Undone

   You lie on the grass next to me as we look up at the stars. I laugh as I feel the grass tickling my bare arms and feet. You sigh, a smile of deep contentment on your lips as you close your eyes.
   It is quite a cold night, but we keep each other warm. We always keep each other warm.
   I ask you where your thoughts are. You look at me and tell me you are thinking of the future. I make a face. You are always thinking of the future.
   You ask me what I am thinking of. I look at the full moon and tell you I am dreaming of what will come. You frown. You tell me that I always dream too much.
I just laugh and we both close our eyes and let our thoughts drift in the cool breeze.
   I was heartbroken when you had to move away. You held my hand and reminded me that you were only a thought away.
   Years later and here we are.
   You sit on the grass next to me as we look up at the night sky. It is very cold and the stars have decided to go some place else, somewhere warm. I shiver as I feel icy fingers touching my bare arms and feet. You sigh, then bite your lips in annoyance.
   You tell me I should have dressed warmer. Or that I should at least bring a shawl. You are dressed sensibly and the cold wind does not bother you.
   I nod and ask what is on your mind. You look at me and tell me you are thinking of the future. I smile for some things even time cannot touch. You are still thinking of the future.
   You ask me what my thoughts are. I gaze up at the dim crescent moon. I tell you that I still dream. You frown and almost look angry. You tell me that I should stop dreaming.
   I can only smile. You tell me you have to leave because you have a future to work for. I shiver again, but it has nothing to do with the cold. You stand up and walk away. I close my eyes and let my memories of you be carried off by the wind.
   Yes, I was heartbroken when you moved away.

Wisdom Of The Ages

Every single time I walk past a shoe store with my mother and stop to peek in, she will say...

"You only have one pair of feet. How many pairs of shoes could you possibly need? You can't wear them all at the same time."

If we subscribe to this notion, I would then only have one top, one pair of trousers, one pair of shoes - basically, one of everything.

But I choose not to follow this particular advice.

Why?

She has more shoes than I do.

It just looks like I have more because she keeps passing her shoes on to me .

The Things We Do For Love

As I mentioned in my previous post [ a couple of posts back], my friend/ex-housemate from my university days was here for a visit.

So, we were playing tourists. I've been loving the fact that I apparently can pass as a tourist too, so it's been great fun. Anyway, she managed to coax me [or was it coerce?] to visit the Batu Caves. I'm sure you'll find plenty of info on the Batu Caves on Google or Wikipedia.

We climbed about 272 steps of stairs whilst monkeys were freely roaming around practically molesting the visitors. My legs felt like jelly by the time we reached the top [after much whining and whinging on my part about how tired I was, though we completed the climb in under 10 minutes] and I took almost as long going down as going up. My friend stopped for a photo op, and I leaned back against the banisters. Big mistake. My hand touched this soggy, squishy thing which totally grossed me out. It turned out to be a half-eaten rice cake, the remnants of a monkey's meal.

I whipped out my Dettol Wipes [being the germaphobe that I am] and scrubbed my hands. Euwww... Monkey germs!

Once we reached the bottom, I was feeling dizzy from the climb and from the heat and was appeased [or bribed] with an isotonic drink and an Indian sweet. [Gosh, I'm easy.] We went somewhere for lunch before I took her to Petaling Street [also on Google, I'm sure - I'm too lazy to link it] to buy souvenirs.
Honestly, what a difference having a tourist by your side makes. The level of respect [read: greed] in the faces of vendors was palpable. We had to take the side lane because I was afraid she was going to get pounced on. Some guy even referred to us as "pretty ladies" to which my friend replied [under her breath], "Oy, mate. I'm not a lady. My name's Bryan," which left me in hysterics. Also, I was trying to avoid the smoke from a roasted chestnuts cart and nearly got run over by a taxi. Brilliant.
Ah, monkey germs and near-misses. The things we do for love and friendship.

P/S I know this is different from my usual poetry-style posts. Thought I'd give you a break from that. And also show you I'm not such a downer. =D

Ah, Glory Days

Just a quick update. I've been rather quiet on the blog front because a friend from my university days is here for a visit and I have been having a grand time playing tourist with her.

Hope you're not missing me too much! [As if! =P]

Last Week

Well, last week was a complete bust. It was such a crappy week.
Let's hope this week will be better.
Observation for last week: 20-somethings can be more childish and petty than middle-school kids.
Hope for this coming week: Let's hope everything will fall into place.

