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.

Black Is The Colour Of My Mind

What once was, is now fragments of fleeting memories and torn pieces of paper.

A ticket drops down and lands on the ground. Where will it take me? Does it lead to a land of promise or to a land of nothingness? I refuse to bend down to pick it up. I turn my face and look up at the black sky.

A door opens up before me. I hesitate. What is on the other side of that door? Do I face a room full of scorpions or a room full of gold? I turn my face again and look down on the dark ground. There is nothing beneath me. There is nothing above me.

A hand taps me on the shoulder. I turn to look behind me. A smiling face offers me a golden goblet. Is the goblet full of honey or is it full of poison? I shake my head and turn my face away. This time I shut my eyes.

I feel longings whispering to me. Wish after wish reaching out for me. Dreams trying to touch me. I walk into shadows to hide from the unknown.

Now I'm covered in regrets and tears for what once was.

Molto Bella

A few years ago, while I was still a young, naive student in Swansea, my friends and I decided to go on a trip during the Easter holidays. And so we booked ourselves for a trip around Italy, starting from Venice and ending at Rome, where we would fly to Paris. Sounds glamorous, no? Very jet-setter.
So not.
We were students. So, no 5-star hotels for us. We got to revel in the luxury of youth hostels. [The one in Venice was gorgeous! Much better than some of the so-called hotels that I've stayed in.]
But the trip was fantastic. Me + gelato in practically every flavour = an extremely happy me. And pasta. Yum. Oh, and the scenery, the buildings, the history and all that was also very nice, of course.
Venice was much better than I ever dreamed it would be. I loved going around in the water taxis. Florence was beautiful. Milan was a shopaholic's [with cash to spare] dream come true. And Rome... well Rome was...
On our way to the Vatican, we were mobbed by gypsies. It was a harrowing 5 minutes. While we were waiting in the long line to enter the Vatican, one of my friends discovered that his wallet was missing. He'd been pickpocketed. So, we didn't get off to a very good start in Rome.
When we got back to the room, another friend discovered that her credit card was missing. So, off we went to report it. [Incidentally, whoever got hold of her credit card had gone on a little spree, as we later found out.]
After those 2 incidents, we were kind of glad to be flying off to Paris [sad as I was to leave the gelato and pasta]. My two [girl] friends and I were wandering around the shops inside the airport [after checking in, of course], when they got stopped. I was walking behind them and was surprised to see them getting stopped by two female security officers. I went up to them to see what was going on, and when they found out I was with my friends, they asked me to come along.
Ah, we were so special. Such V.I.P. treatment. They led us to a room, where they brushed this scanner thing over our clothes to test for... bomb residue. Hmm... apparently we were potential TOOOOOT. I'm not going to say that dreaded 'T' word, so I'll replace it with just TOOOOOT.
Why wasn't I initially stopped? Besides the fact that I was walking slightly behind the other two? Because I don't wear the headscarves the other two were.
This story illustrates that I wouldn't make a very good TOOOOOT as I walked towards the security women, instead off running off in the other direction.
Anyway, it was an interesting experience, to say the least. We couldn't wait to get to Paris after that.

My Bliss

Time to stop for gas.
The gauge was just below the halfway point.
Oh, it will cost 60 I said.
50 he said.
I confidently raised it to 65.
He raised his guess to 55.
We both waited gleefully for the final outcome.
He went to pay.
I waited.
He got back in the car.
How much?
He said 57.
It stopped at 55 but he tried to push it up to 57.
Why?
So we both win...
57 is the halfway point between 55 and 60.
I didn't hear you say 65, I only heard 60.
Silly, but that brought tears to my eyes.
It was the best trip I've ever been on.

It's Just Another Number

So it's 2009. I welcomed the new year by lazing about on the couch and watching the POTC marathon. Jack Sparrow and Will Turner? Yes, please! I couldn't ask for better dates to usher in 2009.

But seriously... I wasn't all that enthusiastic about it. As I've mentioned before in one of my birthday blogs [some of my regular readers might remember this], [Oh, I suppose I could link it but it's 5:39 and I'm exhausted yet my brain won't shut off - damn you, brain! Why do you only shut off when I need you most... like during exams or when I'm trying to come up with a brilliant lie to get out of something... so I'm too lazy to look up the link.] I consider my birthday to be my very own personal New Year's. So what if that makes some people think I'm vain and have delusions of grandeur? It makes me feel special. So, there you go. Besides, something happened on the eve of 2000 that totally put me off ever celebrating New Year's.

