Une Belle Vie

The Simple Things

2012-02-20T18:16:00.000-08:00

Some things are complicated...

Like quadratic math problems;

Finding a cure for cancer;

Figuring out how to cross stitch;

Wondering why Justin Beiber is famous;

Wondering why your best friend stole yourboyfriend despite calling him King of the Mingers...

Yes, some things in life are complicatedindeed. But there are others that aren’t...

Like how ice-cream makes everything better;

Why Baywatch became an instant hit;

Why we laugh at politicians;

How the Lord of the Rings became an almostreligion;

But I guess the simplest thing in life forme must be, the love I share with you.

Happy Birthday, doll.

*Loving you long time- 11 years andcounting!*

Going the Distance

2012-02-14T21:46:00.000-08:00

I watched this video a few days ago and reminisced about when it first came out in 1997.

I was 13 and somehow it just evoked such powerful emotions me. Now, 15 years on, it still does. The song tells the story of Hercules, the distance he went to find love and acceptance for he was 'different'. Didn't matter that he was the son of a God- he was still different.

At 13, every teen can relate to feeling 'different'. Teenage angst and acceptance issues are rife as we try to fit in with our friends and the popular kids at school. How much of that actually changes, I wonder? Possibly very little but we dress up our 'teenage insecurities' in pinstripe suits and bully others at a higher level. Bullies in the workplace and the playground are most of the time, similar characters.

Although I have experienced bullying even in adult life, it wasn't that which made me relate to this song that til today can make me cry. It's the feeling that there is something more out there- a place, a time, or even a person that will make you feel truly like you have arrived. The hero's welcome you envision doesn't have to be real cheers but even looking at the faces of your family, friends or colleagues and knowing I am who I need to be.

I can't say I know exactly who, or where I need to be but I do know what I don't want and that is a truly useful bit of knowledge. It is from there that we avoid the pitfalls and build, build, build. I'll get there; I know I will.

And just randomly, I love this line. I believe every word:
"A hero's strength is measured by his heart."

Knotty, knotty

2012-02-12T00:27:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine told me this morning that she cries at weddings.

No surprise there, I thought and said. Lots of women cry at weddings. She looked at me and went "Heh, maybe. But nobody cries for the reason I do. I cry because it's sad. It's so sad that these two people are ruining their lives by making this dumb mistake! And divorce will bankrupt them!"

I had to burst out laughing. Sure, I should be bitter that marriage isn't on my radar even at the ripe age of 28 but I can't seem to be and definitely not to this degree! But I couldn't say it was a priority for many young people now.

During a very brief stint in the now defunct 'YouthQuake' Newspaper that was part of the New Straits Times, the first assignment we were given was to find teenagers obsessed with getting married. 'Easy peasy,' I thought- every other girl dreamt of her big day. But the editor wanted something more than a girl who just knew she wanted a poufy gown and a five star hotel. No, he wanted a girl who bought bridal magazines at the age of 16 and hid them in her schoolbag; the one who had every detail already mapped out including colour scheme and the types of posies her bouquet would have. My indignation rose, 'Where in the world would I find a freak of nature like that??' Maybe in the sixties women in Malaysia had a little less things to dream about so this might be high on the radar of ambition but surely not a girl in the 20th century. And leave aside the girl- no young man would've thought about it either even way back when!

That My Fair Lady song comes to mind: 'Let the other's of my sex, tie the knots around their neck. I'd prefer a new edition of the Spanish Inquisition than to ever let a woman in my life!' (Rex Harrison, I Will Never Let a Woman in My Life. Ironically, though he does go on later in the movie to sing about the very same woman I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face)

I left YouthQuake before I could find out if they ever found such teenagers.

Little did I know, that girl would've been me if I really thought about it. Well, I didn't buy bridal magazines but you see, I would never take wedding advice from a bridal magazine anyway. My wedding wouldn't be chic- it would be so old fashion, it'll be medieval! Yes, I wanted a wedding in a Celtic Castle; complete with an old fashioned frock (most likely Regency) and flowers in my hair. I even had the number of guests down to pat: less than 20. Flights to a Celtic country with castles don't come cheap. I like weddings- not the big, circus of a event people seem to have nowadays but a quiet 'do in a beautiful tranquil setting, with my closest friends and family. Very few people know about this dream of mine though so imagine my shock when a male friend actually told me 'Wouldn't it be nice to get married in a castle?' I swear if I was on a chair, I would've fallen off it. Apparently he had done his research too - he knew the price of a lavish affair like that complete with dinner and drinks for 120 guests. How many straight men have thought of their wedding day complete with venue and menu options?

But it was my first indication that despite my initial disbelief in the interest in marriage of the new generation, there seems to be some staunch romantics left in the world; men and women alike. I sure hope, that if he ever does get married in a castle- I'd be one of those invited! ;-)

You are Loved

2012-02-11T06:22:00.001-08:00

The theme of the week as I am fast finding out is really that kindness begets kindness.

It's been crazy the way people all around me are stepping up to do something kind for me even when they themselves aren't in the best way. I actually feel bad- could it be possible I deserve this much kindness? But of course a close friend was quick to pipe 'Accept the help you've been given!' So that's what I did.

My dad told me today; 'You're very lucky to have people like these.' And I realised I really am - I am so blessed.

A couple of weeks ago I went through what I identified as depression. I fell deeper and deeper til the only answer seemed to be suicide. I came back from the brink this week thanks to a chosen few. I literally owe them my life. Of course they are my parents and friends but I found even almost strangers telling me how amazing they think me. It was surreal.

I am now certain the future is as bright as ever. The clouds are moving slowly away and life is shining through. I am leaving you with four simple words from an email I received from someone I've long decided must be my soulmate.

"Cause ur worth loving..."

I couldn't have summed it up better if I tried.

Historically Yours

2012-01-24T07:17:00.000-08:00

There hasbeen a lot of buzz going on lately about the claims by a local historian thatfamous historical figures Hang Tuah and Princess Hang Li Po never existed. Somelamented, some disbelieved, but people like me, who recognises that historyeverywhere, even in textbooks are in the end historical perceptions bythe historians and academics who wrote them, didn't bat an eyelid. Yes,scientific fact cannot be denied but there are always different ways of lookingat a particular fact and then presenting this to others. There may have been aman. He may have been called Hang Tuah. But did he really do everythingclaimed? Was his character the way we have been taught? Was he really the HangTuah of legend or just some random guy called Hang Tuah? Or maybe the man oflegend is a brave Portuguese warrior appropriated by local lore as their ownand given a suitably local name. It's anyone's guess.

Taking thepowerful lesson from Paulo Coelho's The Witch of Portobello; a lot ofwhat people believe and say about you is more dependant on how they feel aboutyou than it is about what you must be in fact.

The Bronze Mural of Hang Tuah at the Malaysian National Museum. Photo by Vijaya Balan (2011)

It waswith these thoughts humming in the background of my mind that I read Jerome deGroots article on Historical Fiction in a backdated issue of BBC's HistoryMagazine cleverly titled All History Lies to Us but Atleast HistoricalFiction Admits it.Groots puts forth the notion that though popular culture is now entrancedby Historical fiction, the fascination is nothing new or surprising. Althoughthere are quarters who bash the genre as an outlet to muddle and confuse themasses; it is probably a lot less deceptive due to the fact that it neveractually purports to be the truth.

Unlikemanipulated, censored and sometimes downright erroneous tomes on history beingforce fed to children and university students the world over; historicalfiction doesn’t claim to be anything more than it is - entertainment but moreoften than not turns out to be an enlightening experience. Most authors do takethe time to research and most provide a realistic if not accurate picture ofhistorical events/places/people.

I then thoughthow much of my life I live in the past. The near past and that of lifetimesago: stolen from books, movies and my own imagination. I love flea markets tosee a bit of history even if it’s an old shoe or a rusted tea can. Historicalfiction provides me with landscapes for this imaginary, historical world I’vecreated where I can go when life gets too disappointing. Escapism is one of thecheapest, yet most pleasurable forms of dealing with stress and the dauntingexigencies of reality.

The starkreality of course is that past is a lot less like the romantic world of JaneAusten and a little more like the grotty, putrid, menacing world of PatrickSusskind’s Perfume (yes, I am aware they are set almost 100 years apart and in two different European countries, but I reckon the idea of germs and washing up still hadn't quite caught up even in Regency era- and it would seem I am not alone in this belief: see Regency Hygiene or the Lack Thereof from Historical Hussies' blog. Some of you may even remember Eliza Doolittle's frantic freak out screaming 'I am a good girl, I am!' when told she'd had to strip and bathe the length of herself in a scene from My Fair Lady).

Jane Austen's world of flowers, crisp white linen and squeaky clean girls. (Scene from Emma, a 1996 feature film starring Gwyneth Paltrow)

The dark and dirty reality in Perfume: a Story of a Murderer (2006) based on the book Perfume by Patrick Susskind.

Butbesides its entertainment value, historical fiction may on many occasionsintroduce the masses to less popular people or events in history they wouldnever have ordinarily learnt about. Many of us (admitted myself included!) onlyheard of the painter Johannes Vermeer after reading Tracy Chevalier’s Girl with the Pearl Earring and thensought to appreciate his genius. The same may hold true for the many obscurecharacters in the Tudor saga introduced to the public by Philippa Gregory’sseries on the era. I have without a doubt learnt more from reading historical fictionthan I have from the study of history in school.

The cover of Chavelier's novel featuring the painting that shot Vermeer to fame in the eyes of the modern plebeian.

For mepersonally, there is a place for both historical fiction and the serioustextbooks on the subject because like everything else, I’d not just like toknow your perception on it, but to attach for myself; my own.

The Mall Child's Christmas

2011-12-04T20:20:00.001-08:00

Most people who know me, know that I have a very Malaysian love and fascination for Malls. I like most of them and you'd usually find me in a mall whenever I have some time on my hands. I of course have favourites and they're not always the usual gigantic-everything-but-the-kitchen-sink malls. For instance, I have a fond love for Amcorp Mall on weekends during the flea market, and Tropicana City/BSC/Bangsar Village solely for their lovely Scrapbook Shops that I haunt.

But my current love- I must say- is Ikea; and especially at Christmas!

I don't know what it is about this large, Scandinavian Home Decor for the frugal, buy in bulk operation type place. Maybe it's the Feng Shui but even having their RM2 coffee and oily wings seem to be a breakfast fit for a Queen (the royal and the gay interior decorator kind!) to me.

And I can't tell you enough- how much I ADORE looking at the gorgeous layouts.

A Christmas Dining Room? I'd buy it! (if I had the cash and errr.. the dining room. :-p)

You see I am such a sucker for this Red/Green holiday. Dad was saying the other day that Christmas was for kids and I had to politely disagree. Granted our definition of what makes the holidays differ but I don't think I get any less out of it just because I don't get many gifts. At my age, chances are what I've wanted, I've been able to buy myself. Knowing full well the man in the red suit ain't buying me anything (unless it's VJ in a red suit...) I've started to focus on the other aspects about the holiday that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like the carols, the cosy decor, the colour and scrumptious holiday fare.


A Christmas Dinner layout fit for the movies...


A welcoming warm fireplace scene greets customers of Ikea.

When in the year can it be a-okay to eat yummy mince brandy pies? When can you wear red velvet and white fur and still be accepted as sane? But most of all, I've said it once and I'll say it again, Sam- Christmas is about the feeling you get- the feeling that no matter what yours cares, situation, woes and wants, there's one night a year where magic happens, where everything is grand because He loves us. You see, people think those who are into the more commercial side of Christmas have forgotten the true meaning of it but that isn't true. Everyone celebrates based on their means but it doesn't always follow that just because someone bought you an expensive gift or a pretty outfit that they've forgotten the 'Christ' in Christmas. You see, an expensive gift bought could be a display of love for the recipient and pretty outfit- a show of celebration for the (supposed) birth of our Saviour. If that isn't a reason to dress up, what is?

I couldn't agree more...

I guess what I am most like inarticulately trying to say is that- Christmas is different to everybody but it doesn't mean any one of us is right in how we view it. Be true to yourself, be true to your God. Everything else is tinsel.

Hoping you have a Cosy Christmas with those you love!

For the boy who cried Truth

2011-11-10T19:00:00.001-08:00

An Old Tale
Every child growing up would have undoubtedly been told the story of the the Boy Who Cried Wolf. This is of course assuming they were middle class children who's parents were around/had time to tell them stories and were not too busy/illiterate to do so. It is the scare-lore we perpetuate to ensure our offspring will tell us the truth- that they ate all the licorice, watched the 18+ movie on HBO and nicked RM10 from our purses to buy sweets and cheap toys.

So in case you were not told the story- a quick summary of an already short story: the little shepherd boy called 'wolf' for fun to get the villagers all riled up and out with their pitchforks and torches running up the hill only to find said boy chuckling away. Boy does this twice and when a real wolf does come about no one believes him and his flock is killed. Moral of the story: don't tell lies because people won't believe you when you actually tell the truth.

An added Spin
What if, just if- that wasn't all there is. Say the little boy was the youngest shepherd in the village with a large number of sheep and many of the villagers begrudged him for it. "He's too young to have that many sheep! That little whippersnapper knows not the first thing about being a shepherd!" some would say. Others would just grind their teeth in jealousy and wish they could figure out a way to steal a sheep or two for themselves. One day they sit in a tavern discussing without realising the little Shepherd was behind the the wall. "I know! Old Barney 'ere 'as a dog that looks just like a wolf! We'll set that dog loose on the boy's 'erd and when he yells for 'elp we go on and 'elp 'em! Barney calls off the mutt and sends it packing. In the little fella's gratitude, 'e'll give us a sheep each fer sure! An' if 'e doesn't, well we'll let the dog back on him fer real."

The boy is now wise to the villagers' plans but what neither realises is that there really is a pack of wolves in the village that's getting a bit hungry. So the boy plays his little trick of pretending the wolf is after his sheep only to rile the villagers up and get old Barney in trouble. Barney, sick of being blamed twice in a row when he hadn't sent his dog, decides to give up the whole thing. He tells the villagers he wants nothing to do with it so when the real wolf comes after the flock, none of the villagers bother to come up because they knew Barney's dog had been called off and they really had no intention of helping the little boy in any case!

Err... so the moral?
The moral in my version is that well, you're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't! Ok, I jest. The point to me is that the original story gives a lot of little kids the false hope that if you keep telling the truth, people will help you and believe you when it really isn't always true. Too many people in the world don't give a toss whether you're telling the truth or not and the little boy in my version would've been screwed either way. They believe and see what they want to. You could be telling the truth, but if they want to screw one over you, your honesty isn't going to prevent them from doing so.

I know it sounds awfully cynical but I do believe we shouldn't be telling our kids that they shouldn't lie because it will get them into trouble. We should tell them not to lie. Period. To create our character based on the reactions of people around us will eventually get us in trouble. People are inconsistent, their actions and reactions even more so. It would be bordering stupid to append a virtue to how we want people to react to us.

Tell the truth because it's the right thing to do.
Tell the truth because it's a lot easier than having to remember a pack of lies.
Tell the truth so you can feel good about yourself but don't expect the truth to get any more goodness out of people than lies would. If anything, lies will probably get you further.
I think most importantly people should tell the truth if they respect themselves and the people they are dealing with.

So the whole truth and nothing but?

There are times when telling the truth isn't the best idea. This can be maybe because the truth isn't yours to offer. Snitching on others isn't being honest: it's being a rat. Similarly, you can refrain from truth telling if the fact is less important and more likely to cause too much damage to be worth it. Like telling your friend she looks awful in that RM200 dress she just bought. Maybe you could tone it down to 'Maybe the other one will suit you better..." However, I do get that the subtle balance would be a little hard for a little kid to grasp so maybe the first thing we should teach children before truth and lies, is to respect themselves, respect each other and maybe with the grace of God, we'll have less scared children, but more thoughtful ones.

The Strange Case of...

2011-11-05T09:39:00.000-07:00

"Here Jekyll, drink this wonderful tonic that will make you hunched, ugly and all round bad guy! You know you want to!" glug, glug glug. Aaaahhh! The taste of evil going down your throat; there's nothing like it.

What's even stranger still is the case of everyday ordinary people needing no tonic or witches brew whatsoever to turn into complete meanies. It used to bug me but now it fascinates me. Ever found yourself confused and unsure how to feel about a certain person or even a few people? One minute they're the bestest chums you could ever have the good fortune of picking out and suddenly they warp into the complete opposite: Lindsay Lohan in public. And you're left to wonder where that nice fella popped off to. Just of course when you're about to call out said confusing evil twin, you find they've reverted to the lovely, daisy picking Melissa Gilbert wannabe that you were so fond of.

Crikey, if life wasn't confusing enough as is!

So you go back to being mates; everyone's happy, healthy and full of the blackcurrent goodness of... ooops.... wrong line. But you get the idea. What is a perfectly sane person like you and I to do? Why nothing, sugar.

"Kiss me, Senora! My unibrow is harmless!" [Picture from the 1931 film Adaptation of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Rouben Mamoulian.]

If there's one thing the old Stevenson classic has taught us- ol' Hyde is going to self-combust. You can't stop it. Once the evilness has spiked into the area of no control, you're better off on the sidelines with a bag of popcorn awaiting the main creature feature.

I used to get all caught up in knots. Can I trust these guys? Can I not? The simple truth is just like in the movies/books- sometimes you can and sometimes you can't. How will you know when? When they get that glazed maniacal look in their eyes of course! (laughs) No, but seriously, if you know them long enough you'll know! You see, for the old Doctor, his Achilles-Second-Personality was caused by a tonic. Similarly, you'll know what turns your real life equivalents from all-round ivy league greats to has-been-reality-tv-castoffs. Sometimes it's the professional element, sometimes it's morality and sometimes it's just because you didn't tell them enough how pretty they are this week. So you've got 2 options- get with the programme and learn to best maneuver the tricky multi-faceted abomination or forget the whole hoopla altogether and get yourself some more consistent company.

If all else fails, don't give them liquids or food after midnight.

"But it's me! You're uncle's, dog walker's, cousin's best friend! We used to play together until I grew scales and beat the crap outta you!" [Movie Still from Gremlins 2 (1990)]

Dream a Little Dream of Me

2011-10-25T00:18:00.000-07:00

The past few weeks/months have been traumatic at intervals. But those I have consulted keep telling me that as despicable as I feel it all is; it is apparently ‘normal’ events to be expected under the circumstances and that I should either get with the programme or find alternatives. Most of these people consulted agree that it’s not right, it’s not fair and at the risk of this post sounding like a Toni Braxton song, it’s ok because it’s the way of tide and I am too small a mackerel to change it. So although my mood right is lower than an earthworm, I am adamant to write about some fluffy, lighthearted fun stuff! So this post is actually going to be about, dreams; or atleast, mine.

Crushing on a Teen?

Dear Readers, I must have sunk to a new low. Yes, I am crushing on a child. But in my defence, he’s passed the age of majority in most countries! (chuckle)

He plays D’Artagnan in the newest adaptation of the Three Musketeers, and prior to this his only other big role was as Percy Jackson in Percy Jackson and the Olympians: the Lightning Thief. He’s Logan Lerman... with hair. Michael Phillips of the Los Angeles Times described Lerman as “...D'Artagnan, played by a haircut in search of an actor in search of a performance...” but that’s ok cause it’s a mighty fine haircut if you ask me.