This Week In A Nutshell

   Weeeeee! This week I...

• went for my second kickboxing session + am starting to get really hooked!
• went for my second dance class + managed to keep up this time [and managed to stay coordinated!]
• printed out loads of recipes to try out... yum!
• written more stuff for my potential 'book' [any publishers interested?]
• am celebrating my dad's birthday... happy birthday, dad!
• am very proud of him for everything he has accomplished... you're fab!
• have been tagged twice... will get to is soon-ish, girls.

 

  Let's see what next week brings me.

There Are Many Ways To Cut A Cucumber

When I first moved to Swansea, I didn't know how to cook - at all. Serves me right for running out of the house every time my mother wanted to teach me. The result? I spent my first week in a new country eating prawn sandwiches and cereal.

The second week I upgraded to ready-made meals from Tesco. I'm talking mushroom burgers and tuna pasta.] By the end of a month, I was seriously in need of 'real' food. I mean, a proper, full-out, Asian dinner. I wanted rice and chicken curry and spicy vegetables. I was sick of sandwiches and pasta. Just sick, sick, sick.

I made friends with the other Malaysian girls and got the Asian dinner I was in desperate need of. I also got some cooking lessons. Slowly, I learned how to chop onions and garlic, how to stir-fry beef, how to make sure the chicken was thoroughly cooked. They taught me how to clean fish and squid properly [which I'm still not quite sure I can do on my own], how to fix a dish if it's too spicy/sour/salty so that it was yummy again.

My first attempt at cooking a 'proper' meal ended with me slicing my finger while trying to chop a cabbage. Pathetic, I know. My brother had to finish up chopping the cabbage. Despite that little incident, the meal turned out quite nicely. Feeling inspired, I looked up a few more recipes and tried them out.

It took four years of 'training' from many different girls [one girl would teach me how to make incredible bolognaise while another would teach me to make fluffy lemon cakes], but I finally managed to feel confident enough to prepare meals for the others.

Gone is the girl who squished the tomato every time she tried to slice it and in her place is a woman who can chop tomato after tomato without squashing them. A woman who makes a pretty darned delicious lasagna [if I say so myself] and can chop at least 3 onions before being reduced to tears. A woman who handmade her pizzas and lemon shortbread.

But still a lazy woman. [I only baked a lot in my final year because it's amazing what beating eggs and butter together can do for your stress levels. And chopping things up is quite an incredible outlet for your anger. I've been known to bake and cook at way past midnight in those days.]

Now, when I'm stressed, I pop down to one of the many eating spots and eat waffles. Which I'm not supposed to do anymore. I'm supposed to skip rope when I'm stressed now. But I don't know how. I only manage to do one, before getting tangled up in the rope. Although, to be honest, I've only tried about 4 times. *lol*

I'll give it another go later.

Oh, I'm not quite sure why I titled my post under that title. I don't even like cucumbers.

Kung-Fu Panda

So, I had my first kick-boxing lesson on Monday night.

We stepped in and saw men and women putting on their hand wraps and boxing gloves, and I got a bit intimidated.

There they were, looking all professional and there I was, praying I wouldn't topple over after the first 10 minutes [I didn't. So, yey!]

We registered, blabla, then the instructor came over. He led us over to The Ring. Woohooo... we got to step into an actual ring. I was all pumped up and channeling Hillary Swank in Million Dollar Baby.

He took us through the warm-up and stretching... then came, The Kicking.

I couldn't really kick much because my knee was still hurting [from dance class - I know, so unfit!], and he didn't push me. But I felt very empowered all the same, even though the kicking bag barely made any sound when my foot came into contact with it. Oh, and I might have kicked when he hadn't told us to yet as the "Wait for me to tell you" line popped up a couple of times.

And I might have nearly gotten kicked by him a couple of times when I moved the bag before I was supposed to. [I was just spaced out by then. Hah, bet he regretted picking me as his partner.]

Then it was time for, The Punching.

Yeeeaaaaahhh... cue me walking around with boxing gloves feeling like a kid playing dress-up. Of course, the moment the gloves came on is the precise moment my shoulder started to itch. Gah.

