Hindsight

I was clicking through the clutter in my D-drive when I found the folder -- my old notebooks which I had written in while in my 6th semester of my engineering degree. My realization that those writings are from nearly 3 years ago is accompanied by a strange and undescribable feeling. Nostalgia, is the name given to that feeling.

It was like discovering a horde of treasure valuable only to me.

I scroll through the many drafted blog posts which will never reach this echelon called internet because I had deemed them either too private or too pathetic. Other sections hold drafts and ideas for books I might never write. I even had sections for the books I wanted to read, the places I wanted to see, and the things I wanted to do.

I take a closer look at the section labeled "To Do". I had filled its pages with things I had envisioned for my future. There were things I wanted to do for myself like 'learn piano' or 'go to Japan' once I had my own money to spend. There were longer term goals like "build Mummy and Abah a house". And then there was a page for my innermost dreams, those I have shared only with the people closest to me, Pepper and Aliph.

Its funny how I have lost sight of those dreams while in pursuit of other things. Not even important things but materialistic and mundane things, I regret to say. I'm glad I rediscovered my dreams when I was naive enough to even dare to envision them.

Who says growing up is a good thing? Age and experience does not necessarily bring wisdom. Most of the time we only learn to fear. Fear to do lest we fail, fear to dream lest we fall, fear to love lest we lose.

If you have a good idea, write it down. Store it somewhere safe and secret. You may laugh at it now, scoff at your own innocence. But keep it all the same. One day, you will look back at that memory, marvel at your own wisdom, become inspired by the person you were -- and have higher hopes for the person you will be.

Internal GPS

Everything that you know is as wrong as the next
So you hold on to something and hope for the best.

I've been living my life from day to day. I've always gone with the flow. Sure, I make plans. But most of the time those plans get sidetracked, delayed, confuddled and confounded by the unpredictability of things known and unknown. Maybe I'm just a bad planner. Maybe I'm impulsive. Maybe I'm just taking the straightest path I chance upon. Or maybe fate is screwing with me. Whatever. Take your pick. Choose your poison.

But we're all like that, aren't we? We're all confused. We're all scared. And none of us have any idea what we're doing here, really. Take this post -- when I composed it in my head it was very different (it was much better). Then I decided to start it off with a bit from Travis' I know nothing. Then I forgot how I wanted to go on next -- so I just started off with "I've been living my life from day to day". And I went on from there, thinking I know where I'm going...and I find myself here. *Looks around* Where is this?

What am I doing?

But that's life, isn't it? You think you know, till you find out that you have no idea. I dare say everyone has gone through that moment of panic when you wonder where you're headed in life. That moment where you stop to catch your breath, look around, and all these unanswerable questions come crashing unto you like a philosophical tsunami.

Why am I here?

I don't know so don't ask me.

End.

One Day at a Time

Today is Thursday. I like Thursdays. I like Thursdays because after Thursday comes Friday.

I like Fridays because after Friday comes Saturday. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I like Saturday best. I can sleep in and don't have to work (most of the time). Then I can go to the bookstore. Saturdays are good.

Then comes Sunday. I don't like Sundays. After Sunday comes Monday. It's just too depressing. I sit at home and read my books, thinking how boring and depressing life is.

Mondays are the worst. The weekend is over. I have to work. My horizons are dark. I trudge through the day.

Tuesdays all meld into one tolerated (forgettable) experience.

Then its Wednesday. I start to feel hopeful. Tomorrow is Thursday and I can start feeling good about life again.

Jiyuu Will Face an Army of Mugen If She Refuses to Listen to Brain

Stand up
You've got to manage
I refuse to sympathize
Anymore

You're alright
There's nothing wrong
Self sufficience please!
And get to work

You're on your own now
We won't save you
Your rescue squad
Is too exhausted

And if you complain once more
You'll face an army of me

For Better or For Worse?

Of the nearly 7 billion people in the world, no two people are exactly the same. Subhanallah. With the diverse population, we also get a wide range of different behavior, reactions, thoughts, emotions, etc that define social or even anti-social occurrences.