It’s been a looong time since I’ve had a full on celebrity crush. I really thought those things were well behind me. Shayne Ward comes to mind as the last when I was about 22/23 years old but actually meeting him in person, unshaved and jet lagged, well, did kill the fantasy a little! He’s still delish by most standards but I was looking for a new fantasy unspoiled by reality and the ravages of a long flight.

Logan’s portrayal of D’Artagnan seems to fit the bill. He’s got style, swagger, arrogance, agility and a certain naiveté that adds to the romance. So yes, I am not crushing Logan Lerman the individual but more of Logan Lerman as D’Artagnan. The tight leather pants, fancy swordplay and the sexy come-hither-just-out-of-the-shower hair all helps egg a girl’s dream on.

And we all need celebrity dream crushes once in awhile (even if we tell no one about them!)

Picture taken from Justjaredjr.buzznet.com

Music to murder by

I am beginning to really believe that inside most* of us, there’s a murderer waiting to get out. You’re free to disagree but so far I haven’t met anyone who hasn’t had the thought of doing in someone they don’t particularly fancy. Whilst we all have sometimes murderous dreams, have you thought of what soundtrack you’d give it? Yes, you heard me right and have I gone over the deep end? Maybe, but it’s awfully fun where I stand.

So anyway, thanks to Hollywood movies, every moment has a soundtrack- even when you’re getting into the shower or feeding your cat. So I thought, what would be a great song to kill by?

Dream a little Dream of Me... by Doris Day (particularly her version! So now does the title of this post make sense?)

Heck, I honestly don’t know why but everytime I get really upset this song starts playing in my head along with the murderous thought. It’s highly creepy, I agree but so incredibly cool too. You see, most people would probably think more angst ridden Linkin Park kind of number but if you’re being murdered by me, you’ll be peacefully listening to the sounds of Doris Day. Comforting no?

A Lesson on Becoming Real

2011-09-27T09:06:00.000-07:00

This isn’t the first time I am reading The Velveteen Rabbit. In some strange and magical way it seems to pop up in my consciousness every time I am in need of a lesson in becoming Real and it never fails to deliver it.

In the frenzy of the rat race and the undeniable lure of the surface good life brought about by technology and innovative opulence, we often find ourselves lost; unsure of who we are, who we are supposed to grow into and ultimately what matters. I find myself more and more these days plagued with an alarming sense of ennui with my surroundings; the crass commercialism and the merry facade that we like to call diplomacy and professionalism. What are these but large words that force us to uphold a version of ourselves neither honest, ideal nor individual? Puppets on a string for our various masters; our job, our social circle and our public reputation, that is all we’ve evolved into.

This is why I love this simple children’s story. It has stood the test of time and tells us that we are worth more than what society and some others tell us we are. The other toys in the nursery that made the rabbit feel inferior are like those around us who do the same to us. Such as the office braggart who thinks their knowledge or particular expertise makes them a step above us or the ‘more successful’ sibling or relative who lords over us. They believe that this gift God has given them affords them the right to have bad attitudes and superiority but like the other toys who will eventually be overtaken by a newer model- so will these people who hang on to symbols of worth that aren’t Real.

The little rabbit becomes real through Love, Loyalty and Endurance; the things we need to push through. His journey thins his fur, causes his hair to fall and his body to lose shape; but none of this matters because he is loved and he is Real. The story tells us that physically we all will be ravaged through time and old age with wrinkles, weight gain or loss and may grow shabbier as the years pass but to those who love us, those to whom we have become Real; none of this will matter and it is to them we should pledge our loyalty.

Toward the end, though the rabbit is discarded by the boy despite everything he was to him, we are comforted with the knowledge that it wasn’t through malice but because with the end of an era we must acknowledge that some bonds must sever. Though we’ve loved, laughed and cried in one another’s arms there will come a time for us to part and we need to embrace this bittersweet moment as an integral part of the journey to becoming Real. It is only through letting go of those who have loved us through life but cannot stay with us to the end for whatever reason (in this case, the boy being a boy and the toy rabbit being well a toy rabbit!) that we will be led to where we truly belong. Amongst those who are like us and in a world where we can be exactly who we are meant to be- where we can be Real.

It also hit me, how much the story could be linked to that of Christian afterlife. We are told we will be reborn in Christ and our true life will begin. Like the rabbit when he is transformed from toy to real bunny, we will be transformed from flawed and sinful human beings to that which we were promised: to become the image of our Father from whom we were carved.

No matter though, what your religious belief, the Velveteen Rabbit affords us much food for thought. Reminding us to treasure what is important and not be caught up in the fleeting and unfulfilling. Love with all your heart; stay loyal, honest and most of all never forget how truly valuable you are. You are loved; and that makes you Real.

'When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with but REALLY loves you, then you become real.' 'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit. 'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

An Old World Mansion and Plenty of Roses

2011-09-09T09:18:00.000-07:00

Our Cameron Highland’s trip was supposed to be the dream vacation we were waiting for. Booked into the gorgeous Smokehouse Hotel, I couldn’t wait to be up there feeling the chill in the air, tasting hot scones on homemade strawberry jam and cuddling with my partner. Sadly, in the middle of the second day our car started to cough and wheeze with ill-health and we found ourselves stranded in this beautiful place that wasn’t our home with our money quickly draining until we were brought down by a carrier truck which we had to fork out RM500 for (well, VJ had to fork out RM500 for but I felt that pain, I tell ya!).

Nonetheless, despite the turn for the worst, we did have atleast 1 ½ really wonderful days there. The Smokehouse was everything I dreamed of. Although it could use a fresh coat of paint here and there; the weather-beaten and worn look of some of the fixtures added that old world charm to it all. The minute I stepped into the hall, a soft jazzy 50’s sound floated in the air and transported me to days of long ago that I can only imagine but never really know for sure. The armchairs and the mock fireplace reminded me of an Agatha Christie Mystery: namely Miss Marple’s At Bertram’s Hotel. How positively exciting and romantic to feel like one is part of a high society, old world mystery story where even killers had class and the evening dinner at home required a cocktail gown.

Upon our arrival, we were greeted with welcome tea and coffee as the usher took our bags to the room. Unable to withstand my glee, I gulped my tea in a flash and hurriedly followed the usher to the outdoor cabin that was our room. The room was slightly small but comfortably decorated with dim yellow lights not a lot unlike my own room at home. The garden surrounding the hotel had surprisingly well manicured lawns, pruned rose bushes bearing beautiful, wild roses unlike those you buy at a florist. These had many tiny thorns, a dainty stem and large, round luscious petals that reminded me of my grandmother’s roses back when I was a child. The kind of roses best left on the tree as the tiny stem would wilt from the pressure of being plucked. Wrought iron lawn furniture were aplenty but unfortunately not too well cared for. Many were rusted and not fit for use.

At night, the chimney’s billowed with smoke from the sitting room fireplace. A man I assumed was the maitre d, spoke to us as he ensured the fireplace was well stocked with wood. He spoke of the low season, the high season, the best fireplace wood and even the abandoned bungalow nearby the hotel that was taken care of by an elderly caretaker and his wife. I had to try hard to keep from chuckling! My mystery was shaping nicely!

The next day we took the typical tourist package- saw the tea plantation, Chinese temple on a hill and bee and butterfly farms. It was only after that that the car decided to act up. Despite how the trip was cut short, we did have fun and the Smokehouse is one place I definitely want to see again!

The day after the Decision...

2011-09-08T06:26:00.000-07:00

Vijey (colleague, not partner!) looked at me sideways today and asked, 'how are you feeling?' I knew what he meant but was puzzled as to why he'd think I'd be upset when it was my choice. I then realised that he didn't know it was my choice. So I replied 'Truthfully? I am elated. I've not been this happy in months!' His stunned look made me chuckle and I explained further.

When I was done he had a look that could either be 'I am awfully impressed by you' OR 'you're crazy and I am afraid you'll bite me so I am pretending I am impressed by you...' What he did manage to say was 'you're really... different.' I don't know if it was meant to be a compliment or not but I certainly take it as one!

And I wasn't kidding. I felt so incredibly overjoyed this morning, I sang at the top of my lungs in my car- something people who know me will know I hardly ever do! It's not like I've won the lottery, shook hands with presidents or become rich/famous and yet such happiness was possible. My life is far from perfect- I worked til 7.30pm (yes, late by my standards!) and still came home raring to write on my blog.

Why? I feel like I've made leaps and bounds towards finally fitting into my own skin. I made a decision that to some may be madness, kept my chin up and reveled in the insanity of it all!

I think I've arrived.

Decisions...

2011-09-06T18:12:00.000-07:00

Just yesterday a colleague asked me if I could think of any decision I made that I really regretted. Then, the only thing I could think of was the writing course I took when I was 11 and bolted within a week because it was ‘too hard’. In my defence, I was 11, but knowing what I know now about trials and challenges, I do regret it. But was that the only thing I regretted? Seemed hardly accurate- how could someone who went through so many years and experiences, made so many decisions, big and small have just one regret?

I then toyed with the idea that perhaps human beings are such- unable to accept that they had made such a glaring mistake- they choose to completely annihilate the memory and in turn believe they never made any at all! Or perhaps it was because for every bad choice they made, they learnt something. For me, I’ve always felt my biggest mistake being that I gave in too readily to the influence of the people I cared about. I used to tell myself it was because I ‘chose my battles’ and didn’t see the point in fighting over trivialities. But that’s when the blurring occurred- the line between the trivial and the not-so-trivial. And that brought me to my ultimate regret: many of my decisions were not my own and I couldn’t blame anyone else, but myself. I chose to take the opinions of others, I chose to adopt advice not because it was the right thing to do but because I loved the person giving it. In Awareness by Anthony De Mello, he asked the question- ‘do you ask people their opinion to really get their opinion or to fortify your own?’ he claimed many people were guilty of doing that and that’s why they find friends and partners who will agree with them. I prided myself in being the perfect opposite. I did take other’s advice, I did try things against my own point of view and where has that got me? Some decisions I don’t regret; some I do. And then I realised yet again how positively fluid life is- how nothing fits in any single mould. Sometimes you have to listen and sometimes you have to do what’s right for you.

Last night I had a decision to make. I didn’t call a friend, I didn’t consult my partner (although I did tell him after I made the decision) because I wanted it to be my decision. When I made it, I felt this strange sense of relief lift from my shoulders. The next step was of course putting the wheels in motion but the decision felt right. Not right in a moral or common sense way but right as in for me. Instead of fighting who I was and my ultimate destiny, it felt like I was finally paving the way for it.

I may be making a big mistake or I may be making the best decision of my life: I won’t know now. But in this moment, in my position and disposition in life- I am doing the right thing for me. We’ll see, won’t we?

I see a light!

2011-08-18T06:40:00.000-07:00

It's been a long week.

7 days of meeting; 6 nights in a bed not my own; countless hours of strategising and discussion. I am honestly feeling like I am at the brink. But the end is near- a half day to go and it's home! I've had long work days, I've had a few days of meetings but this one just took the cake. I really feared I won't make it through with my sanity but here I am, at the tail end still holding it together. I can't tell you what the strain may have caused my physical self but I am hoping a full weekend of rest and relaxation will do the trick!

So enough of my dreadful week. I have now things to look forward to! A relaxing, hilly holiday, a week of lazy worklessness and some new stamps waiting to be broken in!

Anyways, I do have so much to say but my energy level is at an all time low- so just a note, to say I've made it! I am on the other side. Good night loves!

In the Wee Hours

2011-07-01T16:06:00.000-07:00

It’s 6.40 am in sleepy Subang Jaya as I sit and listen to cock crowing. I live in a high density residential area and it’s usually uncommon to have chickens about heralding the dawn! Somehow though my neighbour has found a way to contravene all local laws on the matter and keeps a lively coop. I can’t say I am upset- it gives the area a nice, out-of-town feel and well, I am hardly ever without knowing when it’s 5 am! My room directly overlooks his pen on one side and the side street on the other. My house is actually quite beautiful though I keep the insides like quite a disaster area. My window that overlooks the side street is a 3 paned monstrosity that lets in light into every nook and cranny should I leave it open during the day. If I look out of it, I see the tops of trees and the adjacent neighbours’ windows but if you concentrate on just the tree tops, it’s beautiful indeed.

I’ve had my share of troubles and strife whilst sitting in this room but somehow looking out at the greenness melts the icicles that stab my heart. I breathe again.

I’ve never told anyone how much I loved just to lie in and listen to the neighbours chicks, watch the swaying branches, the mist on my windows (from air conditioning!) whilst I am safe under my down-quilt feeling like nothing can quite harm me. I am quite a lament-er of well, much everything but these times in my mornings remind me why I am blessed. I live in a beautiful house (not lavish but lovely!), I have a soft warm bed (that has much made me a ripe candidate for Princess and the Pea as I can’t sleep on even luxury hotel beds now without a massive backache!), lovely things and more food that anyone should have (hence the fatness! Hehe).

What’s even better on a day like today is that I have a whole two days ahead of me to do exactly as I wish. No work, no traffic jams to sit in! (ok, that may be a little premature but most likely not!). The sun is up now and peeking shyly over the horizon. Haze and pollution have tinged its rays a dark orange. There might be rain too- the white clouds appear limited. My body is tired, my mind is weary, my heart heavy but my soul... it soars. I am alive, I am here, I am.

She believes in me...

2011-06-26T07:22:00.001-07:00

Since I started making cards, I’ve often wondered why some cards turn out better than others. I first thought it was inspiration that can’t be forced, or as I blogged earlier, peace of mind, but today I am wondering if though those things may help somewhat, there’s something much bigger at work here. Bigger than inspiration, or even talent. The reason I wonder is because I looked at the cards I am most happy with, and the ones people have also in turned loved most and found strangely a common denominator.

They were commissioned by Dorathy.

If you haven’t read my earlier posts, Dorathy is one of my closest friends at work, who seems to genuinely adore my cards. She’s commissioned so many already. Whilst many people say ‘I want this/that’ or please ‘incorporate this/that’, Dots doesn’t. She says: ‘this is who it’s for, what it’s for, and as for the rest; I trust you.’

I trust you.

Many people have complimented my talent. Many friends have been supportive and for this I am truly grateful. So what is it about Dots’ love for my work, trust in my ability and faith in my talent that makes me produce some of my best cards? I don’t know. I think everyone else is genuine and I think everyone else does believe I have talent but maybe it’s because Dots actually does commission work from me more often than not, maybe it’s because she never fails to remind me to believe in myself or maybe it’s as simple as this- Dots, whenever she trusts me to be the best I can be, I feel compelled not to let her down.

Although I love Dots as a person, I don’t think it’s confined to just her. Anyone can encourage the best in someone else just by believing in them and genuinely trusting in their abilities. Showing them you believe in them not just in words but in action and sincerity.

I am happy I have my cheerleader who’s challenged me to be the best me I can be. So if you know someone you love and believe in; make sure they know. ;-)

Her first commission. Still a crowd favourite... and my own. ;-)

The second commission...

The latest one that I finished today...

More than words...

2011-06-22T23:47:00.001-07:00

Some things are better left unsaid.

Really.

Have you ever read a term and thought ‘but duh! Anyone knows that but just cause you were petty enough to put it there, I’ve decided I don’t like you!’ No? Oh well, have you ever then heard something from your partner/family member/friend that made you go ‘Yes, I get that but did you need to say it??’ No again? I guess I must be freaky. In any case freaky me dislikes the above.

I would like to believe I am relatively intelligent. Atleast enough to know that if I order a package from overseas that I shouldn’t expect the seller to be responsible if customs in my country fobs up or if it gets stolen by an underpaid mail carrier. It’s risky, might be a waste of money and heck, no one likes thinking their slinky lingerie purchase may end up on Ahmad the mailman sans a waxing; but that’s the price one pays for wanting what you can’t buy in your own country or don’t want your local store to take the shipping risk for you and charge you exorbitant profiteering rates for. So then, it does get really annoying when you have some online stores with a three page long missive on international buyers: how you’re ‘happy to sell to us’ but… then comes the 90 item list on what you won’t do or be responsible for. I get that international shipping can be a nightmare and some buyers can be a pain in the rear but being a relatively easy-to-deal-with buyer (I’d like to think and have quite often been told!), I find these loonng stating-the-obvious terms a put off. So sweetie, it’s great that you ship overseas but if you insist on only using the cheapest method of shipping, charging high ‘handling’ fees because you can’t spell the name of my city without Google and making me read a master’s thesis on overseas commercial transactions that I very much know; there’s a 100% chance I’ll be taking my business elsewhere. I’ve bought lotsa stuff online from all over the world; I know the score- my risk, I get that. More so now with the advent of Paypal and you know you’ll get money from me first before I get anything- I am taking a much bigger risk than you to buy your product so treating me like a 5 year old and spelling out every single exclusion clause ever created isn’t helpful. Instead, please be thankful I chose to take such a risk and serve me like a customer- of full capacity. (Here I must add my own exclusion clause and say that every person I have actually bought things from so far has been great, because essentially if I see such annoying clauses, I just don’t buy.)

Stating obvious things also seem to come quite easily for people in your life. Last week a co-worker decided she’d be ‘helpful’. She told me I was overweight and that she was hoping that if she told me, I would know and then be able to go on to ‘help myself’. I wanted to say ‘Gee Willikers, Sherlock! What an astute deduction!’ (though obtuse would’ve been more apt). Boringly enough all I said was ‘Trust me, I am well aware.’

Then there’s the strangely misguided significant other. When I ribbed him about liking stick-thin celebrities; he goes ‘well I don’t expect you to fancy fat bald men!’ Which of course essentially meant that I shouldn’t expect him to fancy a woman such as me. Thanks hun, I get that I am not exactly going to make it on the next cover of Playboy and well, I am really not that dense to believe men watch porn for the story line. All the stick thin women with boobs the size of melons are usually the staple of male fantasies. I get that. I may not like it but hey, life’s such. But did you really need to say it even as indirectly as you did? (not very much but I give credit for a half-effort). Is one little fib like ‘No, honey it’s only you I want!’ really so hard to muster?

So in the words of Ronan Keating- sometimes you do say it best ‘When you say nothing at all…’

The Lamentations & Jubilations of the Fat Bridesmaid

2011-06-11T21:55:00.001-07:00

It's a staple cliché in every wedding movie. The one chubby bridesmaid amongst a pack of swanlike size 2's dancing down the aisle just before the gorgeous heroine/bride walks down the aisle. The chubby bridesmaid is always either a picture of ridicule or sadness that is meant to make you laugh or feel desperate pity for as she struggles with self loathing and desperation for a man.

Sadly, I am about to step into the shoes of the signature fat bridesmaid. The only difference is, I've (save for a few low moments when the size 12 no longer zips up and you have to discard a gorgeous RM200 dress) never really been unhappy being fat. Also, the fact that I've never been single longer than 2 months since I turned 16 might also be some indication that there are other people (of the male persuasion) who aren't unhappy with my fat. I could be wrong. ;-)

I think I am almost indignant. As a supporter of the emancipation of women everywhere I'd like to stick it to the people that I am not skinny, not stupid, not dependant, not saintlike nor domesticated but still abundantly happy; and I'll make it ahead with whatever I want to do, however which way I want to do it. Until of course you're stuck in a wedding line-up and having to wear the same dress as three skinny girls in front of hundreds of 'well meaning' rellies and strangers who might smugly conclude that the 'poor fat bridesmaid' in the line-up is probably forever destined to be the bridesmaid and never the bride because of her love affair with KFC. No one would of course bother to ask if said fat bridesmaid really was unhappy or poor or even looking to marry.

