Subangite again

In a whirl, I’m home.

And behind me trails a nation of junk, dust and stuff. I never knew half a room can tuck away so much of mess. My stuff in PJ filled plastic bags after plastic bags, and it just keeps coming. As I dragged the wretched amount of bursting plastic bags to the front door, my mind was a total blank.

Now, it sank in a little. I’m back in Subang, junk attached, PJ key returned.

This is my home, now. No where else.

Hmm.

Okay it probably hasn’t reaaaally sank in yet ‘cos I’m actually feeling pretty calm about it. I mean, yeah I miss PJ and I especially miss the unrestricted freedom to pak toh, yum cha and generally hang out, but I’m not exactly in hysterics yet. Three years of not staying at home and suddenly move back to home-cooked food, fresh laundries and well-mopped floor? I must be insane to feel this sane.

To the chagrin of my friends who are still in exam, I need to announce something: I had my last paper. I officially graduated.

If it’s any consolation, I’m not celebrating. At least, not until I get this eyesore of a junk mountain cleared out and stashed away first.

I’ll party, but first let me pack. Gosh, I really am my mother’s daughter.

Okay, that’s it. I’m done getting these incoherencies off my chest. Excuse my crusted brain - they say you are what you eat and I’ve been eating dust all afternoon.Just want to announce that I am back in Subang so PLEASE DRAG ME OUT.

**Special thanks to mummy for wading through the ancient dune in my room to help me pack my stuff, and hardly nagged at all. ^.^

Blame the heat

In the risk of repeating the recent cliché, I want to scream – THE WEATHER IS TOO DAMN HOT.

It melted my determination to churn out the two writings for my boss – come what temperature may my foot. It fired up my desire to just procrastinate.

To cool myself down (the other option is to kick myself, but it will cause me to sweat even more and procrastinate even more and kick myself even more and gosh, I’m babbling. It’s the heat.)… Anyway, to cool myself down, I went to Deviantart to search for pictures of cooling, pictures of cold, pictures of hot weather, pictures of ice and finally, pictures of ice creams.

Every search result was an educational ride of the human anatomy, which, in their creative range of possibilities (I never knew there were so many angles to a… protruding region) were all contented to be filed under “artistic nude”.

In the Internet, you don’t search for sex. Sex comes knocking on your desktop, even though what you really ordered was ice cream (or any ***-damned pictures to make the weather marginally more inhabitable).

Anyway, in the spirit of pushing important work till the last minute, I conducted an over-enthusiastic search for a picture that I could put on my MSN display. Something that feels refreshingly cool and breezy and up-lifting.

Okay, maybe something that’s refreshingly cool and breezy.

Erm, something considerably chilly, perhaps?

Fine, give me a nice ice-cream pic.

Argh anything that’s wearing clothes, then.

I gave up.

(Okay that was perhaps exaggerated. There were a lot of pictures that were not sexually motivated, and I even found a pretty good picture of an ice cream. But you know lah in this irritable climate if you see soooo many bodies that are so much hotter than yours you will feel as potong stim as me. Or maybe you will feel exactly the opposite. =X)

Anyway, in the spirit of giving up, I happily went to pimp an ice cream:

Whee~ I pimp wan. Not easy okay I have to arrange the marshmallows one by one and surround the cherry with multi-coloured beans thingie – all in the absence of having an actual ice cream to eat. Damn torture I tell you!

Oh, then in the spirit of pimping (what can I say, I’m a spirited young woman), I decided to pimp a monster too.

Is this considered artistic nude? Can see belly button wor.

I also pimp-ed my own stick man. Wa-chaa!!!

And finally, I pimp-ed a pastry (yes it was a pastry before the eyes and all. Whoever knew you can do that?)

Maniacal confectionary monsters that is both scared of and craving for a balloon is sooo my thing.

Well, I eventually forced myself out of DA and completed one work. Woohoo! Sometimes you really have to let the procrastination kick in and go with the flow I guess. Okay, guess I shouldn’t encourage you guys more eh? XD

Emo Goodbye

Tomorrow is my last class as an EL undergrad.

Yesterday was our last afternoon badminton game as uni-mates.

Last Friday was the last time Yi Huieh, Seok Ping, Jacq and me typing to each other frantically through MSN discussing assignment, presentation, and how we are all going to die.

