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.

The Ramblings of a Rambler

Ever get that brilliant spark for a post but when you read over what you typed it just seems complete nonsense? It probably starts out fine, but then there's so much you want to say, so much to discuss, that in the middle it starts branching out and goes off to five different directions, all in one go. Then you try to pull everything back together and end up doing doubling back and jumping forward. With so many things in your head competing for that spot on your monitor, each one as important as the next, more often than not it all comes out wrong. You're a rambler.

Okay, well you might not be. I am. I'm a rambler. I ramble. And I'm often rambling. Like now.

You see, the brain is a wonderful part of us that houses so many parallel occurrences. Like now, I'm thinking of:
i. This post I'm composing about my rambling
ii. My unfinished homework due tomorrow
iii. My coffee which is only half finished but already going cold
iv. What I'll be having for sahur
v. My back which is starting to hurt from bending over the keyboard all night
vi. The Bravery's music is sweet!
vii. I miss Pepper. I wonder if she's awake now.

Those are just some of the things that are going on in my Brain right this instant. I'm a bit unhinged so I may think of more things at one time than is healthy for my Brain, but Brain hasn't exploded yet so I figure he's good. Yeah, I think of my brain as male. Which is ironic because supposedly men can't think of more than one thing at a time. I read that somewhere. Can't remember where.

Maybe it was that Bem-Sex Indicator thingy I read last week. I could look it up. Nah, too lazy.

So yeah, Brain has so many thoughts. And those thoughts are not systematic. They go around in circles, jump around and play hopscotch. That's how they are given to Jiyuu. It's Jiyuu's task to sort them into an orderly and understandable sequence. But sometimes Jiyuu is lazy, and Brain is tired. So posts come out like this.

Goodness, I sound schizophrenic. I wonder if this is what it means to have schizophrenia. Or was it bipolar? I could Google it. Nah, too lazy.

In conclusion, if you could decipher any meaning from this post: Congratulations, you could take over from Jiyuu and organize Brain's thoughts instead.

Rambling out.

Tag 2

1. Anda rasa anda hot?
At the moment, no because its 6 o'clock in the morning and the weather is cool, just the way I like it.

Yes, I'm deliberately missing the point.


2. Upload gambar kegemaran anda.



3. Kenapa anda suka gambar ini?
All the troublemakers (namely Adam, Yusof, Betty Jane and Momo) are sleeping. Its a momento of times when peace and quiet occurs at my house.

4. Bila kali terakhir anda makan pizza?
In Tawau, with my family, in conjunction with Adam's 17th birthday. Adam ate 7 slices of pizza, two bowls of soup, and 3 breadsticks. He is only slightly bulkier than me. It's a family ability, being able to make food disappear without a trace.

5. Lagu terakhir yang anda dengar.
Joy by Yuki. (Yuki wa sugoku kawaii yo!) I like this song, it makes me happy and smiley. I listen to it every morning to start my day.

6. Apa yang sedang anda buat selain daripada selesaikan tag ini?
Procrastinating everything else that I should be doing at this time.

7. Selain nama anda sendiri, apakah lagi nama yang anda suka orang panggil anda?
Everyone just calls me by my real name, but I'm starting to identify to my blogger name.

8. Tag lagi 5 orang (tak bleh tag orang yang sama tau)
Do I have to?

Off-Campus Life

This is my first semester living off campus and outside a college. After spending 3 years in a penitentiary -- I mean, college -- there is a big difference noted in living on my own.

First and most noticeable is the absence of the incessant and annoying college announcements and 'ulang suara's. What an epitome of 'Enjoy the Silence'. I can now enjoy my well deserved sleep-in every weekend without being periodically woken up by formal pleas, and later, threatening orders, to attend some college event or other.

The other most noticeable difference is that we are now free to leave our innumerable pairs of shoes scattered before the front door without fear of disciplinary action. It's impossible to have them organized for more than 1 hour anyway seeing as our house contains 8 adult women, all of whom do care about our self-image.(Me excluded because I have only 3 pairs of shoes at best. Most of the time I just wear the same pair of sneakers till they fall apart)

Besides the shoes, we are also free to hang our clothes, pants, and even underwear wherever we want to. No more stupid rule that everything has to be in an exact specific place for the sake of 5S -- namely susah, sengal, shit, sewel, and stupid. In extension, we do not need to hang our clothes out to dry at the communal laundry room for those without morals to browse through and pick at their leisure.

Best of all about living on our own is no curfew. We now have the complete freedom of leaving and returning whenever our heart so pleases. I can come back at 2 am if I want, and no Pak Guard will accost me. Even though I have yet to find reason to come back at 2 am, it's nice to know that I can if I want to.

However, some things stand unchanged. Since the building I live in is so close to campus, many other tenants are also students. Therefore, the thing I hate the most about living in a college plagues me still -- having loud gossiping groups of girls as neighbors. I don't know whether there is some unwritten code of conduct that states girls must gossip loudly and squeal and scream at late night hours, or whether there is some female genetic marker that compels them to do so. It annoys me so much I regularly convert to something similar to a raging old hermit who has just had his property trespassed upon, muttering to myself about young people nowadays and their apparent lack of ability to exist in a society. Talk about ironic.

Wait, I'm going off topic, aren't I? Where was I...

At any rate, I like living independently. I like not having to move my stuff every semester. I like having my own bathroom. I like being able to cook. I like my balcony and it's view of the playground where children play in the afternoons. I like sitting at my balcony with a steaming mug of coffee and just watch the cars pass and the clouds scud by, or read a book, or talk to Pepper. Balconies are good things.