So I caved, and agreed to do the whole diet hoopla but let's get real guys; in 6months I am not going to miraculously become a size 6. If I am lucky I might make it to 12 but even then I'd still be the fat bridesmaid. And there'll still be the 'well-meaning' rellies and strangers and their prophecies of doom.

Last night I did some soul searching. You tend to do that after you're practically bombarded all night with reminders that you're not thin. Like I could forget. My indignation returned and once again I wanted to say to hell with the dieting, I am going to be the fat bridesmaid and enjoy it! But was that what I really wanted? You see, it's great wanting to please relatives, or partners (in my case, to please said partner I may need to put on another 5kg!) but what did I want? Because when it comes down to it, after that one day- everyone's going to forget the nasty things they said or thought of me. Only I'll remember so it's me I have to take care of first. Did I want to be thin? No. But did I want to look good that day? Yes. But in that time of losing weight, did I want to lose myself and in return lose the respect of the people who've grown to love me just the way I am? Not a chance in hell.

I decided this- I'll eat as healthy as I can, do the exercise, and whatever happens, I'll accept it; I'll accept me. I refuse to starve, I refuse to spend thousands on gyms and trainers but most of all, I REFUSE to CEASE being ME. And what does being me entail? I guess it's always being a little 'different', always standing up for it and always, always remembering who and what counts.

In a Funk

2011-06-04T19:40:00.001-07:00

I seem to have fallen in a cardmaking funk. I made two of my worst cards this week despite having some really cool new gadgets and supplies. It seems as the gorgeous-ness in my head just isn't transcending onto paper as well as it did before. At first I blamed it on tiredness from a hectic day yesterday but even bright and early this morning I still couldn't get past the block. Then I realised what was wrong. My mind was disturbed by the fact that I have to work next weekend.

I've come to depend on my weekends to provide me time to recouperate from work. It isn't that I have a lot of work or that it's hard but it's just so emotionally draining. I find at the end of the day I have nothing left. The people are just so intense and strong it really gets overwhelming. I wish they could lighten up sometimes but then I wonder if it's the nature of the work that has ensured they can't. Or maybe I am picking up the wrong vibes. So the prospect of having to work 12 full days without rest is just weighing on me like a 10 tonne stone. I can't sleep well or enjoy the few hours of bliss I do have now and it's so upsetting that it's robbing me of even these last hours I do have.

But I can't let it.

Now that I've pinpointed what is wrong I need to right it. So to myself: You can't change this- you'll have to go through it. Like a root canal, like an operation, all things must be dealt with head on. Everything passes, the good times, the bad. I am now reminded of the time I read the Tibetan Book on Living and Dying. It reminded people not to get so caught up with any moment. Happy moments as well as sad moments pass and it's when we place too much importance on them (like I did my weekends!) that we suddenly find we can't function when it's taken from us. Even the unpleasant also passes and when we spend time fretting and worrying about it- we prolong it needlessly and when it's over so quickly we sometimes even find we are disappointed at the lack of severity of the whole event!

I even remind myself that it is my job that helps pay for my wonderful good times, my outings of coffee with my girls and the amazing craft products. So I should be grateful for my job and give it the extra attention it sometimes will demand. Everyone has worked weekends; some every weekend! And yet they make time to unwind, relax and then when good times come they savour it all the more.

If you haven't already guessed this post is just to psyche myself out of the rut I am in and hopefully those of you who've felt in the doldrums too will know you're not alone.

The grinding, gruelling exhaustive next 2 weeks will come to an end. And today, like a leisurely beautiful spot in time; will pass too- so let's savour it and worry about next week when next week comes!

I captured a castle, but not your Heart

2011-05-31T05:05:00.001-07:00

I've watched I Capture the Castle nearly three times now and every time it never fails to leave me happy yet somewhat disappointed at how it all ends. Of course, I did watch it initially to gawk at the gorgeous Henry Cavill who played Stephen Colley but I soon found the story really quite charming. You can find a synopsis here as well as more about the book that the movie was based on. It was based on the diary of 17 year old Cassandra, whose father, a has-been writer, struggles to produce a new book moving to a dilapidated old castle to try to get some quiet and hopefully some inspiration. In danger of losing their home because they are unable to make rent, Cassy and her sister Rose set out to woo the young American owner of the castle. The plan works and Rose is soon engaged to Simon but isn't in love with him. Cassy on the other hand, is. Although the engagement helps the family a great deal in terms of money, the young and idealistic Cassy finds she is unable to accept marriages not based on love and accepting money for no work. The family's gardener Stephen is much in love with Cassy but she refuses him on account of being in love with Simon and therefore not wanting to have a relationship when only one party is in love despite the fact that she would never have Simon. I will not spoil the ending but it did annoy me that the girl could be so stupid not see how much better it is to be loved wholly by someone as opposed to loving someone who couldn't love you back.

Cassy tells Stephen she doesn't love him...

I thought at first that I was being biased. Of course Stephen is played by Henry whom, well, I'd marry in a minute (lol). But the more I think of it, I believe that isn't what upsets me so. I find it delusional (not completely unlike a 17 year old) to believe that there will ever be the perfect situation where two people will love each other equally. There will always be one more committed than the other even if no one ever admits it. Why should they? It's grand being loved, having someone who would do just about anything you asked and how much better it all is when you don't necessarily have to reciprocate. So you go along with it, pretending to love and care and reaping all the benefits. Human beings are selfish and we'd best start accepting it.

I've been in both sides- the one who loved more and the one who loved less and I speak from that experience that it is much better to be on the receiving end. Your Victorian morals may initially give you some guilt but eventually, it goes away and you accept the honour of the love and attention you don't necessarily deserve. Horrid as it sounds, many relationships thrive on this arrangement and I ask myself- why is it that human beings can't see a good person and love that good person as much as they deserve? Why do we yearn and wish for those we can't have- reducing our worth, destroying our souls and selling our hearts for a few stolen moments and some fabricated hollow idea of 'love'? I don't know, and yet I have that sinking feeling I do it everyday.

If only I were as lucky as Cassy. To have the love of man who would've done anything for her, and asked nothing in return. Even when she hurt him, pushed him away and professed love for another, he came running when she called. Everything he did, was out of love for her. And I guess, having a guy as gorgeous as Henry doing it all... well that just makes it all the better, no? ;-)

Card Stories

2011-05-29T23:42:00.001-07:00

The new arrival…

My Big Shot has arrived and is more beautiful in person than I could've imagined. I chose the Westminster version- a gorgeous purple and black version. I only have a few dies and embossing folders but I am blown away by the possibilities even the few have to offer. Not a moment too soon too, as I had received my first commercial card commission on Friday. I took a few pictures of the deboxing to show you just how amazing it is. Also some examples of the die cut shapes and embossing.

The commission…

Dots loved the cards I gave her so much she asked if I would make one for her sister. No fuss about the design and whatever price was fair for my effort. It was a relatively simple commission and with the help of my new Big Shot, I think the card is gorgeous indeed. Not perfect, some bits I am itching to change but Dots was happy and told me not to be so anal about it all (laughs).

The hobby

I can't imagine how cardmaking has completely enveloped me. This beautiful, fun, creative world was out there and I just didn't know. You see, I've always been able to do crafts to a certain degree- I could sew, bead, make jewellery, papercraft- but never really well- all just well enough to make a few simple things and then I'd get bored of trying and move on to the next thing. I used to think I never had perseverance but I now know it wasn't that I lacked, but more of that I hadn't found something I felt completely at peace persevering in.

When I gave Nicole her card she examined the detail and when I explained, her first question was: 'Why do you do this? It's so much effort.' I could answer her without blinking- 'it's therapeutic.' And it is. When I am making my cards, I get lost in the world of craft- I forget my problems, my work, my worries. It is by no means always easy- card making can be tedious, and when you mess up a design or smudge or cut wrongly, sometimes it means starting from scratch. There is a healthy amount of perseverance required and it appears I do have a supply of that coming from somewhere all of a sudden! Sometimes my cards were good, sometimes I felt not so- but I keep every one of them (well, the ones that weren't meant for others!) and remind myself of do's and don'ts. The joy I get from standing back and looking at a finished card is just beyond description. To say 'I did this…', I can't begin to tell you how that feels…

Strange as it sounds, sometimes my cards even 'make themselves'. Well, not literally dance upon the table with the scissors and glue but- it's as if I don't have to consciously think of a design- I pick a coloured sheet and the rest is a blur. It's as if it knows what it's meant to be and I am merely a conduit. Sometimes if I try to improvise or make conscious decisions to change this or that- it often goes horribly wrong. So I stop, start again and let the card be what it will. I know it sounds absolutely bonkers but I don't know how else to explain. I don't think of designs before hand, I don't plan or follow magazine layouts- I just sit at my table and make. Some of my best cards were made this way. It's like a writer who partway through realizes that his story character has completely taken over the story plot and it's so amazing as is, there's no need to have it any other way; or the artist who paints feverishly only to realize what he painted when he was finished. I don't by any means consider myself a Great Master or anything of the sort- Lord knows, I got in trouble over that once (wink!) but this seems to come so naturally, I am happy to embrace it even if I am not meant to be another Picasso or Rembrant or err… Martha Stewart (laughs).

I have had many hobbies but none have lasted as long as doll collecting; which has currently taken a rest and made way for cardmaking. I can't say how long this will enthrall me or how good I am going to become at it but right now- it's just my world so as I usually do (lol) I've started a blog solely for displaying my cards. I know I have them on FB but my FB is limited to only my friends and I want more people to be able to see this. In line with my Eurocentric French blog titles – this one's called Papier du Monde (Paper World- see everything just sounds better in French!) but as the URL says- the blog name can change but it's still essentially Diana Chai. Do have a gander- I should be adding atleast every weekend.

Wouldn’t it be lovely?

2011-05-17T06:23:00.001-07:00

The one day holiday gave me some time to play around with my stamps again. I've also been watching YouTube 'how to' videos to see if I can learn any tips or tricks. Some are helpful, some not so much and some just downright boasting about how wonderful their cards are but never actually telling you how they made it despite claiming they would on the video title. But I am not one to fuss about that- more often than not, I can take a look at it and figure out how the person did it. What was even more annoying were some comments by obviously non-crafting people lamenting about all the tools used that they didn't have and therefore the video wasn't being practical. The stupidity was beyond excruciating. It's a hobby for craft enthusiasts who either already have the tools or will go out and get them. It's like watching a mechanic fixing a car and whinging that you don't have a spanner or wrench and therefore the mechanic is lousy because he didn't either a) throw some tools your way FOC or b) fix the car with his bare hands and teeth. Crafters aren't born with a roomful of tools and although some professionals are given free tools; most of us go out and buy our own. Just like you should if you really want to get into the hobby and if you're not serious, I hear Hallmark is still very much in business.

Just last month PaperCraft monthly featured cards made using these gorgeous stamps featuring scenes from My Fair Lady. Only my most loved musical of all time. I bit my nails in frustration. I had never seen these stamps anywhere here and all the local craft stores had not heard of them. They were by a stamper-just-turned-business-person; Sheena Douglass and were only available through Crafter's Companion Online. Of course whinging about how I couldn't get them wasn't going to help anyone, I went through all the online shopping options in my arsenal and of course found all of Sheena's stamps on Ebay with an amazing seller who not only shipped the lot for a tiny shipping amount; she did it within 3 days! So my pretty stamps in hand I managed to create some new cards!

To Godma...

My godmother celebrated her birthday yesterday and though it was late, I hoped it was pretty enough to be worth the wait! The chocolate box and tiny flowers were both from my 'Wouldn' it be Lovely' stamp set; the happy birthday was free with Papercraft a few months back and the alphabets from American Crafts. I didn't have pattern paper in the shades I wanted, hence the stamping and colouring. The colouring done by Faber Castell markers because I am too cheap to afford Copics.

Wouldn't it be lovely?

Of course this stamp with the iconic Eliza Doolittle flower seller image is my favourite. Just the stamp coloured in with regular school watercolour pencils and some cardstock cut with a Kreaxions corner punch was enough. The words inside were also part of the set.

Sheena Douglass also designed A Christmas Carol set of stamps (which I have!) called 'Bah Humbug' which are available from Crafter's Companion, Ebay and Sheena's own site above.

Open Wide!

2011-05-15T22:48:00.001-07:00

There are all kinds of people in the world and therefore all kinds of idiosyncrasies and biological inclinations or disinclinations.

I have a 'disinclination' towards dentists.

No particular reason really; not even a scary movie that I saw as a child or anything but just an aversion to pain when I don't need it. You see, I've been pretty lucky (touch wood) with my teeth. Despite only going to a dentist once my 27 years of living to decide if I needed braces (discounting those routine check-ups we were forced to have when those government dental nurses came by during primary school); I haven't really had any major dental problems. I am not the best at dental hygiene either. I am essentially lazy with things I don't want to do (not overall lazy because I can wake up at 6 am and stand in line for hours for a major warehouse sale… hehe) so I don't floss, and only brush once a day (twice when I am feeling up to it). I guess these things eventually catch up with you. I started having slight pain from last year but it wasn't constant and sometimes would go away for weeks before it emerged again slightly. So I ignored it. It was only yesterday when just eating an ice-cream caused a sharp pain down to the bottom of my chin that I admitted something wasn't right. But things that weren't right about teeth mean a trip to the dentist.

Horrors.

I was quite a mess yesterday. I couldn't sit, I couldn't stand nor do anything but just anticipate the hell that awaited me at the dentist. I kept telling VJ: 'if' I make it out alive, I am going to do a, b and c… He told me of course not to be ridiculous. I guess I can't explain it to those of you who haven't felt it. It's the kind of fear some people have of doctors, of flying, of heights and I have it of dentists. At 27 years old, it's hard to tell people you're afraid of anything. People associate fears with children. If a child tells you he is scared of insects or night time, you'd tell him things allay his fears but you'd still do all you can to minimize his discomfort because it's essentially 'okay to be afraid if you're a child.' But when you're a grown adult, it's not so acceptable and are told to 'just get over it' or not to be so 'silly' which is not just sad, it's really unhelpful and negative. Adults get scared too. Probably even more so than children because they have enough reason to be able to anticipate consequence or possible consequences; and let me tell you, real life is scary. Some adults despite growing to full age may not have had the experiences they should have and thus this inexperience ends in fear (like me) and some just have a tick. An individual trait that causes a fear that isn't necessarily rooted in truth, fact or logic but is every bit as real as the fear that happens when danger and disaster stares you in the face.

I am thankful I have some friends that understand and even if they do think I am crazy; they still talk me through it. Nicole even volunteered to take me to her dentist (well, she was also due for a checkup but it was nice nonetheless). VJ's been great as usual but I know that a lot of people think it's not acceptable to be afraid of anything as an adult and this really annoys me.

We're all different, we've all got our quirks- the things we enjoy and don't enjoy and the things we are afraid of and those we are not. How boring it would be if we're all the same.

But back to topic of my teeth pain, I went to the dentist alone, braved that drilling and filling and poking and prodding and was surprised to be told that from outer appearances, I don't seem to have any major cavities (of course an x-ray would be needed to completely rule them out). Doctor isn't sure what caused my pain but did some cleaning and filled a tiny little hole she noticed and said if it isn't those things and my pain doesn't go away, it could be my wisdom tooth wreaking a bit of havoc.

As far as I am concerned, I am proud of myself today. I faced a fear, so I am going to treat myself soon… hehe… anyone see a Big Shot in my near future? ;-)

All I want 7 months before Christmas

2011-05-03T00:50:00.001-07:00

It all started with a sheet of rubber stamps.

Red rubber, one piece that required cutting, mounting and acrylic block-ing; but before I knew it I had fallen head over heels in love with cardmaking and rubber stamping. I've always been crafty (in the creative sense, though some might agree I am rather crafty in other ways when I need to be); in school I made all kinds of scrapbooks for boybands I loved, memories with my friends- simply done with markers and torn out exercise book paper. Later on I 'graduated' to beading and jewellery making, sewing and embellishing. But all of it was haphazard and more often than not just to cure boredom, make a few bucks (I used to sell bracelets for extra pocket money) and annoy show-off friends (yes, some of you might remember a time in college when a snotty rich girl showed up in a 'branded' sequined top and I sewed an almost copy for RM13.90. Friends couldn't tell the difference and snotty rich girl's sequined number was never seen again- apparently 'stolen' by neighbours cause it 'too pretty' [according to her]. *chuckles*).

Anyway, I digress. This post is about my love for stamping and cardmaking. Of course stamps in Malaysia are expensive so where I can, I buy magazines that give stamps away free. I've got three stamp sets this way and expect to collect more. Of course, stamp pads that are pretty and acid free are also a pain in the pocketbook so I've bought tiny little ones in basic colours (black, red, brown) for like RM9.90 a pop. Takes forever to ink up a large stamp but I make do. Sadly frugality doesn't always work if you wanna be a genuine cardmaker rolling out works of art. Good stamps, paper and ink are usually worth the investment and I've found out the hard way [if you didn't guess, by buying cheap stuff and ruining cards]. But stamp sets, pads, acrylic blocks- expensive as they are, you'll find a way to make do. Then into my cardmaking life waltzes the cutting/embossing machine.

Meet the Westminster/Sizzix Big Shot. The prettiest paper cutter you'll ever chance upon. It cuts all kinds of shapes, embosses cards and basically anything you buy a die for ['dies' are the actual shape cutters that you run through with the Big Shot]. There is of course the professional Sizzix Eclipse that is completely electronic and requires no die but well, the price is also out of this world [think a couple of thousand ringgit] as well as the Big Shot Pro that is well, pro and much larger and costs 4 times more. But I don't even want any of those. I just want a regular old, Big Shot Basic. Am I asking too much, cardmaking fairy? It's the price of one doll… And you and I know how many of those I've bought [I can just see the massive eye-rolling].

[picture from the Sizzix Official Web store]

People say if you verbalise and concentrate on what you want hard enough, the universe will see that you get it. I WANT A WESTMINSTER/SIZZIX BIG SHOT. You hear that Universe? Alternatively if any generous boyfriends hear this, that'll help too… hehehe

In my heart

2011-05-01T23:13:00.001-07:00

So many miles apart, hours away,

Days are night and the rain is sunshine,

When I rest in dreamless sleep,

You work the day, toil and weep,

I can't see the snow on your windowsill and you can't see the mud on my shoes,

When you laugh with merriment,

I drink the sadness and blues,

Different experiences and roads to take,

Lessons to learn and friends to make,

But when we look upon the sky, be it in sunlight,

Or the cover of night,

I know you are there,

Under one sky, breathing one life, feeling one breeze,

You are not far,

You don't need trains, buses or cars,

Just look into your heart, into your soul,

Feel the touch of my hand and my words whispered to you,

You live in me and I in you,

Always.

In our own Secret Annexe

2011-04-22T16:55:00.001-07:00

This morning I watched the BBC adaptation of the Diary of Anne Frank.

There are only two books that I have read and reread countless times from childhood and to this day and that would be the English translation of the Diary of Anne Frank and A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Both books feature little girls quite unlike their peers who are disliked, misunderstood and placed in harsh circumstances but it is their minds, their creativity and the very intelligence of their old souls that help them through. Both stories also feature a non-existent/incompetent mother and a doting father.

