Tuesday, September 30, 2008


I officially proclaim today (30/09/2008) as "Terra's Hurt Yourself Day"

The day started well enough with a late breakfast due to a very late night last night where I was getting my new wireless broadband connection used to my computer and vice-versa. It still has some issues which I hope will be ironed out by the end of this week.

About somewhere later in the day, while I was trying to catch a nap, my left elbow hit the wooden leg of a chair nearby (which proves that sleeping on the floor can be a hazardous activity!) In the piercing pain that followed (the one where your limbs move involuntarily, as you curl yourself due to pain), I also hit my right elbow, albeit only slightly. The left elbow has a dark line on it showing that something had happened to it.

And just now, about 9:00 pm, as I was opening my car door to get home after gym, the corner of the door got a bit too enthusiastic and hit me on the right shin where it hurts the most. This (final) hit gave me inspiration for this post, and I'm only thankful (and wondering) about the fate of my left leg which is still untouched. There's about almost 2 hours before the day officially ends

Edit: My laidback schedule is mainly due to the fact that I'm on a short break for Eid this week. And I might as well take this opportunity to wish my Muslim friends a very Happy Eid Mubarak! :)

Saturday, September 27, 2008


A lot of things we take for granted these days such as the ability to send a short message to anywhere in the world, or use networking sites to relocate old acquaintances were practically non-existent back in 1998. Anyway, I recently remembered an old friend and her wonderful (mis)adventures with us during our very short time together (she had an allergy to chemicals and could not continue studying where we were)
Here is one of those stories which I had reproduced from my old blog.

There was a conversation last night, which involved a name... a very nice name in fact. Anyways, since the name is particularly nice, I remember a few people who had the same particular name, and one of them was a special friend to an old friend of mine. This old friend, T was a very dramatic person (very important information), whereas, H, her special friend was practically an unknown entity... about 3 years older, tall, good looking and walks around - a lot.
So although T and a group of us were pretty close friends, we didn't have many classes together, which led to this tale. T spoke of H with great reverence, and since the rest of us didn't really know him, we didn't really share the same sentiments towards him...
We were having dinner at our ever famous R---- stalls, our almost favourite hangout at that time, when T mentioned in passing (more of a question, really) if any of us had seen H that day... See, H was one of the few people who used their OTF's (Own Two Feet) to get around, so when walking to the faculty, we were bound to see him, occasionally. It was a boring day, and so I said to T;

'Yeah, we did see him in fact, he fell into the monsoon drain on the way to the faculty'.

Basically, if you fell into the monsoon drain at the area I was thinking of, you cannot get out of it on your own...
To make things more interesting, another friend added;
' Some other guy was cycling and kinda lost control, and then H who was walking was pushed into the drain by the guy who lost control of the bike.'

Ouch! And then another friend added;
'H fell in head first, and his legs were flailing about, above the drain. It was extremely funny.'

Throughout this conversation, T's face began to look worried...

'Didn't anyone help him?' she asked..
Since the great exaggeration had begun, it might as well be continued... someone else added...

'Many people saw the incident, in the end, a few guys helped pull him out. He looked a bit stunned but that was all. Kinda surprised you didn't hear this story yet....'
If anyone was less naive and less excitable, they'd have known that H never fell into the drain that day, or that none of us had seen him that day... "legs flailing about"... oh come on! I actually thought that T was playing along with the story, but apparently not. T in fact was very excited about the story... We never really found out the reason though...
A few days later, she mentioned to us that when she asked H how his rendezvous with the drain was, he looked at her in surprise... I suppose he had no idea what she meant but she thought that he didn't want her to know about his 'rendezvous with the drain'.
The problem with this tale is, that I can't remember certain details, as in did we ever mention to her that H falling into the drain did not happen, or whether she cared to explain to him about her cryptic question or not.

Disclaimer: The words used in the conversation in this post are not necessarily the same as the words used in the real conversation. Originally posted on Nov 18, 2005


When your sense of direction needs a new compass, an extra pair of eyes and hands to turn the pages of a map (or you need to get one of those GPS things first) then the best way to get into the city where the roads can confuse you would be to take the train, otherwise known as the Komuter.

