Thoughts from the other side of the world

The myth that is Destiny

2008-03-28T22:58:00.002+08:00

I'm sure you've heard of it. The idea that life is somehow predestined, an order of events that have been set and all you have to do is read the signs. Ah, Destiny and her manipulative mind. Whether you want to call it fate or destiny to explain life, I think you have been cheated.

I'm very sure you've heard this, "What is meant to be, will be."

Now, I'm beginning to think that the ancients created the myth that is Destiny to explain the unexplainable. But what is so unexplainable about it? If you do A, then B will happen. Depending on Destiny's whim is just plain lazy.

Of course, I was a sucker for these kind of things when I was younger, and the world was one cosmic question mark. My best friend and I would interpret everything as a sign - the time, a song, an event. We would spend hours dissecting these signs and in the end, come up with a conclusion that usually eases our minds.

In a stupid attempt at figuring out how someone feels about me, I would randomly select a station and the song that my fingers magically tuned would be my answer. Okay, alright, not a very great example but you get my drift.

There are so many other ongoing factors that undermines Destiny. No matter how much you push someone to be with you, or push for a certain job, we use this bullshit system to make ourselves sleep better at night - telling our tired minds that it is simply not meant to be.

Instead of facing our shortcomings or the others, we use Destiny as a scapegoat. Maybe the real reason is that, the other person is just not willing to try hard enough to be with you or even when putting in massive hours into a job, maybe your skills are lacking.

We create what happens in our life. Whether we complicate it, which we usually tend to do, or go with the flow of things, it is what we do that determines the course of life.

So yes, I may sound like a cynic by giving Destiny the middle finger. But I'm just tired of waiting for things to happen, when I know (without Destiny's help) that it is a hopeless case to begin with.

Glass half empty

2007-11-30T20:00:00.000+08:00

Whatever I touch breaks, dissolves, rots. Whatever path I choose is a one of uncertainty. I look at the people around me, their lives seem solid, planned, organised. And when I look at my life, it's a mess.

This week has been a horrible one for me. As a matter of fact, this year has been really shitty. Everything is a struggle. Everything. From the small to the big, nothing has come easy. But then again, it never has for me. For some, life is an easy succession of events. They get most of what they want with ease, while I struggle and fight; kick and claw - only ending up at the finish line with a slight glimmer of what I wanted.

A wish fulfilled is definitely a wonderful experience but a wish half fulfilled is a dark one. You think you're that much closer to what you want but it is forever dangling in front of your eyes, with your hands tied at your back. You think there are ways around it but in reality there really isn't.

One thing after another, at the end of the day I find myself crying and begging to a higher power for something, anything to go my way. Silence is my answer. The next day I get up and it's the same story all over again.

I feel like everything is falling apart, including me. My mind is racing from one thought to another but I can't find a resolution. I keep thinking, what should I do? But as I lay me down to sleep, darkness washes over me.

A restless respite to the neverending problems in my life.

I am homeless

2007-11-27T14:27:00.000+08:00

I write about homes for a living. Big ones, small ones and some that are just nice. And as I write through every article, a line crops up every time. It has been abused and used to its limit - home is where the hearth is.

However, as I type those words over and over again. When I stop to think about it, I realise that they are just words on a screen to me. I may write about the warmth, ambiance and a cozy atmosphere of a home but I've only caught glimpses of those moments - because for me, I have no idea where home is.

I spent most of my life in a place I thought was home. Everything around me was so familiar - places and people. I could close my eyes and walk around and know where I was. It was the place where my life grew and took shape. From disappointment to disappointment, swinging myself into a lull in a dark playground, to the happier moments when I walked the streets with a perpetual smile on my face - Portland was the only place I thought I truly knew and could call home.

But now...

I have no idea where I belong. For four years I've been living in my "hometown". To most, an instant feeling of warmth and recognition floods the senses and they can truly say, "it's good to be home."

But somehow, even after four years, I still feel like a stranger in my own land. Although certain places and faces have become familiar over the years, something still feels missing. I still feel out of place.

When I think back to Portland, somehow that didn't seem like home either. I used to get excited at the thought of going back. I could imagine myself relishing every moment, going to all my old haunts.

But now...

Neither of the homes I know of is truly home sweet home. Neither of those places conjures up a feeling of belonging. As I stand in the middle and look to each side, I am hesitant to take a step in either direction and claim it as my own.

Even though I drive around and about, go out, laugh and eat with my loved one and friends, I feel hollow and lost... I think, how nice it would be to be able to truly call a place home.

For now, this is what I know. Home is neither here or there. I'll always be that outsider looking in, even in the place where I was born.

Up, up and up!

2007-11-12T22:53:00.000+08:00

A gas station convenience store holds nothing more than the bare essentials. Bags of chips are lined up against the wall, rows of chocolate await the hand of a child, and even the occasional bar of soap and shampoo are meagerly stocked in a corner.

Today, it was a loaf of bread. A middle-aged Chinese woman stood at the cash register. Her face creased, showing signs of either discontent or perplexity - looking back and forth from the cash register's hungry green digits and the woman behind the counter.

"How much is it again?" The Chinese woman asked. Her hand stop in midair, fingers touching the rims of her purse.

With a smile that seemed out of place, the woman behind the counter answered, "The prices have gone up this November."

I stood behind the Chinese woman and wondered why the woman behind the counter was smiling. Was it because it was her job or was she content with a simple loaf of bread costing more than her salary would allow?

It seems like an obvious question. Who would be content about the rising prices? It's not just a loaf of bread - the general cost of goods have risen. From tolls, gas and now even the smaller things in life.

The Chinese woman simple muttered an "oh," and handed over the amount needed. She probably thought it was just a loaf of bread, it won't effect her way of life.

Yes, in the short term. It is just a loaf of bread. But imagine how much more you're spending in a month? Or even a year on a single item. Now add all the other costs you need to go through your daily routine. Are we making enough to sustain a price increase?