I know many girls can claim to feel ostracized in their teens so what I may say may not actually be anything new or groundbreaking. It's the same old story of a unique person trying to fit into the cookie cutter of un-unique society. I found my similarities with both girls- the fictional and the non-fictional one. Like Sara Crewe, I had a father who gave me everything. I was disliked by my peers and even some 'grown-ups' who felt a little girl shouldn't have been spoilt so. I even had a Ms Minchin equivalent in my life whom I shall not name who always said mean things to me. I remember one day I got a necklace I really liked and she looked at me and sneered 'Take it off, you look like a frog!' I was a child and I ran off not knowing what to do. Those words and the look on her face- I remember to this day. I also remember one day I yelled at her and stomped off and she replied 'There goes the girl who grew up before her time!' Funnily enough now I think that I grew up before she did. I always retreated into fantasy. I read so much I ruined my eyesight at age 10. I wrote my first story at 11 based on a game I played. I drew so much I would go through an artblock a week. It was how I dealt with it. I never had many friends because I was shy and unlike other girls but when I did make a friend, they would be a friend for life.

When I read Anne's diary at age 18, even though miles older than the writer, I could relate to the girl who was trapped and trying so hard just to be herself. I was not loud or boisterous like Anne but everything she wrote, I knew I have felt. To be surrounded by family but to have no one who really knows you or whom you could talk to. They love you, it is not to be denied, but in your heart you know they'd never approve of you- not the real you and not all of you. Of course Anne lived in circumstances I can't even imagine. To be prisoner, not knowing when you'd be found and killed and yet trying to be cheerful through it all. But even though Anne lived within physical boundaries, I believe all of us, even though somewhat free, are not really free at all. We live in the Annexe of expectation. The expectation to be a good child, a good parent, a good student, a good employee, a good friend and a good spouse; but even beyond those, we are expected to follow society in the things we believe, the things we do and the things we like. Trying to do what is fashionable for the times, what will make us popular and what will make us the most money. In truth, are any of us really ourselves? And I mean truly? Hiding our 'dirty little secrets' so scared that one day we'll be found out, when those secrets are probably neither dirty nor need to be kept secret any more than the Jews needed to go into hiding. Should I lie to people and tell them I am busy when I merely want some time to myself? Do I have to pretend I like popular movies and books just so I'll have something to talk to you about? It may be trivial, but every time we cut even the slightest bit of ourselves to fit the cookie cutter, we bleed; we fester and just grow even more misshapen than we were before. I had a diary just like Anne did but I soon grew tired of writing because my hand would hurt after writing so much! I had so much to say. So much I can't say to anyone.

I am happy that I continue to live to fight to one day be entirely free. I have the chances Anne never did; and if a 14 year old girl can brave war, a cramped living with bad conditions and live the way she wanted, the way she did, what could possibly be my excuse?

You Must Love Me...

2011-04-21T06:47:00.000-07:00

We can't say this to people.
And even if we do- it'll be silly because you can't force someone to feel what they don't.
Nothing's changed.
And yet everything has it would seem.
But maybe its a smokescreen; maybe there is hope!
Ah, hope.
The last evil Pandora released.
It is evil indeed.

One Ticket to Destiny

2011-04-12T23:00:00.000-07:00

I've been reading Paulo Coelho's the Alchemist and wondered if there was any truth in the theory that the Universe will ultimately help you achieve your destiny. If you don't know what its about: in a nutshell its a fable of a young shepherd boy who dreams of finding treasure in Egypt. He is aided by a mysterious man who calls himself a king and tells him that if he should ever lose his way- the omens will show him what he is to do to ultimately fulfill his destiny.Along the way we see the boy making all kinds of choices- some set him back, some forward but every step seems to take him closer, albeit sometimes at a terribly slow, frustrating pace- to where he is to go.

Not everyone of course will be lucky to know where exactly they're headed- but one can be sure that life will eventually take you there. I asked myself about my current career path. I have many times asked myself if leaving my old job was a good thing. And now with the current uncertainty I face in a small company, I am forced to relook at my decisions.In a fit of remorse I even asked my previous manager if she'd take me back. A move I look with great embarassment on as her reply only reminded me of why I left in the first place.

Why did I leave? Notwithstanding the lack of motivation and support from management and verbal abuse from my boss, the job was a secure one. Safe, known, and a sure income every month. I wasn't going anywhere but I wasn't entirely hellbent on getting anywhere anyway. You see, I always felt my life would be more than my job and my job was always a means to help me get there. But where was that?

The shepherd boy gave up his secure living and his sheep to go after his dreams. But when he was robbed and forced to beg a crystal merchant to work for food- he thought perhaps he shouldn't have been so silly and should've stayed a shepherd. Atleast he'd have food and he knew his sheep, he knew his job, and he knew what to expect in every town he went in. But he knew in his soul that being a sheperd wasn't his destiny and that there was more.

The cirsumstances that surrounded my leaving my old job, if looked at is spectacularly timed indeed. A culmination of a boss who was relentlessly rude, an appraisal that was unfair and said I had only got what I had because they pitied me (well not in those words), and the entering of a new co-worker who looked set to ruin any efforts I made to do well and it was at this time, I received a note informing me of a vacancy.I didn't look for it- I had given up- it sought me and job offers rarely find people. It was also through the support and encouragement of my friends in the old office that I took the job. Everything was aligned to ensure that I didn't, couldn't make any other choice.

Of course for months I doubted my ability to work here. Always thought I had made a big mistake. Then I met Dots. She has been my companion and my only close friend here.She constantly reminds me to do my best and not underestimate my worth. Just before she left for Africa this week, she gave me the Alchemist to read. The book was also timely- to remind me that no decision I ever make will truly detract from who I am to be. Some people get there sooner and some later. Even if I am not meant to be here merely for the sake of this job- then maybe I was here to meet Dots, to read this book and learn all the things I will learn here that will equip me with what I need for this life.The boy learned about crystal from the crystal merchant, earned his wage and in one year made enough money to set about his journey again or return to being a shepherd if that was his wish.But he couldn't go back to being a shepherd- how could he? When now he had a new skill, new knowledge and renewed strength to chase his dreams.He couldn't go back, he could only go forward.

Maybe I am a dreamer; and there's nothing to all this but mere coincidence and a naive hope that destiny exists. But maybe there is something to it- and I just need to soldier on- make my decisions, earn my keep and one day reap my reward.

I am only halfway through the book- but even this bit is too powerful to keep to myself. I eagerly await the ending...

~When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.~ The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho

Down Memory Lane

2011-04-05T07:29:00.001-07:00

As people get older I reckon they want more and more to relive their youth. Since I am only in my twenties- my youth would be well, childhood. My childhood; save for a few bumps; was a very happy one. Despite the baggage of divorce and other issues I shall not mention here, my father did everything he could to make me happy. I had want for nothing. Every toy I wanted, every whim and fancy met. So it would be that everytime I find myself disillusioned by life, reality and my current state of affairs; I recede into the comfort and safety of childhood memories.

It is one of the reasons I love dolls- they remind me of my late grandmother and the unconditional love she and my father had for me. However, the ravage teen years obliterated a lot of my childhood keepsakes. Ashamed of my past, I went full-fledged into adolescent angst and teenage obsessions with boys, fashions and peer pressure. My poor dolls and other relics of my childhood were relegated to the storerooms and soon thrown out from wear and disuse.

It is only now, at 27 years of age that I realise how valuable a happy childhood is and how much we may need it in future. I wish I hadn't destroyed half of my stuff or misused it in the way I had. If only I had some way of slapping sense into my teenage self, I would've sure liked to do it.

With the dawn of the internet and a seamless world; I've managed to track down a small sliver of my past and purchased it to become once again part of my collections. I found on vintage Etsy, this set of Barbie Paper Dolls from the 1980s (1985, 1986 and 1988 to be exact) that I do remember owning as a child. It was in pristine and uncut condition for a price I could deal with. I don't intend to go about buying all my old play things again but this was a treat- truly. I am really over the moon at such a lucky find- I didn't know how to thank the seller enough! I am still deciding if I should shrink wrap these and preserve them for another lifetime or to use them as paper ephemera in my scrapbooks.

I guess we'll see.

Paper trails

2011-04-04T07:41:00.001-07:00

I promised Dev I'd upload more of my cardmaking pictures, so without further ado, some projects that has kept me busy the past week.

1) 'To sit in the shade...'

Using my Jane Austen stamps, I made this 'anytime' card: Birthdays, Thank yous, Thinking of yous... There's a profile of a regency lady seated on the cover with the quotation stamped below it. The cursive writing on the side paper is not a stamp but printed sheets from a scrapbook paper compilation book. On the inside is a stamped cameo and more of the printed paper. This picture was taken with my phone cam just after creating it. Today I turned my desk upside down but it seems to have gone missing so I couldn't take better pictures for blogging.

2) Happy Birthday!

A birthday card I made specially for a dear friend that I must post ASAP! The hedgehog on the cover is from a set of Henry the Hedgehog stamps that I got free from PaperCraft monthly magazine. I am not sure which month but I soon realised someone had flicked one stamp so my set is incomplete! Luckily the cutest ones are still there. The hedgehog on the inside (yes, plenty of them!) was from my Penny Black Garden Friends set that I've been eyeing for a few weeks. Penny Blacks gorgeous stamps are reminiscent of the Peter Rabbit kind of artwork and feature cute critters doing funny things! The flowers are cut from Soy printed cardstock from MPH using a KREAXIONS flower punch (no, I didn't cut them painstakingly one by one myself!) and the petal indentations done by a Making Memories embosser tool. It all sounds complicated but it really isn't! The card's really simple and lazy to match the maker. Hehe

(for some reason I can't seem to rotate this picture! Absolutely driving me mad...)

3) A WIP

This card is still a work in progress. A little too knackered to finish it today and didn't want to rush through it. I've got some ideas for it and I'd like to make use of the clay cameo that's in the perfect matching shade of purple. The stamp is another from my Jane Austen stamp set. It would make a good house warming card I reckon or even a birthday card for an Austen lover. I am really, really loving this stamp set! I used a brown chalk stamp pad (or 'Gingerbread' to stamp colour connoisseurs!) as opposed to the black dye ink I've been using prior- gives it this pretty vintage look methinks.

If you're wondering why I am giving so much detail on the stuff I used; it mostly for any fellow scrappers/stampers who stumble on my blog and would like to know what I use and what's available over here!

Crafters Anonymous – for the Creatively Obsessed

2011-03-27T20:10:00.001-07:00

To replace the void left by my temporary hiatus from doll collecting, I've gone full steam ahead into a new hobby- scrapbooking and cardmaking! I know I've shared some minor scrapbook projects earlier made from very basic scraps and tools. I've now by accident fallen in love with rubber stamping. I blame this on Etsy – the evil, evil, tempting place online where you can super-neat one of a kind handmade odds and ends at a bargain (well not so much when you convert to RM but bargain enough when I use my Paypal balance from the sale of my dolls!).

It was on Etsy that I found stamp makers Artistic Outpost who sold the cutest Jane Austen rubber stamps! A sucker for the Regency period and well, Jane Austen, I had hit the buy button in seconds. I knew I had about $50 in Paypal from the sale of some dolls so I didn't even hesitate. There was no turning back. With some research I learnt about the joys of unmounted stamps –where you can buy a whole set of designs, use one Acrylic block and be able to use every stamp in the set interchangeably- saves money, space and waste (yeah, cause I am suddenly Green)!

Funded by my very loving and sometimes ill-used significant other, I got 3 sizes of Acrylic blocks and some clear stamps and stamp pads to begin my collection. It was only fair that since he paid for it, he should get the first card. And I can't get over how nicely it came out. Trial and error taught me that cheap paper does make a whole difference! Enter: smudging and unclear stamping but practice paid off! Soon, when the old exchequer is brimming again, I'll invest in some good quality acid-free stock card but until then, its regular construction paper for me. A word to the wise, scrapbooking though miles cheaper than doll collecting- still isn't cheap. So unless you earn a lot, or like me, fancy giving up something else - you may want to give this a miss.

That said, check out my first card. I can't believe how gorgeous it is and how much fun I am going to have in days to come, stamping away!

Where’s the sun?

2011-03-16T06:30:00.001-07:00

They called it the Land of the rising sun, but since Friday; Japan is seeing its darkest hours. First the devastating earthquake, that caused the giant 14 foot tsunami and now the ongoing nuclear crisis; the world is watching in horror as the Japanese scramble to deal with what could be the biggest humanitarian disaster since WWII.

I don't know if everybody is completely aware of the magnitude of the disaster and how this may cripple Japan in the years to come. Worst, I don't think many fully fathom what this could mean for the rest of the world. You see, I gather if the tectonic plates are moving at a rate that can cause this much trauma; there's no telling what will be next- or who will have to die for it.

It's grim, I know. But the situation is grim and we should recognise it for what it is. And though my prayers and thoughts are with Japan at this awful time, I think I am terrified deep down, that this could very well be just the beginning of more catastrophic events to come.

What do our quiet clear skies have in store for us?

Singin’ the Sunday Blues

2011-03-14T03:04:00.001-07:00

For the past couple of weeks since 2011 came upon us; I've been feeling the Sunday blues almost consistently. Saturday starts off with so much promise but as Sunday evening draws near, I find I can't get enough of the pure luxury of freedom. I start scrambling to do more, only tiring myself out and making that arduous trek to work Monday morning just all the more painful.

I read many articles on Sunday blues and found what most had to say quite spot on. I had so many expectations of my weekends- so much to accomplish and yet so much of relaxing that it was virtually impossible to do it all in just 48 hours. Even if I never slept. But then we all know weekends were made for sleeping in late.

By wanting so much out of my weekend, I was inevitably setting myself up for disappointment. Many articles recommended not putting off 'fun' just for weekends. Have a little dose of fun every single day of the week.

I guess that is the only thing to do! A little fun, a little happiness, everyday- have a stellar work week my luvlies!

Where I spend my weekdays.

A Splash of Happiness

2011-03-09T06:36:00.001-08:00

If happiness had a colour, a feel and a shape- to me it'd be red, velvety, and in the shape of a flower. Any kind. I found my happiness fix in gerberas today but they could be anything: dahlias, hyacinths, roses, sunflowers- I really don't believe there is any kind of flower that isn't joyful. The last place most people find happiness is at work so what better place to set my flowers down to weave their magic?

Amidst a backdrop of old monitors and dull oak desks, there's nothing quite so beautiful as my summer coloured lovelies. Betty tries to help but I suspect is much overshadowed.

Of course happiness is best when shared so I got a second pack of gerberas for Dots. The smile she had on all day was its very own reward.

Its only RM6 for a bunch at most good florists. Go forth and spread some happiness!

A bunch of flowers

2011-03-07T19:58:00.001-08:00

This post is definitely long overdue.

I can't put my finger on exactly when it was that I stumbled on Amy Merrick's blog but since then, her posts have become the gentle picker-upper I need on a bad day.

My knowledge of who Amy is, is entirely dependent on what she divulges on her blog, so what I could gather was that she works as a flower arranger, loves antiques, flowers (duh!), crafts and history. As odd as it sounds, I find solace and comfort in the blog of a complete stranger!

I'll wager you wouldn't be able to help it as well; Amy's posts are filled with her gorgeous pictures of nature, flowers, art and just anything that strikes her as beautiful. Her writing is breezy, clever sometimes poignant and moving and sometimes just light hearted. But I think the thing I love most about her posts is the strange sense of happiness that permeates it all, including the posts where she shares her bad times. It's as if she cannot help but be sunny.

I constantly find myself in need of some serenity. And I find it with an Apple a Day.

One of Amy's gorgeous snapshots below.

From the Attic

2011-02-19T06:02:00.001-08:00

Someone else's though!

I went to the PayLess Books Sale again today (I am so addicted to everything vintage now! It's like my new holy word). The last time I got some pretty cool Agatha Christies, a 1955 edition Georgette Heyer and some Christmassy publications from the early 90's. But today, today just blew me away. For a meagre RM8, I got two really, really amazing finds (well, amazing to me in any case!).

Artistically Speaking

Ever heard of Hans Holbein? You know that chap who painted all of every Henry VIII wives including the infamous painting of Catherine Parr that made ol' Henry agree to marry the woman and then divorce her on sight? I found this book on his paintings. Beautiful thing- for only RM5. The catch? If you can't guess from the picture- the whole thing's in German! I can't understand a word but who cares? Art's my language. ;-) The best part? My Hans Holbein: Das Jungere isn't the 2010 version or even the 1999 version- try 1958! (atleast that's what I found from Googling- do n't just take my word for it)

The book isn't in the best condition but wha t can you expect from a book that's over 50 years old? The pictures are still crisp, clear and just magnifique! Since I'll prolly need another 35 rebirths before I can save enough to buy an actual Holbein painting- I guess this is close enough.

Dolly Goodness

The other find was a November 1981 issue of Doll Reader Magazine (for RM3!)! It was just mind blowing as a current reader of Doll Reader to see how doll collecting has changed over the years. It appears back then it was mostly about vintage bisque child dolls as opposed to the vinyl fashion dolls of today. Vintage Bebe's, Jumeaus, Simon & Halbig... dolls I couldn't afford unless I took another mortgage. Some things didn't change- Barbie was around, and so was auctioneers Theriaults who sell some really neat antique dolls.

The old doll reader only had 3 pages of colour whilst the new DR is a chock-full of colourful, glossy goodness. But to pay for that, the mag has gotten significantly thinner (mind you the new DR also features HauteDoll magazine rolled into one, which means the DR portion is only half of the mag). I guess it's also telling of the decreasing spending power of American doll collectors and how so many good doll mags have to go 'dieting' to stay alive or combining themselves to save on paper, printing and distribution.

I know lots of people prefer up-to-date news and features but for me, I prefer to take a peek into a past I couldn't have known if not for antiques and the stuff the hoarders saved. ;-)

Marked for Life

2011-02-01T05:59:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I went down to my house to have a look in at a leak my tenants complained about. During the idle chatter, my tenant asked 'What happened to your face? Did you fall down?' I was puzzled and replied- 'it's a birth mark; I've had it all my life.' Now it was his turn to look confused. He didn't quite believe me I think but didn't ask anymore. I can only guess that he thought I must've been some poor victim of domestic violence!

You see, when I was born I apparently did not want to come out (so I was told). A forceps was used to pry out my large head and this caused tissue damage to both my cheeks just below the eyes. I was told I was lucky! A little higher and I would've been blind. A few years later the right side healed but the left didn't. I have a dark reddish mark that looks like overzealous blusher gone horribly wrong.

I've heard many people tell other people with birth marks how lucky they are that their marks are not on their face. Well, such a thing cannot be said to me but I don't think I've ever felt that my birthmark was a hindrance to anything. It's gotten me into embarrassing situations though- mostly with people assuming I've been beaten but am too afraid to say anything. A police officer even stopped a friend of mine once and asked him if he beat me! It was scary but somewhat funny too!

I am not sure what it is about my birthmark- it has days when it quietly melds into a faint blush but there are some days it's so dark and 'severe' looking that people can't miss it. I am not sure what mix of chemistry causes this but it must be the explanation as to why not everyone notices it upon seeing me and sometimes only notice after a few meetings.

It made me wonder though- why it never bothered me. Having it on my face, I mean. I am generally shy, oversensitive and rather insecure and yet this harsh scar on my face visible to the world never once feigned me. I can honestly say without a shadow of doubt that I have never looked in the mirror and said 'I wish I never had this...' Why is it that everyone else with marks on their legs and arms go about saying 'I am so lucky it isn't on my face!' when it doesn't seem to make an ounce of difference to me that it is on mine?