I took an early train for a day long training stint the other day because I had to switch trains at the main station in KL, and was unable to predict the time I might need (plus the fact that frequent users always complain about how the train is almost always delayed and the intervals between trains is 20 minutes), which was a good thing because apparently, there was a massive delay in the later trains (technical problems, they said). I stood at the corner of the coach I got in, leaning against the coach and my right side against the back of someone's chair while I listened to whatever that was playing on my mp3 player.

After just about 4 or 5 stops, the train was so packed that I was squeezed into my corner by a lady who could sleep standing up and a guy whose bag kept poking me. By the time we reached towards KL, the train could not accommodate anyone anymore. I saw a few school kids stare dejectedly as the train moved on, leaving them behind to catch another much delayed train, and my heart went out to them because some schools have terrible late-coming rules. In my secondary school, if you arrived late three times, you'll be made to wash the school toilets with a few others, and trust me when I say that washing the school toilet is a gazillion times worse than washing your toilet at home.

After almost an hour, I finally hobbled out of the train, thankful for the *fresh air in the station, and proceeded to another platform for another train that will lead me to my destination. I only did it at peak hours this one time, and it wasn't such a big issue for me. Standing in a corner, or hobbling out, but imagine doing it day after day for so many years.

I occasionally like to do a spot of people watching which I did that morning, and everyone looked like zombies, with their headphones over their ears, staring listlessly over the heads (or the back of the necks) of the person standing in front of them. Very few read (I believe for fear of losing balance), but one woman actually managed to read the reader's digest while standing up!

* the train station is an enclosed building, so I doubt the air is really fresh, but it is definirely much fresher than the air inside the train.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008



The Faded Purple Robes is an attempt at fiction, and in my case a maiden voyage into the wild and cruel unknown. This of course does not include the crazy attempt at a novel during the nanowrimo of 2006 which I had to leave halfway.

Anyway, before I put it up here as I had said I would in reply to two comments in an earlier post I would like to state the following:
1. The story is ridiculous.
2. It was a attempt at satire (but got lost somewhere in between)
3. It is also an attempt in comedy, because I dig comedy
4. Please note the emphasis on the word ATTEMPT
5. Honest feedback is most welcome. If it is lousy or you fell asleep reading it, please say so.
6. If you think you've seen it somewhere before, then it means you have seen it here as I put up the introduction on this blog a few months before


This is a work of fiction. Any similarities with places, people or incidents, dead or alive, existent or not in the past, present or future is purely co-incidental.
The old frail king sat back on his comfortable leather sofa, his head hung to the side. A crown, merely for decorative purposes was perched on his somewhat knobby right knee. His left leg was stretched out with his foot precariously close to a bowl with a lonesome goldfish which picked up its pace and wrinkled its nose ( Not that it had a nose, per se, but instead of having a peaceful look usually associated with goldfish, it kind of had the look of someone who was constipated) at the smell.
He mused about the bloody war that he had just lost and was aiming to put the blame on someone else (It could be anyone but him. The people, the TV, the neighbour’s cat, hell; even the big old royal palm behind his grandmother’s house would do) He tried to recall how he ever ended up in this predicament and could only think of the incidents that all too well began about five years before. He tried thinking of his vehement denial pertaining to certain issues and was thankful that the people were clueless regarding that. Now, he couldn’t be too sure. He needed to think. And the goldfish swam in circles in its little bowl wondering why the smell still remained.
In another place about a five hour drive away (that is if you took the shortest route ever possible through mountains and jungles, and provided that the carnivorous goats didn’t eat you, or horned ducks didn’t puncture your vehicle first) another old, but not so frail king shook his own hand in the privacy of his ‘thinking room’ congratulating himself over a recent achievement that he believed had happened thanks to the war that had recently ended.