The end of this month would be my last day staying in PJ.

I am, in want of a more intense description, overwhelmed. There are too many “lasts” on things that I’ve been taking for granted. The classes in the bare but kecoh PC block, the wobbling mountains of assignments, the immense pressure of juggling academics, activities, DSA affairs and procrastination – they all seemed never-ending. Until now.

Pardon me if I’m incoherent. I can barely manage typing now. My brain is trying to refrain from crashing due to the sudden realization that I Am Really Going to Graduate.

The memories of the past three years cannot be condensed into one blog entry, nor can it be translated into mere writing. It would do no justice to the people who have made it all wonderful and great for me. It would also do no honour to the heights that we managed to scale – together.

I am also afraid to recount the memories, because the dam may crumble.

All I can say is – Thank You. I never expected uni life to be this good. It was a complete privilege to have all of you in my life. It was marvelous, and it’s a pity we could only be undergrad once.

Bye, and take care. Do keep in touch!

Now, excuse me while I attempt to hammer some online journalism theories into my emo brain.

Picture Memory

With all due suspicion on zodiac predictions, apparently 2009 is a bad year for us Rabbits.

Case in point – my almost-trampled plan to go US for one year. I’ve dreamt about landing in the US for as long as I can remember. There is just something in that country which draws me. I want to work and travel there, and maybe do my Masters programme. Malaysia’s cool (not literally, of course), but there is this burning desire to see a world so different from the life I had known. And now, I finally, finally, earned enough money for me to join the au pair programme, and also got my parent’s support.

And wham – recession rolled over my dream; resulting in my now-paper-thin chances of being hired as an au pair.

Oh well, to quote the cliché: OMGWTFBBQ (actually as cliché goes I actually think this one is pretty cool. The “bbq” is ingenious to add that extremely frustrated feeling that no coherent speech can express, and implies that in tulan-ness, stuff coherence. But of course as usual me over-analysing stuff just kills all fun. Hrmph, wtf. And bbq, of course.)

I don’t know if the slim chance of going US is an indication of a bad year ahead. All I know if that I’m not going to let some Feng Shui spoil my spirits.

I think I’m laughing a lot more these days, anyway, considering sueh year and all.

I just had a heck lot of laughter over dinner with my ex-boss and ex-colleagues. Technically, they’re still my boss and colleagues because I’m freelancing for them as well. I can’t remember what on earth we laughed about, but my chest got this residue of giggles left. No wonder they say laughter is the best work out. You just sit down and talk crap – I can do that all day.

Speaking of work out, I took a walk in KL for a while just now, and boy, it feels good.

I love KL. If I have the money I would buy the t-shirt. But alas, it’s the thought (not the t-shirt) that counts. I love looking at this city caught between modern architecture and nostalgic stubbornness. I love the shops and houses that aged on their own pace. I love the people that just carelessly spill into every street without putting on manners, charm or even, matching clothes. I love roadside pisang goreng stalls that smell of heavenly grease and dust since morning.

I saw so many things while walking, waiting for the bus, taking the bus, waiting again for the bus, and finally, walking to the office. I took zero pictures, because somehow, it seems like I had no right to freeze any of these scene.

Or rather, taking a picture would spoil the moment. Some things are meant to be immersed in.

I saw a lone, tiny house sandwiched between rows of factories. Chickens were crossing the road. I didn’t ask why.

I saw a postman, in his full uniform, riding a motorcycle with his girlfriend clinging on to his back. I never associated postmen with anything other than mails. Half-covered face bringing us the daily bills. For some reason, the postman-and-girlfriend-on-motorbike scene perked me up.

Followed closely behind, another motorcycle. A middle aged man with his pillion rider - wrinkly, frail, but beaming toothlessly. And without a helmet. Dangerous bugger, I smiled to myself.

I saw a taxi-driver laughing while his passenger gestured animatedly.

I saw many more taxis. The drivers glanced at us at the bus-stops, all hopeful and possibly, tweaked meters.

I saw an ice-cream seller whizzed pass, followed closely by a putu mayam seller.

I made small talks with an auntie at the bus stop, complaining about the buses that take forever to come, the baffling traffic jam at 4 p.m., the hot sun, and the busses that take forever to come.