I probably won't ever know the answer to this but I reckon it's proof enough- that you can have any kind of imperfection- whether on your face or on your body... but it's how you feel about yourself that matters.

I think my birthmark makes me 'me'. ;-)

27 Candles

2011-01-16T05:20:00.000-08:00

I turned 27 today.

Always had some bone to pick with birthdays; always something that'll ruin my mood but this year was perfect.

I had cake with my parents, Ryan and VJ. I had two fab dinners yesterday and today first with mum and then with VJ. Lounged and lazed, laughed and loved. I don't know if they've always been doing this but for the first time, I actually noticed how hard everyone seemed to be trying to make this day just what I wanted (within means of course!).

I got flowers, a new doll, a new battery for my car (dad of course!) and some cash vouchers for my favourite clothing stores. I reckon most of all though, I got love. So many calls and texts, FB posts and emails. Truly, today I felt like the luckiest girl on the planet.

To end my day, I sit in my cotton reindeer pants and watch another episode of Poirot with a bag of crisps (ssshh!! don't tell! hehe) and a mug of warm lemon tea.

Life's grand. ;-)

My tea and book borrowed from Audrey.

At dinner with my giant. :-)

A pretty painting to set the mood at The Windmill

And of course what's a candlelight dinner without erm.. candlelight? hehe

What's a birthday without gifts? From VJ, my Taeyang Shade- who was super difficult to get but I am so pleased I got him- Thanks to Cindy of Time Machine Toys at BTS KL who managed to find him!

Behind Yellowing Pages

2011-01-14T22:20:00.000-08:00

A book reads the better which is our own, and has been so long known to us, that we know the topography of its blots, and dog's ears, and can trace the dirt in it to having read it at tea with buttered muffins. ~Charles Lamb, Last Essays of Elia, 1833

I've never found the need to step into a second hand bookstore or a charity sale as I've for so long believed that it is always better to own a new, crisp, plastic covered book. I would read carefully as to not bend the spine and my books look so new, one can hardly guess if it's been read.

But what is the purpose of keeping a book that way?

I don't quite know.

A colleague lent me 4 mystery books she had gotten probably from a second hand shop. She would tell us how she would buy books from everywhere- yard sales, charity shops and even from the estates of deceased people. When family members of the deceased no longer know what to do with his vast collection of books- they regularly sell them by the boxes with no indication as to the titles or authors. It seemed to me it was like receiving a treasure chest and never knowing what was inside!

Below: One of Audrey's Georgette Heyers.
I couldn't understand the wonder a person could get over yellowed, moldy old tattered books.

Until I held one.

A seasoned book is like an old friend. It fits in your hand and stands up to most rough treatment as its been there, done that. They smell of everything they've seen in their lives- mold, dust, insects, and even food bits. I know, it doesn't sound nice- but I guess you'll have to read one to know. A book that's lived to be read again and again is a book with more than just one story to tell.

I imagine the fancy of knowing that some people who have lived and died before me have held the book, read it, known it, loved it and likewise, now I will.

Pushing aside my previous prejudice, I stepped into the darkened corner and faced the musty shelves of a second hand bookstore. Seated on an tattered box as if waiting for me, was a pinkish book with an eye catching, gilded letter 'D'. I picked up the book called Death at Glamis Castle. I've never seen the book anywhere nor heard of it. The pages where yellow but the cover was still glossy and depicted a beautiful rendition of the ill-famed Scottish Castle. I've loved Glamis Castle since I watched a documentary on it when I was about 10. Finding this book gave me a small slip of pleasure, memories and serendipity all rolled into one. My first pre-loved book!Above: My find at the 2nd hand shop- for RM6.

Maybe one day, someone will inherit or buy my books. And maybe they would read it fervently and live and dream the life of the characters as if it were real; maybe they would think of lessons and ponder the message it has conveyed; or maybe it'll just entertain them on a crowded tram or a long clinic wait. Whatever, wherever, I would hope they afford their new reader the hours of happiness, excitement and wonderment they've given me.

It begins again! (Pt 2)

2011-01-10T00:48:00.000-08:00

The lesson I picked up on the 31st of December 2010 tied up the whole of 2010 lessons into a neat little package. It was the ribbon on the gift, the icing on the cake, the holdall for your travelling junk. I was rambling on about how some things in my life were so perfect and how this and that had gone on to ruin it. My colleague looked at me sideways and said; ‘Child, nothing’s perfect. Perfect doesn’t exist.’ I looked at her incredulously and stammered, ‘but of course it exists! That’s why we’re always trying to achieve it- because it’s possible!’ She looked at me patiently and asked ‘Name one thing you know that is perfect.’ I faltered and the next 60 seconds felt like hours; felt like the lifetime I had thinking I could find the perfect job, the perfect friend, the perfect family, the perfect life. I realised I couldn’t even name one thing or one person I could unfalteringly say was perfect. She waited for my answer though she could’ve easily seen I had none. I stuttered ‘Well, er... I can’t think of any now but I am sure there is...’ Again she repeated ‘No, it doesn’t exist. Let me give you an example- say you made this perfect cake. The icing, the squiggles, the rosettes were everything you imagined. You outdid yourself and some of the great chefs. Then someone comes and says “you know what would make this cake perfect? If those rosettes were placed here instead of there...” And you’re bewildered. You thought the cake was perfect! The rosettes are fine where they are but to this other person, it isn’t.’ I quickly injected ‘So perfect is a matter of perception?’ She looks happy that I’ve finally picked something up ‘Right. So are many other intangible things. And when you go about expecting things that don’t exist (like perfection) you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. Why do that to yourself?’

I went away with a lot to think about. It wasn’t just the lesson that perfection is a perception that I thought of but everything else that one idea inadvertently meant. It’s not that we shouldn’t attempt to excel and do our best at everything we set out to do; it just means we shouldn’t beat ourselves up or be hard on others when we or they fall.

I left my previous job thinking I’d find out there, the perfect job for me; a job with purpose and everything else in between. The old job wasn’t perfect and I soon found, neither is the job I currently have. Both have ups and downs and their own issues that come hand in hand with the good stuff.

In the same vein, I expected perfect friends and the perfect boyfriend; people who knew exactly what to say, do and feel exactly when I needed and who fit perfectly into my life. Again, by not considering that they were very different human beings with the usually trappings of human beings, I was indefinitely setting myself up for disappointment. It’s not that they were bad people or that they had bad intentions; they were people just like me- trying to make it in this crazy world with sanity intact. Sometimes they make mistakes, sometimes they disagree, and sometimes they get mad, sad, guilty, happy, confused, ill, and impatient, just like I do.

But more than anything I expected the perfect life; where if bad things happened the good things had to follow to make weight, where evil only befell evil people and where good people will always triumph ala cheesy Hollywood films. I always made things black and white so they were easier to understand and digest but with that I eliminated a tonne of shades in between either ignoring them or forcing them to be this or that- bad or good- when not everything can be that cut and dried. Just as there are people who suffer their whole lives, there are those who are blessed from start to finish but does this actually decide if they are happy or sad? Absolutely not. Life isn’t perfectly anything; its not perfectly blessed, perfectly happy, perfectly fair or perfectly unfair. No matter how much I wanted it to be. It just is what it is.

So here’s to another perfectly imperfect year! Another year older, another year to grow and another to pull what’s left of your hair out in frustration! Hoping your 2011 is nothing like what you expect! ;-)

It Begins Again (pt 1)

2011-01-01T08:17:00.001-08:00

It seemed like only yesterday that we eagerly sat down on Dec 31 1999 to usher in the new Millennium. Now, a whole decade into it, what have we done?

Or more aptly for this blog- what have I done? Well, in 1999 I would've been 15 going on 16. Since then I've graduated college, learned to drive, started and ended my first really serious relationship, started a new one, got my first job and left, started my second in a completely new line, and of course did everything else in between. Visited Thailand 3 times now; re-started collecting dolls and amassing a roomful(!); made friends, lost friends; went to my first rave party, my first internship, my first company trip; had my first office romance (!) and first office heartbreak; went from listening to Britney Spears and the Moffatts to Frank Sinatra and Michael Buble; From reading Sweet Valley High to Agatha Christie and well, the list just goes on! There were of course things that didn't directly come from my doing but affected me; like the birth of my brother; the death of my treasured guinea pig, Mitsy and dog Shandi; and finally becoming a godmother to my cousin's son William. There are definitely millions more I can't begin to list here - I've barely scratched the surface.

It would seem I had a hectic decade!

How did 2010 add to all this?

Lets Re-cap!

1) I left my first job. This had to be the height of changes in 2010. I'd never thought I'd ever have the guts to do it. And though I still miss it dearly and quite often wish I could go back- I must admit that leaving was fundamental to my growth. I had to try another job, see another workplace and experience new people. I am quite sure if I stayed, I would've withered. The challenges of a new workplace have forced me to revive and live on my toes and what better place the ever changing NGO scene? Reminisce with me about my leaving here.

2) I struggled (and maybe still do.. hehe) with shopaholic tendencies. My overflowing cupboards and shelves are testimony to my need to own pretty things. I have more clothes/shoes/dolls/stationery/accessories that I now know what to do with. Things slowed down when my loans increased (bought a car!) and now I can't afford to shop like I used to. But I do still manage sometimes. ;-) Remember when I spoke of it here?

3) I suffered burnout. Too many responsibilities, too many new things to get used to, it heaped on me and at one point I found my knees cracking under the pressure. I started to forget, I had low moments for no reason and found no happiness in the things I used to love doing. It was a bad time and I still do feel remnants of it occasionally but life does go on and well, I do believe if it didn't kill me; it'll only make me stronger. I told you guys about it here.

4) I found a new best friend. One of the highs of 2010 was when I made a new best friend. I don't often make friends much less best friends in such a short time. Mostly these relationships grow over a period of time but this one seemed to hit both of us by surprise and I am thankful for every force of the universe that chucked us together when we needed it most. I only wrote about him opening up and sharing his problems and life with me but I should've also wrote how he helped me through some of the roughest patches of 2010. I love you, Hugan- thank you for coming into my life! He was the one I wrote about here.

5) My relationship hit an iceberg. The force of what happened hit me so hard I thought I would sink. It was singularly the most painful thing I've gone through, ever (well, in the realm of relationships of course). I didn't know what to do or how to think and sometimes I wonder if I am still not grasping in the dark for my path. But through it, and though many didn't know how themselves to deal with such a thing, my friends rallied and supported in a way I couldn't have hoped for better. I made a choice and now, together VJ and I work to salvage the wreckage. Things won't be the same- that much I know. But from what I've seen in the months that followed, I see hope that this can be even better. I don't wish such a thing to ever happen again but for what it's worth I see now that maybe, just maybe we both needed it to happen at this time- to show us how our complacence and blindness can destroy the most beautiful things we own. 2010 appears to be soaked in the atmosphere of this event. It cast a certain shade of pale over everything. The certain shade that makes you see many things for the first time and many that you should've seen but didn't. I'd like to say I've got through it but I am only beginning to get through it. For the first time in a long while though, I am optimistic, and even if the decisions I made post the event have been wrong- they're all so very necessary. I hinted of all this here.

The top five sums up the big events for 2010. But what did I learn frm it all? Its way too long to continue that on this post- so I'll save it for another day. ;-) Happy New Year, my nearest and dearest!

Far frm the Madding Crowd...

2010-12-30T05:51:00.000-08:00

It was December 28th when I cursed my ill luck of having to go on a major three day meeting so early after Christmas. It seemed cruel that at a time of merriment I was being forced away from family and celebration. I knew I had to do it, but that didn't make the thought any more palatable.

The meeting was going to be full day ones and thus, rooms at the hotel were booked for us to stay so we didn't have to commute so early and we'd be 'fresh' for discussions. Again, it seemed wrong to be away from family 3 days in the holiday season but I trudged on like a trooper anyway.

I don't know why I did, so calmly like a lamb to slaughter; but it turned out to be just what I needed.

Hit by the Holiday Grinch

I don't know why this year, I'd felt less than happy at the festivities. I thought it was work- unending work; but that couldn't have been- working through the hols wasn't new to me- I've done it countless times before- sometimes working right on Christmas eve itself!

Then I thought maybe it was the major misunderstanding I had with my SO; but again- it didn't seem right. Everything was annoying me- holiday shopping, crowds, even the holiday food! (shock, horror!) For the first time ever, I dropped a pound over the Christmas week cause the food just didn't tempt me.

I then passed it off as the thought of being sick at Christmas- but again- that wasn't the least bit new. I was famous for catching colds on Christmas! I didn't even enjoy my lovely presents. They still sit in the bag i brought them home in. [Its not that I am not grateful or did I dislike them- I just couldn't get excited over them]

Something was seriously wrong with me this year and for the life of me, I couldn't put my finger on it.

Away

The three days spent working and living in the posh suites of the Pacific Regency seemed just what I needed. I packed extremely light with just 2 pairs of jeans, two long sleeved tops, a cardi and two sets of PJs. Day one was hectic and I blundered through my presentation; but soon VJ had dropped by and we made our way to the Weld, huddled under a little umbrella to have a quiet dinner together. We got so wet in the rain running back to the hotel but I hadn't felt so alive in yonks. Back in the room we watched TV and soon fell asleep.

In the morning, there wasn't the hassle of finding the perfect combo- there were two identical shirts in different colours- you just put one on and get out. VJ and I had breakfast together and went off to our separate work duties.

The evening of day two, I found myself soaking in the bath making full use of the Crabtree and Evelyn goodies that the hotel boasted and reading a trashy gossip magazine. Once VJ got back from work, we watched TV, chatted and ordered room service as it had started to pour once again. For the second night this week, we fell asleep cuddled together in a huge ball of combined fat. ;-)

I had to check out the next morning and I did so just before we had breakfast. After that I sat by the banquet foyer and read an Agatha Christie before the day began- savouring the quietness and the breathtaking view of KL city.

We finished our meeting early and now here I am back in my little room filled with clutter!

I am not so disillusioned, I am not so disappointed at the holidays. I don't know why but I needed that time away. That time to enjoy experiences and not things, and to have some time away from crowds of people. So even thought I was working 8-9 hr days and only had just enough time to take in a movie before zoning out; I managed to savour those moments all the same.

Finally getting into the Yuletide gear

2010-12-18T07:21:00.000-08:00

Its really late but I've finally got my cards out for the yearly card exchange amongst my doll forum people. I love it- receiving real, snail mail cards from across the globe from people I've never met but who have all become my 'friends' in the world of doll collecting. I can't begin to describe how much it's given me.

There's only 5 of us this year participating but it helped me take more time with each card. I don't like sending out assortment cards that you just write in- it shows you only spent all of 30 seconds to write a greeting and chuck it in the post. So even if my designs aren't the classiest, I still love handmaking cards.

This year, I thought I'd use a photo and my gorgeous Tonner Charlotte in her Christmas photoshoot from a few years ago was perfect. With a dash of coloured paper, tartan ribbon and Charlotte by my tree- my card this year was complete! All encased in a glittery envelope, I really think that even if my card reaches super late- it would be worth receiving! When I printed copies of this digital shot, even the photo shopkeeper commented on what a beautiful picture it was though she most likely thought me balmy for photographing dolls and using them as greetings!

Through working on these cards, I played Katharine McPhee's Christmas is a time... album that I finally got my hands on. Her voice is just made for Christmas songs, rich and sweet. I had thought these few days that I was losing my Christmas spirit. But thanks to Charlotte, much-needed Christmas crafting and Katharine McPhee, I think I just may get it back in time!

Leaving you with my favourite song off the album; It's not Christmas without you

A little help from my friends...

2010-11-24T16:30:00.000-08:00

It was a very trying weekend. I was faced with a situation I never have been faced with before. It was scary, confusing, painful- like I was thrown to sea and hadn't a clue in which direction I should swim. I thought I'd drown...

But I didn't, with a little help from my friends.

The usual people were there for me, they know who they are. Mostly Hugan, who seemed to dedicate his entire weekend to making me feel better even when he didn't think that possible. But there were another four people whom I couldn't have made it through without.

Will, Grace, Karen and Jack.

I know I write a lot about Will & Grace- many blog posts. Nothing ever quite like this- who would've thought a TV show could save me from near depression?

I watched Will turn down a legal partnership to be with Vince and then being dumped for it; Karen thinking her husband was dead and then finding he had lied to go into hiding; Jack marrying Beverly Leslie just for his money, Grace leaving Leo for cheating on her and then marrying him later; Will leaving all his money to Grace in a will; Jack realising he had a son and the finale- with an old Will and an old Grace sitting in a bar talking about their childrens marriage...

They were of course sitcom characters and hence most of it was made-up, overblown fun. The comfort in it was the friendship between the four which was real. I realised then that I had my three best friends. My real life equivalent of the friends in the show and they too had loved me through it all. So no matter what sticklers life throws, I've got back-up!

In that sea of doubt and grey overcast skies- lifesavers were thrown to me and I've found shore. Thank you- for being my lifesavers.

I don't think I'll heal so quickly- but I am stronger knowing, should I fall again- there'll be people waiting to catch me.

A strange mixture of emotions

2010-10-27T17:12:00.000-07:00

I had to write this now, while I am still feeling all this because it's so bizarre! On the one hand I am really cut-up and heartbroken but the other part of me is fuzzily happy. It's so strange, I'll go quiet when I think about the thing that hurts me but then I think of this other thing and I can't help but smile to myself.

I'd rather talk about the good stuff and why I am smiling. You see, I have a strange compulsion to be 'needed'. I like it when people need me and I thrive on sentiments like 'I know I can talk to you...' or 'You're the only one I'd think of to tell all this too...' I have trust issues. I don't trust people because of some things which were done to me awhile ago but because of that, I think I am vehemently obsessed with getting other people to trust me. Like I am trying to say- I am not like these people who broke my trust- I am better, and I will take care of you.

And last night, someone trusted me, someone needed me. I can tell you it's the singularly most amazing feeling in the world besides being in love. No, wait, actually it just might be better (lol). Now I am more determined than ever not to fail him. That I'll make him happy he decided to let me in.

I've learned in my life that people can be the best and worst commodity. Some can make you feel lower than an earthworm but some, can lift you up in ways you never dreamed possible. So to my new found best friend- I am really happy we are where we are. I got through the horrid time I had last night- with smiles!- because I thought of the warm friendship we are going to have.

Thank you for giving me a chance. I won't let you down.

A Vicious Cycle

2010-10-25T06:24:00.000-07:00

An ordinary day

After work on days when I don't drive, I would as usual trek down to KL to get the KTM back home. Today I felt a little lazy to walk from the LRT to the KTM station some distance away and thought I'd stop off at KL Sentral to take the KTM from there and wait in air-conditioned comfort. However, when I got the platform, I could barely find standing space! There were hundreds of people already waiting. Bad idea; I thought and immediately made my way back to the LRT to go to KL and beat the KL sentral rush.