I think you know the answer to this question. Instead of just saying "oh" and going about our way. How about we do something about? Voice our your opinion. Don't hide your discontent.

There needs to be a change.

Calming Cameron

2007-10-30T11:37:00.000+08:00

I was going to wait until I uploaded my pictures to write this blog, but you know and I know that by the time I do that, a month or two will pass and this entry will never have been written.

After a tumultuous month of extreme lows, my 26th birthday was quickly approaching. The trip to Cameron was the only thing I was holding on to, to keep me afloat. And the day finally came.

My birthday started with supervising Ghazi in baking my birthday cake, since all the bakeries were closed by the time we went out to get one. While he baked, I prepared sandwiches for the trip. Before we knew it, it was 4:30. After an hour of sleep, I woke up in a start and hurried through the wee hours in the morning to get ready for the trip.

The group met up at Mahboub in Bangsar for a quick breakfast before attempting the winding three hour drive up to Cameron Highlands. Since we already had our breakfast, Ghazi held the cake in his lap for the journey, occasionally licking his fingers from having accidentally touched the cake in sleep. Poor guy.

The scenery became green and the air began to cool. We had left the city far behind us. I remembered thinking how long it had been since I've breathed in fresh air and lingered in a comfortable cool atmosphere. With just that in mind, each muscle in my body felt at ease and my mind nestled into a peaceful haven.

I enjoyed every minute of the trip - joking with friends, eating good food and spending much needed time with Ghazi. And ohhhhhhh, the fooood! The strawberry scones were to die for! Not to mention the deep fried oyster mushrooms! Yummmmm, I would go there again just for that.

As the trip came to a close and we made our way down, I was somewhat saddened to leave. The weekend was a truly idyllic one for me. You have not seen the last of me Cameron!

Now I'm back in the office and have already seen glimpses of reality that I escaped from over the weekend. But, that's life, eh?

Cupcakes a-buzzing!

2007-10-08T23:51:00.000+08:00

And so it began as an experiment. A bit of flour here, sugar there and butter everywhere. What am I talking about? Cupcakes, of course!

Here is a picture of my most recent adventure into cuppie wonderland. Mind you, I still have to practice the icing bit! I'm starting to get addicted to making them. They're quite fun. Oh the possibilities!

For more pictures, go to my Flickr site. I hope you'll enjoy the pictures as much as I enjoyed making (and eating) them.

Where my mind is at the current moment...

2007-09-28T12:11:00.001+08:00

Schizophrenic look

2007-09-06T14:44:00.000+08:00

Sorry for all the different looks this blog is undergoing! Can't seem to decide which looks nice. But for now, enjoy the freaky looking bunny greeting you. And *gasp*, I've deviated away from my usual green.

Hopefully, this look will stick for awhile before I get bored and change it again. Call me fickle!

Quest for appreciation at work

2007-08-27T13:23:00.000+08:00

When I first started, the ladder towards my career seemed high and out of reach. Although I've found my feet climbing ever so slowly on its steep steps, I still haven't reached the halfway point.

It's given that I need to struggle and put in my time in the beginning to get anywhere in life but if there's a difference between and underpaid and overworked employee and a appreciated and overworked employee.

Don't you agree? If I have to put in more of my time, effort, energy and brains into a job - shouldn't I at least be rewarded for it? It's a different story if I'm a slacker and an idiot at what I do. But I work hard and make sure I make deadlines. Yes, it is my job but my philosophy is, a happy employee is a hardworking and loyal one.

Living costs have continuously risen, from food, cost of goods to gas here's a question I'm asking employers in Malaysia in this day and age - how do you expect your employees to survive on the meager salary you give them?

It's a struggle to survive. By the last two weeks of the month, I'm already starting to count every penny and by the last week, I have to depend on others so I can get myself to work.

Most Malaysians will continue to work hard for so little, my point is - say something, we can justify our daily costs and they do not match up with our salaries. Know your worth! These cheapskate companies continue to survive and excel at your cost, taking advantage of your talent and time.

And at the end of it all, who profits? Definitely not you. Move up and claim whats yours. You're not being unreasonable, you're getting what you deserve.

Any good company will realise this and understand the rising costs. A cheap one will turn a blind eye and keep exploiting you beyond your limits.

Remember, they need you as much as you need them.

As for me, I'm moving to a different company. And I really hope they share my philosophy. Lets just hope I climb further up the ladder in my quest for appreciation!

As I always joke, I picked the wrong field to make money. I'm in this for the satisfaction of reaching out to an audience and trying to make a difference in print.

I walk alone

2007-08-13T23:50:00.001+08:00

When I close my eyes, I vaguely remember the stinging wind that left my cheeks tingling and my fingers numb; the rough feel of my favorite green wool coat and slight itchiness of my scarf wound tightly around my neck.

The stars shone bright above as I stood in the darkness of the deserted playground. The swings swung eerily, pushed by the night’s strong breeze – moving back and forth with the unpredictable rhythm of the wind.

Faint lights from the buildings nearby glowed with distinct warmth, leaving my heart cold and somehow empty.

As I took a seat on the swing, a gush of warmth radiated through my face, a tear falls down the slope of my cheek.

In the dark playground, my feet pushed off the damp ground. The painful sound of creaking chains of the swing filled my ears as I swayed back and forth in the chilly winter air – tear after tear freely flowed down my face.

Before I knew it, the see-saw, the slides and the apartments nearby blackened into the void that consumed my mind. There was silence in the air.

My fingers clenched the cold chains and my body shook limply with every sob I tried to hold back.

A face, him and I standing in the same playground as he gently pushed the hair out of my face, a plane taking off into the horizon, angry words, cold and resolute eyes as he turned away, his back fading into the night.