There was a time when quaggas still existed in the plains with zebras, running gracefully as their stripes were the perfect camouflage. The incidents that follow however are in a time many years after the very last quagga ran. In a land not too far away (it is after all an imagined land, therefore no one is really sure where it is or was located, hence the description of it being not too far away) there lived a king (the old but not so frail one – we’ll call him Moz) whose powers (administrative, not magical) were bound by another king.
This other king was best known for being a power-crazed lunatic who could somehow see the future even without a crystal ball. Let’s call the power-crazed king Rhim. After a few decades of ruling, and hair thinned considerably, Rhim planned for his retirement, but not before he carefully handpicked his successor, a yes-man to the core, mildly narcoleptic and slightly blur. This was the old and frail king, and he is fondly known as Bax.
It had been 5 years since Bax was given the mandate to rule the land, but his narcolepsy kept getting in the way. He missed important information that his cohorts and subordinates failed to pass on. He lived in a world of fast cars, highflying jets and was in constant company of a talking monkey that everyone hated. It was only too soon before something somewhat of a disaster happened!
Bax and his dictatorship had almost fallen to the hands of the poor suffering people during the recent war (they were not exactly poor in terms of money, but more of deprived of freedom regarding things that were deemed basic in other planets). However, through some secret manipulation (that the rumour that is going around), he managed to survive and remained a dictator, but lost whatever credibility he had.
Now, on the average, people tend to think all the time, but sometimes, they just don’t think about the right things. Then something happens and people start thinking about the same stuff but on deeper levels, and then things really begin to happen. After the war, quite a number of people started thinking, “What if we challenge the dictatorship?” Like dominoes falling one by one due to an accidental knock, people started taking action.
The first person to step up to some sort of action was Moz (the not so frail old king)
Moz stood in front of his full-length mirror curling his slightly grey moustache, which he thought made him look terribly handsome. Little did he know that he was terribly wrong, because even his wife couldn’t bear to tell him the truth lest it broke his heart. Nevertheless, at the state of elation he was in at that moment, he might have even smiled and thanked anyone who dared tell him. Nothing on the planet could bring him down.
A few days before that, the dictator Bax had sent a proclamation (which had doodles of cute little sunflowers on it) asking the old frail king to pick a man that went by the name Kronk as the knight who would be in charge of chopping people’s heads off if they dared to do anything outside the norm. Besides that, the knight was also in charge of managing certain affairs, which involved the moving of many conch shells, which coincidentally happened to be their currency at that time. Now, Kronk, as silly as his name sounds, was actually wonderfully efficient in his job as a head chopper. He often made a clean job, and he claimed that it was almost painless for the victims. Unfortunately, none of the victims could vouch for that! Other than that, he was also as equally efficient in making illegal conch shells using the profits that he gained illegally by the illegal sales of bat guano, which Bax most probably didn’t know of due to his narcolepsy. The talking money kept quiet on several occasions.
Now the old not so frail king, despite being not so old and frail (and actually is called Moz, but not many people remember it), knew about Kronk’s actions in the past few years. Nevertheless, he liked his head too much (and the moustache as well) that he never said a thing earlier. However, the recent war got the gears in his brain moving at speeds he never knew existed and he thought… “No, I don’t want Kronk this time, I think I’ll pick Dent” And he sat down, and got someone (whom none of us know) to type a letter of appointment for Dent.
On the day that Dent was supposed to take the job after an elaborate ceremony by Moz. Kronk and his gang of ruthless supporters decided that they were going to walkout on the event. It wasn’t such a big secret and Moz found out about it and was furious because he had given extra curling to his moustache in the last few days or so and was afraid that less attention would be paid to his moustache and more to the scumbags that he never liked. What even made him angrier was the fact that Bax had said that it is all right if Kronk and gang did such a thing during the event because he thought that Dent who is supposedly in the same league as Kronk should have rejected the offer as a sign of loyalty to his team.