Apart from the little incident where I accidentally punched my instructor while trying to execute the roundhouse punch [oh, and him telling me my elbows were nowhere near high enough], I thought it went pretty well. Even though he had to show me quite a few times how to punch properly. [I didn't know how to position my hands in those bulky gloves!]

I loved it!

I cannot wait for next week's class. [The instructor might run off in the opposite direction when he sees me. Not that I would blame him.]

Another thing I can check off my 'Things I Absolutely Must Try In Life' list.

I wonder if my friends would like to join me at the shooting range? I would love to learn how to fire a gun. [Don't ask. It's a Lara Croft/Charlie's Angels thing.]

And The Clothes Go Flap, Flap, Flap... In The Wind

One of the things I enjoyed about Summer was being able to dry my clothes in natural heat, as opposed to in the dryer [I have issues with dryers, after a few shrinking incidents].

We had a clothesline in the backyard, one of those reel-in ones [so fun to me, for some reason]. The only thing about it was that once the string was tightened, the clothes were suspended quite high in the air, like flags.

So, imagine my surprise one day as I was looking out the window of my room [bottom floor, overlooking the backyard], and saw that one of my housemates had hung her smalls up there as well, as opposed to using the clothes-airers like the rest of us do.

There they were, flapping in all their glory. I'm sure that people from a few houses over could see them as well.

I'm getting to the point of my story. Now, I don't want strangers seeing my things that they do not need to see. But a lot of people do it.

Just like I don't want to air my private things, I also don't want to air my dirty laundry in the blogosphere for anyone and everyone to see. But a lot of people do it.

The point? Just like those clothes were flapping in the wind, our dirty laundry will also get blown around. At least the clothes are held down firmly with pegs. The dirty laundry is going to travel.

Careful with what you choose to air out there.

P/S Oh, I just read this over and realised that it sounded a bit like I was telling people to censor themselves. Which I'm not. I love the fact that we have blogs where we can express ourselves freely, without having others silence us. I was merely suggesting filtering what we choose to say. For example, does the whole world need to know what XXX did to wrong you, in detail, when they've apologised, and you posting all about it would bring XXX great shame? Or something like that. Again, not censorship. Coming from this country, I loathe censorship. Just suggesting consideration for another's feelings. That's all.

Dance Dance Revolution

   I wanted it. 

   But I was afraid of it.

   I looked forward to it.

   But I wanted to run away from it.

   I really wanted it.

   But I kept putting it off.

   I wanted it.

   And I finally got the push I needed.

   And the support I wanted.

   I finally went for it.

   I wanted it.

   I faced it.

   I did it.

   When the moment came, I was excited.

   My heart was dancing with excitement.

   I couldn't stop grinning at my three friends.

   We joked, we laughed, we talked.

   We did it.

   And I'm so glad I did.

   And I'm so proud I did.

   Yes, I stumbled along at times.

   But I didn't give up.

   I finished it.

   And I can't wait for it to come next week.

   I'm going to face it again, with my three girls.

   I really want this.

   So, girls, let's dance! 

[So what if I looked like a panda having a seizure? I had fun. And I felt fabulous after. And pandas are so adorable.]

For Everything Else...

Styling my hair: 40 minutes [40 minutes worth of electricity and almost half a can of hairspray]

Applying make-up: 40 minutes [cost of lip gloss, eyeshadow, concealer, etc. - more than I want to admit]

Deciding on 'the' outfit: [a very frantic] 20 minutes [20 minutes worth of electiricity and cost of outfit]

Picking the right accessories: 15 minutes [15 minutes worth of electricity and cost of accessories]

Choosing 'the' shoes: 10 minutes [10 minutes worth of electricity and cost of shoes]

Worrying about suitability of outfit to occassion: 130 minutes [130 minutes of electricity, etc.]

Feeling fabulous the whole night: Priceless.

Look on boyfriend's face: Priceless.

For everything else, there's Mastercard. Or Visa. Or cash.

A Memory Uncovered

   I was going through some boxes of stuff [finally!] and I found some blasts from the past. I discovered my sketch book [full of pictures of rings], and my Psychology notes [full of doodles]. 

   When I flipped through the notes, I found... a note that we apparently passed around in class. It wasn't passed around in Psychology class though, as our Psych class was usually pretty small, and the lecturer kept a keen eye on us. 

