Mix the inability to sing with a gagged self-consciousness and you get a deadly, or at least deaf-ly concoction.
You get me, too.
Had my virgin karaoke session with Bry, Vic (she's leaving for Aus! *WAILS*), Kelv, Jee and Pauline and I had these cool peeps to thank for the eye-opening, as well as ear-drums ripping experience. I never knew discovering that I lack the ability to keep on tune can be so fun. I should do more of such self-discoveries (they are already talking about an ice-skating session, which I would inevitably meet my two left feet. Blood will spill, mostly on my part. Can’t wait!)
The best part is this karaoke session charged through my stereotypes of what “singing K” is all about, leaving me high and dry (poor throat, traumatized by the sudden rush of unfamiliar work it had to undertake today). I always thought karaoke is a bit cheesy, and consists of a few people in a room swinging their bodies left and right to overplayed hits. The reality, of course, is not very much different – save for the fact that in our room, it was much cheesier, way more swinging than was healthy for our age, and the overplayed hits generally oversang.
I screeched more than I sang. It was too fun to be polite. Sorry, hons, that your ears had to go through such atrocity such as my voice. Next time, I’ll bring everyone earplugs – with colours that match the “mike-doms” of course =P
Note to gang - we gotta do this again! You can’t possibly let me sing “Hot and Cold” and “Wannabe” only once. And I haven’t had enough of that Mika falsetto yet!
On a somber note:
“Too lazy lah”
This is the only quote from Yasmin Ahmad which I remember – it was published a while ago, when the reporter asked Yasmin why didn’t they correct the lighting in Sepet, as some complained that the lighting was too dark in certain scenes.
And Yasmin answered along the lines of, “Lazy lah.”
When it came from Yasmin, it was not an excuse. It was honesty, confidence, and a refreshing surprise – just like her movies and her advertisements. It was Malaysian, through and through.
We lost her today. May we never lose her spirit.
Rest in peace, Yasmin Ahmad.
And in the spirit of Malaysia:
Monday, July 27, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Overdue - Thoughts on Dark Knight
I wrote this for my blog a looong while back, but it never got around to seeing daylight. Just rummaging through some old saved posts and found it again. Oh well, time for its' resurrection :)
It’s kinda scary when freaks start philosophizing.
Most of the time, it is because we are afraid that, this time, they might have gotten us really figured out.
Maybe it really takes someone out of our little system to see what’s wrong.
Maybe the joker really knows the truth.
I like Dark Knight. Not for the storyline, the characters, the things that blow up, the things that are better off blown up, nor the Christian Bale whom everyone gushed about on their MSN personal message. Not even the witty exchange between Wayne and Alfred, although I’m usually a sucker for these things.
I like Dark Knight because it isn’t as corny as its name. I like the questions it posed; the open challenge to our beliefs of heroes, of truth, of loneliness, of freaks.
And I like this Joker. A being not in control of his tongue, let alone his mind. A mind so brilliant that it could only burst out of its skull; an outlook on life so blunt that it could only made him laugh. Personally, I believe the Joker killed Heath Ledger. The character was too surreal, too disturbing, that perhaps the only way to be it is to put on the make-up, and in a way, put on its mind.
Dark Knight stripped humanity bare, seemingly to humiliate it, but in actual fact to test it.
Remember the whole scene of which-ship-will-bomb-which-ship-first? In the spur of the moment when morality, ethics, and humanity lay in the mercy of a single button, my breath dangled before the abyss. And when the bulky inmate threw out the bomb detonator and chose not to kill anyone, not even when he himself could be killed, I felt a wash of relief and felt my inner devil strangled. A feeling incomprehensible to people who haven’t just watched that scene.
“Just do it” is a myth – sometimes the right thing to say is actually “just don’t do it”.
As one wrestler in Tony Parson’s novel said, sometimes you just gotta do the human thing.
Every good movie has A Moment. The whole scene of who-will-push-the-button-first is The Moment in Dark Knight.
I’m glad humans disappointed the joker, so he could not have his last laugh.
It’s kinda scary when freaks start philosophizing.
Most of the time, it is because we are afraid that, this time, they might have gotten us really figured out.
Maybe it really takes someone out of our little system to see what’s wrong.
