I get more high from conjuring one-liners with a well-placed full stop in my Facebook status update than blogging in paragraphs.
And I spent an afternoon replying to comments in FB, racking my brain for witty (I hope) comebacks and having a hell of an unlicensed (I bet) fun.
What is a writer to do with the lures of publishing short lines that say so much with so little, with the added euphoria when someone “liked” it? No doubt, the sense of achievement is fleeting, what with it being pushed back by newer posts in the news feed page. It may quite possibly never see daylight again… but the gratification of seeing it published can rival that of updating my blog. It means at least I’m still capable of making sentences.
What happened? I used to be a paragraphs kind of girl – the whole slow and steady relationship, not this sort of exciting but temporary quickies. Writing used to be a slow simmer, with a dash of spice, a sprinkle of nice and taken, ideally, with a pinch of salt. It’s supposed to be craftsmanship. Now, my writing is just mass-produced nonsensical banters, packaged in glitter to pass off as gold. The manufacturing is too quick, too painless, too easy – one status update replacing the other with just a click.
Heck, you can even “unlike” something that you’ve “liked” a moment ago. Where is the loyalty, the principle, the attention span?!
Okay, I’m getting too worked up. It must be the heat.
I just need to get back into the spirit of blogging again. I need to write like it matters, because it does, even if only to me =)
* * *
It is liberating to roam the streets of KL in bumpy bus rides again.
Taking the public transport is a hassle that I have learnt to love. Of course, like anyone who has walked out of peak-hour KTM rides alive, I can recite the perks of driving my own car in one breath (though I must admit I can hold my breath pretty long, what with all that training in the, haha, trains). However, part of me is still the same girl who takes pride in knowing which bus goes where and the trick to stand in a moving vehicle without holding onto anything.
After all, I have been relying on public transports for as long as I can remember. The loud chatters among the passengers, the ghostly wails from the train as it speeds through the tunnels, the fight for personal space, the invasive odor from someone’s economy rice or cologne (amazingly, they can smell exactly the same), the couples who clings onto each other, the fashionable crowd (of course, it depends on which country you are viewing them from), the selekeh majority, the expressionless faces staring into fake iPods, or cellphones, or newspapers, or Novel Cinta, or that girl’s legs… Ah, it’s good to be home… I mean, on the way home.
As much as I hate public transport for the crowd, I also love it for the people. You never get such colourful mass anywhere else. And every time I watch them, their antics and energy, their conscious and subconscious behaviours, their little Malaysian quirks, it was like an education about reality, and life.
It also reminds me that heck, we are never truly alone.
Not when my back keeps bumping on the man’s behind me, no matter how I tried to keep still.
And not when the guy next to you in the train publicly shared his arguments on why Zouk is better than other clubs (apparently it’s cheaper and you still score chicks). I’m sure it was meant to be a private conversation between him and his pal, but you know how it is, sound travel and the dude made no attempts to stop the journey.
Also not when a granny motioned at me enthusiastically to take the seat beside her once I board the bus, and launched into discussing her daily travels using her senior citizen card (she was quite proud of it. 50% off all rides sial), my line of work, and inevitably, the horror crime stories – each more dramatic and unbelievable than the last.
And especially not when a woman in the next row of seats kept turning her head to give me and the granny very obvious, very puzzled stares.
The granny, like any self-respectable senior citizen can, also handed me a slice of Reality.
After filling me in on the latest crazy crime tactics that would inspire investors in the direction of CSI: Kuala Lumpur, granny told me that “If I see young people like you in trouble, I will not help. If you all get hurt, you can heal. But if the bad guy starts chasing me and I fall down, I may not heal at all. So, I better take care of myself first.”
She also went on to enlightened me about how all her friends will do the same. She even has Examples.
The granny was dignified. Worse, she is also right.
How do you argue with an argument like that? Boy, this human ethics thing surely is mind-boggling.
oh oh, my attempt towards fake polaroids =D
Nah, a bit the too fake. Here's a proper pic.
