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.

Pizza Wrap

When you're a student, you're too busy to cook. Or so you tell yourself as an excuse to keep buying kebabs and existing on chocolate biscuits and crisps.
But this is an all-time favourite of mine. It's so easy and quick to make, which is handy when you have unexpected guests.

You need:

1. tortilla wraps (I loved the herb ones)
2. roast turkey breasts (or whatever deli meats your prefer)
3. basic pasta sauce (any tomato-ey sauce will do)
4. optional: onions, peppers, olives, mushrooms, cheese

The steps:

1. roll out the wraps
2. spread the sauce in the middle of the wrap
3. arrange the meat and other ingredients on top
4. fold the wrap so that all the ingredients are tucked safely inside
5. pop into the oven for a while

Voila! And you're done. Serve piping hot.

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.

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.

Two Dimensions

One day, I was sitting in the cafeteria, taking a break from a study session in the library. While I was enjoying my pudding and drink, I thought I'd read a bit more of The Odyssey, as I had an exam for that module the following day.

So, there I was, alternating between reading and drifting off, when some people I knew came and joined me. They were also students there, but they were engineering students, whereas I was just an English and Classical Civilisations student. They're very nice boys, and fellow Malaysians.

This is how the conversation went:

Them: Hi, Riyya. Enjoying your book?
Me: Hey. Not really. I'm a bit stressed. I need to finish and remember this book by heart for my exam - tomorrow.
Them: [Looking extremely surprised.] Oh... you're... studying that book?
Me: Yes, I have to for this module I'm taking.
Them: You have an exam?
Me: [Thinking, well, yes, I am a student and it is part of university life.] Erm... yes, I do have a few papers actually.
Them: Oh. How many exams do you have?
Me: 6.
Them: [Looking even more surprised.] We thought you didn't have exams. Every time we see you, you're reading a book and looking relaxed.
Me: [*hissing inside*] Well, erm, I'm taking literature. I kind of have to read all those books. That's how I study.
Them: Oh, well, good luck on your exams.
Me: Thanks. I have to go back to the library now. I still have 3 more papers to study for. So, see you.
Them: Okay. Bye!

This is how the conversation ended:

Me gathering my books and walking away as quickly as I possibly could. Ooooh, I was so angry. Why do so many people look down on the Arts and Humanities students?

I did not choose Literature because it was easy. I chose Literature because it was what I loved. And to have people belittling what I loved really got to me.

So... as stated in my previous post...

One point of view gives you one perspective. One perspective gives you a one-dimensional picture. One-dimensional pictures paint a pretty flat view of the world.

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.

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.

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?

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.

Nice Girls Finish Last?

Me, when I was 15.
Typical schoolgirl, nothing special. Did not do anything spectacular, but never got into major trouble either.
I was just cruising along. I did break a few little rules along the way, like eating in class during break when you're supposed to be downstairs in the school canteen.
But sometimes I just can't be bothered.
So, there I was eating some chicken nuggets or whatever and a 'friend', who was a prefect saw me and came in. I asked her if she wanted some and she said sure.
Then she left the room and returned with another prefect to rat me out.
She got praise [and my damn nuggets], and walked away with a smug smile.
I got a scolding, and detention [and lost my damn nuggets to her].
Thanks to her, I spent the next lunch break picking up rubbish around the school compound. In a horrifying blue apron thingy.
Can we say b-i-t-c-h?

Me, when I was 20.
I got accepted and university and went to UK. It was my first time there, and my first time away from my family. I was terrified and upset enough as it was.
Upon arrival, a very nice lady from a volunteer organisation [that specifically welcomes international students at the airport] showed me around.
I had arrived at Heathrow and needed to get a coach to Swansea.
A man cuts in front of me in the queue and tells me that he just needed to ask something from the lady at the counter.
I said sure, go ahead.
He bought the last ticket to Swansea on the coach I wanted.
He got to go off.
I got a ticket for the noon coach [it was 7 a.m. when I arrived].
I was trying not to cry while sitting on the bench all alone, waiting for that bus to take me to Swansea. [The bus which, by the way, broke down outside of Swansea and we had to switch buses. At this point, I was openly crying. I was miserable and afraid I would not reach my accommodation in time for the 5 p.m. deadline. Plus, it was that time of the month. I know, nice.]
To this day, I still feel like breaking the liar's nose.
Unfair?
Yes, it was.

So, do nice girls finish last? I don't think so. But even if we do, at least we get to keep our dignity [which is not at all comforting when you're sitting alone on a bench for 5 hours]. Lesson learned, dignity still in place.

Now I'm a nice girl who stands up for herself. Hurrah!

What's In A Name?

Well, apparently quite a lot. It all started with the whole Capulet versus Montague debacle. Parents spend months, sometimes searching for the perfect name for their child. All of which, brings me to this... the name of my blog.

I did not name my blog. My male counterpart did. He created this blog for me while I was away somewhere with no Internet access. No, I was not in the depths of the jungle [but close enough]. Anyway, one night 'Him' asked me if I would like a blog. I said, sure, why not, but not now as I had no means of accessing it. But he said he would take care of it for me until I could.