Maybe the joker really knows the truth.
I like Dark Knight. Not for the storyline, the characters, the things that blow up, the things that are better off blown up, nor the Christian Bale whom everyone gushed about on their MSN personal message. Not even the witty exchange between Wayne and Alfred, although I’m usually a sucker for these things.
I like Dark Knight because it isn’t as corny as its name. I like the questions it posed; the open challenge to our beliefs of heroes, of truth, of loneliness, of freaks.
And I like this Joker. A being not in control of his tongue, let alone his mind. A mind so brilliant that it could only burst out of its skull; an outlook on life so blunt that it could only made him laugh. Personally, I believe the Joker killed Heath Ledger. The character was too surreal, too disturbing, that perhaps the only way to be it is to put on the make-up, and in a way, put on its mind.
Dark Knight stripped humanity bare, seemingly to humiliate it, but in actual fact to test it.
Remember the whole scene of which-ship-will-bomb-which-ship-first? In the spur of the moment when morality, ethics, and humanity lay in the mercy of a single button, my breath dangled before the abyss. And when the bulky inmate threw out the bomb detonator and chose not to kill anyone, not even when he himself could be killed, I felt a wash of relief and felt my inner devil strangled. A feeling incomprehensible to people who haven’t just watched that scene.
“Just do it” is a myth – sometimes the right thing to say is actually “just don’t do it”.
As one wrestler in Tony Parson’s novel said, sometimes you just gotta do the human thing.
Every good movie has A Moment. The whole scene of who-will-push-the-button-first is The Moment in Dark Knight.
I’m glad humans disappointed the joker, so he could not have his last laugh.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
17 again
I forgot it was so simple.
Being crazy, acting kecoh, wasting money, vandalizing, laughing too hard – happy are those who are 17, and lucky are those who have not forgotten how to relive it.
Roya and I had the blessing to be the latter today. We went back to our alma mater – SMK Subang Utama for its Hari Keluarga and man, it was a whole lot of fun. The best part is, I am not even sure why. Seems to me, after certain retrospection while shampooing my hair just now, that all we did was just wasting too much coupons on sugar, talking too much during the magic show we decided to catch, recognizing people that we probably never knew (though we weren’t sure), posing stupidly for too many pictures, drooling over the students’ “I ♥ SU” t-shirts (OMG I SO THE WANT ONE!!!) and generally trespassing into all the places that we shouldn’t be at (nyahahaha five years in a place which never has enough pas keluar in a class forces you to know the secret entrances and exits).
It was a trip down the memory lane. We visited old classrooms which, by the look of it, still get the same treatment from students even after all these years – for example, there are still dried tissue papers stuck to the ceilings and the paint on the lab tables was partially peeled off. We scoffed at the newly built blocks that are sitting on what was previously our hockey and volleyball court. We laughed at all the notice boards of clubs and societies, and went o.O at the fact that Interact Club marked a “Count-your-eyelashes-day!” and “Say-Hi-to-A-Bug Day!” on their club calendar. We read tables well-scribbled and commended the authors/artists/wordsmiths efforts in keeping up with the fine traditions of Xpressing Yourself. We bumped into our ex-teachers and the canteen lady, and they all said that we looked the same after all these years.
Oh, and we thought that Taylor’s College should learn the word “overkill”, because its name popped out all over the school, on every signboards that it sponsored. And boy, it sponsored A LOT of signboards.
It was our school. Those were our tables. There sold our favourite Nasi Goreng Pedas – still the best nasi goreng ever, IMO. Granted, something is different about the school. The wall murals have changed and looked more gorgeous than ever, the toilets have been renovated and looked tackier than ever, and well, Roya observed that kids are getting hotter these days. That is true – everywhere we look there seems to be teens of mixed ethnicity (probably the exotic kind) on the loose.
I miss being 17. I miss my friends. I miss being kecoh with them in school. I miss playing ballet/hip-hop/feng-tau football. I miss recess time. I miss all the dingy bengkel and back-breaking stools in the lab. I miss complaining about them with my friends. I miss having angka giliran (almost forgotten the existence of that word). I miss being nerd with my species Tau Foo and being sarcastic with my other species VV. I miss face-painting during Hari Keluarga and got a bad sun-burn and freaking Wan Qi out.