To describe Dent in one word, you’d have to use the word “rebel”. To describe him in two words, it would be “wannabe rebel” It is as simple as that. Dent’s ancestors had always been loyal to Kronk’s ancestors. That is how their world went, and no one had fought against it until now. Of course, deep in their hearts, they thought it a load of crap, but tradition was paramount. Nevertheless, common sense dictates that loyalty should be earned through deeds and not because your parents think it is important. Therefore, when the letter of appointment arrived for Dent, he was ecstatic. Unfortunately, after a message to his parents who lived on the other side of town, he was crestfallen. His happiness doused by the cold words of his parents requesting him to not bring shame to the family.
After giving it some thought, he decided to go against everything he had been taught and decided that it was time to live his life his own way, even if he ended up without a head . Dent was 45.
Moz woke up early that day. Sleep had been good, and the smell of breakfast wafted through the open windows calling to him. Despite being a king, he preferred serving himself food instead of having a dozen people fussing over him. It was his way of having some quiet quality time. As he was sipping his dark black coffee, he recalled that he was supposed to be annoyed. The conversation he had with Kronk the previous night came to mind.
Moz: So, I heard of your plan tomorrow
Kronk: So?
Moz: It would be nicer if you didn’t do it
Kronk: And you casting me aside and picking Dent is the nice thing to do?
Moz; At least I’m open about it
Kronk: And so am I…
He immediately put on a grumpy countenance, sipped his coffee, and read his notes.
Donned in purple robes (badly faded due to the usage of the spin dry function and a bad detergent in his washing machine), Moz welcomed his guests into his palace. Someone important got up and requested Dent to come forward to receive his ceremonial robe. Moz himself got up, adjusted his robe and took out a short blunt Keris, the ceremonial sword that he would place in the belt of Dent’s robe after the proclamation. As Dent moved forward slowly as it was the custom, Kronk and bunch of others moved around noisily and stomped out (because no one was paying them any attention)
Moz glared at them from the corner of his eyes, but didn’t say anything because most of those who stayed behind were looking at him and his moustache (or so he thought)
People remember wars for generations for various reasons. Here, people remember the war because it brought positive change after . For one, the dictator’s words were not heeded and he couldn’t do anything about it. Instead he nursed his sorrows by killing and burying the goldfish that always swam peacefully in its little glass bowl. The goldfish fan club members lashed out at him for his public display of cruelty to pets. After consulting his companion, the talking monkey, he took a long break in an island far, far away where he went skinny dipping with his wife.
Secondly, Moz gained numerous respect from the downtrodden people (although they still made jokes about his moustache) His action made the people realize that dictators can be brought down, albeit slowly. This holds especially true for the lousy kind of dictators who suffer from narcolepsy. Although the dictators do not altogether stop bossing you around, they are slowly beginning to accept how fragile things around them are and that nothing is permanent.
Kronk finally accepted the fact that he had been replaced successfully. He put away his head cutting tools for good by auctioning them on o-bay and started concentrating on the bat guano trade. Dent stayed in office because he thought it was cool, and has decided that head cutting may not be a necessary course of action anymore. Instead, he and a few others decided to give democracy a chance.

Sunday, September 21, 2008


When undiagnosed insomnia hits, I turn to the good old ipod on very low volume for entertainment in the hopes that the soft sounds are comfortable enough and can fool my mind into believing it is tired and will eventually go to sleep. It does, sooner or later. Anyway, it was one of those nights a few days ago, and as I was forcing myself to sleep, Friday Night by The Darkness, whereby the very first line is "Hey you, do you remember me... I used to sit next to you in school" started playing (and all thoughts of having to sleep flew out of the window) and an idea hit me. So here I am, a few days later, recalling an incident that is slightly more than a year old.

It was early April of 2007, and one of my friends from school had invited us to her wedding dinner. Another friend of mine (whom I've kept in touch with since I left school ten years ago) was going so I went as well, hoping to catch up with some of the girls whom I haven't met since we all parted ways after secondary school (It was a girls school, hence the girls) Anyway, as we seated ourselves at a table where two of our ex-schoolmates were sitting, they got really excited seeing my friend (lets call her C), but never said a word to me until I introduced myself as myself. Apparently they couldn't recognise me.

Anyway, we were at the table, just the four of us, when another girl from school waltzed by with her husband and pulled a chair at our table (for herself, obviously) She hugged K and Int (the two girls) and chatted jovially with them before shaking C's hand in a very civil manner and mentioned C's name as though she was making sure. As expected, she merely nodded her head at me and sat down. C and I tried to recollect who the girl was, and the only thing I could remember was that she was in Moral class with us, her name forgotten because our school never had a yearbook. C had no recollection of her at all! It was one of the most awkward nights in my entire life, because even the girl who invited me to the dinner took awhile before she could recognise me. I wondered how could it possibly be that no one could recognise me and asked C, but she said I never changed much, but then again that's most probably because we see each other at least once a year during our unofficial gatherings over dinner and silly conversations with the 'gang'.