With every thought running through my mind in succession and in endless and painful repetition, I had never felt so alone and so broken.

My eyes open. The uncomfortable and sticky breeze rushed through my open window, blowing the ashes from my cigarette into me.

The delicate leaves of the tree outside swayed back and forth, showing glimpses of the windows of the neighbouring houses.

A curtain draws back, revealing a warm yellow light. Dogs bark and then silence ring through my ears.

I sit engulfed within the darkness of my room. The familiar sensation of wetness touched my cheeks. My body begins to heave in ragged succession as my hand attempts to cover the sobs.

My mind has stepped into dangerous territory – into memories I had tried so hard to run away from.

Anger, pain, frustration and sadness fill the empty void I had painstakingly tried to fill with short-lived happiness.

It seemed like just yesterday, a smile stretched my lips and the warmth of his body pressed into mine, holding me close as he whispered his love into my ear.

Now there is only emptiness, everywhere I looked I yearn for what is lost. His smile, his voice, his reassuring touch and embrace was gone.

In a blink of an eye, I was back on that swing I thought I had left three years ago. In a different country, miles away from the many scenes of pain, I was neck-deep into the familiar pangs of loss.

His face flashed in front of me – the harsh shadows of his face mingled with the desperate rays of light from the streetlight nearby.

His eyes looked into mine but somehow, they were looking in the wrong places. He no longer saw the person he fell in love with.

I had become a mere stranger, a burden he needed to unload.

I could see myself shrink back as my eyes searched his for the love he had given, declared and stood up for. Nothing was left, not even a trace.

My heart ached as the words I had hoped not to hear passed through his lips. The man sitting next to me was no longer mine. He was as distant as the loves that I had lost in my ongoing battle for happiness.

My mind cried out for justice, my body trembled in sadness and my being bubbled with anger. With several simple yet hurtful words that managed its way out of my mouth, the door slammed and I drove into the night – the seat next to me empty and my heart broken in two.

No matter how much I give, love and try, I find myself back at this moment. The moment when he walks away without remorse and emotion, leaving me alone to pick up the broken pieces of my heart.

I’m broken… once again.

The road that I had pictured in front of me is no longer there. The series of events I had happily planned vanished and I saw myself gasping for air, calling out for help with no one there, except the only being I could count on in the seemingly never-ending existence of my life – loneliness.

His cold embrace suffocated me and his indifferent gaze left my heart empty.

I am left to pick myself up, every single shattered piece of my heart lay at my feet.

This time, I leave the broken pieces on the floor and walk on. I tell myself there is no next time. The empty void cannot be filled when happiness was not mine.

This time, I walk alone.

A shallow gateway

2007-06-24T21:51:00.000+08:00

Falling

2007-06-24T21:37:00.000+08:00

A glimpse at the abyss...

Rock bottom

2007-06-23T01:51:00.000+08:00

And so I've hit rock bottom. The lows of all lows. When I look up, I see an opening but somehow I can't seem to figure out how to get there - no ladder, no rope, no stairs. I sit in the darkness and ponder, how do I get out?

I hear a voice continuously telling me to try to find a way out but somehow I've gotten accustomed to the dark. When I look up at the light, my eyes sting and I scurry to engulf them in darkness again.

The voice reminds me of others who are in worser conditions and situations but as I sit all alone at the bottom, how am I to see others problems in perspective when I can't seem to get past my own demons.

And after some time, loneliness and suffering at the whim of my downward spiral is the only existence I know - somehow, it has molded into me.

Even when a rope is extended into the abyss, I do not see it. The voice I had heard before - spoken in a tone of concern and tenderness - has taken on a sharp edge, a stern and cold tone.

The role of a victim is so much easier. It is so much easier to cry out, "I've fallen and I can't get up" then brush off the pain, get up and try once more, even if it is for the millionth time.

And so here I am, willingly wallowing in the dark, crying out for someone to understand and just listen.

I do not want to be judged, I do not want to lectured, I do not want to be pitited and mostly, I do not want to be left alone. I just want to be heard.

25 going on ol' spinster

2007-06-01T22:36:00.000+08:00

When I was young (oh, so young) I mentally pictured what my life would be in the coming years. The road in front of me was one of hope and optimism. The world was half full and not half empty. Time was definitely on my side.

I would graduate by 21, get a spectacular job and by 23 settled down and get married. So by my 10 year high school reunion, I could bring my husband and brag about my great career.

And so I planned. But life kept happening again and again, so here I am - 25 going on 26, struggling to make ends meet with a question mark of when I am able to settle down.

Life definitely did not turn out as I had eagerly planned. The road in front of me is now filled with thorns and unexpected bends and my feet are weary from the rough journey.

What I had so happily planned in my youth was only that, a plan. People say not to set goals with age but when society makes it so, its hard to get away from it.

Although from time to time, I brush off society's expectations and tell myself I'm getting there, when I sit down after a bad day, I realise how far behind I am. Not only in society's standards but my own.

So here I am trudging through each day, not sure where the future will take me in one year. Even with both scenarios playing in my head, I can't seem to find a happy ending.

But not to worry, hope still exists, it is what keeps my blistered feet walking ever-so-slowly to the unforeseable end of the road. And all I have to say is, it better be worth it.

Pop goes my heart!

2007-05-31T22:12:00.000+08:00

Do you find yourself counting the minutes, hours and days waiting for an event to look forward to? Being humans, we're always looking or waiting for something to happen that somehow does not exist in the present.

For me, I'm counting down the days until my significant other comes back. But as it happens, its like watching a kettle come to a slow and excrutiating boil. What may usually take five minutes, will seem to take hours. In my case, three weeks will mentally feel like a year.

So come home soon darling... the world seems a dull grey without you here. Bring back the technicolor in my life!