Viva la 17!
Being crazy, acting kecoh, wasting money, vandalizing, laughing too hard – happy are those who are 17, and lucky are those who have not forgotten how to relive it.
Roya and I had the blessing to be the latter today. We went back to our alma mater – SMK Subang Utama for its Hari Keluarga and man, it was a whole lot of fun. The best part is, I am not even sure why. Seems to me, after certain retrospection while shampooing my hair just now, that all we did was just wasting too much coupons on sugar, talking too much during the magic show we decided to catch, recognizing people that we probably never knew (though we weren’t sure), posing stupidly for too many pictures, drooling over the students’ “I ♥ SU” t-shirts (OMG I SO THE WANT ONE!!!) and generally trespassing into all the places that we shouldn’t be at (nyahahaha five years in a place which never has enough pas keluar in a class forces you to know the secret entrances and exits).
It was a trip down the memory lane. We visited old classrooms which, by the look of it, still get the same treatment from students even after all these years – for example, there are still dried tissue papers stuck to the ceilings and the paint on the lab tables was partially peeled off. We scoffed at the newly built blocks that are sitting on what was previously our hockey and volleyball court. We laughed at all the notice boards of clubs and societies, and went o.O at the fact that Interact Club marked a “Count-your-eyelashes-day!” and “Say-Hi-to-A-Bug Day!” on their club calendar. We read tables well-scribbled and commended the authors/artists/wordsmiths efforts in keeping up with the fine traditions of Xpressing Yourself. We bumped into our ex-teachers and the canteen lady, and they all said that we looked the same after all these years.
Oh, and we thought that Taylor’s College should learn the word “overkill”, because its name popped out all over the school, on every signboards that it sponsored. And boy, it sponsored A LOT of signboards.
It was our school. Those were our tables. There sold our favourite Nasi Goreng Pedas – still the best nasi goreng ever, IMO. Granted, something is different about the school. The wall murals have changed and looked more gorgeous than ever, the toilets have been renovated and looked tackier than ever, and well, Roya observed that kids are getting hotter these days. That is true – everywhere we look there seems to be teens of mixed ethnicity (probably the exotic kind) on the loose.
I miss being 17. I miss my friends. I miss being kecoh with them in school. I miss playing ballet/hip-hop/feng-tau football. I miss recess time. I miss all the dingy bengkel and back-breaking stools in the lab. I miss complaining about them with my friends. I miss having angka giliran (almost forgotten the existence of that word). I miss being nerd with my species Tau Foo and being sarcastic with my other species VV. I miss face-painting during Hari Keluarga and got a bad sun-burn and freaking Wan Qi out.
Viva la 17!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Happy-can't-remember-what
It’s an annual thing now.
Not only my birthday, but also the moping.
Another year older in three hours time.
Another day in three hours time, too.
I don’t feel excited, or miserable. In fact, it would feel like just any other night, save for the incessant inner nagging that I should be feeling excited, or miserable.
Nothing is happening. And I don’t expect anything to. Truly. Yeah, I said that too many times. “I don’t expect anything to happen” – and then went on to bawl my eyes out when nothing did. I remember last year - I was so emo because no one seemed to remember my birthday. Then, my friends went and do their magic and it became my best birthday ever. For that, I am still thankful (and bashful, thanks to The Amazing Roya).
But this year, I don’t feel a thing.
I just sit in my room, preparing my lesson plan for tomorrow, doing the obligatory birthday post, too drugged with paracetamol to write anything remotely funny, bopping my head to Jack Johnson’s Hope.
Lyrics so deep I’m still struggling to understand.
Even though I’m just paddling on the surface of the song, somehow it feels like it is speaking to me. I feel like I’m missing something.
Oh yeah, my birthday. That’s what.
My birthday wish is that I am not having H1N1 flu.
Try and top that for Ways to Keep People Away during Your Birthday.
SMSes still welcomed though. Virus doesn’t spread virtually, unless you are talking about computer bugs and stupidity.
By the way, thanks for the early wishes =)
And thanks to all of YOU for helping me reach where I am today. If there is one thing worth celebrating for, it is YOU.
*Blows a virtual, virus-free kiss*
Not only my birthday, but also the moping.