I watched an old man watched me from the rubbish pile he was sitting on. No one won because I crossed the road. No chicken asked why.

The bus I was on followed an old truck carrying recyclable materials.

An old lady was bending by the roadside, under the searing sun, picking up worthy trash from the smelly pile. Global warming laughed at her.

A well-dressed executive was reading a newspaper, teapot and cup laid out in front of him on a mahjong table. The fan whirred above him. In the not-so-distant afternoon heat, his car was being examined by a lone mechanic.

Graffiti was scrawled hurriedly on a wall. To paraphrase, the author used mere two words to describe his thrusting excellence in areas where productivity and pleasure meets – but, in his humbleness, chose to leave out his signature.

Walk on, babeh.

Typing diarhoeaaasjuehbvrigurhgikrjgne

I just ran the full 15 pages in my personal FYP Marathon.

12 hours of typing and brain-squeezing and groaning is 12 hours too long.

I need to play a game now. I can’t decide what.

I should really stop typing. 12 hours was all it took to instill a habit in me.

Oh ya I’m supposed to be reminding myself to stop procrastinating because today is an experience I do not want to re-live.

But woot lookie I’ve got sore fingers and 15 pages full of things I can’t remember and an urge to hit ctrl+a and del. Like you watch a fire burn and your fingers are itching to touch it. Like you see engine oil and got an urge to drink it. Like you see doors creaking for no reason and got a chilly wind making all your hair stand and got light bulbs going on and off and got blood all over the wall and you still want to investigate it. Like you see deserted back alleys and you still want to walk it, preferably while dangling your bag and gossiping on the phone.

I’m not suicidal. I’m just Malaysian – nothing will happen to me wan lah.

Can ctrl+z also mah.

Why is undoing easier than eliminating? That’s like teaching bad culture.

I need to stop typing.

Almost forgot, Obama!

Project: Woman? (test shots)

When the Canon Photomarathon event was announcing the winning shots, I overheard a dialogue:

Fashionista-cum-DSLR-holder 1: [upturned, well-plucked eyebrow] Ini gambar-gambar yang menang? Macam tak best pun.

FCDH 2: Ah? Yalah... Oh ini kategori Compact Digital Camera lah. Nanti baru DSLR punya.

FCDH 1: Oh betul? Cheh... Macam ni gambar tu not bad jugak lah. Kan guna camera macam ni saja kan [points to her friend's Sony compact camera].

Upon eavesdropping on the conversation, I wanted to applaud really loudly. I mean, really really loudly. Preferably right beside their ears - with a megaphone.

Because it does not mean that when we use a smaller camera with lesser resolution and functions to match, we have smaller passion (and ego).

Because photography is about the photographer, not the gear.

I wanted to applaud the conversation, because it gives me the resolution to prove them wrong.

I don't know if my skills can ever prove them wrong - but who cares? I have friends who already did (you know who you are ^^).

I present Project: Woman? - for want of a better name.

It's political, it's subjective, it's spontaneous fun.

It's not bad jugak, IMO.

Dedicated to the Simon Cowells in all of us. So go on, do tambah/tembak ais.

Sticky Issues... Stop fussing.

Battery Low... No one can go on forever.
Have you recharged a loved one today?

Up?... When life strikes you down,
look up and see the light.

Prickly Weight... Smile for the camera,
nevertheless, 'cause that's what ladies do.

Admire... "... Men act and women appear . Men look at women. Women watched themselves being looked at... The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed female. Thus she turns herself into an object - and most particularly an object of vision: a sight."
- John Berger in Ways of Seeing

Carbon-copied... 'Cause beneath it all we are branded, marked, and mass-produced - especially in areas that we never checked.

The Stiletto Condition... Who needs to beat us into submission? We gladly step into it.



Denial is Bliss... All is well.
Yes, it must be.
I'm just gonna pull this lower.



Cover me Beautiful... We always feel that we need to cover ourselves with something better. Maybe you're born with it. But who cares? Use Maybelline.

Survive... Trudge on - past attached.

No DSLR was exploited in this photo shoot*

* If me crouching in various awkward positions in front of the dolls in my dingy room counted as a photo shoot, that is.