Sometimes, it's the little pleasures that make life worth living.

P/S Yes, I lack sleep.

One Woman's Meat is Another Woman's Poison

Each person is entitled to their own opinion. Each person may choose to live their life accordingly. We should not judge other people for their choices.

I know this, I know this.

I do not believe in using relationships as a crutch. I believe we should be able to live our life happily as an individual. I believe we should not be defined by the relationships we are in or are not in.

Well, that's me, isn't it?

I should not judge a person just because she is unable to be happy as a single person. I should not judge her just because she jumps from relationship to relationship to avoid being alone. I should not judge her as weak because she takes crap from men who leave her then moves on to the next for more crap. I should not judge her as loose because she ignores the boundaries of interaction while enjoying each short seemingly meaningless relationship.

You shouldn't judge her, you hear?!

If the presence of a man in her life is imperative to her happiness, then to each her own.

To each her own.

I Not Stupid

I get full marks and A's for my English assignments. I speak English with an American accent. My writing style is eloquent and subdued. And all these things happen due to the fact that I am Caucasian. Mystery solved.

Or is it?

The truth is, I'm only part Caucasian. The other parts are Bugis, Arab, Irish, and God knows what else. I'm good at neither Bugis Language nor Arab Language nor Irish, French or whatever else I am descended from. Nobody seems to find that the least bit odd.

I'm not a Malay but I got A's for my Bahasa Melayu work. And even if you argue that in school its Bahasa Malaysia, not Bahasa Melayu, I wasn't even a Malaysian yet when I got an A1 for it for SPM. I speak perfect Malay in both Sabahan and Semenanjung slangs. But nobody questions that.

Why am I only good at English Language because I am (part) Caucasian?

People fail to acknowledge that I am good at English Language because I worked for it. I read so much I'm almost blind, goddammit. For once, I wish to be congratulated for my effort. Not dismissed as another lucky bastard with an American mother.

Not only is my effort ignored, my siblings are made out as idiots. They don't perform as well as I do in English Language. Amelia even got a B for her English in UPSR. People see her as the stupid daughter -- she's got the American mother but no A in English and no American accent.

I have plenty of Malaysian friends who have great English -- some even better than mine; the amazing Teacher Nina, Anwar Majeed, Greg Hansen, Siti Masturah, Nazyrul -- all without Caucasian parents. And Nazyrul even has an American accent. How can that be, you ask? Because they worked for it. Why are they the smart ones? Why am I not included?

My point is: Yes, my mother is American. Yes, I happen to have an American accent. But I never would have been able to speak English as freely as I do, or write the way I do, if I haven't put in as much work as I have. Or if I haven't read as many books as I have (I mean, really, my glasses are as thick as a biology textbook). Or if I haven't spent as much time doing writing exercises, rereading and cringing at my work.

The moral of the story: The English Language is not a miracle of birth. Just like everything else in this world, it comes with hard work.

Rant over.

No White Dress for Me?

My 10-year-old brother, Yusof, joined his school kompang team at the beginning of this year and since then he has been banging out his kompang beat on everything hittable from the bathroom door to tables and -- if he is being particularly annoying -- my back.

One day while riding home (me, from work; my siblings, from school) he was at it again on the car door. Not being able to move away from his incessant drumming, I started to become agitated.

"Enough with the banging," I said exasperatedly. "Nobody is getting married here,"

"He's practicing for your wedding!" said Adam, always eager to torment me.

"Yeah," my dad, no better than Adam, pitched in excitedly. "It's only about 2 more years -- once you're done studying and start working,"

I cringed -- Adam noticed. And so for the rest of the ride home, they made jokes and snide comments on my allegedly soon-to-be-held marriage. Maybe it was because of the taunting, but I even surprised myself at how much the idea of getting married revolted me.

I have to confess, like every other girl, I've dreamed and fantasized about getting married happily. Yet somehow, when the idea seems so real and plausible, I find myself shying away -- no -- hightailing as fast and far away as my scrawny butt can manage.

In my fantasies, I don't need to give my imaginary husband a personality. It's just me fulfilling the duties of a wife; -- and here comes another confession -- the conventional kind whom is content to stay home and cook, clean, and read to the children (with the sole exception of instead of watching soap operas in my free time, I spend time with my playstation). However, in reality, husbands are more than a present ethereal entity. I have to choose one. And the choices that present themselves don’t exactly get my hormones stirring. Men -- the ones I know -- are largely uninteresting, unmotivated, dependent, clingy, jealous creatures.

Hey, I don't want to be right. Believe me. But I'm not going to fool myself into believing that I'm wrong either.

Boots and Walking

Practical Training -- a time and place where I finally understood the true meaning of boredom, so much that even now my brain has yet to fully recover from the resulting blankness. There would be no need to mention blogging as I couldn't even start to think of anything to blog about.

One memory does come back to me somewhat clearly -- my daily morning rounds around the construction site. I could almost see it now; the skeletal structures of the unfinished buildings, the monstrous machinery, and the wide expanse of mud that I had to squelch and clomp through every morning. In my mind, I already am back there. Odd though it was, I felt a tiny sense of satisfaction at achieving both squelching and clomping as I walked -- a paradox if I ever knew one.