I kind of wonder how many of us actually remember every single person we've met in our entire lives regardless how brief it was. Or how many of us can place a name to the face. I can recall faces, but may have a bit of difficulty with names. It is terribly embarrasing to remember someone, and they have no recollection at all of you. It happened once several years ago where this person couldn't remember me at all despite the fact that were friends for about 5 years. Recently though I had someone add me as a friend on Facebook, and we share about 10 friends, which means I would have known him at some point or another (most probably primary school - which was about 16 years ago!), but as much as I try to recall, I can't seem to figure out who he is exactly. And the fact that he's most probably not using his real last name could also be a contributing factor!

PS: This post was written last night before I got a call from the new service provider. I took it this afternoon, and just to show how much I've missed having my own internet, I figured I might as well just throw in a video of The Darkness!

Thursday, September 18, 2008


The last few days were filled with moments of anxiety where I could literally feel my guts twisting into horrible little knots at all times, when I see no reason for such a thing to happen in the first place. It reminds me of the feeling I used to have right before I attended an interview or an exam. Even as I'm typing this I feel the same way, and after two and a half days, it is getting to be a pain. It's as though something is telling me that I ought to be worried about something, but what it is I honestly can't say...

I guess my problem lies in the fact that I do worry quite a lot about all sorts of things from the effects of global warming to the horror of how time flies, so it is hard to say anything for certain.

Ah, well.... I just wish those knots will go away, though....

Sunday, September 14, 2008


It's been a few days since I've been cut off from the virtual world (albeit not completely - inserts grin here) because of inefficient people. I'm currently collecting evidence to present to them, and just realised that I need to contact my bank for evidence between February and March. Sigh... (I also need to find someone very vocal who can help me fight my case (and can express annoyance better than me to help out, because based on past experience, my expressing annoyance using sarcasm doesn't really work) Ah well...

So, I spent my internetless Saturday night attempting to finish writing up a (very short) story that I had left stranded since March, and although it's not going in the direction I wanted it to go when I first started, I think I'll stick to it. I also managed to learn some (I sort of created a new banner for this blog! - but it's not up yet) photoshop skills using their guide. If this state continues, I may be able to cease using Paint for my 'ahem' artistic endeavours ;)

The only downside to this internetless condition is that I can't read blogs as much as I'd like to, can't wiki up anything I'm curious about whenever I like and access to my personal e-mails will be completely non-existent.

So yeah, that's it. As I'm still keen on blogging at a proper frequency, I guess I'll have to revert nto the cheating mode. Type first in notepad or word when I'm free, and post when I'm at a machine with access to the www.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008


I can't begin to describe how bloody pissed off I am at a certain telco company for their incompetency in handling services to their customers. I blogged about the problem a few months ago here, and I thought that after having the conversation with the customer service dude and taking the necessary actions (because they are so incompetent!!) my problems would be over, but boy was I wrong.

Not only did the old payments remain unpaid in their system, they actually had the nerve to send me a pink warning letter stating the amount I owe them (which they already received because I know I paid them up, but they clearly refuse to acknowledge!!) and a warning that they will disconect my service by the 5th of this month if that amount is not paid up.

I immediately called up the customer service and complained about the issue at hand, and she mumbled something about how I should call them up after making the payments online so that they could update their system! (Oh! The nerve of these bastards!!) Sorry, I should have warned you people who read this to prepare a doggy bag by your side. Isn't the purpose of paying for stuff online is so that it remains online and does not include stupid phone calls that leave you listening to mindless music, or signing cheques, or even lining up like dorks in the local post office or nearest telco centres office when time is so precious? No, i don't think so!

So, the last I checked, which was on the night of the 9th, my attempts at connecting to the internet was futile. A system check stated that something is amiss with my DNS. I know for a fact that they have disconnected my service. Like I said, I'm so pissed off I can't think straight.

My options are:
1. Write a letter to all the local newspapers about this problem and warn people to not subscribe to their services unless they plan to pay their bills personally
2. Inform everyone about how bad their services are and warn them to not ever subscribe to them
3. Find a different ISP which is more tech savvy

So, to everyone who reads this, if you're planning on getting internet service at home, please don't use Telekom Malaysia unless you want to tear your hair out in frustration. Use something else, please. And if you work in Telekom Malaysia, and are under the Streamyx section or whatever, try to enlighten me on how your company can be so stupid.

I'm seeking revenge of some sort. Some way to show them how annoyed I am. Any ideas? By the way, the posting of this post has been enabled by me being in the place where quite a large number of hours are spent.

Oh, the irony of an Internet Service Provider not being able to handle online payments!