Another year older in three hours time.
Another day in three hours time, too.
I don’t feel excited, or miserable. In fact, it would feel like just any other night, save for the incessant inner nagging that I should be feeling excited, or miserable.
Nothing is happening. And I don’t expect anything to. Truly. Yeah, I said that too many times. “I don’t expect anything to happen” – and then went on to bawl my eyes out when nothing did. I remember last year - I was so emo because no one seemed to remember my birthday. Then, my friends went and do their magic and it became my best birthday ever. For that, I am still thankful (and bashful, thanks to The Amazing Roya).
But this year, I don’t feel a thing.
I just sit in my room, preparing my lesson plan for tomorrow, doing the obligatory birthday post, too drugged with paracetamol to write anything remotely funny, bopping my head to Jack Johnson’s Hope.
Your reflection is a blur
Out of focus
But in confusion
The frames the sun did burn
At the end of a roll of dellusions
A ghost waiting its turn
Now I see can right through it
It's a warning that nobody heard
It will teach you
To love what you’re afraid of
After it takes away
All that you learn to love
But you don’t
Always
Have to hold to your head
Higher than your heart
Out of focus
But in confusion
The frames the sun did burn
At the end of a roll of dellusions
A ghost waiting its turn
Now I see can right through it
It's a warning that nobody heard
It will teach you
To love what you’re afraid of
After it takes away
All that you learn to love
But you don’t
Always
Have to hold to your head
Higher than your heart
Lyrics so deep I’m still struggling to understand.
Even though I’m just paddling on the surface of the song, somehow it feels like it is speaking to me. I feel like I’m missing something.
Oh yeah, my birthday. That’s what.
My birthday wish is that I am not having H1N1 flu.
Try and top that for Ways to Keep People Away during Your Birthday.
SMSes still welcomed though. Virus doesn’t spread virtually, unless you are talking about computer bugs and stupidity.
By the way, thanks for the early wishes =)
And thanks to all of YOU for helping me reach where I am today. If there is one thing worth celebrating for, it is YOU.
*Blows a virtual, virus-free kiss*
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Anak
At the rate my blog updates are going, you’d think nothing interesting has happened to me of late.
Bugrit. I hate it when you’re right.
But its okay, bloggers like me have survived our diminishing volume in the cyberspace by reporting on interesting things that we saw happened to other people. And boy, have I seen a lot since I start working.
The thing is, when I said that being a teacher means everyday is a new surprise, I had every intention to make it an exaggeration. Which explains why a large part of the surprises everyday consist of the surprise that I can still be surprised.
Working with kids put me on my toes in the same way as teetering on the brink of insanity and undue violence can. Children are capable of ideas, behavior, complaints and excuses that adults hadn’t even discovered yet (although that’s probably a logical fallacy). Whoever think that teachers are boring people clearly leads a misinformed, sheltered and quite possibly, hating-my-job kind of life. Teachers are happening, especially when things tend to happen all around them, sometimes accompanied by cries of “teacher teacher you see him no he beat me first no he laugh at me first no no NO I DON’T CARE!”
A handful they may be, but teaching them was worth it. I suspect that I learn from them even more than they learn from me (the glazed look they give me in class is a hint). They are amazing, exciting and very much adorable.
And what I witnessed yesterday tugged at my heart even more.
The kids had an indoor motivational camp that lasted for two days and one night. It was really fun, and the kids had enjoyed themselves thoroughly while bringing home some important life lessons. Attending this camp with the kids made me appreciate my job even more, because it was an invaluable opportunity to learn and understand children – actually, people in general.
At the end of the camp, the parents joined in for a session where the trainer explained what their children had learnt. The kids then produced a letter they had written for their parents, and loudly sang the song Anak, by Freddie Aguilar, in praise of parents’ sacrifice and love.
It was moving, and a few parents wept.
As I scanned the room, smiling at the children safe in their parents’ embrace, the song went on
And I saw him. One of our naughtiest boys, standing at the front of the room, unconsciously swinging one leg back and forth, his mouth slightly opened. He was not singing. He was staring at the children in their mummies and daddies’ hugs - a strained look in his wide eyes.
Clutched tightly in his hands were his letter to mummy and daddy, who were not there.