The gist of it was that I had just finished school and decided to go celebrate in the center of town with a friend. Come midnight, the mob was like this moving centipede or something and my friend and I got separated. The networks were screwed up and the mobile phones were all not working. Fast forward... security guard... wandering around... phones finally working after a couple of hours... waiting for friend by a corner... drunk guy propositioning me [he thought I was a pro!!!!! Wait until I tell you about the time I was apparently a potential terrorist.]... finally reaching home at 5 a.m.... solemn vow to never, ever celebrate New Year's ever again.

That's one of the few vows I actually kept [keep?]. Anyway, I'm kicking off 2009 with a little trip and a friend's wedding. Hope you have a great weekend!

Oh, after I get back I will start unveiling the project [though it's still nowhere near completion]. We're still having way too much fun with it. =D

Fire! Fire!

True story.

This happened when I was in my final year as a student in Swansea.

I was happily minding my own business [gasp, gasp, yes, I can mind my own business!], and playing Solitaire on my laptop [now, dead, may its pieces rest in peace].

I look out the window and what do I see?

Thick, almost-black smoke coming from the neighbour's house.
Now, any normal person would jump out of that chair and run outside to see what was going on.
Not me.
Oh, no. I continued to stare out that window for a few more minutes.
I think I was waiting for one of my housemates to run down the stairs screaming.
Oh, but wait. Only three bedrooms face the back garden - mine, the room directly above mine and the room at the back of the house. And those two were never in anyway.
So, I slowly got out of that chair and walked [not run] to the back garden to check if there really was a fire.
Yes, there was a huge fire. Huh.
So, I walked quickly back to my room and looked out the window again. Yup, smoke still there.
Now, this is where I get incredibly silly. I still can't believe I did what I did. I was trying to decide what to take with me in case the fire spread and burned down our house. Laptop, of course and passport and my purse.
The essentials, right?
Then, I had this thought. If indeed the house burned down, I wanted to make sure I had a nice outfit on [if it were to be the only outfit I saved]. So I changed. All the while the smoke is still billowing outside my window.
Although nobody seems to be doing anything about it. The neighbours didn't seem to be running around trying to put out the fire, which confused me.
So I ran up to my housemate's room and told her about the fire.
What did she do?
She came downstairs with me, looked at it... and laughed.
Because of course, it was only a bonfire. They were burning rubbish or wood or whatever.
I was burning too... with embarrassment.
But hey, if you can't laugh at yourself, you're missing out on a lot of laughter, right?

P/S Just a little something to keep you entertained while I'm away finishing this thing I'm working on, which is really great. I have no idea when it will be finished though as my partner and I are really loving it and stretching it out. Hopefully, you'll love it as much as we're loving it.

Hit The Pedal To The Metal

My driving instructor was a rather difficult man. He loved to smoke while I was driving [and I just loathe the smell of cigarettes, but I was too terrified to ask him not to do it] and insisted on holding my foot down with a stick when he was teaching me how to do my balancing on the little 'hill'. [Not that I blame him. The first couple of times up that hill resulted in my car going backwards down that hill with me screaming my head off and him yelling at me not to swing my steering wheel around.]

Anyhoo... that's all in the past. I am now a licensed driver and have been since February. And despite the rough start, I'm a pretty good driver now. So, I suppose my instructor did a pretty good job.

But that's not the point of this post.

I suddenly remembered an episode of Ellen that I saw months ago, which really made me laugh. I love Ellen. She always cracks me up. Anyway, in that episode, Ellen had gone to a driving school and was taking some of the students for a drive.

She stopped by an ice-cream drive-through [I think it was Baskin Robbins?], and bought about 4 ice-creams and they put it in a cardboard tray thingy for her. So, Ellen happily drove off and ate her ice-cream. This is the following conversation that ensued [the gist of it, I can't remember her exact words, obviously].

Student: Isn't that dangerous?

Ellen: Oh, no, no.

Student: Are you sure?

Ellen: Yes. You're not supposed to drink and drive. That's dangerous. But you can eat and drive.

Student: Oh.

I was in hysterics. If I tried to eat while driving, my instructor probably would have whacked me with his stick.

The Decision: A Letdown

What was I to do?

The ringing was calling to me.

The phone was begging to be answered.

I had walked past this public phone hundred of times on my way to the university.

And on my way home.

I had used it many times to call home.