First of all, I was squelching because my foot would sink under the viscous mud as soon as I shifted weight on it. Secondly, I was clomping because I was wearing safety boots that were too big for my Cinderella feet. I've never cared much for glass slippers and high heels, but those clod-hoppers were too much in another kind of extreme. Size 5 or 6 safety boots -- women's sizes -- are rare to begin with. When I finally managed to find a pair that was size 5, imagine my frustration at finding that they were still too big! I have to wear two pairs of very thick socks just to keep me feet from slipping out of the boots as I walk let alone squelch-clomp.

Maybe I'll launch my own label for women's apparel on a construction site, I often thought half-heartedly. It's a good idea even if I do say so myself, but I don't have the zeal to pursue a venture into the fashion arena. Even though construction apparel is mainly about safety, somehow the same for women just screamed 'FASHION' and I know I could never make it work. Not even close. Now if I had Pepper to help….

For a while, I entertained myself with visions of myself squelch-clomping very fashionably amidst brawny, sweaty, sexy Timberlake models wearing safety helmets and overalls (with no shirt) while holding hammers.

A particularly loud squelch-clomp brought me crashing -- well, squelching -- back to reality. I looked down and saw my jeans splattered with mud up to the knees. Normally I wouldn't care at all, but after that particular trip into fantasy land, mud finally got to me like to got to all normal girls.

Well, at least now I have something to blog about, I thought as I squelch-clomped moodily back on my way.

Tag

Objective: Are you mean and sarcastic? Have you ever answered people ‘meanly’ and sarcastically? If yes, show us how mean and sarcastic you are! If no, then you should try at least once in your life with this note.

Rule: Respond to these as sarcastic/mean as you could. (YR stands for Your Response.)


If an annoying person says:
1) I am cute.
YR: Well, you better hold on to it, coz that's all you have. Barely.

2) I am the most beautiful/handsome.
YR: Hm, that might be true...on the Planet of the Butt Ugly Martians.

3) See, everyone likes me because I am rich and famous!
YR: Poor you, having to bribe people to like you.

4) Unlike you, I am perfectly multi-skilled. I do everything very well from sports to academic thingy.
YR: I'm just going to congratulate you, seeing as your happiness depends on it.

5) You don’t know me? I am Bruneian artist; I have albums.
YR: Are you implying that people in Brunei are mentally impaired?

If an annoying hot woman/man says:
1) I know you like me.
YR: Funny, the definition of 'like' must have changed since the last time I looked it up in the dictionary.

2) What are you looking at? I am not interested in you!
YR: That's okay. The monkeys in the zoo are never interested in me but I like to watch them anyway.

3) Sorry, you are nice but seriously not my type!
YR: Thank God! If I were, it would be troublesome.

4) UNLESS you are rich, then don’t dream that I will get a ride with you!
YR: Regardless, I'd never give you a ride. Don't want to soil the upholstery.

5) Look, I am pretty/handsome; I can make people hate you!
YR: And I'm smart. I can make you hate yourself.

If an annoying extremely ugly woman/man says:
1) I think you and I can make a good couple.
YR: I think you're vision is impaired. Maybe your brain, too.

2) May I have your cell phone? Please please please?
YR: Take my cell phone, just leave me alone.

3) Hi, wanna hang out? I want you to be with me the whole night.
YR: I don't drink, let alone get drunk.

4) What do you like about me?
YR: I liked the fact that you stayed away from me. Now I like nothing about you.

5) I want you to say that I am pretty/handsome and you like me sooooo much!
YR: Sure, I can act well if you give me a nice payoff.

If your enemy says:
1) Hi bitch!
YR: Oh, what next? You're going to put me on a pedestal?

2) You smell like shit!
YR: *expression of pity* No, that's the dog crap you stepped in that you're smelling.

3) What an ugly creature you are!
YR: ...says she who looked in the mirror.

4) I am going to kick your ass in this race for sure!
YR: If you can reach it from that far behind.


If your annoying ex says:
1) I still love you...
YR: ...and it's still irrelevant.

2) I know you still love me!
YR: That just proves how delirious you are.

3) Please, go back with me honey/hubby.
YR: Hey, I'm NOT homeless!

4) Please call me...
YR: Call you 'asshole'? Gladly.

5) The break up hurt me so much.
YR: *Evil Grin* My plan worked!

If an annoying salesperson says:
1) Wow! You are so pretty/handsome!
YR: I know. Now go away.

2) Seriously, I used this product and I've changed!
YR: Yeah, you've changed for the worse.

3) We are giving a discount up to 50%!
YR: It still costs 50% more than it's worth.

4) This one is good sir/madam. Buy sir/madam, buy.
YR: Why don't you try coming up with a better sales pitch? One that doesn't trigger my eyes to roll, for instance.

***

Done.
Thanks to Ginevra for the tag. If you liked my answers, you'd love hers. Check it out here
http://ginny-uninterrupted.blogspot.com/2009/07/are-you-mean-and-sarcastic.html

In Side My Head

Boredom really drives one to insanity. That is what would have happened to me if it weren't for the fact that I am insane already.

I always knew a desk job would never suit me. I just get bored too damn easy. That is why I would rather brave the sweltering hot sun and the sweaty PATI laborers to work at a construction site. I just never knew that could leave me bored also.

My days are spent bowing as if in prostration over drawing after drawing after drawing. All the while my eyes get smaller and smaller as they try to discern the tiny characters of information and try to tell apart which gridline is which.

I pause in my poring to acknowledge the unbidden birth of prose:

Pretty soon I'll be blind--
So says my insane mind.

Boredom is working its magic.

Budi Bahasa Budaya Kita

After three days of continuous and relentless study, it was finally time to sit for Highway and Traffic Engineering exam. Students headed to the exam room with a dead pan expression and unfocused eyes. We all looked like zombies, to be frank.

