Signs

Littering has always been a problem wherever I go in Malaysia. However, this problem has reached an all time low, in my opinion, when I noticed A4-sized signs posted by each ATM machine on campus.

"Please ensure that your litter is properly disposed in the rubbish bins provided," pleaded the signs.

I nudged my housemate and pointed them out. Shame, I said, that university students still have to be told where rubbish goes.

"Nak wat camner...," she answered, indifferent, and went back to interacting with her mobile phone.

My jaw dropped. True, we can't go around making people throw their rubbish in the rubbish bins -- that's what authorities take our tax money for. But to not care?? To me, that's equivalent to littering yourself.

I looked at the floor by the ATM machine I was standing in line at. Sure enough, there were transaction slips on the floor, right beside an empty waste basket. I wish I had a camera, I would have taken pictures as proof.

We've been taught that rubbish goes into rubbish bins since, what -- kindergarten? Is that still insufficient time to learn the theory?

The Seashell Necklace

Nena-nee made me a necklace of seashells tied on black thread and fastened by a button. The seashells were gathered from a beach in Labuan where we spent a year for our matriculation year. Nena-nee is good with her hands. She can make something useful out of almost anything. Most of the time, they’re not only useful but beautiful as well. Like the time she transformed an old pair of jeans into a pencil case and a purse. Or the time when she sat idly weaving bunga telur flowers into a plain basket so that one minute it was a spare change basket and the next minute it looked like wedding hantaran.

The necklace had five shells on it. I wore it and never took it off. But I'm a clumsy and careless person. One by one, the shells fell off and broke. Only one remained. It might seem like an irony that the remaining shell was the plainest of the lot. But there it was and that was a fact. And I continued to wear the necklace for years.

Sometimes I'd look at the necklace and contemplate its existence. Its history was much like Nena-nee's and mine. The beginnings of our friendship was what some people only read of in books -- Friends, enemies, fellow social outcasts, friends again -- a memorable and life changing experience. Maybe I'll tell you the whole story. Maybe I won't. But like that cluster of shells on the necklace, our high school friends left us one by one, pursuing their own path in life. And I was left with the person whom I thought was the plainest of all my friends during my high school years -- Nena-nee.

It shames me now that I was so shallow to only be able to see Nena-nee as plain and replaceable. But Nena-nee is like that shell on my necklace -- she stayed with me to the bitter end. Well, I'm not bitter and my life's only just begun but it fits the dramatic mood, albeit cliché.

So I treasure that necklace as a token of my friendship with Nena-nee, as proof that things which we initially take as common and unremarkable can actually turn out to be something much much more.

Now, the clasp button has fallen off from wear and I no longer carry the shell around my neck. I still keep the necklace in my suitcase wherever I go but even if clumsy and careless me loses that necklace one day, it can never change the irrevocable fact that Nena-nee is my friend.

You'll have to put up with me for a long time yet, Nena-nee.

P/S Mugen thinks Jiyuu is wasting time typing soft stuff that Nena already knows. Go do your FYP, Jiyuu.

The Revelation

I've known it all my life but now it has been confirmed: even though we share the same physical characteristics, I am not a girl by local definition. But it should be okay, right? Everyone has their differences. We just have to look past those differences and see the similarities. For one thing, we all like men, and that's a start right there.

If only liking men was enough to build common ground. Sorry, men.

The problem is, my mannerisms, which count as flaws in their eyes, are just too hideous and too unfeminine for them to simply overlook. Like how I sometimes forget to wash my bowl, or how my desk is stubbornly unorganized, how I don't verbalize my thanks, and don't apologize for everything. And apparently, for girls, the keeping of these habits is seen as a complete disregard for others' feelings.

After I asked them, and they explained this to me, they asked me how I felt.

I'm not angry, no. Hurt? Maybe a little, initially, but it's in my nature to forgive and move on. What I really feel, right now, is disappointment. Disappointment at the fact that I've known these girls for over three years now, and lived with most of them throughout that time, but now I realize that the people I thought were my friends are actually strangers who haven't quite accepted me. I said this, and they deny it, but I'm smart enough to know what is and isn't, even if most of the time I can't pick up on the hints they try to give me.