But never once had it started ringing just as I walked by.

It was as if Life was trying to reach me.

Who was calling?
Was it a wrong number?
Was it someone who would offer me a million pounds?
Was it someone who would recruit me as a secret agent?

So many times I wished for it to happen.

Just so I could experience it.

What can I say?

I have rather unusual thoughts.

So what did I do when the opportunity finally presented itself?

When I could finally answer that question in my mind?

I walked away.

I decided the fantasy was better than the reality.
What does that say about me?

And The Verdict Is... Guilty!

Okay, confess. How many of you have signed up or joined something or just committed yourselves to a cause, but didn't follow through?

I know I'm guilty of doing just that on many, many counts.

When I was a little girl, I wanted to join ballet.

So, ballet classes it was.

I went to the first class, but sat by the side because I wanted to 'watch and learn' first.

I went to the second class, did about 10 minutes, before giving up and crying.

I never went to that third class.

When I was about 10, I really liked art.

So, my parents signed me up for art classes.

We went to the school, my parents paid for my lessons, and when they were about to leave, I started sobbing and wanted to go with them.

I held onto my mother's leg and refused to let go.

They had to go back in and get a refund.

I sobbed all the way home and never went to a single art class.

When I was 18, I signed up for a driving course.

I paid the first payment.

I never went.

When I was in my final year in Swansea, I decided to join Aikido.

I signed up with the Aikido Club and paid my membership fees.

I was so excited at the idea of learning an art of self-defense.

In my head, I was imagining myself as Kasumi from D.O.A. Or as Uma Thurman in Kill Bill.

I didn't go to even one lesson.

So, guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty.

That's not including all the let's-ditch-the-chocolates-cakes-and-crisps-and-be-healthy plans that I've [barely] started and quit within days.

*sigh* I'm working on this though. No, really, I am.

The Good Intention

   Before I went grocery shopping, I always made a list. This is so...

1. I would remember to buy the things I really needed. [toothpaste, etc.]
2. To avoid buying the things I didn't need. [biscuits, crisps, etc.]

   So, a typical shopping list would generally look like this...

1. Onions, garlic, shallots
2. Basmati rice
3. Frozen peas
4. Red peppers
5. Chillies
6. Oil
7. Mushrooms
8. Pasta
9. Pasta sauce
10. Canned tuna
11. Chicken
12. Salmon
13. Chips
14. Milk
15. Cereal
16. Butter
17. Bread
18. Pears

   This is what I usually came home with...

1. All the things in the 'original' list
2. Frozen pizza
3. Walker's Sensations Thai Sweet Chili
4. Cappucino cake
5. Chocolate chip cookies
6. Glamour magazine
7. Walker's Cheese and Onion
8. Sushi
9. Ben and Jerry's Phish Food
10. Fish cakes

   Low willpower much?

   I always said Tesco [in Swansea] was my second home. Where else opens late at night, anyway? 

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.

Oriental Wonder

A few years back, when I was still a student in Swansea, I joined this thing that was a social network website. It was on the recommendation of 'A' [since we were doing the long-distance thing, he thought it would be fun to chat there instead of on regular MSN or Yahoo, for some reason that seemed to make sense at the time]. Anyhoo... it turned out to be a dating website. So I got loads of... "What are you doing here then if you're already in a relationship?" Erm... because my boyfriend told me to?

Anyway, I had my picture up on the site. So, one day I was just surfing through people's profiles and a man sent me a private message.

Man: Hi. Are you Oriental?

Me: [What the poof? Am I Oriental... like noodles?]

Me: [Curiosity piqued, which was the only reason I deigned to reply.] Erm... sort of.

Man: That's wonderful!

Me: [Rather taken aback at this display of excitement over my ethnic origin.] Oh... thanks.

Man: I'm so glad to meet you. You know what they say about Orientals? Of course you do.

Me: [Actually I didn't.] Erm... that we have good food?

Man: No. Oh, come on. You must know?

Me: Actually, no. Do you mean that Orientals are quiet and submissive? [Getting a bit peeved by now.]

Man/[TOOOOOOOOT]: No! That you Orientals are great in BLEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPP! I'm sure you must be too.

Me: [You twisted, prejudiced joirk!] [What I replied to this has to be edited out.]

That was the first time I've ever been referred to as Oriental. Usually, if pressed, I just answer that I'm Asian. Methinks that TOOOOOOOOOOOT has watched a little too many mature films.