What iffing life

2007-04-12T15:32:00.000+08:00

Where does time go? From the moment I open my eyes the seconds, minutes and hours sweep by. In a single blink, the sky erupts in a blanketing hue of orange and the darkness returns.

A week has passed since I stepped out of my daily routine. Just a week ago, I got out of bed at a certain time; hoped not to face traffic on the federal highway; fought a gnarling ball of anxiety in my stomach while my weathered Volvo careened up 17 floors up the cramped NST car-park; took a deep breath and opened the door to the lion's den to face yet another day as an incompetent employee.

Now I have a different type of anxiety churning in my stomach.

Although my time the past week has been an eventful. From my wheel bearing almost falling off while driving at a snail's pace to Cyberjaya in the cool night breeze; spending the little time with my boyfriend trying to the surpres the annoying buzz of worry building up in my mind to putting on my best face in the vain attempt at selling myself to prospective employers -- I feel like the sand in the hourglass is quickly sifting downwards.

Whether it's the anxiety of finding a new job before my bank balance reaches a measly five ringgit or the thought that I'm squandering time instead of writing my book or even the thought of an impending marriage or break-up in the next year -- my mind is running out of places to hide.

I stay awake during the night, staring at the computer screen with a cigarette in my hand, trying not to think of the what ifs.

What if I don't find a job? What if I don't finish my stories? What if I don't my article? What if I end up alone next year at the age of 26 going on 27?

As my boyfriend says, "Have faith and forget about the what ifs. Think about what to do."

If I only knew what to do...

Starting over again...

2007-04-01T22:44:00.000+08:00

The busy tapping of keys was eerily absent. Dark screens, empty chairs and haphazard piles of notes littered individual desks. Printed layouts of last week's issue lay folded and scattered on the big table.

Evidence of a busy work week nervously hibernated, awaiting yet another stressful week ahead.

But for me, I had stepped across the divide. I was no longer caught in the never ending cycle of deadlines, stifling pressure and two faced colleagues.

My presence in the dimly lit office was that of an ex-journalist with the simple task of clearing out her desk. As I sat down and turned on my computer for the last time, an unexpected heartache filled my chest.

I methodically started to put away my belongings into a bag - my meager collection of green stationary, name cards of the people I've met along the way, weathered notebooks. Bits and pieces of my personality left the now vacant desk.

A solitary stuffed monkey, who had seen me through the bad and the rare glimmer of good, sat peacefully on the desk. I stared into it's vacant yet knowing eyes and sighed.

The next step, clearing out evidence that I was ever at Property Times on my computer. File after file made its way to the recycle bin - memories of my experiences with each article flashed through my mind. Times where I had put my head in my hands and felt like screaming and crying at the same time.

With a simple click, my screen also darkened. I looked around the office with a melancholy smile. I had closed yet another chapter of my life.

It is time to leave behind a grueling year of my life and start anew. I picked up the monkey on my desk and stuffed it into my bag.

I have new places to discover and more grueling experiences to trudge through. Where? I know not yet. Mysteries and unknown futures in life are not as exciting as they used to be but there's one thing I can say for now, "Goodbye Property Times" and one more thing, "Fuck you Andrew Wong (Editor)!"

Back from vacation

2006-11-03T15:12:00.000+08:00

I think I left my brain in Langkawi (an island). It's been a couple of days since I've been back and trasitioning back to work mode has been a bit trying. So here I am, writing in this instead of working on one of the four articles I have on my plate for the next issue.

Even though I had things weighing down my mind, just sitting out on the porch of the motel and looking out at the sea in the near distance was enough to lull my senses - the continuous sound of waves lapping on the sandy shore, the lingering smell of salt in the air and the cool ocean breeze dancing across my face.

Before I knew it, I felt at peace. The clamouring thoughts running in unpredictable zig-zags suddenly stopped. They all sat down with me and listened to the ocean's song.

Leaving the island was twice as hard because I was aware of the long journey ahead of me. The dreaded bus! Six hours on a creaking vehicle driven by a madman. The bus trip to the island wasn't all too bad.

But the "extra bus" home was a nightmare. Literally, I was trying my hardest to sleep and when I opened my eyes, luggage was flying off the compartments and the bus was careening from lane to lane, overtaking cars and cement trucks alike.

But overall, Langkawi is definitely a place I would like to go back to in the near future. I'll post up some pictures soon :)

For crying out loud!

2006-05-28T22:18:00.000+08:00

The past week, three envelopes came my way. All bearing information that I will be poor for the upcoming months. Yes, I owe 750 bucks of traffic tickets. Two of them are for speeding and the other one is a "traffic obstruction". So for those of you who drive on Kesas, watch your ass for a cop squatting god knows where with one of those speeding thingies. I know there's a technical term for it but my mind isn't registering it right now.

Oh, and once you're caught it doesn't meant that you'll get your ticket immeadiately. These were all dated almost a year ago. Who knew Malaysia had a speed limit?

The Death of Romance?

2005-12-19T10:35:00.000+08:00

I saw this commerical once. It was raining outside and this guy with an umbrella went up to the door to pick up his date. Once she opened the door, something about her was so captivating that the umbrella slipped out of the guy's hand. How romantic is that! I could name a couple of other fictional scenes from movies and books that melted my heart but I'll spare you the vomiting episodes. After years of reading unforgettable scenes of undying devotion (mind you, not those trashy romance novels) and watching the heart-wrenching chemistry of two lovers on the silver screen, I wondered if this phenomenon called romance would happen to me.

But as time passed, I began to realize that I had become fooled by fictional romance. The cynic in me began to bubble from the surface. I watched as my friends went through heartbreak, stay in relationships that were already dead on arrival, suffer through neglect from their significant others and worst of all, I witnessed the all consuming feeling of giddy love transform into cold indifference. Does romance exist? Not the faux grand gestures that surfaces its ugly head during the chase for the sole purpose of winning their prize but the loving gestures that one does to express how they truly feel for their significant other. An unexpected flower to put a smile on her face, reassurance that even though she's tired and down that she's still the most beautiful person in his eyes, a random note or email letting her know how much she means to him in his life. As you can see, I refer to the female as the receiver of these loving gestures only because a woman in love shows it without second thought. Our capacity to sacrifice and let our partner know how we feel is second nature.