So, using an old blog of mine, this blog was created. Now, I love 'Him' for doing this for me, but when I look at other blog names/titles, and they sound ever-so-clever and ever-so-witty, I sometimes want a clever and witty name too. But I will not even dream of changing something that was created by 'Him' for me. So, the name shall remain.

It does have a meaning to it, though. It goes like this... the Arabic meaning of my full name, Badriyyah, is 'full moon' [which is why I'm so round, or so I claim]. My nickname, 'Riyya', in the original Malay spelling and meaning, 'Ria', means 'joy'. Now, 'Riyya', combined with the 'Su' part of my blog name [which comes from my family name 'Suhaili'] makes 'Riyya-Su.' Now, when the 'Su' part is twisted and put in front of the 'Riyya', it makes the word 'Su-Riyya'. A word which has no meaning in that spelling, but in the original spelling of the Malay word 'Suria', it means 'the sun'.

So my name, which originally means 'full moon', has been cleverly played with to make the word 'sun'. Which is obviously the opposite of moon. Gah. I lost my point. Anyway, you get my drift.

In honour of 'Him', I will dedicate the 'sun' part to 'Him'. Because without 'Him', this blog would not have been created. Tadaaaaaa...

I like to sometimes look for the meanings that might not even be there. Why? Sometimes I like to pretend I'm pretentious. Go figure.

This reminds me of the time I had to present a short story we studied in class when I was in college. I don't remember the title of the story, or the name of the author, but it was one of those stories that was full of symbolism and hidden meanings. I got stuck with it because I didn't come on the day everyone chose their stories. Serves me right for missing class.

Anyway, there I was presenting, slowly explaining each symbolism in the story. When I was finished, I was bombarded with questions. Most of which I was thankfully able to fend off successfully. Then a boy in my class asked, "But what do the barking dogs mean?"

I said, "They were just being dogs. It doesn't have a deeper context."

He said, "But there must be a reason for the barking."

I said, "Well, they saw a stranger approach, and being dogs, they barked. It's just their nature."

He said, "I think there was a reason they barked."

To which I replied, "Yes. They barked at the stranger because the stranger was potentially trespassing on the property."

He said, "I'm sure there was another reason for the barking."

I swear, at this point, I wanted to set some barking dogs on him.

I replied, "Well, I've analysed it completely and am sure there is no other reason than it being their instinct to bark at strangers."

This was potentially getting tedious.

He said, "Well, it's a deeply symbolical story. There must be another reason for the barking."

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to strap raw steaks onto his body and throw him into a pit full of hungry Rottweilers.

My lecturer saved the day. He told the boy, "There is no reason for the barking apart from what she just said."

Hurrah.

Talk about looking for meanings that aren't there.

I Want, I Need - Part. 3

   Was he trouble?

   Oh, yes, he was.

   Because of him, I couldn't stop smiling whenever he crossed my mind.

   Because of him, whatever I did, I couldn't stop thinking about him.

   Because of him, I've changed.

   Who else but him would [I'm sorry, I can't divulge anything more. I prefer to keep the private part of 'us' private.]

   Suffice to say, he inspires me, makes me unbelievably happy, comforts me, supports me, brings out a whole other side of me.

   Most importantly, he lets me be me. He accepts me for who I am. He told me what I could be. 

   I'm not going to say he completes me, because every time he has to leave me, I feel like something is missing, so he de-completes [I don't even care if that's not a real word] me.

   I will say that... even though I initially didn't want him... I thank Him Up There every night for giving me him...

   Because... I got what I needed, and what I [eventually] discovered I wanted [very much].

   [Even though, half the time I feel like killing him. Or at least, smacking him.]

   He's trouble, but he's mine.

   And I don't plan on that fact changing anytime soon.

I Want, I Need - Part. 2

We went to bed. He went to the guest bedroom and I crashed in the master bedroom with the other girls.

When I woke up the next morning [read, afternoon], he had gone. Apparently, he had a work thing. I got his number from my best friend. I also got something else from her. 

Yes, I got the news that he already has a girlfriend. A girlfriend that he's been with for a few years and is apparently planning to marry. Funny how that didn't come up during our conversation the night before. Especially since it was extremely obvious that I was throwing myself at him. Huh.

I texted him anyway. Oh, his number started EXACTLY how I said it would. How freaky was that? Literally, this is the man of my dreams. I guess I forgot to include the part that he should also be SINGLE and MADLY IN LOVE with ME. *sigh* I knew it was too good to be true.

And I only texted to ask how he was, nothing more. I'm a big believer in staying away from other women's men. I thought since he was such a nice guy, it would be nice to have him as a friend. No harm in that, right? 

I didn't think I would ever see him again, anyway. But, I did. About a week later. My best friend wanted to say her farewells to him before she returned to London and asked me to go with her. I didn't want to at first, but she talked me into it. Another friend came with us.