Ah, well. There's always a first...

But prejudice does tend to land one in uncomfortable situations, yes?

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.

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.

Boo...

   So, Halloween has come and gone. I know, I know... that's old news. But I never got around to blogging about Halloween because I was so busy moping about around that time. [I went through a week of not writing anything, but thanks to scheduling, a post would magically appear even when I hadn't written anything on that day.

   My sisters went out and celebrated and came back with a whole load of sweets [which they refused to give to me, not even one, as I was supposed to be on a diet]. As I was too busy moping about, I declined to join in the Halloween festivities [a fact I regret as the photos have been posted and everyone looked like they had so much fun]. So, I let my sisters borrow my tiaras [yes, that's right... tiaras... because one just isn't enough] and my idea from a previous Halloween costume of mine [a forest nymph].

   Basically, that costume consisted of a green top, green skirt with leaves all over it [which took me simply forever to find], brown heels, a gold tiara with flowers and roses, and gold jewellery with green leaves. To top it all off, I had loads of green and gold eyeshadow and stick-on white stones. I don't think anyone quite got what I was supposed to be, but the important thing was... I got to wear my tiara. *big grin*

   I've also been a clown [back when my mom dressed me], a ghost with blond braids [again, my mother's handiwork], and a ghost again [still my mother]. My favourite is still the forest nymph, though. It even beats out the time I was an angel.

   I was an Asian angel. *laugh* I kind of ran out of time to find a white outfit, and the only white top in my wardrobe on that night that wasn't crinkled was a white kurta [Indian-inspired] top. So, the kurta it was then. And jeans. I was an Asian angel in jeans. I had white feathers and a silver halo in my hair, silver wings [which later kept getting squashed at the club], a silver wand [why not?] and loads of thick white eyeliner. I was an angel that kicked a.. 

   Oh, why did I have to mope around last week? I could have been a cat or something for one night [The costumes I considered before I started my moping were Catwoman, an artist, or a peacock. Yes, a peacock, or rather, a peahen (but it's the peacocks that have the pretty feathers), because I have some stuff with peacock feathers on them.].

   Ah, well. There's always next Halloween.

Yesterday's News

Trying to capture the memories again. The feel of the cold air on my face, my hands warm in black wool gloves. Smiling at something a friend once said. Sad because that friend is sadly no longer a part of my life. Remembering how funny and sweet and beautiful she is. Laughing at the memory of her facial expressions as she was recounting the story of a fallen beetle and the 'memorial' another girl wanted to have for the unfortunate beetle.

Regret at the people and things and memories I had to leave behind. The deep sense of loss of having to leave what I considered my home behind. The most heartbreaking 12 hours I have ever spent on a plane, including the time I first left behind my family to pursue what are now, alas, my broken dreams. It all feels like a lifetime ago, and it was, because it was a different life. An independent life, free to finally discover what I was capable of, still capable of. Free to grow into the person, the adult, that I am now. Free to try different fashions and cook different recipes. Free to embrace the newly found responsibilities and accomplishments as my own.

Free to dream. Free to love. Free to laugh. I did things I never imagined I would ever do in my life. I went on an 8-hour hike through the woods and waterfalls. I laid down in snow. I waded through melted snow and got soaked through up to my knees. I got on a coach [bus] and went to London. I got to see Italy, a place I've been dreaming of going all my life. I rode the water taxis in Venice, visited the boutiques in Milan, walked the cobbled paths of Florence, saw the Coliseum in Rome and ate gelato at all those places. I stood in front of the Moulin Rouge in Paris and went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I flew to Athens and sat in the theater of Dionysus! A theater that the Greeks sat in to watch the very first plays. I was a part of history.

I mattered.

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.

It's Only Words... And Words Are All I Have

   Fact: The English language is the universal language. 

   Fact: I was an English student.

   Fact: I studied in Swansea University.

   Fact: Apparently, I do not speak English.

   Proof: A man with a very heavy Irish accent working at NTL called me.

   Proof: He had to repeat himself about 5 times.

   Proof: After 5 times of repeating himself, I still could not understand him.

   

   Conclusion: I had to apologise over and over, and tell him that I didn't mean to insult him. I simply could not understand him. He just laughed and said he would call back some other time.

   Fact: I've been reading books written in English, and writing in English since I was about 4.

   Fact: Apparently, my command of the English language isn't as strong as I thought.

   Proof: My friend introduced me to her housemate, who was from China.