From my experiences and observations, here is the way I see it, when you're in a relationship, genuine grand gestures that we call romance are far in between and only happen every other blue moon. I may sound like a cynic but guys only put on these grand gestures, if that, in the beginning for a reason. As the relationship gets comfortable, romance is something of the past. Romance eventually wilts and dies. The chase is over and one of the party takes the other one for granted, that reassurance that no matter what they'll still be there. So the wooing and constant bursts of expression are no longer needed. That inexhaustable need to see each other everyday, talk to each other everyday, be with each other fades. Maybe there are couples out there that defy my generalization. I'd like to think so. Although I think the idea of romance in the modern day world is dead but I hope for others' sake and my own that at least a glimmer of it remains alive.

So to the guys out there, let your gals know how much you love them. Don't just tell them but show them. As the saying goes, actions speak louder than words. Romance is not a single "I love you" to satisfy her need for romance but it is the gestures, the things you do for her, sacrifice for her to let her know that you love her. Because I know every girl out there yearns for romance, no matter how cynical or jaded they are.

The Tale of The Dead Signal Lights

2005-12-14T18:37:00.000+08:00

Amidst the hectic and unlawed roads of Malaysia, a Volvo goes through and fro. Through the congested roads, through the demented monkey-like drivers, through the roads that make no sense the tank-like Volvo goes. But there is something missing! Alas! What could it be?

The big Volvo that could has lost its ability to blink. When it turns right, it does so with caution and speed. When it turns left, it does so with caution and speed. For it cannot express its desired destination.

Yes, folks. I've been driving without signal lights for almost a week now. A bit of a pain in the ass when I need to change into a congested lane but when in Malaysia, do as the Malaysian's do, right? Err, well, some of it. I'm more relaxed than I should be, seeing that only 50% of the population here actually uses that function in the car. So in some ways, I have assimilated into the Malaysian driving scene. Thank goodness I drive a large vehicle! Scare those other bitch of Malaysian cars to give me way!

Two years in Malaysia.

2005-11-14T23:04:00.000+08:00

Well, two years have flown by since I've been in Malaysia. Where did the time go? I remember turning 22, tearfully getting into a plane in the chilly Autumn air and saying goodbye to everything I knew. Now I'm 24 and in a place I've accepted as home.

Some lessons I've learned along the way:

1) What's in the past, is in the past. Leave it there.

2) No matter how you try to plan your life, it never comes out the way you expect it. Just take it as it comes and be grateful for what you have.

3) Any relationship takes work, things don't magically fall into place without effort.

4) When you find yourself at the bottom, don't give up, you'll find your way back.

and lastly...

5) People come and go, you're lucky to have one friend that will be there for you through thick and thin.

TPM

2005-07-16T10:44:00.000+08:00

The last two weeks have proven to be busy ones for me. I started a new teaching gig at TPM (Technology Park Malaysia). Where do I even start? Hah! For once I don't even know where to start. Well, I guess I can start by explaining the stupid system by which the instution runs. For those of you who know of TPM are familiar with its deserted campus. Big spacious buildings spaced out over a big campus, but no students in sight. When an image of a school is conjured in my mind, I always think of a bustling campus but TPM defies the rule--a ghost school.

With the lack of students, you'd think TPM is running at a loss. TPM is very dependent on the foreign students that get pulled in somehow. This is where my Chinese students fall into the picture. Since the school is very dependent on their money, they insist on doing anything to make the students happy. The students even dictate what they want to learn by giving lecturers a list of modules they want to learn.

For us lecturers, the happiness of the student in our classroom is a given but how far is too far? In TPM, lecturers are dependant on the students happiness or not we're out of a job. That would be understandable in the real world if the student complaint was reasonable. But in this case, the professionalism that is supposed to define a institution of education has somehow gone down the toilet. Politics and money are the forerunners, waving on under the false banner of education.

I'm not sure if I made any sense but I just wanted to put my thoughts out into the void...

Uncharted Territory!

2005-06-13T21:37:00.000+08:00

Poetry has always been my weakest point. I never really mastered it but I've dabbled with it from time to time. But I haven't touched the stuff in a significant amount of time just because I'm just no good at it. Recently, I'm giving poetry another chance. It's a refreshing change from prose! I really need to read up on how to write proper poetry! Lol. I always shyed away from poetry classes in university, only now I do I realize I should've taken some for fun! So, forgive me for this poem.

Untitled

A soft breeze comes this way,
Caresses my face with a gentle sway.
The dark sky above calls forth my name,
Away from the hassles of Life’s tricky game.
Starless black and shadows play,
Away from the glaring light of day.
I sit and wonder of what is to come,
As mysterious Fate slyly taps her drum,
To an ever-changing beat I know not,
I stumble and fall in clumsy thought.

Within the sublte breeze of night,
I anxiously think of my lonely plight.
In agony and joy,
Fate sets up her ploy.
All I can do is sit and wonder,
And think of my next spectacular blunder.
In the still of the shadows,
I can only wait to see what follows…

A World of Crazy Drivers.

2005-06-01T21:52:00.000+08:00

What the fuck is wrong with the drivers here? My one pet peeve that really gets under my skin is what I like to call, "floating" drivers. They float in and out of the lane. It's a common phenomenon. You'd think there's a reason for this; driver's on the phone or preoccupied talking with a fellow passenger that he or she strays from the lane. NO! When I overtake these people, they have no apparent distraction. They have both eyes on the road and are calmly driving but not in their designated lane. This is with painted lines on the road. Everytime I encounter a repaved road minus the lines, havoc occurs. Cars aren't in a visible line, they're just everywhere! At first I found it amusing. When my friend came to visit me from Seattle, we had a good laugh when we drove on a repaved road--what used to be three lanes became five and a half.