Tuesday, September 09, 2008


While some people just have a fantastic way with words that could stir emotions, crumble mountains or make glaciers melt, there are others who stumble at the end of every sentence, chewing the backs of their stubby pencils while deep in thought. And then there are the people who come, take a look, and form dangerous ideas in their heads.

A while back, the author of one of the blogs that I frequently visit had the shock of his life when he found out that he had been plagiarised. It wasn't mere lifting of sentences from here and there, but his whole life seemed to have been copied word for word, and the pictures that accompany his posts weren't spared either.

It seems as though the author (if he can be called so) of the copycat blog was entirely intrigued by this blogger's life and his opinions that he figured that it might as well be his own.

Now, copying or plagiarism isn't really something new. It happens almost everywhere. Even recently (based on my definition which I noticed is not the same as anyone else's) there was a lawsuit pertaining to a newspaper reporter being reported plagiarising and the person who exposed the issue got dragged in as well and there was a sort of small storm that has since passed. I also remember an incident during one lab session (the class who took the lab subject one semester after me) where the instructor gave C- to the whole class because they used their senior's report template for the lab reports, where usually lab subjects are easy to score.

So, perhaps people do so to get ideas across when they're too lazy to do some thinking on their own, or when they couldn't be bothered to sit down and type things word for word (then why bother, actually?) and with the ease of a click and drag to highlight, a small tap for the right click, and voila! you've got an amazing array of tasks ahead of you, one of them carrying the word "copy" which you click without hesitation. Then you switch windows, right click again and select the word paste. Without moving too many muscles, your job is done. Besides, you think to yourself... "who on earth is going to research this and find out what I did?" so you save it (and maybe publish it) and leave to go and have some roti canai with your buddies at the local mamak.

What amazes me the most though, is why would anyone copy another person's blog? So what if you think your life is boring? I'm sure someone out there thinks that your life is interesting enough to read. And if no one does, life doesn't end there.

For this particular case, you could say that the plagiariser was seeking the fame the blogger had in the blogosphere, but then I think it has more to do with the copycat's fascination towards the way he writes, how he builds up suspense with his sentences and his wit. I think it is downright creepy to wake up someday and realise that your thoughts and life have been "borrowed".

But I still can't figure out why anyone would want to copy a blog...

Saturday, September 06, 2008


Somewhere towards the end of 2007, AHD created a blog for the unfit and I joined in as a contributor as were both very interested in increasing our fitness, and thought that the best way to document our endeavors would be to blog about it.

My recent so-called adventures in torture camp however, made me realise just how unfit I was despite my sporadic attempts at running on the treadmill and lifting pathetic weights on my own as I ended up being in terrible pain a few days after I returned once all the adrenaline had worn off, which is why I decided to finally become a member in one of the gyms nearby (about 20 minutes away by car from the house on a non-busy road)

Anyway, just to highlight the reasons why I made this decision after so long, I decided to reproduce one of the entries I made in that particular blog way back then with new comments that picture the situation I observed in the past few days of going to the said gym.


Being fit is in the rage right now, and with gymnasiums sprouting in every other place, it seems a bit odd if we are not members in any gym. Since 2005, I've been searching for a gym to join as I don't trust myself to be able to consistently fit in a fitness regime into my crazy schedule, but have put it off for countless reasons, the main one being procrastination.

Here are the rest in no particular order:

1. Have you noticed how everyone in the gym looks buffed up and fit and look great in their tights (shudder). Not a very inviting thought to the unfit.
(Actually, only the trainers look buffed up. Normal people in the gym, look like normal people, flyers and advertisements are only for beauty purposes)

2. I have fears that everyone else will be able to run on the treadmill, whereas, I the unfit, will start hyperventilating after 2 minutes of slow running.

(People don't really run, either... it's mainly a jog - but I don't hyperventilate, only my sides ache... sad :( )

3. The same goes with weights...
(I'm still learning to use all the equipment. So far, nothing bad has happened)

4. I'm afraid the trainer will laugh at me behind my back... "Can you believe, I've never seen anyone as unfit as her before. Hahahaha!" he will say to another trainer
(Well, I can't be too sure about that, because I don't know what's happening behind my back! But the trainer is very encouraging, so it makes me feel pretty good!)

