use Matt Hales but couldn't find that wax picture of his.

The current topic that is on my mind right now happens to be *suprise suprise* : Drugs.

Well its not on my mind just because of this week being the Anti Drugs Campaign at school but because I was thinking about Jeff Noon's Needle In The Groove. Yes, one of my most favourite books ever, eventhough I don't actually understand what Elliot is talking about.
I was telling Alda about the book, and he was like "Why do people associate drugs with music?" and well isn't it quite true? He was also telling me about this drug called "Space Cake" which are just brownies with weed that makes it impossible for you to stop laughing afterwards.

Without a trace of any drugs whatsoever, i find it hard to stop laughing. I think if i ever took a bite of that Space Cake, I will topple over laughing till they drag me to the emergency room. Only God knows what would happen to my bladder then.

So, I come to this conclusion, drugs are not cool *obvious*, and I shall swear upon this blog to never ever ever consume any harmfull drugs (you see, normal medicine are called drugs too), for the sake of my rectum and kidneys.

And yes, my abs too. Heck, I don't have any.