Like all people, I have beliefs and ideals. I have a set notion of what constitutes of good and bad, of preferable and ill-advised behaviors and mindsets. Though I acknowledge that it's rarely so straightforward, I have my own idea of good and bad.

So if my actions are along the line of what I call "good", going down the list of superlatives, is there a 'better' and 'best'? If I gave up my seat in the bus for that old lady, am I better than the rest of the people who didn't? I like to think that I'm a good person, but to think that I'm 'better'...would be conceited. That said, sometimes those conceited thoughts creep stealthily into my Brain until when I finally realize it, they've been there for quite a while, with me carrying its notion. Am I better?

I contemplate this system of judgment as I watch an old man talking animatedly to a grill at the train station. He's not doing anything bad, at least not in my books, therefore I cannot definitively say that I am better than him.

That must be a judgmental flaw, I think, as the old man holds up two forks, one in each hand, and starts telling them off for being ignorant. But even then, I still can't consider myself better than him.

"Ha! Tahu tak?" the old man dramatically exclaims to the forks, head nodding in a superior, knowing way.

Am I better?

No, I just do the best I can, according to my own definitions. Just like everyone else.

There and Back Again

Today I went to my youngest brother and sister's school for their end of the school year majlis penyampaian hadiah. Yusof, who is in Primary 5, got number one in his class while Betty Jane, who is Primary 1, was doing the chicken dance. I, who am freeloading, was ordered to go and be camera-person.

And so I found myself hovering uncertainly near the plastic chairs labeled 'ibu bapa', until I finally settled on sitting at the relatively lonely back-of-the-hall. Not long after I sat down, Betty Jane came running up to me, wailing that she didn't have any make up on. Following close behind her were a handful of girls decked in pink and what looked to me like kabuki face paint. One girl kept looking around with her eyes widened consciously, no doubt flaunting her sparkly purple eyeshadow. Understanding her anxiety at being bare faced, I dug around in my bag and produced eyeliner, pale pink blusher and nude lipstick, which made Betty Jane happy enough.

I played arm and thumb wrestling with the pink kabuki chickens while men with potbellies bulging under their batik shirts gave speeches. The girls gave me hugs and giggled in my ears, thoroughly easy with this kakak that they have known for only 5 minutes. Every five minutes or so one of them would come up to me and ask anxiously if their makeup was still intact.

Then came the part where they gave out the awards. I watched as the excellent students marched onto the stage one by one to accept their prizes. The very excellent ones, the ones who had to run back to the other end of the stage again to receive multiple awards, had a familiar expression on their faces. Happy, proud, a feeling so great as if the whole world revolved around that award. My thoughts wandered back to my own school days. I used to be one of those multiple achievers, too. I used to imagine all eyes on me when I went on stage to shake the headmaster's hand and receive my trophy.

Those awards don't mean a thing at all, I thought to myself as I pulled my thoughts back to the present. What good are plastic trophies in the real world?

I turned my head to my right and saw a boy in a songkok proudly presenting his certificate to his father. His father smiled. Wiping a tear from his eye he hugged his boy and patted him on the back.

I reviewed those cynical thoughts I conceived moments ago. So that's what it's for.

Life so far and after that

I've spent four years studying to be a Civil Engineer. I have graduated, got my degree, and applied for jobs related to that degree. I have looked forward to using what I have spent four years to acquire. I have looked forward to playing a part in 'building Malaysia'.

Yet when things have reached their critical point, the so-called moment of no return, I find myself hesitating. Suddenly, being a Civil Engineer does not seem so fulfilling. It has lost its appeal even before I have begun to experience it. I am plagued with visions of a different sort, of dreams I have long discarded. Why, after four years of walking this road, do my regrets catch up to me now?

Regrets -- are they? I can still go down that road -- that which I have thought not to take. I can still change my direction. It is a winding road and one abound with obstacles. But the road is mine to traverse. The path is mine to clear.

Do I have the guts to take it?