Once at Pasar Seni LRT, I took the bridge and came down to the Dayabumi building. There are three entrances in all to the KTM platform and I took the middle one which was the shortest walk. At the foot of the stairs leading up, a beggar was seated and appeared to be engrossed with something going on on the stairs. I couldn't hear anything but I saw the back of a dark-skinned girl who looked like she was hesitating at the foot of the stairs. I only got to the entrance when she came running out looking frantic. She said to me in broken English: 'Sister, sister... don't go up there. There is a man, doing stupid [sic] things up there!' I wasn't sure what she meant by 'stupid' but it was clear from her expression that whatever he was doing was much more severe than stupid. I was puzzled and it showed on my face and she seemed even more exasperated that I couldn't understand her. Then another Indian girl walks up and the frantic girl proceeds to tell her in high speed Tamil what she had seen. The two decide to take the third entrance and though I was curious as hell, I thought it too dangerous to go finding out what trouble was. I followed the two girls closely as they chatted in Tamil, every little while looking over their shoulder's to see if anyone was following. I instinctively turned back too and saw the beggar who was seated, jump up as if his sore infested leg had suddenly miraculously healed! He stood by the entrance of the staircase and I watched intrigued as he prevented other people from going up. I picked up a few words from the girls and tried to piece together what had happened. I can only guess that there was a beggar on the stairs asking people for money and beating them up when they refused.

The explanation seemed the most suited. After all, the other beggar had quickly gone to prevent other people from going up- could he have been protecting his friend from being stopped by the men who were making their way up? From what little I've read about the begging syndicate in KL, this would make sense.

The Circle of Despair

Many reports have come out on the begging syndicate. The team would round up homeless and runaway men and either maim them (break legs, bend backs... etc) or apply some convincing superficial wounds (like the beggar at the bottom of the stairs) to garner sympathy. These people would be 'distributed' around KL to beg and be picked up in an unmarked white van late every evening. It was also reported that each 'beggar' would have to fulfill a daily target amount of 'earnings' and if not, he would be beaten or worse, he would be further crippled in hopes that this would earn him more pity money.

Of course, with the publication of these reports, many people stopped giving money to beggars in hopes that they could discourage the syndicates. After all, if the 'trade' stopped making them money, they'd find something else wouldn't they? But the problem with this idea is that beggars who are in fear of the beatings and violence will in turn resort to violence on the public in desperation, especially when their pick-up time draws near and they realise they haven't made enough.

It could possibly have been what happened today.

Of course this is all theoretic since I can't prove any of it but it does seem to fit doesn't it?

The chilling reality

What is very real, however, is that something had gone very wrong today. Whether it was a beggar gone amok or a robbery attempt; one thing is certain- my fate would have been very different if I had chosen to go straight to KL. The slight detainment of stopping in KL Sentral, made sure that I was safe just minutes before the 'incident' took place.

It was scary to think; what would've happened if I had gone straight to KL? Would I be here, fully able to type this?

I wish I knew more though about what exactly had happened- but at the time, being curious would've come at too big a price.

Rambling Rose

2010-10-17T06:47:00.000-07:00

The blog has been quite neglected lately. Assuredly not for want of things to write about but simply the time and energy to write it all. There are many things that occupy my thoughts throughout the day but by the time I get home I am so knackered I can't bring myself to sit up by the computer and put it all down.
Burnout!

I've definitely been suffering burnout these past few days and my poor friends are having to pay the price. First Nicole is a victim of my forgetfulness and I actually miss an appointment once and mix the days of the next one! Second was poor Hugan who had to receive a long, delirious SMS even when he was going through his own problems, detailling how I was most likely losing my mind. I blame it on stress of juggling all my commitments and responsibilities. You see, unlike most people I am a thinker (ok that didn't come out quite right but let me explain)- I need to constantly think all day long or the quietness aggravates me. As such, whenever I have an errand to do, even a positively minute one, I can't help thinking about it, building it up until it's blown completely out of proportion. That's one reason why I am always adamant to do things immediately. Simply because I know if I wait- I'll kill myself just thinking about the thing!

A lot of my decisions aren't going to change the orbit of the earth but it does come down to my need to plan and control everything. To tick things off my lists as done. This actually becomes an obsession. I cross check my little list atleast 3 times a day to see how I am getting on with tasks. Many people say that if you write things down, it'll bother you less cause you needn't think about it- sadly such strategies don't work with me.

I guess I will need to figure something out before I completely lose my mind. I thought I had gone batty last night when my key wouldn't fit in the back grill. I used the front door key and it opened! I kept quiet abt it- scared to death that I might really be so stressed I can't even tell my keys apart anymore! Luckily dad explained this morning that he had changed the locks. Phew!

Just Breathe...

Well apparently I can't do that either! I have been having sleep apnea the past few months and it's beginning to get quite ridiculous. Dad says sometimes I sound like a dying elephant (thanks a lot dad!) trying to breathe. I finally got round to the doctor and he said from what he could see my nasal passage was crooked and membranes have been accumulating and is now almost completely sealing the airways. He gave me some steroid sprays and if it doesn't heal, I may have to go for surgery! Nothing too serious but if I do, it'll be my first surgery... well, since I was removed from a womb of course! :p

So what now?

I haven't the foggiest. I don't think I am depressed or in danger or any such thing. I am just so tired! I guess I should try to rest and stop planning everything so manically. Things usually sort themselves out with a little nudge. And I think sometimes, you have to just let some stuff go or it'll eat at you unnecessarily.

I wish I could have a nice getaway- to a beach or the mountains. Unfortunately I am not exactly rolling in dough at the moment. I blame it on those gorgeous jeans DP stocks that I had to have. ;)

The yawnings' keeping me from carrying on. Prolly nothing more interesting to say anyway. So I am off... nitesies!

When the last Petal falls...

2010-09-26T00:42:00.000-07:00

I am not the easiest person to love; that much I am sure of. But I'd like to think I am worth the effort. Many people who have grown to love me have said so- even though at times I am sure they want to club me with a ratchet... but the feeling soon passes. hehe...

An old friend messaged me today. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other save for the occasional facebook message every now and again. We were just catching up; talking about our old mates and where everybody was now. When I said something about not knowing when Ladies' Nite in a bar was because I am hardly the clubbing type! He chuckled and said 'You haven't changed! You're still as I remember you.' And I quipped, 'Why should I? Why fix what ain't broke?' He then said the nicest thing, 'That's what makes you special and why people love you. You don't change, you're you.' It was hardly the truest thing- I have changed but maybe not in the ways that matter.

I am fundamentally, me. I still have the same logical thought processes, still the same unorthodox views, the same hermit-like hobbies and interests and the same annoying ability to mess with words. He went on to say how he thought I was a really good person- how I never intentionally hurt anyone and how God would bless me for continuing to be that way. It was a fantastic compliment but I wasn't sure I deserved it! I don't think I've ever been malicious, no, but have I hurt people? I am sure I have!

But what am I rambling on about? I guess it was heartwarming that someone I've lost touch with for so long still holds such fond memories and high regard for me. It was nice to know, in all my queerness- there were people who still loved me. Not people who were forced to by blood or some social link but just general people I've come across in my life. I must be doing something right. He wasn't the only one- I have been receiving some compliments from very unlikely quarters and it's really making me quite giddy! I've never been the social butterfly; I don't attend many (heck, any!) parties, I don't put on false airs or pretend to be interested in things I wasn't for the sake of others; I was uncompromising in my beliefs and strangely possessive of the things I love. How can anyone love someone like that?

It looks like they can; but don't just take my word for it.

Just like the picking of the petals of a daisy, I know in life there will be many I meet who will pick the 'love-me-not' petal but now I am sure that when I come to the last petal of my being, no matter what that may be- those who picked to 'love-me' would've succeeded in making my existence amazing.

Scrapping Memories

2010-09-16T06:03:00.000-07:00

I've just discovered a new creative hobby- painfully expensive but so much fun. Modern scrapbooking has come a long way from their 'common-place book' origins and now boast expensive ribbons, decals, stenciling, rub-ons, felt accents and many more knick-knacks. These things as I've soon found don't come cheap. Acid free coloured card costs up to rm5 a sheet; a pack of brads or eyelets cost rm20 a pack of 50; stencils at rm40; stickers and rub-ons between rm22-45, and the list goes on. At one time scrapbooks were merely filled with coloured paper, ticket stubs, newspaper clippings- actual scrap! Funny how commercialisation now makes us buy 'scrap' for our scrapbooks.

Since I can't afford another expensive hobby, I've had to improvise. I bought a tool-kit of cutters, setters and other scrapping tools but the rest come from cheap school supply coloured paper, crayons, some haberdashery leftovers and scrap pieces of ribbon. Of course my pages don't look anywhere as nice as those expensive, cleverly set ones that come out of scrapbook stores but it still gives me a gratifying feeling once a page is done.

Ever since I can remember I loved craft. I was always sticking something, cutting something and combining things to make other things. I remember being only 6 when I stole pictures of my cousins and I from my dad's album and cut them up to stick on paper and decorate around with crayons. I made my cousin look like a bee in a flower. My dad was not amused and scolded me for ruining perfectly good photographs but til today- I know he keeps these in a folder in his study. A picture is a great way to keep a memory but a picture scrapbook makes it all the more personal. Today I sat with Ryan and together we made paper flowers. As I was saving my older memories, I was creating new ones. Ryan seems to love crafting as much as I do.

I am quite sure I am going to eventually cave and buy those pretty embellishments but until then, I am going to enjoy my kitschy home-spun versions!

Banana Leaf Wars

2010-09-08T07:24:00.000-07:00

I hadn't eaten in Sri Nirwana Maju's in a heckuva long time. Many people have complained of the horribly rude owner and the utter deterioration in service since the (rumoured) mass resignation of it's oldest and best staff which kept me away until today.

My minions wanted to go down there so I figured why not just give it a try and see for myself if all the rumours were true. I soon found out, reality was much worse!

Officially the most horrible banana leaf rice experience I have ever had in all my 26 years of lovin' the stuff. It started with a waiter who couldn't understand much of what we had asked. Simple instructions had to be repeated. He was obviously foreign and couldn't understand English and even his Malay was limited to a few key words. So gone were Nirwana's glory days of having well-trained, respectful staff (reflective of it's owner perhaps?) but that's okay, I was willing to let that pass. The food soon arrived and I dug in. It was passable- I've definitely had better. The so-called award-winning bittergourd that SNM was actually charging people extra to take bigger servings of, was rubbery and a little tasteless. The curry was a mess of tasteless coloured sop- I kid you not. My minions were loving it though- so I chalked it up to me being spoiled by Sri Devi's delicious crab curry (which I will talk about more later!). Even the yoghurt chillies were hard and I was afraid I was going to tear the leaf trying to cut them up!

Once we were done, we got down to our drinks and some chatter. The waiter came to clean and it wasn't before he had spilled rasam on my bag! I was seething mad! There weren't even enough tissues to clean the mess. Thankfully my bag was black and made of semi-waterproof material. The waiter immediately disappeared from sight without so much as a peep! I told myself to calm down- I didn't want the poor fella fired after all for a handbag that could well be cleaned.

Things got worse. I finished my drink before my minions and I soon noticed the horrid owner standing by the door. She caught sight of our almost empty table and proceeded to stand there at glare at me as if trying to make me leave! I completely understand that sometimes you need to move out so other people can sit but my friend's weren't even finished and would it be so hard for her to come up to us nicely and say 'Hey, I am so sorry, but we're really busy this time of day and we need to keep things moving along'? If she had said such a thing, we'd have no doubt obliged her in the nicest way. But it would not be so. She stood there for a good time and just glared! My minions couldn't see her as their backs were facing her so it was just me and I did my best to ignore her. When Dev had finished her drink, the sour-faced wench had had enough and she came by with her rag and proceeded to rudely and very roughly wipe the table. She yanks Dev's empty drink cup but couldn't get Jas' as Jas had held on to hers. They both looked at me after she'd gone and was like 'what the hell was that?' I told them how she was glaring at us and Jas quipped 'you did a very good job ignoring her'.

We had to go soon after that- lunch break was well over. We went over to pay and the the whole shebang had cost us almost RM50 for three of us! I couldn't believe the nerve. We could've eaten at Italian Kitchen for RM10 more! My tiny plate of half a fried squid cost RM10! It was mad daylight robbery. That combined with the horrible service and the sick feeling in my stomach that I had just made that rude, tactless, sorry excuse of a human being RM50 richer was enough to make me swear I'll never eat there again.

And why should I? When banana leaf rice heaven can be found just a few metres away? Kamini introduced me to Devi's Corner and it became my favourite place. Not only do you sit in air-conditioned comfort, you get super polite, helpful staff, you can sit there til dinner if you like but best of all of course is the food. Devi's corner doesn't give you the tired ol' chicken and fish curry and dhall options- they've got crab, salted fish, kerala fish curries and of course the staple dhall. You can fill your leaf to the brim with their fried bittergourd at no extra charge and the seafood costs regular prices. A meal for two with an extra meat dish usually costs only RM20.

I think I need a good dose of Devi's to get out the horrid taste of SNM in my mouth. Maybe this long weekend!

*P.S. I do not work for any of these outlets btw- lol! I just like my food- so I take it all very seriously. :D

Remember the time?

2010-09-02T05:47:00.001-07:00

On the way home today my mind wondered back to a specific incident in my teen years. I was 13 and had just begun high school. It was our first term exam and my two close friends and I soon found ourselves in a funny coincidence. Alphabetically lined up, we were still in a row! Some force of fate had actually made it so that the names of our classmates didn't come between the letters of ours at all.

Our teacher wasn't amused but could do nothing. I shall call my two friends E and F for ease of reference.

During the exam, E had finished a little faster than F and myself and proceeded to amuse herself with the contents of her pencil case. A little silly of her to do so as she had plenty of little bits of paper. Random notes, scribblings, receipts and such. It was at a time when she picked up a piece of paper and unrolled it, did I look up. I didn't know what she was doing and didn't quite care as I had a paper to finish. I got on with my work. I then read a question that seemed a little funny and I tried to stifle a bit of laughter. Suddenly the invigilating teacher roared our names- all three of us. She thumped towards us and before any of us knew what had happened she had grabbed all our test papers and taken it accusing us of cheating! Poor F was bewildered. She hadn't even looked up from her paper!

We were soon warned and told that our parents would have to come by the next day.

The next day in the principal's office, the invigilating teacher explained that she had seen me glance at E's crumpled notepaper and had assumed E had shared an answer with me and that was what in turn caused my smirking. So we asked why F was hauled in and the teacher shrugged, saying she figured since we were friends, we were all in on it. Imagine the nerve of her! I was blind with anger. How could she assume such things? Did she check our papers? Did she check E's notepapers? E and F had brought their dads but my dad in his usual way told me: 'it is your matter; you handle it. And if you can't, then call me.' So whilst E and F slinked in looking mollified next to their parents, I walked in all by myself proud as ever and really overcome with anger at the whole event.

I remember one part of the interview very vividly. The teacher looks at me and says 'If you didn't cheat why were you smiling?'
I replied, 'I was smiling at something on the paper. The last I checked that wasn't wrong.'
'You smiled at your paper? You must be mad! Only mad people smile to themselves!' she spat. (fancy telling an impressionable 13 yr old that! She's lucky I wasn't that impressionable).
'If it is madness, then I may be mad. But I am not a cheat.'
I don't think she had heard any 13 year old girl speak to her that way. She went quiet. The whole room did for awhile. The principal broke the silence by asking the teacher if she had checked our papers. She meekly replied 'yes, and though there were some similarities- it didn't appear identical.' We were allowed to leave and our test papers graded accordingly as if nothing had happened.

Looking at it, she had no evidence that we cheated- because in truth we hadn't. But she wanted to bully us- to frighten three young, impressionable girls into admitting things we never did so she could save her professional reputation by not admitting she made a mistake. F's father had apparently told her 'Your friend, Diana, is very brave. She went in all by herself and stated her case...' I've always wondered if it was bravery; or merely a sense of righting an injustice.

I only saw this teacher again in Form 4 when she taught me home ec. She was very nice to me then; almost docile and we never spoke of the incident again.

Funny how this should run through my mind suddenly at this moment. Perhaps it is to remind myself of the strength of my character that I somehow find weakening with age. I am easily perturbed now, scared, even when there is no reason to be. It would seem, my thirteen year old self knew an inalienable truth that I have since forgotten: sometimes coincidence and fate will put you in a damning position- but if you know what's right, what you have done, and what you should do next; then there is absolutely nothing to fear.

For Love and Money

2010-08-23T06:02:00.000-07:00

I initially planned an elaborate post on money attitudes in dating. I had thought much about it, researched it and even hashed it out with friends and VJ. But as I wrote it, I became more and more aware that though it was my point of view for the most part- it was also 'manufactured'. It was the way a commercial article would read- maintaining a certain amount of political correctness, carefully chosen words and almost airtight, though sometimes vague arguments. In short, it wasn't really me. It was a spruced up, planned out, presentable version of me. And that's never been what my blog was about.

For as long as I remember people who loved me, people who hated me, read my blog because they knew they'd get the full, real, unabashed story there. Some hated me more for it, some loved me more for it. But it always garnered some kind of reaction- something I grew to love receiving.

So instead of a highly detailed monologue on dating and money, I thought I'd take a more personal stance and speak about my own experiences with love and money.

RM40 too much

I once dated a man in my teen years who was much older than I was. I was still in college and he was already working which made it the case that more often than not, he would foot the bill. Nothing ever extravagant- we never ate in fancy restaurants and even on Valentine's I was 'treated' to a McValue Meal. I never complained though- I was the smitten starry eyed teenager in love with the 'dashing older man'. Or so I thought.

On my birthday he gave me a Craig David CD, which as most CDs, cost RM40. It wasn't the most extravagant gift but I was thrilled. Giving a teenager a popular CD? Like a surefire hit right?

It was in this time he decided to buy himself a keyboard (the musical kind!) costing RM500+. So imagine my utter disbelief when he broke up with me citing that I was costing him too much money, and I quote he could not 'buy the things (he) wanted to buy'. Like the silly little girl I was, I believed him. I thought he really had been spending a lot on me and cried promising I wouldn't take anymore from him. But he was adamant that we split and now, I thank every God and universe life force that it was so.

Needless to say once I got over the love-sick stupor I realised what a fool I'd been and what a lump of trash he was. I had never any intention of taking his money. I had never asked him for things and only naively accepted what he gave me.

I learnt a good many things from that relationship. the most important being that the most valueable commodity in the whole bargain is me. Whilst I will, when possible offer to pay my own way, I accept gifts graciously as I firmly believe, if you are sure I should receive it, then I deserve it. I don't expect the world and lavish gifts, but I do expect that when you give them to me, you give them from the kindness of your heart, from your love for me and without condition. Because that's how I would give in return. If I offer to treat a person or buy them a gift- I do it because I want to; because they deserve it and once the thing is given, it is forgotten. Why keep tabs if you are sincere?

Money is always a sensitive thing, but if we respect each other enough as human beings, and are honest enough about our financial capabilities- I don't see how it should get in the way of a good relationship.

A beautiful Death?

2010-08-08T22:22:00.001-07:00

An alarming trend has caught my attention- the glamourising of violence and death perpetrated on women. Watching a rerun of a 2007 episode of America’s Next Top Model (I forget the cycle), I was quite disgusted to find the shoot of the day involved the models posing as corpses of a violent crime. The girls are either splayed across a concrete floor, halfway in a bathtub or lying against an alley wall in what the judges would later call ‘beautiful’ and ‘fantastic!’ I wonder what happened to humanity when a murder victim’s splayed corpse is ‘beautiful or fantastic’. The connotations are especially appalling when combined with the high number of women dying violent deaths that increase every year. Mainstream media has gone one step further – for years, they’ve denied countless women justice through red-tape, bureaucracy, money, or just sheer incompetence- now they’re calling their deaths ‘fashionable and glamorous’! It’s alarming to me. I‘ve only posted 3 pictures here but you can easily enough google the rest.

