Happy Endings...

No, not the kind you get at dodgy massage parlours (or in some person's case- hope to get.. hehe) but the kind from a movie or a book. I've oftened asked myself, why is it that all typical Hollywood movies have to have some cheesy fairytale ending where everyone lives happily ever after when that's actually so far from the truth?

Cause we like them!

Why do you read a book? why do you watch a movie? See a play? Hear some music? If you're like me and millions around the world- you do this to feel better. Do you go to a movie in hopes to be depressed after? Of course not! So why would you want to see, read or hear something that upsets you?

I noticed today as I flipped impatiently through Mr Cavendish, I presume that more than wanting to see if love happens, I found I was more concerned in the title and Thomas Cavendish's claim to the dukedom. What an unhappy end it would be if it were taken over by a mere highwayman! So when I found, the ending wasn't as happy as I had hoped (think ugly masseuse offering you a happy ending...) with Cavendish losing the title but keeping his fiancee, I was a bit miffed. Left me with a bit of a sour taste and a dislike for the book that had intially kept me enthralled for most of today. At the very end though, Quinn attempts to redeem my good spirits by awarding Cavendish the Earldom of Crowland, initially belonging to his fiancee's father, out of pity.

But the damage had been done. I didn't get my happy ending when I should've and the replacement was lukewarm at best. The mood has passed.

It is probably the second bad ending this week- the first being in that strange movie called 'The Box' that I saw on Saturday. That was not just bad, it was bizarre!

Perhaps there is a market out there- people who prefer to see the lead characters being maimed or bludgeoned. I am not one of them and I would much rather happy, pleasant endings with people running in meadows all scrubbed and glowing. Well not exactly like that but close enough.

So its settled. More happy endings please! And don't scrimp on the body butter. ;)

Scandinavian Concept- Malaysian Inhospitability

There's a lot of interesting things that crop up when buying a new house. The most would be making that house worthy to be lived in- paint, repair, pipes and of course furniture! I've never been much interesting in furniture and the only thing I liked about Ikea was the meatballs.

But all changed when I realised I had 2 new rooms and was old enough to pick out my own furniture (the last time I did, I was probably 13...). Ikea opened up a host of new possibilities with their space saving measures and artsy designs. I fell in love with the Meldal day bed and there was no turning back for me.

I purchased a few of the bulkier things on Saturday and paid to have them delivered and assembled for me the next day. I had no idea that a simple thing like that would stretch all week long with numerous calls to Ikea.

First, I knew the guy assembling the bookcase had never seen one in his life. He spread the pieces out and stared at it awhile whilst the other guy who was assembling my bedframe had already started piecing stuff together. A little while later my fears were confirmed. He had mucked the assembly and ruined a shelf! I was perturbed but the other guy (who seemed senior) assured me he'd get it fixed and that I'd get a new piece absolutely FOC. He called customer service on the spot and the woman assured me they would deliver the spare part on Wednesday.

Wednesday comes and even though I told them I would only be available at 2pm, they called at 11.30 asking if they could come then. I wondered what was going through their minds asking something so stupid when I already said I couldn't the day before. In the end they arrive at 1pm and lo n behold- they brought the wrong part!!! By which time I was fuming and unlike the last delivery person, this guy doesn't even bother to ring customer service, takes his 'wrong piece' and waltzes out saying he'd go make a report and that was that.

I called customer service and was pretty much ready to read them the riot act but the woman seemed genuinely interested in following up so I let her. A few minutes later another woman calls- not the one I spoke to and this one really pissed me off. She ignored everything I said and kept repeating 'when can we deliver?' as if it was the only thing in the English language that she knew. I soon realised I was either talking to an imbecile or she had been trained NOT to listen to customers (as a typical Malaysian). Either way, I am not pleased. I gave up trying to talk to her and promised myself that if this was not resolved on Saturday; then I will pursue this. It isn't about a bookcase at all to be honest. In fact, I can even live with the broken part. Its the principle that if you've f***** up on your customer, you should atleast be apologetic and willing to fix things as expediently as possible.

Ikea is a wonderful concept of a store with great products because that was Scandinavian. The customer service- ah now that's truly Malaysian...

Some R & R

Its been a pretty harrowing week. Not because of anything unordinary but simply because of all things, erm, ordinary. Like deadlines and work and traffic jams and rain on your pant ends. You see it in movies and think its exaggerated but it really isn't. I've had days like that. Lots of em.