Upon entering the exam room, the Head Invigilator announced in a stern voice, "Group A, first two rows. The next two rows, Group B. And for the following 2 rows, Group C."

Not all Invigilators imposed seating arrangements but it was not uncommon, either. We headed to our designated seats, barely paying attention to what we were doing as our brains struggled to keep a firm grip on various formulae.

"You! What group are you?" came the Head Invigilator's voice. He wasn't talking to me so I tuned it out and focused on those formulae.

"Group B," came the reply. My subconscious registered it as Ros' voice. More talking ensued but I wanted subconscious' help to remember formulae thus blocked out the conversation. My mind, subconscious and all, deftly began piecing together the variables required for calculating Stopping Sight Distance.

"Hey, you!" Stopping Sight Distance dissolved from my mind's eye. "Which group are you?" the condescending tone was directed towards me. I was dimly aware that the question had been repeated a few times. I paused by the desk I was about to sit at.

"Group B," I answered, sure that I wasn't at the wrong row.

"Hmh," was all that Mr. Tyrannical Invigilator could say in reply. I was at the right row, of course. I swallowed the sarcastic retort before it jumped off my tongue. I didn't think Sir Stern would appreciate insolence and he might find reason to deny me the chance of taking the exam. I wasn't entirely sure he could do that but I wasn't about to take my chances, either.

Lord Grump barked more orders to other students as the entered the exam hall. Despite wanting to go over my formulae, I decided to direct my thoughts to our moody Invigilator instead. What exactly was his problem?

As other students blearily made their way to their seats, he assaulted them with questions and orders -- all in a condescending and, in my opinion, very rude tone. My sense of justice seethed with the knowledge that, inadvertently and without reason, Professor Stern-Eye Moody was publicly humiliating students by treating us like idiots who can neither understand nor comply to order.

After the exam, as the invigilators collected and counted our answer scripts, His Most Extreme Cantankerousness yelled for silence. He was heeded by no one.

ギルガメッシュ : MUSIC

I have liked Girugämesh for their uncanny ability to mix j-pop with j-rock for an altogether heavy rocking sound yet still distinctively mainstream enough for a maximum fanbase. And I am so in love with Satoshi's vocals. *sighs*

Naturally, I have waited in anticipation for their new album. I was a bit dismayed to find that they have experimented heavily with electronic elements in their album, MUSIC and my first impression of the outcome was not at all encouraging. But I really like Girugämesh and I wanted to continue liking them so I gave the album some more time to grow on me.

Come forty seven repeated spins later , I've managed to change my previous conclusion of "This album is an utter failure" to "This album is somewhat of a disappointment".

With the addition of the electronic samplings, most of the tracks sound too Linkin Park-ish to me. For example, the beginning of Break Down flung me right back to my high school days while I was hung up over Hybrid Theory. I mean, I used to really like Linkin Park, but that was the old days. Girugämesh is Girugämesh.

On the other hand, the track Asking Why is one that I simply cannot get over. The poor attempt at rapping is reminiscent of the more dodgy tracks of UVERworld. Takuya of UVERworld and Satoshi have two things in common; they're great singers but horrible rappers. And Satoshi is even worse than Takuya at rapping. Now that is something I would not have thought possible.

Fortunately, some of their experiments did turn out pretty well one such example being the track evolution. The voice samplings are odd in an interesting way, combined with the drum and bass beat resulting in a catchy and almost dance rythem.

The last track of the album, 縁enishi, was for me, the saving grace of the album. It was so typically Girugämesh that on normal terms I would have found it boring; but in this album where Girugämesh's sound was barely recognizable I was merely thankful that the band I have grown to like so much was still there.

Hopefully, Girugämesh's further experiments will turn out better.

And I still love Satoshi. So there.

Brilliant Eddie

Quoting Eddie Izzard from his Glorious tour. It roughly goes like this:

Potpurri is a very good invention. You take stuff that fell off of trees, put underarm deodorant on it and sell it to posh people. 50 Quid a jar.

You can't sell it to ordinary people. "Potpourri, 5 cents per sack!"

They won't buy it. "That stuff fell off of trees!"

See how stupid rich people are?

Life and Riches

Nowadays there are a lot of games that feature a fast forwarded version of real life -- such as The Simms. I've never been a fan of this game. I find it mundane. You get your person to eat, to study, to work out, to sleep when it can't take any more of eating and studying and working out, and when it has enough energy to eat and study and work out you put it on the job again. And so the cycle goes. Eat, go to work, take showers, eat some more, learn a skill, watch tv, eat some more, take another shower, oops getting tired, go to bed, wake up, eat, go to work…..My achievements are when my character gets promoted, or when I have earned enough money to buy something for my house. Its so boring. Cycles of mundane activities and rewarded with mundane achievements.

Again, I find myself contemplating Life and its Purpose.

I'll have to admit, The Simms does mirror daily life -- the one we're accustomed to believe that is worth achieving. Up until now, I did believe that is what I wanted. But now I'm not so sure. I get bored so easily with The Simms. What is to say I will not get bored of Life?

Why do I work so hard? To get promoted.
Why do I want to get promoted? So I have more money.
Why do I want more money? To buy things for my house.

Then, is the purpose of my Life to gradually fill a house with things?

Well, in real Life, that is not all there is to it. Of course, there are other things that we need money for. But the conclusion The Simms has led me to is somewhat relevant. We work so hard for things that will make us more comfortable while we work so hard. Isn't there a way to be happier without having to work so hard? Isn't there a way to be comfortable without so much things?