As the song rang around me, I stared at his yearning face and felt a stab in my heart.
I salute the parents who would slave for their children, even die for their children. I just hope that they remember to reserve some time for their children, too.
Because next time may be already too late.
Bugrit. I hate it when you’re right.
But its okay, bloggers like me have survived our diminishing volume in the cyberspace by reporting on interesting things that we saw happened to other people. And boy, have I seen a lot since I start working.
The thing is, when I said that being a teacher means everyday is a new surprise, I had every intention to make it an exaggeration. Which explains why a large part of the surprises everyday consist of the surprise that I can still be surprised.
Working with kids put me on my toes in the same way as teetering on the brink of insanity and undue violence can. Children are capable of ideas, behavior, complaints and excuses that adults hadn’t even discovered yet (although that’s probably a logical fallacy). Whoever think that teachers are boring people clearly leads a misinformed, sheltered and quite possibly, hating-my-job kind of life. Teachers are happening, especially when things tend to happen all around them, sometimes accompanied by cries of “teacher teacher you see him no he beat me first no he laugh at me first no no NO I DON’T CARE!”
A handful they may be, but teaching them was worth it. I suspect that I learn from them even more than they learn from me (the glazed look they give me in class is a hint). They are amazing, exciting and very much adorable.
And what I witnessed yesterday tugged at my heart even more.
The kids had an indoor motivational camp that lasted for two days and one night. It was really fun, and the kids had enjoyed themselves thoroughly while bringing home some important life lessons. Attending this camp with the kids made me appreciate my job even more, because it was an invaluable opportunity to learn and understand children – actually, people in general.
At the end of the camp, the parents joined in for a session where the trainer explained what their children had learnt. The kids then produced a letter they had written for their parents, and loudly sang the song Anak, by Freddie Aguilar, in praise of parents’ sacrifice and love.
It was moving, and a few parents wept.
As I scanned the room, smiling at the children safe in their parents’ embrace, the song went on
Child, you don't know, you'll never know how far they'd go
To give you all their love can give
To see you through and God it's true
They'd die for you, if they must, to see you here
To give you all their love can give
To see you through and God it's true
They'd die for you, if they must, to see you here
And I saw him. One of our naughtiest boys, standing at the front of the room, unconsciously swinging one leg back and forth, his mouth slightly opened. He was not singing. He was staring at the children in their mummies and daddies’ hugs - a strained look in his wide eyes.
Clutched tightly in his hands were his letter to mummy and daddy, who were not there.
They'd die for you, if they must, to see you here
As the song rang around me, I stared at his yearning face and felt a stab in my heart.
I salute the parents who would slave for their children, even die for their children. I just hope that they remember to reserve some time for their children, too.
Because next time may be already too late.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Alive and Teaching
I used to tell people that if I ever became a teacher, the national mortality rate will go up.
Ye gawds, I was right.
Don’t worry, the kids are fine and alive. I made sure of that before joining the statistics.
Yes, I started my teaching job three days ago at a kids centre – basic job include homework guidance, and teaching some subjects, plus Creative Writing (whee~). The children are in primary school, and everyday they drove me right up the wall and right down again to make sure they stop fighting/arguing/trying to kill each other.
To their credit, they are too adorable.
Honestly, despite my knackered state of being (this explains the lame jokes and silence-inducing stuff I said during yum-cha session just now. Sorry peeps!), teaching at the centre has been quite fun. My bosses are cool, understanding and VERY BIG on creativity, which is great. The kids, well, most of them are friendly, talkative and generally being kiddy. I’m also happy to say I’ve passed the “Teacher Teacher Remember What’s My Name?” test today.
I still have heck lots to learn. My basic strategy now is just turning my voice a few octaves lower and bellow at the naughty ones. I’m sure there are much more new-age, cool techniques out there and I plan to learn some tricks. I really don’t want to be the hated teacher whose car lays in the peril of begrudging kids. Besides, my voice is cracking.
It is heartening to know that people who say “kids nowadays are so different” are wrong. Kids have always been kids; it is just that a different lifestyle is forced upon them now.
Because a kid just whipped out his Motorola Razr, put on the earphones and ran round and round the playground while giggling and going “waaarrraaaaaaaaagghh”.