Maybe I have an idealized concept of friendship. I think that friendship is when you accept each other's personality and habits, learn to appreciate the differences between you, and enjoy the time you spend with each other. Maybe this is an ideal. But it can exist. I know it can because I have friends like Nena-nee, Alip, Anwar, Sulaiman, Greg, and I have my brothers and sisters who annoy me to no end but I wouldn't trade for the world. Do they understand this? Do they understand what it means to be yourself and be happy? I can only assume not, judging by how they have alienated me, and I pity them for it. These strangers, who have the misguided arrogance to call themselves my friends, how I pity them. And it disappoints me to discover I won't likely be able to share what I call friendship with them.

If you're reading this and think it's you I'm writing about, I apologize for my bluntness. Thanks for the memories, thanks for the enlightening experience, thanks for lending a hand when I needed it. I'm sorry I can't bring myself to conform to your ideals and I know that all of you are really nice people inside. I hope that someday, we may truly be friends.

P/S Mugen wishes Jiyuu would let Mugen kick their sorry butts.

The SMS

I need to do my laundry. I've been postponing laundry duty to make way for exam-season cramming, but if I postpone any longer, I'm going to run out of underwear. So, I go to the washing machine and guess what? Someone had left their clothes in it.

I guess clothes in the washing machine doesn't constitute as a crime according to the Girl Court of Law. I better write this down in my handy-dandy notebook.

Unwashed bowl on table: Social suicide.
Clothes in washing maching: Pardonable misconduct.

Okay, done taking notes. But I really need to wash my clothes. I wanted to know how long the clothes are intended to be left in the washing machine so I could ration my underwear. So I go ask my housemates to find out the owner of the clothes.

"Aku nyer,' says someone behind me. I turn to see that it's Miss Kashimashii, best buddy of The Notewriter.

Ah, says Brain, so I've found a loophole in Girl Law -- be best buds with the Social Judge, and you can get away with anything.

No, Brain, don't be sarcastic now, warns Jiyuu. Thank goodness only Jiyuu can hear Brain talking.

Unfortunately, someone told me that I have very readable facial expressions. And apparently, my sarcasm toward the pecking order of the girl world must have shown as displeasure on my face because Miss Kashimashii frowned.

I said a quick "Oh" and retreated into my room before I could do further damage but I knew then that it was too late. An SMS I received from Miss Kashimashii not long after confirmed my thoughts.

Did I do something wrong to you or do you have some kind of problem with me?

Again with the nonverbal communication. Sigh. What a dilemma. How should I respond without making things worse? I knew that not responding would be just as bad. Should I go out and talk to her instead? Curse her for putting me in this position. If it were up to Mugen, Mugen would rain curses on the sorry bitch so she would know not to mess with me in the future. (Mugen is my ego, with a very short temper and an extremely sharp tongue)

No, it's not you. I'm sorry if it seems that way. It's not you.

Okay, it's up to you. I gave you your chance. TQ.

She gave me a chance? Crikey, I really do have a messed up notion of female interaction. I thought she had just condemned me.

I'm sorry, [name removed]. I'm really really sorry. The problem is not you, okay. I'm sorry.

She didn't reply. I don't know if I patched things up or if I had just put my head on the guillotine. Sigh. Only one more semester of living like this. You'll get through this, Jiyuu. Ganbatte!

Remember what I said about me not being good at pretending? Well, I'd better learn fast.

The Note

I don't know what it feels like to be a guy. Sometimes I think I'd be better off as a guy, not because I understand guys inside and out, but because I just don't understand girls. I don't like dividing the world into guys and girls, but I've just had too much bad experience with girls that I'm beginning to feel so alien among those of my own gender.

A few days ago, I forgot to wash a bowl. One empty bowl on the table, unwashed. That evening, a note was left in the bowl.

"Kalau lepas guna, tolong basuh A.S.A.P!" said the note.

The first thought that came to mind was, have all the habitants in this house lost the ability of verbal communication? A note. They left me a note -- telling me to wash my bowl. I am being socially condemned for committing the heinous crime of forgetting to wash my bowl, and they left me a note to inform me. Wow, I feel so privileged.