23 more shots of Project: Woman? in my Deviantart.

Happy Mew Year

No amount of dread could hold back the coming of 2009.

So what the heck – HAPPY NEW YEAR KAKI-KAKI SEKALIAN!

Well, actually I’m not dragging my feet that much anymore into the new year. It was scary at first to think that 2009 will be the year I take my FINAL semester, graduate and err, blank. I don’t have my life figured out, and for the first time that is fine – and I say this without bursting into tears and start spamming Job Street with resumes (come to think of it, you can do that right? Right?). But of course, the prospect of me washing toilets is still very real, to the extent that I read it in the headlines everyday – right between the lines of “More Economic Pain in 2009”. So, yes, new year very scary.

But as always the habit of new year is to stride in no matter how unprepared you feel, or how depressed you are, or how you are still stuck in the jam trying to remember why countdown on new year’s eve sounded like a good idea, or how little beer you have to serve your barrel of guests, or how you can’t even remember what was your last year’s resolution to recycle it. And as the clock hits 12, the fireworks blasted and the sigh released, I realized that well, it’s also just another new day. Live well; one day at a time. Even the Bible say must okay. So, new year, fear not! Much!

With that load in the chest removed, Sayang and I went around chasing fireworks.

Yep, we didn’t plan to see any fireworks or do any countdown. Come to think of it, I’ve never count down before. My holistic development ensured that I went straight from curfew-at-6p.m. to too-old-for-this-stuff. So, Bryan and I just spent New Year’s Eve in each other’s arms watching some bloke movie that is so dumb I had to laugh non-stop. I laugh at anything these days.

Now, I’m not going to do a disclaimer like “yeah we’re boring” unless you show me any rulebook in this world that decreed “fun” as partying, boozing and go crazy only. Even if there is such a rulebook, I’ll probably ignore it. So celebs, please don’t keep telling the world that you are boring because you “prefer to stay at home and watch DVDs/cook/read/take bubble bath/surf for PO…litics”. If it’s fun for you, then so be it!

Anyway, I digressed. So yeah, Bryan and me, the a-bit-like-old-couple-but-NOT-boring duo did not count down. But as he was sending me home we caught glimpses of fireworks in many directions so we just drove around trying to find out where it’s coming from. After that we had some heart-to-heart talk in the car, and he kissed me goodnight and voila! 2009 is here.

What We Did on New Year’s Day:


Just before Bryan was supposed to bring me to dinner, I opened the door and heard loud and urgent “mews” from my longkang. Sounded something like MEWMEWMEWMEWMEWMEWMEWMEWMEW and the list goes on. And since everybody knows curiosity only kills the cat and not humans, Bryan and me decide to investigate by paying a visit to my much-neglected, weed-infested longkang. There it was, a shivering kitty struggling to climb out.

And all… motherly instincts broke loose.




Bryan ‘rescued’ it from the longkang. The mew-ing got even louder and urgent. We decided that there was probably a misunderstanding – kitty didn’t seem happy being ‘rescued’. No harm done. We decide it was probably hungry. Rushed out to buy some milk. Poured out milk into a plastic spoon so that Kitty can drink from it. Misunderstanding again, it appears, as Kitty didn’t seem to have grasped the concept of ‘drinking’ yet. A little more pestering, and KITTY DRANK! LICKED! WHATEVER YOU CALL IT!

Got Milk?

And Bryan melted into a puddle of goo.

A few minutes later, Kitty didn’t want anymore milk and it just kept mew-ing. And we are so inexperienced in taking care of stray animals that we had no idea what to do. I can’t keep it – either my Dad or my landlord will flip; and Bryan’s dog would probably eat it or become emo (it just haaaates cats). So in the end, hoping that Kitty’s mommy will come back soon, we put Kitty back where we found her.

When I got back, Kitty was gone. Well, I hope its safe with its mummy now. I hope that we had been a little help to this poor, cute kitten, and hopefully, it will look back one day as a grown cat and remember how two inept adults tried to save its life on New Year’s Day.

Bryan, on the other hand, was heartbroken that Kitty was gone.

In his anguish, Bryan unleashed his artistic prowess.

Nothing like starting the new year with a MEW.

Enjoy 2009 people!