   I think it's from my Anthropology class, judging by the participants in this note. I just laughed when I read through it. Oh, to be 19 and silly and messing around again.

Unnamed: [But it's me as it's in my writing. Figures I'd be the one who started the whole thing.] 

   Chris, ur looking sexy cos u wanna attract Mr. Ching, rite?

Unnamed: [But I think it's Chris.]

   Yes. To get more marks! *winking smiley*

Felicia:

   My God, as if Chris is like that... (she has her own guy)... Amee looks very cool too.

Unnamed: [Looks like Chris' handwriting.]

   [To Felicia] R U going out with u-know-who now? Is it confirmed? Btw, might go to Liquid tonite... *smiley* r u free?

Felicia:

   Chris, I am free, but no transport.

[At this point, there are many arrows pointing to respective names, so it's getting a bit confusing.]

Aimee:

   [to Felicia] No, me not. Thanx, but no. Me ok. U look

 cool. Everyday when I c u, u are always cool. He he he...!!!

Felicia:

   [arrow pointing to Aimee's name] good flatterer

Aimee: Badriyyah, so... wassup with ur date? He he he...!!! How'd it go? Felicia, u too. What's the story? He he he...!!!

 [Apparently that's how Aimee laughs on paper.]

Me:

  [arrow pointing up] It was as usual - ok, nice.

[Hmmm... I wonder who the date was with. I don't sound too excited.]

B: [too lazy to write my name, I guess]

   He is not my date! He's just a very close friend. But he's going back to Aus tonite. *sad face* [On the paper, I meant. Not on me.]

Unnamed: [looks like Aimee]

   Awww... poor you. Was it XXXXX?

Me: [With more arrows]

   No, XXXXX. *tongue-sticking out smiley*

Unnamed: [Felicia, looks like]

   Chris, there is no one and you-know-who cos it will never be, I do not think it can be. We shall remain friends... 

[Unfamiliar writing in brackets]:

   [Sorry to hear that...]

Unnamed: [Aimee, again]

   Oooh, ok. Got the picture. So, that means he's available? Hahahaha...!!! Just kidding!

[Hmm... she's changed her laugh here. There is a P.T.O. at the corner of the page. At this point, we have reached the end of the page.]

Still Aimee:

   But u will have other choices, so... "there are many fishes in the sea" *smiley face*

B:

   Ok. I'm bored. I've got a dirty joke. [Insert dirty joke and punchline.] 

Unnamed: [Chris, most probably.]

   What is P.O.T. sorry P.T.O?

Aimee:

   P.T.O. means please turn over. P.T.O. is for Chris saying.

[Eh? Saying what?]

B:

   [Insert more dirty jokes by me.]

The note ends. Apparently my jokes were not appreciated.

   Who was 'u-know-who'? I wonder where these girls are now. Poor Mr. Ching. So there you go, how 4 [or 5?] girls spent their Anthropology lecture.

   I wonder if I still have my notes from high school? Those would probably be hilarious, what with teenage angst and spurned loves and the usual high school drama.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

   One day, two girls looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful, cloudless day. The sky was blue, the sun was bright and the birds were happy.

   Another girl walked past them and stopped. She looked up at the sky, saw nothing, and asked the two girls what they were looking at. All she got in reply were two mysterious smiles.

   Her curiosity piqued, she stopped beside them and looked up at where the other two were looking. Another girl walked past, looked up, saw nothing, asked the others, didn't get a reply and joined them.

   On and on it went, until there was a crowd of about 7 girls there. This took about 10 minutes.

   "Seriously, what are we looking at here?"

   The two 'original' girls laughed.

   "Nothing. I just wanted to prove a point."

   The point? That most people, especially girls, are curious [read; nosy] and always want to know what's going on.

   *sigh* Proven guilty. I guess we just can't help it. Hey, otherwise blogs wouldn't be so popular now, would they?

Of Spas + Stress

   I want to go to Bali.

   My mommy wants me to go to Bali.

   I want me to go to Bali.

   I want to go to the spas and get massages and facials.

   I also want to sit by the pool and read 'chick lit' books and fashion magazines.

   I want to get a makeover and relax.

   But, I have no one to go with.

   So, my blog will get a makeover.

   I still want to go to Bali, though.

   Anybody want to go with me?

   I really do want to go.

   I need a girly girls' holiday.