Gamer's Reality

One important thing gamers learn is that before you enter the boss fight, stock up and save your game. In the event of your defeat, load from last save point and use what knowledge you gained fighting it to win. In the case where you are incapable of beating the boss, one option is to go online and get some tips from a walkthrough. And that is how a gamer can always beat the game.

Too bad you can't say the same for Life.

There are no save points in Life. You can't go back and redo a choice that you've made. You can't use hindsight for the future. There are no walkthroughs. And even the best laid plans and strategies will crumble at Life's unpredictability. There's just no way to beat Life.

I can see why millions of people prefer to 'live' in World of Warcraft.

Nena-nee Yang Sot

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Jiyuu!

1. Finding Jiyuu on Christmas morning is believed to bring good luck!
2. It's bad luck for a flag to touch Jiyuu.
3. Birds do not sleep in Jiyuu, though they may rest in her from time to time.
4. Julius Caesar wore a laurel wreath to cover up Jiyuu.
5. Only 55 percent of Americans know that the sun is made of Jiyuu!
6. Thirty-five percent of the people who use personal ads for dating are Jiyuu.
7. Bananas don't grow on trees - they grow on Jiyuu.
8. Jiyuu is born white; her pink feathers are caused by pigments in her typical diet of shrimp.
9. The deepest part of Jiyuu is over 35,000 feet deep!
10. It is bad luck to walk under Jiyuu.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

I simply cannot fathom what Nena-nee does on the internet which led her to find this site. But its pretty cool! My favorite is number 9. Hehehe...

To Criticize a Critic

We've all heard it -- that criticism is hard to swallow. But in order to grow, we must grin and bear it. I would like to think that I am the type of person who can receive criticism with an open mind. But in some occasions, sticks and stones don't hurt nearly as much as the potential threat of an ill-worded sentence.

Yes, I would like to place an emphasis on the term 'ill-worded sentence'. Sometimes, it is not the criticism itself which is loath to be accepted, but the manner in which it is presented. In this, I mean proper use of grammar.

Let's face it, I live in Malaysia. I don't expect flawless, impeccable grammar at every corner. To be frank, I don't presume my own English to be Jayathiroyish at any rate. But for a lecturer whose medium of instruction is supposedly English, I would expect at least a minimal command of the language -- at least good enough to be heard without one's face screwing up in incredulity. So when the draft of my thesis with corrections from my second panel was returned to me, imagine my frustration upon reading comments such as

"Correction need to be corrected as mark inside"

and

"Please see me coz your report its not full report. Less discussion".

And when a sentence in future tense which I had overlooked was circled in red and accompanied by the remark "This research already or not.", I simply could not bring myself to accept my mistake being pointed out by someone who displays such blatant ineptitude in using proper English.

Alright, about a third of the corrections made are actually justifiable. But it doesn't mean I have to like it. *Crosses arms and blows a raspberry*

Wake Up and Smell the Tea

The morning is cold and my fingernails are starting to take a bluish hue; I take it as a cue for a short break from a night-long composing of my final year project report. I am well aware that the dizzy semi-conscious state I am now in is entirely my own fault for procrastinating. The knowledge doesn't bother me much yet as I have picked up a steady pace of progress throughout the night. I'm confident I can make the deadline. That said, I turn the fan off and put the kettle on for some tea. Morning tea seems a bit off but my caffeine buds tell me that they aren't quite in the mood for coffee at the moment. Tea it is, then.

The morning is quiet and still; a welcome break from the busy and irritating noises of people, traffic, and female students. I sit at the balcony of my fourth-floor apartment and stare out at the inanimate world below and ahead of me. I curl my fingers around the hot mug of tea, letting the steam warm my face. My usual musings come to me, beckoned by the aroma of tea and the stillness of the morning. Life, death, the future, the past, the present….I take a sip of my tea. The hot liquid burns my tongue and invigorates me. The soothing sweetness stills my churning thoughts.

I don’t know what life is and I'm not sure if I ever will, but for now I am contented to think of simple thoughts such as the beauty of sunrise and the relaxing effect of tea.

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.

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?