We went to Baskin Robbins and waited for him. And there he was. Looking even sweeter than all the ice cream in the place. [Yes, I was that in love.] He was even lovelier than I remembered. We talked. We laughed. And all the while I kept reminding myself that he belonged to someone else. Then it was over. [That was also the last time I ever saw him.]

When we were in the car, my other friend said to me that she noticed the chemistry. What chemistry? It was positively sizzling between us. Or so I thought.

Fast Forward 4 years later. [I stayed single by choice - I was so over relationships that wouldn't go anywhere. I mean, after meeting your dream man, what else could you do? Everything else was bound to be a letdown.] By this time, I was in Swansea. I was in my second year of university life. [HE was a husband and proud father of a gorgeous baby girl.] I met a long-lost friend online. She said she had someone she wanted to introduce to me.

He was 2 years younger - a total no-no with me. Based on that alone, I said no. But she was insistent. I agreed to just get to know him. He might make a good friend. He was back in Malaysia anyway, so it would just be a nice, harmless friendship right?

He was nice to chat with, very funny and easygoing. I started calling him just to hear how he sounded on the phone. I enjoyed talking to him even more. But it was just a friendship, nothing more. 

Fast forward 1 month later. I'm sitting in my friend's living room, waiting for him to come over. 

The knock came. I pretended to be chilled out and look cool on the couch. My friend got the door. And he walked in. 

I looked up and, as corny as this sounds, it was like electricity. Seriously. I just felt it. i don't even know how to describe it. I remember my first thought being... Oh, I'm in trouble.

Was I really in trouble?

Read on, dear reader...

I Want, I Need... Part. 1

When I was an art student [for about 6 months before my parents decided 'sitting around with a paintbrush' was not an 'acceptable' career], I spent many, many sleepless nights struggling to finish a sculpture or getting frustrated with sticking beads to a box. The worst part about those seemingly endless nights was the loneliness. When everyone else in the house was asleep, and you're trying not to cry from the exhaustion and stress, the feeling of acute loneliness was what really got to me.
I was single at the time and I just longed to have someone stay up with me and keep me company. Just to keep my spirits up. So, when the stress really got to me I would drift off and think about this man, my 'dream' man. I decided I wanted someone who was tall [to balance the fact that I'm super short], fair and neat, short hair. He wears glasses, because for some unknown reason, I think men with glasses are just so sexy. Since I was studying art and design at the time, I wanted a man who was also a designer, like a web designer.
I even gave him a name. At one point, I said his mobile number had to start with XXXXXX. He came from a similar background and liked almost the same things as me. He was also 4 years older than me, a fact I was insistent upon because I thought 4 years was the perfect age gap between a man and a woman.
Then I would go back to whatever it was I was working on.
Life goes on, as it does, and I quit art school and signed up for a different course. I was enjoying myself at the new college and forgot about my 'dream' man.
A few months later, it was my best friend's birthday and she insisted that I stay over at her house because she wanted me to go clubbing with her on that night. I was in her bedroom with a few other girls, trying to untangle the mess that is my hair when there was a knock on the door.
Since I was closest, I went over and opened it. And there he was - all 6'1, fair, with a neat, short haircut. I thought nothing of it at first. We went out to the club.
He tried to make conversation but it was just way too noisy. I did manage to get his name though. And it was 'that' name. After a few hours, we went back to my best friend's house and some of the others decided to take a dip in the pool. He sat by the pool with us and I talked a bit more with him.
He was a web designer, he said, and was 4 years older than me. I got up and went inside, and he came in and joined me. We just sat in the living room talking for hours [or, what seemed like]. He was telling me he was thinking of getting contacts and I told him not to, because guys with glasses are hot. We just went on chatting as the other girls flitted in and out of the house.
Until, finally, finally, we could barely keep our eyes open and decided to go to bed.
[No, I didn't go to bed with him...]
So, what happened with my 'dream' man? This man I so desperately wanted that I created every single detail of him in my overactive, sometimes overheated brain?
Read on...

Frozen Peas + Smoke Alarm

   In my third year at Swansea, I lived with 4 other girls in a house about a 10-minute walk from my university. It was a beautiful house, with a nice kitchen and a great backyard. Lovely as it was, the grill was a bit dodgy. Every time we closed the grill door, and left it for about 10 minutes or so, then opened it again, the smoke and heat from the grill would set off the smoke alarm. 

   It was a normal thing to walk into the kitchen when the alarm was off to find one of the girls standing on a chair in the middle of the room, with a bag of frozen peas [or burgers, whatever was at the top of the freezer] pressed up to the alarm. 

   The first time it happened to me, I was jumping around trying to figure out what to do. The second time it happened, I grabbed my bag of frozen peas and dragged the chair over to the alarm. Unfortunately I wasn't quite tall enough to reach the alarm. I had to tiptoe to get the peas to reach it, and I was praying I wouldn't fall flat on my face.

   One of the girls figured out, after a few of these incidents, that it was best to leave the grill door open. Duh. Took a PhD student to figure out that one.

p/s I do miss living there with those girls! It was such a blast.