As if that wasn’t enough, Lady Gaga’s 2009 hit Paparazzi had similar scenes in her video but her fantabulous press team defended these images as LG’s way of showing the world how detrimental paparazzi scrutiny is. It’s a bit of a stretch and even if LG’s intentions were noble, impressionable young teens (male and female) may not be able to get the subtle message. To them, what you’re saying is violence against women is not just accepted, it’s glamorous and beautiful!

The end does not seem to be in sight. Louis Vuitton’s newest run of Ads for Elle Magazine feature models awkwardly lying in soil, half covered in dirt but never without their prize handbags!

This isn’t just disturbing to me as woman. I can only imagine how insulting this is to people who have lost wives/girlfriends/daughters/mothers/friends and relatives in this horrible way. The people in the fashion industry really must be as dumb as they look.

Boudoir Confessions

2010-06-06T05:02:00.000-07:00

A little more intimate conversations so if you're a queasy man or an uptight woman, you've been warned! :)

Wax on, wax off

Most of you may know- I booked a holiday to Krabi. That means sun, sand, sea and swimsuits. Now I have had some *ahem* embarassing moments with the swimsuit and my hairy genes so this time I told myself I'd go get a bikini wax.

Painful yes, but so necessary- after all, Chewie in a bathing suit- not the sexiest thing. Then I thought; if I am going to endure all that pain, perhaps I should really make it worthwhile. Why just a bikini wax? Why not go the long haul- a complete Brazilian wax? However, even when I got to the sterile waxing room in Glitters (beauty parlour in Gardens and a few outlets elsewhere), I still hadn't made up my mind. It took fifteen minutes of babbling to the beautician when I finally got the nerve to say 'off with it all!' And there began my agony.

The next half hour was excruciating. When everybody tells you it hurts; they're not kidding. Midway through it got so bad I nearly kicked the woman. I wanted to tell her to just stop but thoughts of a half waxed, half fuzzy nether region made me sit tight and clam up. Surprisingly once I stopped flinching, my pain receptors dulled and it stopped being so painful. Maybe my body went into shock; I dunno.

But when it was done, I was super pleased. It was so erm... clean. No more fuzzy bikini mishaps now!

I immediately called me best mate (who's a Brazilian waxing devotee) and told her I had finally done it. She laughed and said 'weren't you the one who told me the hair was there for a reason? Like, to keep bugs out? hahhahahah'... I admitted I was. 'We're not in the stone age woman! We have underpants! Hahahaha...'

She then told me 'one of the worst times to get it done is before your period. It's more painful.' Gee thanks, I thought. Mine was due just the next day.

I do hope that was why I went thru such pain- hopefully the next time isn't as bad.

Yes, u heard me right: next time! ;)

Lingerie Luxe

I've gone absolutely mad for La Senza's new range of cotton bras. Gorgeous stuff. It made me clear out my ratty old ones and head to the nearest La Senza to stock up. They're only RM169 for 3 and come in the padded/non padded variety!

Sadly the biggest size I've seen in this range is 38D so if you're a big girl, you're out of luck on this one. Thankfully, I made the cut. ;)

You can prolly see why I love 'em. Gingham, animal print, ruffles n ribbons!

Violet Pansies

2010-05-25T09:13:00.001-07:00

The clicking of his heels and brass cane echoed into the early morning as he made his way across the cobblestones, merrily forming a tune alongside the clopping of hooves and the high tweets of the early bird. He stopped and ground the cane into the carvings of manhole cover at the same spot he did every morning. It served no real physical purpose; merely an emotional anchor for the rush of feelings he anticipated. He sighed deeply and instinctively looked up at the open window. It was painted white; providing a contrasting backdrop for the burst of violet pansies in its planter box. Heavy magenta drapes hung lazily about the frame, tinting the interior view of the house in partial darkness.

He wanted to see the head of soft chestnut curls tied loosely with an emerald ribbon; the pale, white fingers as it danced along the pane, tapping to a tune; the watery teal eyes that said so much when the voice didn’t. His cane ground harder into the manhole cover. He needed to see her, if only she would come.

He waited a few minutes, sighed once more and carried on his way.

The air started smelling of the sea. Salty, grimy, yet so sickly sweet and freeing, his eyes stung with welled tears. The sound of gulls, the low blow of a ship’s horn made the serene backdrop for his flitting memories and thoughts. The sea, the beautiful, unforgiving, captivating sea; the places it took him, the journeys he’d made and the experiences he savoured all adrift on the magnificent sea. He inhaled the scent, closed his eyes and surrendered to the torrent of his imaginings and remembrances.

She. He could see her in his mind’s eye. In her blue and white sailing dress, she would dance along the pier to his boat, Consuela eagerly awaiting the fascinating new sights he was going to show her. Her pretty laugh could make any storm turn.

He cleared the imaginary lump in his throat and turned briskly towards the market square. There was much to be done today. He could not drown himself in reminiscing about a girl he couldn’t have.

So the day passed, as they always did. He’d earn a small wage by drawing maps for budding seafarers and would retire for a bit of drink at the closest tavern. It would be dusk before he found himself back on that cobbled road, below a white window.

The windows would be shut by this time and only little streams of light through the slits between the shutters evidence of life within. He couldn’t hope to see her now; no lady would look out her window at this time of night. He hoped still. Perhaps tonight she’d crave the balmy breeze on her face and would allow him the chance to gaze at her; her hair undone and framing her delicate features with curls wild yet innocent all at once. Again, it was not to be. He waited, and waited until the stream of light flickered and ebbed away. He let a deep and mournful choke escape his throat as he made his way home accompanied only by dim lamplight and his loneliness.

Penny Herstwile worked at a house on the cobblestone path. She came out that night as she always did to sweep the steps. She looked at the forlorn figure of Captain Masterson beneath the window of 286 and shook her head. Every day as if by clockwork he would come and stand there for a good 15 minutes, both morning and evening. Penny Herstwile was a good woman, but a quiet one. She did not have the heart to tell Captain Masterson the truth. One day, she thought. One day she would tell him that there was a death in 286 just before he returned from sea. The girl with the chestnut curls was no more.

A sense of pride

2010-05-16T21:05:00.000-07:00

I only just saw this although I should've seen it when it came out in January! (I guess that shows how much I read the paper! ;)

To think I was there annoying you on Skype as you did the tests necessary to write this thesis; actually witnessing the important work u were doing without even realising! I am very proud of u as I am sure your whole family is. You've really worked hard for this and u deserve every bit of it!

Congratulations, Ron!

The Body Swap!

2010-04-16T01:25:00.000-07:00

I haven't updated in awhile due to my hectic schedule. ;)

But since being down with the usual illness, I've had a little more time on my hands today. I did some doll experimenting. Bought an Obitsu Body online just recently. Have always wanted one out of sheer curiosity and finally got one at a price I didn't have to file bankruptcy for. Obitsu bodies are fully articulated and certain parts are made with soft, 'natural like' plastic for added realism.

Now all I needed was a head donor (sounds odd huh?) that would match the skintone of the Obitsu. I soon found a match in my Sagittarius Zodiac Barbie. The thought of ripping Bab's head off after paying abt rm100 for her made my stomach turn but it had to be done! Trawling various doll boards I soon found a quick method of head removal that didn't require expensive gadgets. The article advised that I hold the nape of the neck and back of the head (to avoid chipping paint off the face) in front of a hair dryer set on medium strength to heat the head until it was soft enough to pop off. I did so for a couple of seconds but soon got impatient and started squishing the now soft head this way and that. It came off but I had very nearly broken the head knob (thankfully i didn't) which would've rendered the old body useless. The heat from the hairdryer melted and twisted the earrings so out of shape that I had to throw them away.

The Donor sans Head...

Then came what was supposed to be the easy part- putting the head on the Obitsu Body. Not so easy! The body pack came with 4 different neck knobs but not a single one resembled what Babs originally had. So came trial and error. All four knobs were tested and finally the third largest seemed the best fit. With the head on securely, I test the articulation on Bab's new body. Unfortunately, Obitsu's petite frame seemed to droop under Bab's seemingly large head but being one who for some reason loves Pullips, I guess big heads aren't an issue with me. ;D

Babs on her new, fully articulated, super poseable body!

After digging the drawers I soon found an outfit that would fit my new Hybrid girl. it wasn't easy as Obitsus tend to have larger breasts, smaller waists and overall petite-ness as compared to Amazonian Babs. I had to make new earrings for her as well after so clumsily destroying her old pair.

Babs in an outfit that did her new curves justice. Complete with Rosewater Opal Swarovski drop earrings (handmade by moi!)

Needless to say, though the size ratio isn't perfect and outfit selection is going to be a right b*tch; I love my new Hybrid and how she is now so different from her peers. I suspect this is only the beginning of my doll customisation days...;-)

What makes you?

2010-04-15T23:07:00.000-07:00

I signaled the waiter and asked him if he could trade my fork for a pair of chopsticks. Jas laughed and said 'Are you trying to prove you're Chinese?' The table came a live with laughter and I joined in too. Of course, Jas hardly meant it, it was just one of her quips but it made me think about a pudgy little girl, way back when, who didn't know how to use a pair of chopsticks.

Then...

When father married Aunty Linda, I was about ten and suddenly I had a new 'other family' and family functions very different from what I was used to. There were these sumptious 9-course dinners, with chopsticks... I remember not knowing which end was up and someone else had to dish food out to me and I had to ask the waiter to get a plate with fork and spoon as the bowl and chopstick set wasn't working out for me. I felt odd, different, and more left out. But Aunty Linda's family was kind about it and never once asked me to learn. Soon, I did learn. I don't even remember how or what started it but soon, I could use the chopsticks flawlessly.

Now, I often smirk at the way many of my peers fumble with the chopstick. Its become rather amusing to find that not many know how to properly use it; claiming that as long as the food gets into their mouth, what difference does it all make? Oh, a very big one. Today, I can't eat noodles with a fork. Its difficult and I end up showering soup and noodle bits all over the table. More food ends up on the floor that in my mouth.

Going back to Jas' quip, does being adept at the chopsticks make me Chinese?
Does drinking lots of tea make me English?
Does dating Indian men make me Indian?
Does having olive toned skin make me Malay?
Does wearing plaid make me Scottish?

How strange that we choose to divide ourselves based on nothing substantial! I was born in the country of Malaysia, I have descended from Indian and Chinese bloodlines but I only speak English. What does that make me? I don't know and quite frankly I don't care. I am human. And that's all that matters. :)

Steeped in comfort

2010-03-30T07:27:00.001-07:00

Was having one of them crummy days at work last week. Came home with smoke virtually coming out of my ears. I bought a bag of marshmallows and thought I'd make myself some hot chocolate before bed to calm the storm.

I went to the kitchen and got out a medium sized serrated knife and attempted to cut the marshmallow in half on my fingers as opposed to a chopping board. My dad watched the fumbling and couldn't help getting all 'dad-like'. 'Don't cut that way! Do you want to cut off your fingers?!' I look sheepishly and revert to childlike whining. 'But... I don't want to wash so many things...' He grabs the marshmallow bag and the poultry scissors and began to cut the marshmallows clean in half.

I stood by and watched. I am 26 years old; and my dad cuts the marshmallows for my hot chocolate. As he cut, he'd keep one half and eat it. 'One for you...' plop went the white sticky treat into my mug. '...and one for me...' the other went into his mouth. Then he goes 'one for you and one for me...' and eats both and I giggle like a five yr old. When the mug was filled to my liking, dad keeps the rest away.

Before I could even drink my chocolate, I'd felt better already. For once my dad didn't go on about calories and how bad sugar was. He knew I needed it. I looked at him gratefully and said good night.

Its funny, the things you remember, the things you forget... and how a simple glass of chocolate and mallows with dad, can make everything in the world right again...

A Rebirth

2010-03-25T07:59:00.000-07:00

If you've enjoyed reading my book and movie reviews but not my emo-psycho-babble, you'll be happy to know I've decided to separate those into another blog just for you. Simply because I've written a good amount already and have plans to add a few more this weekend; it seemed the obvious choice!

For now its just rehashing of old posts, but take a look if you like and a get a feel of the place. I should be adding a review of Lovely Bones (movie), Coraline (the Graphic Novel) and Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict (book) this weekend, so do drop by!

The Purple Lounge...

Showstopping Stephen...

2010-03-15T06:01:00.000-07:00

I hadn't even heard of Stephen Rahman Hughes prior to booking tix for Showstoppers at the Philharmonics... But he made darn sure this Sunday that his is a name I'll never forget.

The show theme was Broadway and hits from various musicals were played through the 2 hr long concert. My fave had to be the music of My Fair Lady and the Sound of Music which the Orchestra did without Stephen's powerful vocals. The West Side Story track seemed to drag a bit and I found myself quite enamored with this red-headed violinist who seemed to have a quirky charm that I instantly loved.

Stephen Hughes did some pretty fantastic warbling through Luck be a Lady, Maria, Over the Rainbow and even Can you feel the love tonight. Throughout the show it was obvious the crowd was there for Stephen alone which made me feel a little sorry for the Orchestra that was actually doing the really difficult work in all this.

Nonetheless Stephen is a star and his ability to charm and control the audience was quite brilliant. And yet, I found I couldn't stop looking at the redheaded violinist, with his scruffy beard and cynical smile. ;) whilst staring at the violinist I noticed that the orchestra seemed a little cheesed off with the enigmatic SRH. One can only guess why. Was he perhaps diluting the true meaning of the philharmonic orchestra with his theatrical stage performance? Or were they jealous of all the attention he was commanding? Was it possible SRH was a total D-I-V-A backstage as to warrant their ire? I only have my guesses.

A great show - I had a fantastic time. So much so, I looked up SRH on Facebook and sent him a message congratulating him on his performance. For all I know it may have been his fantastic PR team or assistant, but I did get a thank you reply which was nice of him (or his PR person) to take the trouble to do.

Thank you, Stephen and the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra for a well-spent Sunday afternoon!

Far from Impressed...

2010-03-14T22:10:00.000-07:00

There are many things I wouldn't mind paying good money for;
A hot chocolate in Coffee Bean for RM13...
A subway sandwich from Subway at RM12...
Or a good meal at Chilli's for RM40...

But never again will I spend a single penny at Dome, KLCC. Enter, the worst dining experience of my short life yesterday in what was supposed to be a rather costly eatery.

We settled on Dome since Starbucks was full at about 6pm on Sunday (14 March 2010). We ordered our food, drinks and then waited.
And waited.
And waited some more...
We got our drinks after 20 minutes but then thought, yes it was a busy Sunday.
Fifty minutes later and our drinks were almost finished but our food was still not appearing. Other patrons who had gotten their food even though they had come in AFTER us. We tried unsuccessfully to get the attention of a few waiters in the vicinity who were either ignoring us (they were actually just standing around so they couldn't have been busy) or really, really stupid. Finally a waitress came by (the one who had take our order and the only one who seemed to know anything abt serving customers) and asked what the matter was. We complained and she went off to get the supervisor.

The supervisor then comes over and tells my friend that they were out of scones and if she would like something different. Fifty bloody minutes AFTER ordering is when they tell us there were no scones!!!! We got really mad but had to contain it for fear they'd spit in our food. So my friend ordered something else and we waited.
And waited...
15 minutes later the food started arriving and the supervisor (a small, elfin looking girl who could barely string a sentence in English hereonafter referred to as SV) told us there was a 'technical' problem. My friend snapped 'how can there be a technical problem when our drinks got here in time?' The SV mumbled something totally incoherent and kept saying 'sorry, technical problem...'

I had lost most of my appetite when I dug into my plate of toast, eggs an sausages, but I had to pay rm 15.90 for the junk so I had to eat it. The toast was rubbery, the egg was runny and undercooked, the sausages were cocktail sausage sized but thank god, tasted decent enough. To add insult to injury my hot chocolate was more like hot milk with a dash of chocolate powder. It was positively disgraceful and nowhere near worth the RM14.50 charged for it. My friend's bacon was substituted for ham which we had to return and get the order right.

When the bill came my friend asked the SV for atleast a discount for the inconvenience but she refused to give any. She said the best she could do was offer us a slice of free cake. ONE BLOODY SLICE of free cake for FOUR of us who was inconvenienced and then given lousy food. We said no- lord knows she may give us stale cake or fill it with strychnine. If she was really serious about compensating us she could've atleast given us a measly 10% discount or make our drinks complimentary. So we turned down her less than generous offer and told her we'll pay the full bill but we'll b damned if we paid the ridiculous RM10 service charge for horrendous service.

We got up to leave but some idiot patrons behind us had packed five people onto a 2 person table so I could not move my chair back. I pushed the table in front giving me just enough space to get up without hitting the patron in front with the table. I cleared the table but my rather large handbag didn't and smashed my chocolate drink glass to pieces.

I thought f**king fabulous. Now On top of paying almost RM40 for a crap meal that came so late I was having gastric, I'd have to pay for the stupid mug. But the waitress who had served us all the while came abounding and told me to go and that it was okay. Thankful for that bit of kindness, my friends and I left to check if I had been hurt by the glass. Fortunately, I was not. But my stomach has not forgiven me for the food and until now I am having stomach problems thanks to it.

The Verdict

I've done retail and I know people in service so I do understand there is margin for human error but I blame the establishment. This is Dome, not some mamak or curry house. Have the consarned decency to treat your customers as well as they pay you for your rubbish food. I have known places like TGIF that will actually make your entire meal complimentary at such an oversight. But I understand that is asking too much and even a small compensation like a 10% discount would have been nice. Its not that I can't pay for my meal but it just seems plain unfair to take the full price when you've not rendered the proper value.

So I don't blame the waiters/waitresses or even the dull-as-dishwater SV; I blame Dome and its management and I will never again part with my hard earned money in a Dome establishment.

There, now that I've got that off my chest- my next post will be about the great stuff that happened yesterday! Stay tuned... ;)

What will I do?

2010-02-27T19:18:00.000-08:00

Haven't posted in awhile; guess life has just been too mundane there's really nothing to talk about. Been reading a lot lately- a kind of escapism from the boredom. My reading is kinda diverse; from Agatha Christie's mysteries to Georgia Nicholson's wacky diary to regency romances. I've seriously gone from wanting a spy name, to calling my mate a 'green girl' and my parents 'Mutti and Vati'...

If you can't tell, I am bored. Not dangeously so but quite annoyingly so. I guess I am tired- tired of hearing people complain about their lives and yet do nothing about it. Tired of the choices I have to make because I am not raking big bucks... tired of wondering when I'll get married, when I'll get a fantabulous job (though to be honest, I don't particularly dislike mine or anything...) but at the same time- rather contradictly- am tired of really not having big things to deal with. I mean, my life is pretty set- I've got a job, I can more or less get stuff I want, I have a house and don't have to wonder what tomorrow's going to bring. The sheer comfort of my life is causing me to simply worry about nothing at all! I worry about things that some people would laugh at and tell me I am crazy to think about.

I wish I could say my life sucks but on the contrary- it doesn't...

Hmmm...

On this special day...

2010-02-21T04:42:00.000-08:00

I know this was a private chat, but I had to share it... I am sure you wouldn't mind.