My second pet peeve, impatient drivers. For example, the road is completely deserted. Just me and some driver behind me. There's a left turn. The driver behind me overtakes me and then turns left. What the fuck is that? Not like I'm going really slow. Couldn't the driver turn left without overtaking me? It's not like he or she would lose time by driving behind me and then turning left. I wasn't even turning left and I wasn't even in the left turn lane! Oy.

The phenomenon of double parking is so common over here, people don't even think twice before doing it. I have to say, I never double parked in my life until I came here. But at times, I don't blame the people who double park because there's the issue of limited parking. I admit, I double park but I stay IN the car, so if someone needs to get out of their parking space, I can move. What gets on my nerves are those drivers that double park and leave their car without supervision. It so happened that I parked in a normal parking space and some idiot locked me in by double parking behind me. I honked and honked and honked and no one came to move their car. I was stuck in that spot for thirty minutes before the owner of the vehicle slowly sauntered to his vehicle and moved.

I could go on and on and on about this. Everytime I get in the car I start swearing at some driver. Although I've attained more patience for idiot drivers, it's still frustrating. It all boils down to one attribute that Malaysian's don't seem to have--consideration for others. It's very rare for someone to give way, you really have to wedge yourself in to get people to let you in.

First world infrastructure, third world mentality.

Dirty Old Men.

2005-05-28T20:48:00.000+08:00

I went to Starbucks today to do some work. I needed a change of scene to get my creative juices running. First of all, I had to sell my kidney for a Caramel Macchiato and after that, I limped to a table to do some work. I worked uninterrupted for an hour. Actually wrote instead of staring at the computer screen letting my mind wander aimlessly to no effect. I had my work face on, my glasses, crappy hair and equally crappy clothes. I was enjoying my solitary reverie with my thoughts. Until...

a dirty old man came into the picture. Yes, you read right, a dirty old man. By this time my laptop ran out of charge, I was writing manually in my notebook. Just scribbling shit down. And I looked away for a breather and to think of what to write next. And he made his move. He commented how its nice to see someone write the old-fashioned way instead of using a computer. I spouted a polite, "Yeah, uh huh, you're right" and went back to my work. But my concentration was broken because I could feel him watching my every move. I decided it was time to go but apparently, it was a sign for him to come and sit at my table!

I should've just told him to fuck off but damn my politeness! He was such a predator. Probably had a wife at home, watching after the kids, washing his underwear, whatever. He told me that it was his birthday yesterday and that he had recently gone to Pangkor. When it comes down to it, he basically wanted me to go to Pangkor with him. Seriously, do I look that naive and stupid to go on a trip with a complete stranger! A dirty old man! I told him no and he insisted, even calling his friend who supposedly worked at the Chalet in Pangkor to talk to me. That was my cue to leave.

After I left, I wondered if his little ploy actually worked on girls. Disturbed. Eeks. Seriously disturbed. Dirty old men and their ways of luring their young prey.

Thought I'd share that with you guys. Just feel disturbed.

The Fast Food Revolution!

2005-05-22T19:21:00.000+08:00

Delectible pieces of golden fried sticks of potatoes bathed in the right amount of oil and salt; miniscules pieces of lettuce sandwiched in between juicy meat, the cold burst of sweet yet bubbly fluid--Ahh, the wonders of fast food. Just writing that little piece made my mouth water. We all know its bad for us but yet, we continue eating it. McDonalds, Burger King, KFC. The supersize franchises present in Malaysia. Although I would sell my liver and kidneys for Carls. Jrs., Wendy's and Taco Bell right now, the big three present in Malaysia is enough to keep my taste buds preoccupied.

Fast food chains in Malaysia have grown to gargantuan proportions (appropriate, I might add, for the concept of fast food). Three story to two story buildings, golden arches that stretch up into the horizon, Ronald McDonald sitting on your local bench, Colonel Sanders sauntering in the entrace. We are bombarded by the wonders of fast food. Constant billboards, ads and even the promise of delivery!

I grew up in a place where fast food chains only evolved to a modest one story building. Yes, they're popular in the States but for different reasons. Being a poor student, I lived off the 99 cent menu in McDonalds and the cheap centful goodies at Taco Bell. Fast food is the cheapest alternative. Over here, fast food carries a label, like Addidas or Nike. Fast food isn't cheap. It's a luxury.

Compared to other local food prices, fast food is quite expensive to be a daily habit. This is the thing that angers me. These fast food franchises use local products yet are able to still charge American prices. These companies make big bucks outside of the States. That gets me talking about Starbucks. Hey, I had Starbucks daily in Portland--caffeine was a must to wake me up for work or class. And it didn't cost me an arm or a leg or both! My jaw dropped at the prices Starbucks charged to Malaysians. The cost of goods should match the average salary.

Here's the thing, nobody says anything. So these multi-billion dollar companies make a killing from your pocket.

Etiquette--What's That? A Bird? A Plane? No, Its a Rude Malaysian!

2005-05-04T17:31:00.000+08:00

I held a plastic bag of pastries in my hand, a smile on my face as I exited Bee Bakery in Bandar Puteri Puchong. After a grueling couple hours of errands in the hot sun, I was relieved that a break was in the foreseable future. Just as I walked out, a Chinese woman doubled parked her new expensive car and dressed in her equally expensive dress suit proceeded to walk towards the bakery. As I was just leaving, with my hand clutching the door handle, I held the door open for her.