Because a 6-year-old boy did not know how to use a swing. Yet, he created his own technique – lying stomach first on the swing and twirl round and round with it while going “wheeeee” – a method which later gained quite a large following from the Older Boys.
Because a bunch of boys chased a remote-controlled helicopter around the field and after a few rounds, they huddled together over the battery-dead toy, waiting for it to recharge.
Because the childish taunting, teasing and insulting never stopped.
Because a 12-year-old boy with emotional problems was teaching a younger boy with ADHD how to play badminton.
Because the ADHD boy had no friends; and his father watched him being taunted, laughed at and complained on by the Other Boys.
Because a mother cried hearing about her son misbehaving.
Because a young girl handed me her cell phone number, carefully written on a flowery and cutesy piece of paper.
Because they have endless tuition, extra classes and not enough time to live.
Because a boy showed me a page in his textbook with wide, pleading eyes – it’s about the steps to make a kite. He wanted to make one, but There Is No Time.
Because he eagerly showed me the next page – children flying kites at a vast, open meadow.
Because my heart melted into a puddle of goo at the sight of them. Quite often.
To all parents and educators, thank you for your battles. Thank you for sticking by us even when we were monsters. Teaching children is really a feat for the fittest.
Time will tell if I am counted within the honourable rank of a teacher, or just someone who passed through these children’s lives. Either way, let’s hope this is one great ride.
Ye gawds, I was right.
Don’t worry, the kids are fine and alive. I made sure of that before joining the statistics.
Yes, I started my teaching job three days ago at a kids centre – basic job include homework guidance, and teaching some subjects, plus Creative Writing (whee~). The children are in primary school, and everyday they drove me right up the wall and right down again to make sure they stop fighting/arguing/trying to kill each other.
To their credit, they are too adorable.
Honestly, despite my knackered state of being (this explains the lame jokes and silence-inducing stuff I said during yum-cha session just now. Sorry peeps!), teaching at the centre has been quite fun. My bosses are cool, understanding and VERY BIG on creativity, which is great. The kids, well, most of them are friendly, talkative and generally being kiddy. I’m also happy to say I’ve passed the “Teacher Teacher Remember What’s My Name?” test today.
I still have heck lots to learn. My basic strategy now is just turning my voice a few octaves lower and bellow at the naughty ones. I’m sure there are much more new-age, cool techniques out there and I plan to learn some tricks. I really don’t want to be the hated teacher whose car lays in the peril of begrudging kids. Besides, my voice is cracking.
It is heartening to know that people who say “kids nowadays are so different” are wrong. Kids have always been kids; it is just that a different lifestyle is forced upon them now.
Because a kid just whipped out his Motorola Razr, put on the earphones and ran round and round the playground while giggling and going “waaarrraaaaaaaaagghh”.
Because a 6-year-old boy did not know how to use a swing. Yet, he created his own technique – lying stomach first on the swing and twirl round and round with it while going “wheeeee” – a method which later gained quite a large following from the Older Boys.
Because a bunch of boys chased a remote-controlled helicopter around the field and after a few rounds, they huddled together over the battery-dead toy, waiting for it to recharge.
Because the childish taunting, teasing and insulting never stopped.
Because a 12-year-old boy with emotional problems was teaching a younger boy with ADHD how to play badminton.
Because the ADHD boy had no friends; and his father watched him being taunted, laughed at and complained on by the Other Boys.
Because a mother cried hearing about her son misbehaving.
Because a young girl handed me her cell phone number, carefully written on a flowery and cutesy piece of paper.
Because they have endless tuition, extra classes and not enough time to live.
Because a boy showed me a page in his textbook with wide, pleading eyes – it’s about the steps to make a kite. He wanted to make one, but There Is No Time.
Because he eagerly showed me the next page – children flying kites at a vast, open meadow.
Because my heart melted into a puddle of goo at the sight of them. Quite often.
To all parents and educators, thank you for your battles. Thank you for sticking by us even when we were monsters. Teaching children is really a feat for the fittest.
Time will tell if I am counted within the honourable rank of a teacher, or just someone who passed through these children’s lives. Either way, let’s hope this is one great ride.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
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. ^.^
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. ^.^
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