A trip to certain hypermarkets have reasserted my line of thought. After seeing a coffee cup which costs RM150 each, I'm baffled by the reason why people wish to get rich. Do they slave at their jobs just so that they can afford to buy an RM500 ashtray?

If perchance I become rich, I hereby swear that I'll find a better use for my money.

Curiosity Killed the Cat

I've done plenty of bafflingly stupid things out of curiosity before this. For instance, I've tasted dirt, grass, bougainvilleas, cat food, and a whole host of things which normal, sane people would choose not to put in their mouths. There was this one time where, instead of asking, I stuck my hand under a stream of boiling hot water to find out whether it was hot or not. All this happened when I was a little kid, but I've done some pretty idiotic stuff quite recently as well which, for obvious reasons, I shall choose not to divulge on the internet. Yes, I have never quite outgrown those lapses where I seem to be devoid of common sense, caught up in the wonder of my curious thoughts.

We learn from our mistakes. But there are plenty of mistakes that you do not have to make in order to know some things. For instance, a medical thermometer does not work on freshly baked muffins. You all knew that, right? And cats do not get along with birds. So if you thought that showing your pet bird to your cat would make your cat happy, well, you're probably right. Just not in the way that you imagined. It turns out that cats and birds don’t get along as friends. Cats eat birds, you see. I should have picked up that fact from watching Sylvester and Tweety.

As the wise Albus Dumbledore once said, "Curiosity is not a sin. But is should be exercised with caution….Yes, indeed…".

Now, if you're wondering whether you could use your 3G SIM card in a broadband modem to connect to the internet, you might exercise caution and check out the rates before trying anything, right? If not, you might end up with game soundtracks which cost you RM239.

Yes, curiosity killed the cat.

If I were a cat, I'd be very dead by now.

Bad Sun

So I got this idea in my head that I could get in touch with my exes and start over as friends. They're not bad people, I told myself. Let's take away the romantic agenda (which didn't work, obviously). We'd probably be better off as friends. We could be good friends -- best friends, even.

Some of you are probably laughing out loud by now. Some of you are probably rolling your eyes at my apparent lack of common sense. Yes, I can be naïve at times. This is one of those times. But I assure you that I never meant any harm. I was just sadly deluded.

So I got in touch with my ex from high school. I found him on Friendster. He was in a relationship. A pretty happy and stable one, judging from the PDA on his friendster profile. So I sent him a message. At first things went really well. He's an engineer now, so I could ask him academic related stuff and he'd get a kick out of acting all superior and knowing. I thought I owed that to his ego. Then things got out of hand. Suddenly, the girlfriend disappears. He starts calling me names like 'Manjaku', much to my distaste, and expecting me to report my every move to him 24/7. He obviously knows nothing about me if he's calling me stuff like that. But I swear I never treated him any differently from my other male friends. I'm rude and I swear quite often and I don't talk like a girl, especially in Tawau dialect. So my conclusion is that he's just a classic jerk who thinks I'm still 15 years old with a girly crush on him.

Right-o….So befriending High School X didn't work out….

I had also tried getting in touch with my ex from matriculation. I found him on Facebook. Things went pretty well with him. I could actually maintain a nice, friendly conversation with him. I thought that this is the way it should have been from the beginning, with us just being friends. So I apologized to him for breaking up with him. (Long story short, I knew we weren't suited for each other so I decided to end it then and there. Unfortunately, I did a bad job of explaining that to him). Yes, please laugh. Matriculation X never contacted me again after that. Be my guest, laugh some more. I'm guessing that he interpreted the apology as a desire to pick up the threads of our romantic relationship and carry on where we had left off. I don't blame him for running away from that.

By this time, I'm ready to roll around on the ground in embarrassment and annoyance at my stupidity and naivety. I was pretty close to doing so. Then Nena-nee kindly offered me this piece of advice : Exes are meant to be forgotten….

No, I am definitely not going to try and track down my ex from Penang -- I'll probably just traumatize him even more. I've learned my lesson.

Ankle-Deep Fast-Flowing Stream

This afternoon I had to go submit an assignment for Geotechniques. It was raining really hard, but the due date is today so I went anyway. Its a hilly area so when it rains the side of the roads have ankle-deep fast-flowing streams. I decided to wear flip flops because shoes would just get soaked.

On the way back, I had to cross one of those ankle-deep fast-flowing streams in order to cross the road. It was raining hard for a while now so the stream was quite wide. A truck was approaching and I quickly started off before my whole being got drenched in skid spray. One foot had to go in the stream because it was too wide to jump clean and the other stepped half submerged at the edges of the stream. I brought forward the foot that was in the stream -- but my slipper stayed behind, held down by the water pressure. Then it started drifting away. I took two steps after it, then my other slipper slipped off and drifted after the other one. I chased after it for about 5 paces then gave up and watched as both my slippers drifted away by the curb. The truck passed by, projecting the stream onto me, and honked its horn -- whether mockingly or sympathetically, I know not.

After my slippers drifted out of sight, I resigned myself to walking back barefoot and crossed the street. I got to the other side of the street and there stood 3 university guards by their post.

"Wheres your slippers?" one of them exclaimed, sincerely concerned. I guessed that they hadn't seen my heartbreaking drama in the ankle-deep fast-flowing stream. Another guard ran out of the post to see what was going on.

I couldn't help it, I laughed.