What does the bitch do? She just walks in without any acknowledgement of me standing there, holding the door open for her. What the fuck do I look like? A doorman? Her maid? I walked away to my car feeling perturbed and then as the incident finally settled into my mind, hot bubbling anger surfaced out of my tired facade. Obscene words flew out of my mouth in rapid succession, followed by one question I've been asking ever since I got here, "What has happened to common decency and etiquette in Malaysia?"

This isn't the first time I've faced inconsiderate behavior from my fellow Malaysians. Phrases like, "Thank you" and "Please" have somehow made its way out of Malaysian vocabulary. I'm greeted by sour faces at cash registers and impolite staff at stores. Don't even get me started on Malaysian's on the road! The act of inconsideration has somehow made its way into Malaysian culture. Darwin's idea of the survival of the fittest, that everyone is out for themselves, has taken a whole new meaning in Malaysia; it is the defining characterisctic embedded into the minds of Malaysians.

With the new Prime Minister sworn in, commercials carrying forth the message of proper behavior and etiquette have popped up on television screens and in the form of reprimanding voices on the radio. Do people really need to be told to give up their seat to an elderly woman in the bus or give way to a screaming ambulance? I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the commercials. Does a person living the life of a twenty-first century citizen have to be taught the basic principles of etiquette? Has Malaysia really come to that?

Malaysia desperately wants to be seen as a country in progress; a country that can stand proudly amongst other successful, high-tech, urban centers around the world. The ugly label of "third world country" is what Malaysia has apparently shed in prior years. But how does one measure a civilized nation? By the tallest building in the world or by the actions of their people?

Food for thought!

Ah, The Joys of Acceptance.

2005-04-26T16:17:00.000+08:00

Big news. I'm getting published! Well, the publishing company has accepted my manuscript! Eeeeeks! So excited! What's getting published? Well, prepare yourself for a story.

When I first came to Malaysia I surveyed the general reading populace and their interests. My brother and I came to the conclusion that the horror genre, whether it is in the form of a film or a book, seemed to be quite popular. So, just for fun, I'd thought I'd take a shot in writing some short stories.

I submitted to two publishers. The first one was Pelanduk. I emailed them and sent them a hard copy and I heard nothing from them. Discouraged, I put the project on a shelf for a bit. Then I did more research and stumbled unto Times Publishing after perusing countless bookshelves at several bookstores. So I emailed in a story and a book proposal. To my surprise, they responded quickly and seemed interested. And today, I got an email saying that they are interested in publishing my stories! Hopefully, if everthing works out, expect to see my books on the shelves :-D

Flu.

2005-04-13T16:02:00.000+08:00

For the past week, I've been plagued by the flu. I haven't had a bad case of the flu in a long time and when I say bad I mean, neverending fevers, overly congested sinuses, fatigue, light-headedness and an overall icky feeling. Yes, my technical word, "icky". In other words, I felt like shit. I was a useless lump, lying either in my bed or sprawled on the couch in the living room.

So! After almost a week of bedrest, watching DVD's, reading and staring vacantly at random objects around the house, I'm on the mend. I feel so much better today. Feel's good to feel normal! :)

Back to work, soon. I should be my old self tomorrow. Er, young self :)

And The Procrastination Marches On.

2005-04-03T12:02:00.000+08:00

Hmmmm, I have a lot of work to do but for some reason I feel the need to write aimlessly. Maybe it'll help my little block now. I've been writing non-stop for weeks that whatever I write now comes out as shit. So a much needed break is what I'm taking now. Maybe its dragging on a little longer than it should!

While I was in Masjid India this morning. My block lifted, somewhat. I sat in the car took out a notepad my dad uses to keep track of gas intake and I started writing in my really bad handwriting. I just sat in the hot car and wrote everything I saw. The storefronts, the dirty alleyway, the various people walking about, everything! I got a couple pages worth. The real task is going back to it and trying to deciper my handwriting :-| Maybe it's the makings of a short story. I'm not sure yet. For now its just a reflective piece. I might just type it up here. Not sure yet. Than my audience of zero will get a glimpse of a morning in Masjid India! Lol.

I really should post up pictures on here. My digital camera is sitting on my desk, basking in dust. I feel like such a tourist when I take pictures. Lol. Reminds me of the lost faces of white people that roam around Malaysia with their backpacks and sweaty faces. Looking at us as if we were an alien species, "Oh, this is how a darkie looks like!". It really cracks me up to see their faces. While others walk around as if they are superior to us. Makes me want to squat down on the floor and cook curry on a pile of burning kindling.

I felt alienated in Portland when my good white friends made a face at the food I ate but even in my own country, full of darkies, I still get that look. Why is being white so coveted? People who shower once a day, don't wash their ass and eat a bunch of carbs until they graduate to a mumu. Okay, that was a generalization, not the shower part though or the ass part come to speak of it. They find us asian people dirty for washing our asses. For those white people who read this, don't pretend you don't generalize about asians, because you do. Some of my white friends did it in front of my face and laughed.

I'm not saying that white people are lower than us but don't put them up on a pedestal. We're equal to them.

There I go again! Bitching, bitching, bitching. I swear, I can't help it.

A Revival.

2005-04-02T11:39:00.000+08:00

'Tis been awhile since my last angry entry. Man, I really didn't know I had that much angst in me! Lol. My apologies. This entry is a lot more calm and reflective.

My three year old cousin Mira has been sick with Dengue Hemorraghic Fever, a severe case. She was in the ICU for awhile. My parents and I went down to Johor Bahru (also my hometown) to see her. When we were arrived there she was in a coma. Just awful to see a little girl hooked on so many machines and tubes. When we visited her in the hospital the next day, she was responsive. She seemed like she was making some progress.