Today, I just about had enough. I needed to get my sanity back. So how do I go about such a thing? Well, usually I'd spend a load o' dosh and buy something pretty or get a massage and eat an expensive meal. Today had to be different though cos the old exchequer is running pretty low (no, didn't go shopping again. Just had to pay off some necessities). I asked myself, how could I unwind on a budget? Seemed an impossible feat.

I soon figured it out though. I got a DVD for RM8 and a bar of chocolate for RM4. Now that's frugal good times for you. Got home, did the laundry and the ironing then took a bath and soaked up some organic mix lotion that I had bought on one of my many shopping sprees, lit the aromatherapy burner, curled up in bed and put the DVD into the laptop. Oh yes, did I forget the chamomile tea?

There's nothing like it. A night of luxuriating in nice scents and calming accents, divine tastes however small and just quiet alone time. Of course it could always be improved upon but for now- I am blissful.

Hello? I am Psycho calling...

We all deal with psychos on a daily basis. At work, on the street, in a tram or crowded bus. We can't run. Now I am not talking about clinically ill poor souls who need a doctor, but more so about unstable, emotionally imbalanced yet terribly wicked people.

I met such one recently in the course of my employment. Now we are forced by heavy workloads to take on freelancers who will help with the work. We were recommended this person who was interested in freelancing so we gave her a call. Initially she came by and things seemed normal; I didn't think much of it. Didn't realise that whilst my dealings with her would've been acceptable by normal standards; this psycho was going off inside her head already. My first clue came with a phone call at 10.30pm Wednesday night. She had come by in the afternoon and I had told her what I needed to at that point but told her she could contact me should she need further assistance. Oh boy what a mistake that was!

So yes, here's me all groggy and tired after a long day. Told my darling bf I was too tired to talk so I laid my head down and closed my eyes only to be rudely awakened 3 seconds later by my obnoxious 'work phone' (I have a phone number I only give to ppl who don't know me personally for work and well, people I don't like so I have the option of switching it off- something I failed to do that day). I grumbled and answered. Imagine my annoyance when I find it is this woman. I tell her I am already about to sleep and she asks rather nonsensically 'Are you free to talk?'

I felt like committing bloody murder.

But I maintained my cool and told her (through somewhat gritted teeth) to please call me in the morning during office hours.

So thats what she did. The next day, I never got a moments peace. I can't keep track of how many times she called and how many emails she sent and how many I sent painstakingly explaining how things were to be done. But after each detailed email she would call me again and say she didn't understand!!!

I was at wits end. I had tonnes of my own work to do. The reason we engaged her was to lighten my load and not add to it! She demanded more and more examples and I soon realised that if I were to do so, I'd essentially be editing everything myself. My boss asked me; 'Honestly, Diana, do you think she can do this?' I shook my head. She couldn't gasp simple concepts such as uppercase/lowercase and the use of spaces and tabs- how could we go on to the more nitty gritty parts of editing? I told my managers my frustrations and showed them her emails and work. My boss was appalled. She said; 'You have to put your foot down, Diana. Tell her honestly; you have that right. Tell her we can't accept this and that she can't be hounding you this way.'

I didn't want to be harsh- its never my way. So I wrote her an email telling her- no begging her, to please do the chapter properly, to read my notes and my emails as they would help her. My boss found it necessary to mention that if she kept producing such work, we won't be able to pay her the amount promised; so I did.

Money; its always the thing that sets people off.

She didn't call, or email after so I thought perhaps she really was going to try. Instead she called my manager and waxed lyrical about how horrible I was to her. She said I must hate her or something. These were her complaints;
1) 'Diana told me not to come during her lunch hour!' - Even if I had said it this way; it wouldn't have been unreasonable would it? But nonetheless I do know that sometimes it may be hard so I told her my lunch break times and hoped she would choose to be considerate. I did many a times ask her if she was ok with this and she did tell me that it was fine and tht it was probably for the best since she didn't have to rush back to work. What a porker!!! Thank god I am in a cubicle system so essentially everyone can hear so my colleagues backed me up saying I never said anything of the sort.

2) 'Diana didn't answer my query that night! I was told I could call anytime!' - erm.. Hello? Cuckoo... cuckooooo

3) 'Diana asked me if I could do this- how dare she ask me such a thing?' - erm Princess Psycho- its my job to ask cos if you can't, I'll be saddled with it.

So those were her reasons and she said to my manager- 'as long as Diana's on this, I won't be!' So it's bye bye Miss Psycho!

All in all, now that I write it- it all sounds terribly funny. Poor woman, I almost feel sorry for her. She must be terribly disturbed to think that I have some kind of gripe against her when quite frankly she doesn't even register to me. I haven't the time or energy to like her or dislike her (although that might alter slightly now...).