Finally, I managed to gain enough breath to tell them what happened and we all laughed, holding our stomachs in the pouring rain.

So I walked barefoot the rest of the way back to my dorm, just like old days when I was a child refusing to wear slippers while playing football on the dirt roads. Lots of people stared at my bare feet. They would have stared at my face as well, but I took care to angle my umbrella so that nobody could see it.

Believe

I just noticed that my blog entries are mostly complaints about one thing or another. This may or may not have earned me a reputation of being a cynic. Well, maybe I am a cynic to a certain degree. But one thing I am not and, God forbid, never want to be, is a sour pessimist. So, yeah, I'm a cynic. But I'm an optimistic cynic. Sounds impossible? Hehe.

One of my most firm beliefs is that things almost always work out themselves. Of course, nothing happens unless you strive for it. But when you've tried your best and still nothing worked, just have a little faith and soon the mess would straighten itself out.

Here are some examples:

Story 1
I started out this semester pretty darned pissed off with my elective courses. I wanted to take management courses but because of my "World Class University Program", I was denied that choice and ended up with two of the courses I hated the most -- Geotechniques and Structural Steel Design. Some three weeks later, I realized that my courses aren't so bad after all. Well, geotech is still a bitch. But Structural Steel Design is the best ever. I haven't cut this class at all (for me, that's a really big thing). And get this -- I'm even doing my Final Year Project on Structural Steel. So, the moral of the story : When life gives you lemon, make lemonade.

Story 2
I had a helluva time getting placement for Industrial Practice. I went all over -- Shah Alam, KL, Putrajaya, etc. I got lost on Jalan Lontar Lembing while looking for Jalan Badminton (turns out it was near Jalan Ragbi). I thought I'd have to get "auctioned off" to some obscure waste water establishment or something like that. But in the end, I got an offer from a consultancy established in KK, and they assigned my to their site in Tawau! Not only do I get placement, I get to go home to do it! Moral of the story : Just keep swimming...just keep swimming...just kee--....

Story 3
Its the end of the semester, exams are around the corner, its raining assignments but we have to get through tests and quizzes first. All this tension just makes me want to eat all the time. But you know what? I'm dead broke. All I had was 20 cents, that's how broke I was. Thankfully, I still have a healthy supply of instant noodles, oats and biscuits. So, I've resigned myself to surviving on my God-blessed rations. I'll admit, I was a tad bit bitter at first, but then I thought of all the children starving in third world countries. What am I being bitter for? I have instant noodles! I should be counting my blessings! As if a reward for my resolve, a friend suddenly remembered that she owed my money and paid up. It was a debt from the beginning of the semester and I had long since forgotten about it. But here it was, paid in full, just at a time when I really needed it. Moral of the story : Have faith in God.


Miracles happen all the time. You just have to learn how to recognize them.

Above and Below

We live Life only once. Life is short and brief. We must make the most of it. Everyone knows this. Not everyone acknowledges it. But it’s true all the same. No amount of chemicals, cloning, technology, medical healthcare, organic foods, face lifting, tai chi exercises, or meditating can halt the coming of Death.

Knowing that we will inevitably Die and leave Earth, what do we choose to do with this short, brief, and one-shot occasion we call Life?

The most common path we are brainwashed into believing is the best route is to spend one-third of Life bent over books to score in Exams, then spend the rest of what’s left of our lives desperately accumulating as much Wealth as possible, only to be forced to leave it all behind when Death unmercifully tears us away from the fruits of our labor.

Yet others spend the first portion of Life halfheartedly flipping through those books we are supposed to pore over, fall devastated when we don’t miraculously score in those All-Important-Exams, then step onto the nearest, most smooth Path we come across, dreaming of What-Ifs and Could-Have-Beens.

Another group of individuals dream a Life of Fame and Overexposure. To be known by as many people as possible seems to be the pinnacle of Success. To have privacy constantly intruded upon seems to be the highest sense of Achievement.

All these people will be taken by Death.

Is that all there is to Life? Living for Yourself, maybe occasionally helping those who lie across Your Path, feeling good about Your Charity, but not bothered if such an occurrence never happened.

Is that all there is to Life? A Life in which we measure success by wealth and popularity, by exams and grades, by power and influence.

Is that all there is to Life? A Life where kindness, reliability, and compassion are simply qualities instilled in order to score a partner. A Life where wealth and status are only a measurement for finding a good mate.

Everyone wants to gain as much as possible from Life before they have to face Death. Does anyone think of what they can give to Life?

Life may not be as simple as Goodwill and Making-A-Difference. Yet all these requirements we place on Life – Wealth, Grades, Status, Acquaintances – makes one wonder the true reason why there exists this thing called Life.

Aisatsu, Arigatou!

Dr. Sooi enters the classroom.

"Good morning, class," he greets us.

Only a few people mumble indistinct 'morning's in response. The rest of the class remains silent.

This has been the trend for the start of almost every class for the past 3 years of my university life. Some lecturers don't even bother with greetings anymore. They just get in and get cracking without so much as a hello.

It strikes me as such a far cry from our chorused "Selamat Pagi, Cikgu!" from our school days. No, I don't expect university students to stand up and shout "Good morning, Teacher!" in a singsong voice at the start of every class. But I would have thought that we could at least spare our lecturers the courtesy of replying to their greeting. It's a shame to say that the routine which we have repeated day after day for at least 11 years has made almost no infuence whatsoever to our adult lives.

Yet all hope is not lost. There are still a handful who feel the need to thank the lecturer after every class albeit unchorused and uttered personally as they pass by to leave the room.