5. I'll train on my own first before actually joining a gym!
(Yeah, right.... sniggers )

6. The gym wont run away.
(True..., but time doesn't wait!)

I can't describe how glad I am for actually doing this!

Thursday, September 04, 2008


I have unfortunately and regrettably reached the age where people around me (parents, aunts, uncles, friends??) seem to have ganged up together against me in promoting an instution that until about a year ago has always somewhat taken a back seat in conversations, and barely approached save for the occasional "so when?" The thing is, these people are all under the impression that you will be happy only if you have someone by your side without giving a thought about what actually will make you happy.

It is with a certain degree of horror that I suddenly find relatives(?) I've never even spoken to (or even knew of, for that matter) asking my parents about my existence (which is so weird... how did they even know I existed, and where were they when I was doing my family tree project for school?) because they happen to know 'ahem' some nice people around my age.

Two days ago, I went for lunch with a work friend, and as we were going back to the workplace she suddenly blurted out about how she knows someone who is looking for a girl and would I be interested in being introduced?

I gave a small laugh and felt like a mouse cornered by a dozen cats (mainly because I was in her car). She continued with a brief description of the guy. At the end of it, I found a loophole; she said he was spiritual, and that's not something I particularly like in a person! Phew....

Anyway, this short exchange led me to recollect another incident that happened quite awhile ago, and since I'm not so troubled about it anymore, I thought I'd share it here, because now I think it's funny. Or perhaps my funny bone is truly damaged...

So, earlier this year, I got into an exchange of phone messages with an old friend of mine whom I haven't heard from for quite a bit in an otherwise uneventful afternoon. (Can't remember the exact words, but what's typed out here gives a gist of what transpired, and as usual I have added my thoughts in parentheses)

Friend: Hi terra. This may sound weird, but i just want to know if you're seeing anyone. Are your parents looking for anyone for you? Please reply :-) (Oh, and she adds a smiley! With a nose...)

Me: Hey (friend's name) How are you? Well, I'm not seeing anyone right now, and as for the parents, I'm not really sure. Hehehe.. your message almost made me have a heart attack! (I pretend to laugh in spite of myself...I could've written more, but I was too lazy to type)

Friend: Sorry bout that. My aunt saw your photo in my wedding album and has been asking about you eversince. Is it ok if I pass them your parents number? (Oh wow!I haven't seen that photo before, and since I'm not particularly photogenic can I have a copy???)

Friend: If you're not ok pls let me know. Sorry ok. Oh, I'm ok.

Me: I have to ask my parents first. Is it alright if I message you another day? (in a state of complete panic, I give that sorry excuse of an excuse. My parents might've been delighted, actually... sigh)

And to make things even worse, she actually informed me that her cousin is ok looking and is in a good job. (Fine, that's not really such a bad thing, but I thought it was too much to handle then, in fact I have doubts as to whether I can handle it at all, even like say 5 years from now!)

The truth is, I had written a rigmarole which would make this post twice (or maybe even more) as long as what it is now, but reading it again makes me feel terribly silly... not that I have anything against silliness. But I feel that this post shall end here :)

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

Not Just a Movie

How far do you think ahead when making a decision to do something? Could you possibly gauge what may happen as a result of you throwing a sharp stone into the water just for the sake of throwing a stone? What if the stone punctures a drum at the bottom of the lake and the drum actually contains poisonous chemicals that had been illegally dumped there? What if poeple use the water and everyone dies?

The question crossed my mind as I was putting away the Babel DVD about two years after most people have watched it (For the record, I'm not much of a movie person)

It was interesting to observe how the four different stories were brought together despite the fact that they were from four different places that spoke different languages. I think one of the messages the movie was trying to tell us is about how important communication is and the effects of miscommunication as well as what could possibly happen when people's actions are misintepreted due to cultural differences and discriminate stereotyping!

On the other hand, a subtle message from the movie is how much trouble can ensue from split second actions that are done without thinking through, or actions that you are forced to take because of the situation you're in. And then things spiral out of control... and all you can say is "I did something stupid"

Despite it being 'only a movie', you cannot deny that it could possibly happen to 'real people' around us as well. The thought of it is just plain distressing and depressing...

Anyway, on another more cheerful and totally unrelated note... I take this opportunity to wish my Muslim blog friends a Happy Ramadan.