Anyways, now that I got that off my chest- I am happy today cos something new is going to start! Some of you know already but I'll be back tonight with the lowdown and what exactly I am on about! Wish me luck anyhow! ~Muakks peeps~

Now where have I seen you before?

Who knew you could see familiar faces on Nat Geo?

Look like anyone you know? I am only saying... ;) hehe

Mane Story

Grandma smoothed a thick greenish oil on my hair as I fidgeted restlessly. I hated the smell of it, a strange mix of flowers and something else I couldn't make out. She had just scrubbed my waist length locks with her trusty Rejoice! Shampoo and was now treating it with some kind of traditional Indian hair oil. She did this diligently atleast 3 times a week and before I knew it, my stick straight Chinese hair had become a thick bush of lush Indian curls. Perhaps I would've gotten hair like that eventually; perhaps it was in my genes but somehow I doubted that it would have been that way had she not done what she did.

I was 8 at the time.

When you're 8, and having a good time splashing around in mud, drains and being mauled by your boorish boy cousins, the last thing you'll want is long curly hair. It got in the way.

At 13, I couldn't stand my hair. I saw trendy tweens with chic straight bobs and wished I had it. Jennifer Aniston's layered bob was the height of fashion at the time and I was stuck with matronly dull, long hair. My grandma would hear nothing of it so I snuck out one day with mum and went to the hair salon. In one single chop- the old man had cut off my long ponytail. He handed me the bunch of hair as a souvenir. He then proceeded to layer my shoulder length hair. As a final insult to my grandma's hard work- he straightened the lot of it. Back then, there wasn't rebonding thank God- just the chemical straightening which wasn't half as strong.

I went home mighty pleased with myself. Grandma didn't talk to me for 2 whole weeks until a few telltale kinks returned to my hair. She never touched my hair again and passed away one year later.

Now I know, the cruellest joke of all is on me. I can't grow my hair long. After a certain point it starts to fall off. At best, I can keep it a little below shoulder. I've lost my wild curls and only have somewhat subdued waves. I tried looking for that oil but without a real name or ingredient list- I have little hope. Many friends have told me, my greatest asset is my hair- if only they knew, how much lovelier it was all those years before I ruined it!

If I could turn back time, I'd never have taken my Grandma's efforts for granted and perhaps I wouldn't have lost my gorgeous mane...

Just me...

I was upset. My body wracked with a mixture of anger, disappointment, and sadness. The day had gone lazily well and I fancied myself quite happy until the evening came and brought with it a barrage of emotions I would've rather not feel.

And yet there they were. I instinctively picked up my cell to browse through the list of friends to see who'd be my listening ear this evening. I picked a name and dialled and as the monotonous wait tone began I felt my stomach crash. I didn't want to speak to anyone. I almost wished the person didn't pick up but when they did, I was forced to talk. Mid sentence I finally blurted that I preferred to be alone, that I didn't feel like talking to anyone. The recipient merely mused; 'Perhaps you've realised you don't have anyone you can trust.' I nearly fell over in laughter despite my sombre mood. I answered without even thinking. The answer was so honest and from my very core that I scarced believed the words left my mouth. My simple reply was thus;
'Hardly. Its just that it's easier to not listen to people when they aren't around...' As soon as I said it, I knew it to be truest thing I said in a long time.

When I was upset, burdened; the last thing I wanted to do was listen to people. People, as much as they love you and want the best for you, sometimes haven't the slightest idea what should or should not be said.

My mood was off, my heart was heavy, inside I was crying like a lost little girl but on the outside my demeanour remained stoic and my eyes as dry as ever. I didn't cry because I didn't need to. I knew I was hurting, I knew I was sad so I didn't need to externalise it for others to see. And I didn't want to talk to anyone about it.

You see, I have always been alone. Even when I am surrounded by people; I am alone in the ways that matter. No one sees who I am really, or gets what I am about. I can't blame them though- its hard to understand someone who doesn't know how to communicate properly. I couldn't show emotion, expression or anything like a normal human being and quite frankly I grow tired of trying.

So if I could not share my burdens and communicate my grief; how do I deal with them? In the best way I know how- with myself. I've made a strong commitment tonight that I will devote however much time necessary with myself to heal, to allow me to be the primary force in my healing. I need no one else.

Although there is a part of me who is scared stiff of what my quiet time may reveal; though I fear the honesty of my undisturbed unadulterated thoughts- I know I have to put the phone down, fight the urge to call people and face myself.

Wish me luck...