This reminds me of the students in UiTM Penang. Like most universities, UiTM Penang provides buses to transport students to and from certain places. This service is free of charge and drivers are specifically employed to drive these buses. Although the drivers are clearly just doing their job, most of the students make it a point to thank the drivers when they get off the bus. This is an example of courtesy in it's finest. The students aren't required to thank the drivers, but they do. The drivers don't need to welcome the students, but they do.

And at times when I shake my head and sigh at the indifference of the people around me, I'm glad that I can think of the students of UiTM Penang with a smile.

Inanimate Gender

Something my Mom forwarded to me. Thought I'd share.

TIRES: Tires are male, because they go bald easily and are often over inflated

HOT AIR BALLOONS: Also a male object, because to get them to go anywhere, you have to light a fire under their butt.

SPONGES: These are female, because they are soft, squeezable and retain water.

WEB PAGES: Female, because they're constantly being looked at and frequently getting hit on.

TRAINS: Definitely male, because they always use the same old lines for picking up people.

EGG TIMERS: Egg timers are female because, over time, all the weight shifts to the bottom.

HAMMERS: Male, because in the last 5000 years, they've hardly changed at all, and are occasionally handy to have around.

THE REMOTE CONTROL: Female. Ha! You probably thought it would be male, but consider this: It easily gives a man pleasure, he'd be lost without it, and while he doesn't always know which buttons to push, he just keeps trying.

Boys Don't Cry

Men are from Mars. Mars is the Roman god of War. I don't think Men, as a rule, must be violent and full of bloodlust. But I do think that it should take a lot to reduce a Man to tears.

My father -- rock steady and solidly grounded. I've seen him outright angry. I've seen him excitedly happy. I've seen him valiantly masking his disappointment and fears. But only once have I seen him cry. He didn't cry when his father died. He didn't cry when we were so scarce of money we wondered how our family would survive. Only once in my whole lifetime -- long or short depends on one's perspective. Only once did my father succumb to tears and that was during a time my mother was so sick that she stopped breathing for a while.

To see a Man such as my father commit an act so innocent and common among their female counterparts -- too see any Man cry -- is for me, something entirely disturbing. It shakes the foundations of the ideology I have held on to ever since the time when I could understand the differences between males and females -- Man is stronger than Woman. Not necessarily better, not necessarily smarter. Simply that the extra Y in their chromosomes enable them greater physical strength and a higher resistance to tears.

So when my mother stopped breathing and my father's tears came, I felt like it was the end of the world. The unmovable mountain of dependability that my father represented had come crashing down with one drop of that saline seepage. Every worst case scenario I could imagine seemed about to come true.

Seeing my father's tears, something hardened in me. I took care of everything while my father took my mother to the hospital, all the while not producing a single tear myself. I would have taken care of everything even if my father had not cried but I would have sobbed and sniffled all the way. Deprived of my tears, I don't know how I looked while I comforted the youngest ones, Yusof and Betty Jane, and put them to bed. I wonder if I managed to put on the front that had crumbled on my father's facade. I hope I did.

My father hasn't shed one single tear since. I don't blame him for his moment of weakness. He remains that dependable mountain that shields this Daddy's Girl from everything undesirable. I hope I don't ever have to lose that mountain again. It is so scary when a Man cries. As a female, I can take up the reigns if a Man relinquishes his hold on them. I can even survive quite fine without a Man to take care of my life. But having a Man in front of me break down and cry....It will happen again, inevitably. I just hope I'll be prepared for that when it comes.

World Class University

I attend a "World Class University". Let me give you an insight on what that means.

There are too many students, too few lecturers. The optimum student to lecturer is 30:1. Classes often have up to 32~35 students. A bit too crowded. This is "World Class". The world is becoming overpopulated. Too many people, too little land, too few jobs, too many, too few...Just like my university.

Wireless connection is sluggish and flickers in and out of existence. Might as well have no wireless at all since we can't use it anyway. Most of the world does not have wireless connection anyway.

Roads are congested and pedestrians have difficulty crossing the roads. Most motorists care only about getting to their destination. The lack of a proper pedestrian crossing couple with the reluctance of motorists to stop or slow down and give way to pedestrians result in a fearful escapade of 'dodge the vehicle' each time one wishes to get to the other side of the road.

The classroom floors are garbage strewn. Despite the fact that most students are above 20 years old, they still to seem to not know the function of a garbage can aka rubbish bin. Which would be the case for the rest of the world as well. There is a reason why Singapore imposes such heavy fines for littering -- it's because most people just don't care enough to give a thought to where they put their trash. The fines provide that reason to care.

Being "World Class" doesn't necessarily mean a good thing.

An Immigrant's Patriotism

What do you do when you do not want to be ruled by others? Why, you become the master of yourself.

What do you do when you do not like the way others do something? Why, you do it yourself.

What do you do when you see an unbearable wrong? Why, you set it right.

That is my goal as a Malaysian. When I am old enough and wise enough, I shall be a politician. Yet here lies the conundrum in, not only Malaysian politics but, politics as a propensity anywhere in the world: How does an individiual force seek to go against the stubborn old ways, even if it is for the benefit of us all? How does one break the ranks of those selfishly holding the power and might of money, and not afraid to use it?

You see, I am a girl and there is nothing I can do about it. It's not wrong, of course, but I can't change it either. I can vote now but I don't see any existing party that has rightfully deserved my vote. I have my education thanks to the Malaysian taxpayers' money and I intend to repay them. But how? There is something integrally wrong with the current government. The oppositon is made up of a bunch of fools who think they are clever with catchy namecalling and wavering manifestos. I do not want to vote for any of these people. So what should I do? What should any person who loves their home do?