Latest news, she's out of the ICU and is doing better. She's still in the hospital but she's healing. Her birthday was April 1st. I'm glad she made it to see her fourth birthday :)

Other news. What other news? Lol. Been writing, re-writing and pulling my hair out in frustration. Been trying to edit a bunch of short stories of mine. More like re-write basically, because the first drafts are shit. Usually I need more space between my pieces to go back and do a rewrite but alas, time marches on and I need to get them done. Which brings me to the question of, why am I writing here when I have work to do? The art of procrastination is a medium I've mastered over the years :-D

Until my next angry entry! :)

The Race Breakdown.

2005-03-15T19:03:00.000+08:00

I'm gonna give you the breakdown of races present in Malaysia and for fun, I'll add the common stereotypes attributed to each of them. I'm warning you, I'm not going to paint a pretty picture. I'm going to give it to you straight.

Malays: Lazy shits who don't know their head from their ass. Pretty much content with whatever is spoon-fed to them. Whatever addicts there are out there, Malays are sure to be on top of the addict list. TV addicts, ganja addicts, westernization addicts, erm... you name it, we got it! Oh, we also think lowly of ourselves and we tend to worship people of white skin color. Hence all the "whitening" skin products the ingenious Westerners sell to the darkies. I like to call Malays, white worshippers. Even if you're from a trailer and call your mama a bitch, come to Malaysia, we'll put you on a throne. Safe to say most of the population has a basic understanding of the English language--just enough to get you by. Western whores.

Chinese: Resourceful fuckers. Has Malaysia's economy in their grabby hands. But I don't blame them, the Chinese are opportunists and the lazy Malays pretty much handed their economy to the Chinese on a silver platter. Hard-working. Look down on Malays. Value education and books. Most can speak their dialect of Chinese, Malay and English.

Indians: Do I really need to say more?

Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to offend anybody and these aren't my personal beliefs. I'm just writing down the stereotypes I've heard. And are commonly believed. Yes, racism is rampant but for some reason it's not acknowledged. It is embedded into the way of life that nobody thinks to call it racism. We have Malay schools, Chinese schools and Indian schools. If that's not segregation, what is? You don't have to be a Malay to go to a Malay school, a Chinese to go to a Chinese school or an Indian to go to a Indian school but why does every race need their own school?

And as you can see, I'm more critical of the Malays because I am a Malay. Come on guys, open your eyes, have a goal and do something for crying out loud! Don't be content working in restaurants. Get an education and retake your economy from the Chinese.

There are so many other things I can say about this subject but not today! Another day! But you get the gist of where I'm going. Look at me, I'm talking as if somebody actually reads this stupid blog! Lol.

Feminism. Who's a feminist?? Me? You?? Who?

2005-03-08T12:00:00.000+08:00

There used to be this time where being a feminist was cool. Maybe it was only when I was surrounded by feminists in my "something something Women's Literature/History" classes. When you're in this group of unshaved women, "you go girl!" is usually a phrase that will get you covered in spit from the angry protests foaming out of these feminists' mouths.

Okay, I'm being unkind. Let me put it this way, there are people who are feminists because back in the day that the Lilith Fair was in, it was cool to be one. And there are people who are feminists because their circumstances mold their beliefs.

We live in a phallocentric world. It's good to be a man and not so good to be a woman. But in some places, it's easy to forget this fact. The balance between men and women is such that one can live their lives without seeing the distinction, most of the time. Suffragettes have paved the way for women to stand as their own entity.

I come from an Asian background. Although the women's movement started in the 1800s, my culture refuses to acknowledge it happened. There is a distinct division of what a man is and what a woman is, besides anatomy. The man is the breadwinner and the woman is the housekeeper. I was raised this way, the next generation is being raised with this notion as well. Where's the progress?

I never saw myself as a staunch feminist but when I came to live in Malaysia after a long stay in the States, I began to find the (shaved) feminist in me. Women here are so used to their cage they don't see the bars. They don't see what's outside those bars. They are content with the contents in the cage. Or should I say kitchen? The women who manage to get out of the kitchen find themselves in a new cage--the factory or a secretarial position. Yes, women are in the worforce. They are out there earning a living, or trying to earn a living with their small wages, but that's the general picture. Look closely, the higher positions are women-free.

Much is not expected out of me career wise because I'm a woman. I can't get a goddamn Malaysian publisher to publish me because I'm a woman writing outside her means. I'm expected to cook and do all the household chores when my brother is not expected to lift a finger to help. I can't walk alone after dark because I'm a girl that can't protect herself. Restriction after restriction. Expectation after expectation. Or should I say lack of expectation? It's a frustrating world to be thought as the weaker species.

So, YES! I'm a feminist. Women have equal rights to men. Just because we have boobs and a vagina doesn't mean that we can succeed in the same things that a penis can. Liberate the woman out of her second standing! EQUALITY people. For the Malaysian women out there, start questioning your role as a daughter, wife and mother. Men have two hands like you, why is it so taboo for a man to be in the kitchen while the woman relaxes with a newspaper in the living room?

Lets Try This Blog Thang!

2005-03-08T10:33:00.000+08:00

Thought it was about time I write down my thoughts (A.K.A., my continous bitching) in a coherant manner. Obviously I'll try to tone down the language because I tend to swear when I'm passionate about something, or just plain mad at obvious twist-in-the-side stupidity.

A little background on where my bitching comes from. Malaysia. Yep, that's it. Malaysia. I'm not going to sugar coat the country like its tourism sites do. Yes, I'm a citizen and yes, I'm furious at how the country functions. Don't I have the right to voice my opinions as a citizen? WAIT! Whoops, I forgot, Asia's all about swallowing bitterness and just taking it sitting down. I attribute this flaw to our favorite philosopher Confucious. You got the sarcasm there right?

On the surface, Malaysia looks like this great tourist spot where racial tolerance and westernization exists in harmony. I'm going to reveal whats just an inch below that surface. A place where open racism is so rampant that nobody thinks to call it racism. A place where western values and culture have swept in and replaced Malay culture. A place where the penis still sits on the throne.

Here's a little smattering of the topics to come.