The rest of the evening left me struggling in an internal battle of deciding whether to be angry or be victimized. Both are poor choices, I thought. Being angry just takes the energy out of me. If I decided to leave notes for every action of theirs that annoys me, then that would be the start of a never-ending cycle of hate. Not to mention a whole lot of notes. So it's up to me, the pacifist, to end things before they begin (See, reading Naruto does have its merits, you know). And I loath the idea of being the victim of anything. It's just so degrading. So even though it took me a whole night of intermittent anger and sadness, in the end I decided to just let it slide and pretend that nothing happened. The end -- or so I wish.

The problem is, I'm just not good at pretending to be something I'm not. And since I had a fair idea of who left the said note, I just couldn't ignore it. Or her. I knew the note-leaver never liked me for some unexplainable reason. And the note thing was the last straw. I could forgive and forget for the rest of my housemates. But it was just too hard for me to forget the actions of The Notewriter.

And I keep telling myself not to bother. I'm above this. Istighfar, Jiyuu. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I have to play by the rules of girls. Besides, if I'm going to have to live like this for another semester, I'm going to set some rules of my own.

Rule number one: Always listen to Buck.
Rule number two: In the absence of an individual whom goes by the name of Buck, improvise.

Yep, so improvise it is. But you know what the funniest thing is? Only girls can make me as miserable, angry and confused as this. And they can even do it over one unwashed bowl. Gotta hand it to 'em.

Jiyuu's Lament

Females are noisy creatures. Even if a female is characteristically shy and quiet, if allowed to congregate with her fellow females, she'll transform into a talkative, gossiping, shrieking thing come late night.

I should have been born male. I value my peace and quiet at night. Even noisy rambunctious brothers will eventually go to sleep at night. Teenage and young adult females seem to find renewed vigor once the sun sets. For some unexplainable and annoying reason, that vigor almost exclusively involves gossiping and shrieking laughter. I live with a bunch of hyenic banshees. Sigh.

If the females in my house mutate into screeching harpies, I mutate into the eardrum monster from Beowulf. "Quiet! QuiEEEEET!" I internally agonize. If the squealing gets to a point beyond my patience, I throw books and slam doors. One major difference is, I don't get jumped by a naked hero. Sigh.

Regardless of how much I abuse the inanimate things in my house, the squealing and screeching will not cease. And it seems I'm not much of an impersonator for neither my irritable old hermit nor my eardrum Beowulf monster impersonations get any lasting response from the hyena harpies. And since the hyenas, harpies, banshees, hermits and Beowulf monsters are all female in this case, verbal communication is of no use. We all know that females never say anything straight out. We drop hints.

Jiyuu's Lament: Peace. Quiet. Hot available men. Where art thou?

Search for the Ideal Guy

I followed a link from Ginevra to this site called 49 Floors Up: Get Stuck With Your Favorite Celebrity. Sounds interesting. I could pick my favorite celebrity (real or fictional) and we'd get stuck in an elevator between the 49th and 50th floors. Plus, once I've claimed him, he's mine, so to speak. It's all pretend, but that's what the imagination is for.

So I began thinking of which famous person I'd like to be stuck in an elevator with. I thought of Dante (Devil May Cry, if you don't know who he is...*pauses* Well, I pity you) first but Dante, in all of his supreme hotness, coolness and funness, doesn't talk much, does he? (Answer, he doesn't really). If I'm to be stuck in an elevator -- short term or indefinitely -- with someone, I'd want to be able to hold a decently interesting conversation. Even looking at hot men gets boring after a while.

Now that means the guy must be hot, smart, be able to converse well, not be boring….I'm asking too much, aren't I? But surely there are some fictional characters that fit the description?

Hm, Death the Kid? Nope, he'd turn me into Swiss cheese for being so unorganized.

Allen Walker? Cute, funny, and smart enough but a little immature for my taste.

Nara Shikamaru? Not exactly hot, but attractive enough. He's a genius, but he'll probably ask me to play shougi and I'm no good at that.

Isn't there any person, real or fictional, that I could seriously like???

Get a grip, Jiyuu. It's only pretend. Duh. Don't take it so seriously.

Yep, so Dante it is. In the end, hotness prevails. Well, at least in the pretend world.