   Proof: He said, "Do you study computer also?" [My friend studied Computer Science.]

   Proof: I answered, "No, no." [With a vehement shake of my head.]

   Proof: He looked rather taken aback and confused.

   Proof: What he had actually said was, "My name is Peter. What's yours?"

   Conclusion: My friend hissed at me in Malay, telling me that he just told me his name was Peter. I quickly apologised and told him I misheard him. Poor boy. He must have been wondering why this strange girl was telling him that his name was not Peter.

   Fact: We speak the same language, but words can be lost in translation.

   Fact: Accents are great.

   Fact: I need to work on my hearing skills.

To Climb A Tree

   It is the year 1992

 

   I was playing with my friends. They had a huge tree in their front lawn. We decided to climb it.

   I went first.

   I climbed a few inches, slipped a few inches, laughed the whole way.

   Oh, it was a coconut tree, by the way. 

   I tried and tried and I managed to get up a few more inches before slipping all the way down to the bottom.

   I laughed right all the way down, even as I landed on my bottom.

   I managed to rip my shorts along the way.

   A fact that we found hilarious.

   I tried, I failed, I picked myself up again and happily went my way.

   It is 2006

   I was out hiking with my friends. They wanted to go down to the first waterfall. I told them to go ahead without me because it looked like such a long way down.

   They went ahead and talked me into joining them.

   I went last.

   I was nervous that I would slip, even when my friends were waiting for me right there.

   I inched down slowly and yelled every time I felt my foot slide away.

   I managed to slide all the way down.

   I was relieved and excited.

   I did not want to do it, was talked into it, managed to do it [with a cheering section], and went my way.

   Oh, to be able to climb a tree, fall on my behind, pick myself up, and walk away without over-analysing why I failed again.

   

Make A Wish!

It's that time of the year again. The day I wait for eagerly starting from 6 months prior to the date. Tra la la la la... it's my birthday and I'll celebrate if I want to, celebrate if I want to. And I do want to! [Well, I will in a couple of weeks.]

I love birthdays. I love my little button that proclaims, "Birthday Girl 24 Today!" I shall forever remain 24 thanks to my magic button.

This extreme enthusiasm and joy I hold for my birthday subsequently causes great stress to my friends.

A week before my birthday, I would usually start planning what to do on the day.

A week before my birthday, my friends start stressing.

Now, don't get me wrong. I never expect a mountain of presents or loads of fuss [read: I would so love a surprise party.], but I just want to celebrate my special day with friends and loved ones.

[Mountain of presents optional, but gladly welcomed.]

My 23rd birthday was interesting, to say the least. It started at midnight when my housemates knocked on my bedroom door and led me to the kitchen [which was just next to my room, anyway].

They had a cake waiting for me with those damn trick candles. Then they opened the kitchen door and told me to look outside. I was like a child, excited and naive. While I was eagerly peeking outside [presents?], I got pelted with water balloons. Unfortunately, they hadn't quite filled the balloons with enough water and those things just would not burst. And they hurt! Gaaahhh.

But then it was present time and all was forgiven. I got a huge box of chocolates from one housemate [which made me gain 5 pounds, thank you very much!] and an assortment of little gifts from another [Huge mug with bits of chocolate and a stuffed toy and a gorgeous bracelet - I love those kinds of presents. Once, I got 3 bars of chocolates, a pair of earrings, a mini-stamp kit, a necklace, a little notebook and a few more things, from a friend. I loved dipping my hand in that paper bag, the presents seemed endless!]

After cake time, it was time for bed. It was Eid the next day, so I wanted an early night.

The next morning I woke up and desperately needed the bathroom. I ran to my door and yanked it open. Or rather, tried to yank it open. It only yielded a couple of inches. I tried again. Same result. I peeked through that tiny gap and saw a string tied to my door from the staircase. Ah, that's why I couldn't get the door open.

The staircase looked lovely though, with balloons and a banner. I looked in the direction of the kitchen and saw my housemate calmly sitting at the table, drinking tea. She was trying not to laugh. I was yanking and pulling at the door and calling out to her. She pretended not to hear me.

Then, thankfully, thankfully, the string gave way. I ran up the stairs to the bathroom and yelled out that I'd get her later.

Anyway, it was a lovely day, because of my lovely housemates. They knew how important my birthday is to me, and they went to all that effort to make sure I had a memorable day.

Thanks, girls! Love you all, wherever you may be now!

Now... to plan the big 2-6.