The answer is simple. Follow Dr. Mahathir's footsteps. Use kindness, compassion, and knowledge as empowerment instead of money. Seek power, not for selfish reasons, but for the good of the people as a whole. Dr. Mahathir climbed his way to the top of Malaysian democracy that way so there is no saying that I can't do at least something in the same manner. That is what I want to be, and will be, Allah willing.

No need to post pleading comments at chedet.co.cc asking for Dr. Mahathir to come back, to do something, to magically whip out a wondorous solution for all of Malaysia's problems. That isn't fair to him. He has served Malaysia well and deserves his rest. Now it is our turn to do something for our country. We need to stop growing fat and complacent on subsidies and hak istimewa. Read, for crying out loud. Do something other than complain or despair.

Understanding the Inevitable

I'm trying to make up my mind about which subject is more boring: Ethnic Relations or Geotechniques.

I had Ethnic Relations two semesters ago. I live in Malaysia where multiculturalism goes hand in hand with daily life and politics. Therefore, I understand the logic in creating a course that studies inter-ethnic relations. However, what was being presented in class was not as much ethnic understanding as it was government propaganda on the justification of 'Hak Istimewa Orang Melayu' (since it so clearly say so in the Perlembagaan...). Needless to say, I learned next to nothing except gained a better conviction of the idiocy of the individuals responsible for the definitions of race, ethnic, and other useless labels as stated in our textbooks.

On the other hand, theres Geotechniques. Last semester's Geotechniques course content consisted of mainly calculations, which was bearable to a certain extent. This semester is mainly theory. Firstly, I don't understand the logic in making us learn calculations before theory. To me, it makes more sense if we had an idea of why we were calculating whatever we were calculating. Anyway, theoretical Geotechniques is a bitch -- endless explanations about dirt, rocks, and walls. Our class had the (good?) fortune to be taught by arguably the most good-looking lecturer in the faculty. Sadly, his exceptional attractiveness doesn't make up for the unbearable boringness of Geotechniques. Consequently, every Geotechniques class is a daydreaming event filled with fantasies of hostile alien life forms attacking the class (sometimes featuring me leaping to the rescue) or other violent and action-packed phantasms as only in a Geotechniques class.

So, I belive I've got my answer. Definitely Geotechniques is more boring. The conclusion is, daydreams' level of ridiculousness is directly proportional to the class' level of boringness.

-The End-

Ambidextrous

"Hello,” I say. I hold out my hand. Ali does not take it. He only stares. His smile falters slightly. He looks puzzled. I wonder why.

“You shake hands with your right,” Ali points out. He extends his right hand. I take it.I don’t understand the difference.

Ali asks the time. I hold up my left wrist. My watch is there. I tell him the time. Ali looks puzzled. I can only ask why.

Ali holds up his right wrist. I see his watch. He fixes the time.

“Everyone here wears it like this,” he says.

Ali is boring. He keeps telling me I do things wrong. I am tired of that. So, I go away. I go somewhere else.

I see Sally. Sally is coloring. That looks fun. I go join Sally. I pick up a pencil. Coloring is fun.

“Weird!” Sally exclaims. I look around. Nothing is weird. I look at Sally. She looks at my hand. My hand holds the pencil. It is my right hand.

Sally holds up her pencil. Sally’s pencil is in her left hand. I move my pencil. Now I use my left hand. I do not understand the difference. Coloring is fun.

Ali comes by. He wants to join. He looks at our pencils.“Left hand!” he exclaims. Ali uses his right hand.

Now I am angry. I pick up another pencil. I color with my left hand. I color with my right hand. I color with both. Coloring is fun.

“Left hand!” says Ali.

“Right hand!” says Sally.

“Weird!” say both.

I ignore them. I do not care. I want to color. Maybe I should use my feet. I ponder that thought. Just to be really different.

Defying Gravity

It’s nostalgic, this feeling – giddy like an angau-stricken teenager. It’s annoying yet somehow refreshing. I was beginning to think I’ve lost all ability to be attracted to anyone.

So, I think about Someone a lot. More than normal, in fact. My heart acts like a trapped butterfly inside a (rib)cage each time my SMS alert goes off. Silly me, can I be hoping that Someone texted me? That’s ridiculous.

I’m Notoriously Single. I don’t want to lose that title now, do I? I’d like to be known for something.

But at the end of the day, I find myself wondering senseless and dangerous thoughts such as Did Someone think of me at all today? Or I wonder what Someone is doing now.

Shoo. Shoo. Go away, Bad Thoughts.

I reach for my phone. It’s just a passing fancy. I’m just killing time, really. I’m in control of my feelings. I’m an adult. I can get out of this any time I want, no problem.

Put the phone down! That’s dangerous! Bad Idea! Bad!

Yet still, those thoughts I try hardest to suppress come creeping back like a cat at a dinner table. To my horror, I find myself contemplating the ‘L-word’ – taboo in my dictionary.

I suppress the urge to violently ram my head against the wall. A migraine might keep my mind off Someone, but migraines are no fun. Trust me.

I don’t know the first thing about how Someone’s mind works, nor thought process, nor tendencies. I know only superficial things. Inconsequential things.

Impossible.

I blame my temporary insanity on the racing pulse and unstable hormones due to a swollen thyroid gland.

Eureka!

Now, I can sleep.