Alvin says:
do u ever wonder what wud have happened if we didnt meet that day
Alvin says:
i dread of it when i think of it
Di-in-Delirium... Whoooo says:
y?
Di-in-Delirium... Whoooo says:
so u wudnt know me
Di-in-Delirium... Whoooo says:
big deal
Di-in-Delirium... Whoooo says:
ull know tonnes of other ppl
Alvin says:
uhuh...but i wont know u
Di-in-Delirium... Whoooo says:
well u'll know who i am la
Di-in-Delirium... Whoooo says:
but thts it
Alvin says:
someone whom i love more than any other friend
...

Its been 9yrs doll; since we met that fateful day at SDC (lol) and I thought I'd talk to you. You were shy at first but before we knew it, we were thick as thieves. Even though 7 out of that 9 years you've been in Scotland, I've never felt closer to you than the day we first met.

I followed you to Rome to see the Vatican, to Greece to the temple of my namesake, to Peru and the daunting climb up Macchu Picchu, to Versailles and a French perfumery, right down to the forests of Romania and the sandy beaches of Goa. Well, not physically, but I was with you as much as I could be.

Very few know me, understand me and love me the way you do. Despite knowing my deepest fears and insecurities, my complex whims and fancies- you loved me anyway.

So you don't ever have to worry about what life may be without me. I am here- for the duration. I don't know what's going to happen; if you'll stay in Scotland and me here, if you'll come back and marry or if I'll leave or marry; and frankly I don't care. The only thing that really matters is that just like these seven years apart- you must know that in me you have someone who will always want what's best for you, who'll love and care about you, who'll know you... just as you've done for me.

'You'll be in my heart...'

Happy Birthday, luv. Hope you have a great one. Rooting for you; as always.

Cheap Chic Finds 2

2010-02-07T05:19:00.000-08:00

The Frugal Fatshionista strikes again! LN was feeling extra generous this month and gave us all a RM1000 cash bonus for January and this led to a really gr8 shopping weekend. Unbelieveably though, I spent less than rm250, but you'd never know that (if I didn't tell ya) from the brilliant stuff I scored!

The Flea Market Fashion Fiend...
Made my usual stop at the Amcorp flea market and you wouldn't believe the 'discoveries' I made! Nothing more than RM15 each piece.
1) First up, my eye fell upon a sheer white chiffon kimono inspired minidress with cutout detailing. I prayed- please God of Fashion, let this fit! And it did!

2) The second find was virtually unbelievable- a genuine Marciano knitted halter-tube in psychedelic brown and white! At RM15, there was nothing to think about!

3) I then chanced upon this comfy cotton-lycra tube dress that is actually a light brown but the flash of my cam and lighting in the room made it slightly purplish! I wasn't sure about it at first but being only RM10 I figured, I hadn't much to lose. Didn't regret it one bit- the dress is gorgeous when draped on me! (If I do say so myself... ;)

Caught in the Cotton Craze

Cotton On is having a CNY promo at the moment- every second piece is 50% off. Usual terms apply such as items must be at normal price and the discounted item would usually be of the lesser value. But I took advantage of the deal to get duplicates of the stuff I liked best!

1) I fell head over studded heels in love with Cotton On's cotton/lycra A-line miniskirt. It hugs my curves and is so comfy I could've slept in them. So I got them in 3 cool designs! (For some reason the first picture keeps attaching upside down... Soz about that!)

2) I also got three pairs (black not seen here as they're already in my car!) of CO's staple ballet flats! With cutesy bows, I loved the floral one most of all!

A wardrobe's never complete...

... without gorgeous accessories! Amcorp is not just the place to get clothes on the cheap- they've also got pretty, unique accessories for a fraction of the price elsewhere. There are also other vendors with handmade goodies like these cutesy polymer clay rosette hair bands I got for a mere rm5 each! My mum's friend owns an accessory booth there too and sells great pieces at great prices. Check out this to-die-for giant faux pearl with shiny diamante caps on a woven silk string that I got for an unbelieveable RM10...
Yes, I bought the little treasure box too- hehe. RM4 at Romantika in Amcorp.

Mum's friend also sold me this genuine mother of pearl pendant for a mere RM5. She quipped that I was very lucky and such a piece was only so cheap because it was an 'extra' pearl she didn't know much what to do with.

All in all, I had a very successful bargain hunting weekend!

Cheap Chic Finds

2010-02-06T06:18:00.000-08:00

Many people love Amcorp Mall's flea market for its strange and quirky antiques, knick-knacks, odds and ends. To a budget Fatshionista* such as myself, my purpose for trawling the booths are slightly different- I look for fashion finds- vintage or just any novelty piece that I can jazz up with accessories and some attitude to look like something out of Plus Size Vogue. And thus far, I've not been disappointed. ;)

I can attest that finding fashionable clothes for fat girls in Malaysia is as bad as looking for Winterwear- a few international shops have them and they're usually ridiculously priced. So we're either left with clothes that don't fit or leftover gunny sacks. But I refuse to be unfashionable! And so I take my shopping to dizzying heights- scouring the most unlikely of stores in hopes, one day I'll stumble on the Holy Grail of Fatgirl-dom; a fashionable plus size clothing store!

With the exception of Dorothy Perkins, many stores including Marks & Spencer can border on the dowdy if one is not careful in choosing. Now I've discovered Cotton On- that with some selectiveness can fit a girl of up to a size 16 (ie, me). Now Blook has unveiled its new plus size range which though I quite applaud, still falls short with providing a size 16 under the label XXXL. OMG, did I feel like a cow. What about a girl size 20? or 22? Are there enough X's in the universe? People, the whole point is to make us feel accepted- not like freakshows. Oh yes, but then coming from a nation that ups its AAA cup size to a B, and a natural C to E's, what is one to expect?

So yes, for a girl with a little lumps and a good rack, you can forget looking fly on the cheap. What's a poor girl to do?

Flea market scouring that's what! And I boy did I hit the jackpot. In a small 3 rack booth on the 3rd floor of Amcorp Mall, a pretty Chinese girl sells old stock clothes from various sources. In sizes suited from an 8 to a 28, Chia sells nothing for more than RM15. Of course, its a hit-n-miss at all times! As her stock is not manufactured, you'll get one piece of something in one size and its just a matter of luck. Sometimes, it may even be damaged but that's the way of the flea market, honey!

To me its akin to treasure hunting! There's always that chance you'll find that one stellar piece in just your size and I've found quite a few! The thrill of beating other bargain hunters and having the best pickings, sees me in Amcorp almost every weekend morning, bright and early sometimes even before Chia can open her stall! She knows me already and I am given (like a few regulars) the leeway of trying stuff on in the loos before deciding on purchasing.

I must gloat, some of the fine pieces I've scored for RM15 a pop!

1) The fitted plaid shirt! Snap buttons and mini pockets- looks super chic with leggings and ballet flats!

2) Cutesy ribbon print authentic DP tank with frill armhole detail- perfect for lounging about and goes with jeans and shorts alike!

3) Peach babydoll dress with buttons and pockets for a slight vintage feel. Goes great with leggings or without!
4) White artist smock shirt. Looks like a bag on the hanger but transforms with the help of a cinch belt and some leggings/jeggings. Don't forget the chunky silver accessories!
5) Frill and zipper convict print tank from Zara's Dark Emotion collection. Fits like a glove and enhances instead of constricting my 'assets'. Can just imagine this paired with either a black tulip or bandage A-line skirt!

*Thanks to Musings of a Fatshionista for introducing me to the term!

Going Green- Final Day!

2010-01-31T05:10:00.000-08:00

Its the final day of my vege pact and I am proud to say, I made it through! Although I am not sure if I would immediately go on to my usual carnivorous diet- I must say, I learnt a lot about myself and about control. I also learnt that when I put my mind to something, I really can do it! I just have to follow through!

So for the last day of this 'project', I had for Breakfast: a glass of Milo...

Lunch: Vegetarian curry laksa- the best I know; ie from A hawker centre in Petaling Street!

Teatime: Peanut pancakes! yummmm... (or as some ppl keep telling me, is called apam balik... I don't care, its a pancake to me!)

Dinner: Vegetarian rice with faux prawns! :)

A good end to the day. I really hope I'll be able to stomach the meaty stuff again tomorrow!

Going Green- Day 6

2010-01-30T17:17:00.000-08:00

Just one day to go and I couldn't be happier. This has proven to be a truly challenging week. Answering curious queries as to why I was doing it is one thing- but trying to find food in this carnivorous city of mine was even worse. I really gave up today- really did.

For breakfast- my dad had already made a half boiled egg- so I ate that with bread.

Lunch: was banana leaf rice with an assortment of veges with VJ.

For Dinner: again it was instant noodles and an orange (it being CNY soon and all!).

I just can't wait for this to end!! My dad quipped: 'If you can't find food, just eat meat!' But I couldn't do it. I made a promise to myself and if I don't keep promises to anyone else, I should at least keep those I make to myself! What kind of person would I be otherwise? ;)

Going Green- Day 5

2010-01-29T17:37:00.000-08:00

Sorry the post is a little late! Day 5 was yesterday (Friday, 29/1/10). I was too tired to post and had knocked off shortly after dinner.

It seems to be getting rather annoying. I can live without the meat but trying to find veg food where I stay is such a hassle (thanks to wonderful USJ traffic jams), half the time I end up with bread for dinner. I really think society should start realising how many vegetarians there are and start catering to them. They'd make a tonne of money! I really don't think I've heard of any vege restaurant I know closing down!

I also noticed I was more tired and by evening I was just feeling plain ill. I knew it; I was never meant to be a vegetarian!!! Gosh. But I told myself I'd stick through atleast til the end of the week as I promised. I am that stubborn!

So day five saw me having Coco crunch with low-fat milk for breakfast.

Lunch: vegetarian mixed rice with 2 veg and one soy 'meat'.

Teatime: an apple bun

Dinner: a stacked egg and cheese sandwich with lots of lettuce. Finished off with a handful of groundnuts.

Just 2 days to go!

Going Green- Day 4

2010-01-28T05:11:00.001-08:00

Gosh am I stuffed full of vege!

The fourth day of the vege challenge seemed to come a little easier. I still felt a tinge when I thought of the good food I was missing but it came and went pretty quickly.

I had a thosai with curry for breakfast.

Lunch: Saigon style noodles with mix veg and a red bean and coconut dessert.

Dinner: a huuuuggge spread at my favourite Veg Restaurant in PJ State- Soy fish and pork, Mushrooms in batter and vegetable curry! Yum!

Looks like I am going to make it!! :)

Going Green- Day 3

2010-01-27T04:35:00.000-08:00

Today was just plain strange! I was really at wits end as to what to have for breakfast- so I thought I'd be clever and have yong tau foo- thought I could pick the pieces that were just tau foo and pair it with the kuey teow. After making my choices, I took my little food sack and trotted to work- happy that I had found something different to eat. It was like a horror movie (on a smaller scale, you understand) when I saw, protruding from its beancurd shell- stuff minced meat!! Thank God I spotted it before I had opened the pack. I quickly offered it to my colleague.

Here's where it got strange- I opened the pack for her and this strong whiff of fish hit me and I felt like gagging. It smelt of rotten fish! I soon convinced myself I must have been dreaming when I saw my colleague scarf it down exclaiming between mouths how delicious it was. It surely couldn't have been spoilt.

Later I went down to a vegetarian stall in Subang to grab some vege rice. Nature soon pestered and I had to find a loo. The closest was KFC. I pushed open the doors and found I was greeted by the most horrible poultry smell ever. I quickly went upstairs to use the loo and raced out of KFC before I choked. The smell was awful! It was like a poultry stall in a market where the chicken had gone bad. I almost dove into the fruit shop next door as I savoured the fresh smell of mangoes and tangerines. I inhaled and tried to get the awful smell of chicken out of my system.

I couldn't believe it was happening to me. Perhaps it was psychological, but Hugan did warn me that I would soon not be able to stand the smell of meat if I'd gone veg awhile. I just didn't think it'd be this soon!

So breakfast ended up being: An egg sandwich and kaya puff.

Lunch: was Claypot style tofu with mixed veg and rice.

Teatime: Tau foo fah with brown sugar.

Dinner: Faux meat and two types of leafy vegetables; one curried, the other stir-fried with rice. A mango for dessert.

Going Green- Day 2

2010-01-26T06:19:00.000-08:00

Day 2 hit a little harder. I was expecting this to get easier but it seems I was mistaken. :s I was painfully aware of everything I couldn't eat and I didn't dare have the stuff I wasn't sure of in case it did have meat ingredients that would cancel off my efforts. I have to find more nutritious alternatives as I found myself eating mainly junk since there is really no meat in that! There's prolly nothing edible either!

So breakfast consisted of a 'vegetarian' nasi lemak- ie, sans the anchovies but with everything else.

Lunch was a tad healthier with a vege cheddar pie and scone from Coffee Bean.

Dinner just completely did me in. I had vege flavoured instant noodles. Deliciously packed with monosodium glutamate goodness... sigh. Feeling terribly guilty about the 0 nutrient dinner, I just had a kiwi to salvage the situation.

So tomorrow I really have to try harder to get stuff that's not just meatless but also nutritious. I am already missing a massive protein source- I can't afford to miss some other vital!

Going Green- Day 1

2010-01-25T04:49:00.000-08:00

So the first day wasn't as tough as I thought it would be and yet it wasn't easy or anything. I woke up craving everything I knew I couldn't eat but I persevered and here I am at the end of the day pretty pleased that I've managed to do it!

Breakfast: was a simple dhall and roti at the mamak. It was the only breakfast food I could think of!

Lunch: Tagging behind Hugan who has been vege since the beginning of the month, I had some good ol fashioned indian rice with two kinds of stir fry veges and spicy tofu.

Dinner: now this really tried my ingenuity and I reckon I failed. With all the mixed rice places closed for the evening, only chinese stir-fries were available. So I bought a pack of potato crisps and lettuce and had potato crisp sandwiches... Yes, I resorted to trailer park food cause I really couldn't think of anything else.

But the important thing is, I did it! Day one down- and I am still here to talk about it! Bring on day 2!

Mary Mooooo!

2010-01-24T04:47:00.001-08:00

Ladies, Gentleman and those in between! I am bored of the usual-ness of my existence and have thus planned for myself a series of tests! One involves sticking produce on myself instead of clothes... errr... that's not quite right...

No, no, much like my cattle title, I am going to go vegetarian for the next week. May not seem to be a big deal to most of you but for me- having never been green a day in my life all these 26 years, it's a massive deal I assure you!

So why suddenly? A heart stopping bovine intervention? Nope. I just feel like challenging myself to try something erm... challenging. So I am starting small. Just one week folks- of no meat. And just so I don't cheat- I will report everyday, with what I have eaten and how I have done in my mealy abstinence.

Truth is, this is just the tip of the iceberg- if I succeed, then comes the mother of all challenges. But more on that once the week is done! Wish me luck, honeys!

2010-01-16T08:38:00.000-08:00

You know what happens when you turn 26?
Well, besides having to up the digit on the treadmill, you get the wonderful task of fielding the 'So when's the wedding?' questions.

To tell the truth, when I was a teen, I kept saying I'd marry at 28. Heck, then 28 was eons ahead, but when its just 2 years, you get a bit edgy. So now I say 31. Yes, that's a safe guesstimate right? Well, not really, we know how five years fly... Oh craps.

Then it dawns on you. You're old. And you've got to do old people things.

But I dun wanna! Your inner child cries. I want to buy dolls for myself and not my daughter! (well, that's what MY inner child-or outer child- cries at any rate!) What is a girl to do?

I think I've decided to live life as it comes. One step at a time, one bridge, one stone. Who knows what this year, or the next, or the next holds? I should be thankful I am still celebrating birthdays. Its one more year on this earth to live, love and lament! :)

Book-Ends

2009-12-27T16:38:00.000-08:00

I mentioned a few posts ago that I had something I was very excited about. I was waiting for the right time to tell everyone, I guess there is no time like now since the excitement has not just waned, the little 'project' has come to a halt.

Silverfish by nature

I love reading. So the thought of being ala Mystery Woman from the Hallmark Channel became like a dream career. I wanted to work in a bookstore! Lord knows I spent enough time there as it is. I imagined digging into book boxes when new stock came in, greeting customers and having a chat about books worth reading and having first dibs at all the stock pieces! Of course, nothing in real life is like on the telly; except for perhaps Burt Reynold's moustache and Pamela Anderson's boob surgery marks.

The Weekend Haunt

I loved hanging around a particular bookshop**, it was where my weekends ended up. So it came as a natural next step to apply to work there. I took on a part-time stint, working alternate weekends. I quickly learnt, all the dust was erm, dust and not unpolished glitter.

I wasn't expecting a fantabulous salary and since I already had a weekday job, RM6 an hour was just fine. It would buy me a day's lunch. After all, I wasn't there for the money, I was there to live my dream of being a real life Kelly Martin.

My first day was stock day. New books were arriving and I thought, what luck! I was so excited I couldn't sleep the night before. I was told the work would be a little harder than what I am used to but I was ready- didn't I once do a 22hr stock take in TRU? This would be easy-peasy.

What I hadn't counted on wasn't the fact that my body would fail but that my emotions and pride would. The owner, Jen*, gave me the instructions on how stock take was done, I'd help two other women unpack the books, sort them according to title and count them. One woman plopped herself down by the box and fancied herself above the rest of us and gave us orders. She said she'd open the boxes and the 2 of us could sort and count them. Being new, I didn't argue. Halfway through unpacking she saw a book on the Grand Prix. She pronounced it as 'Grand Pricks' and I had to laugh instinctively. She glared at me and muttered 'Gelak pulak budak tu!' It was from then that I knew I'd hate Rose*.

The hours passed as I sorted and arranged. It was tiring as hell and the books werent even interesting. All this while, Jen was seated at her computer talking about manicures and massages with someone I guessed was a friend. They laughed and ate whilst I broke my back. It was then that it hit me; I didn't study 3 yrs in Law School to be someone's drudge. It wasn't Jen's fault of course, it isn't at all surprising that an owner of a store would hire peons to do the work they didn't want to. Heck, I'd do the same if I were her. And why wasn't I her? I am quite sure I could do everything she does, I am quite sure I am not lacking any mental strengths for the job. I wasn't built to be a peon.

Third time's a charm

It took only 3 days of working before I quit. The job was fun, some people with the exception of Monster Rose, were really nice but having 2 jobs, moving house, and being sick really took a toll. I couldn't go help out during their book sale because of my moving and according to a little bird, Mighty Jen wasn't pleased. It was then that something in me snapped. I am a part-timer, you don't pay me at month's end when books close but I don't complain, I have no user-id for the cash computer but I don't complain, I am doing bloody menial work for you whilst you twiddle your thumbs and you can't understand that I need a few Saturdays and Sundays to move-my-freaking-house? My step-mum quelled me. She said, 'They're employers, they don't care what your excuse is- just that you weren't there when they needed you.' Yes, employers. People who pay you to do something for them. Key word here being 'pay'. I certainly wasn't paid yet even if it was a paltry sum. And mind you I was only paid one week AFTER I quit and sent a nice, formal, recorded email.

I may complain about my workplace but my bosses at LN understand when I am sick, when I need to go to the bank, when I need to move! My salary is always on time and I am paid nearly 3x more.

Really, what was I doing?

At the end of the day...

I still love shopping at this place. Its a great place to get good books at a good price. Suffice to say however that my romantic working-in-a-bookstore fantasy will now be confined to when I own a bookstore!

*Names changed, not so much to protect identity but I just felt it was the right thing to do. :)

**You may have noticed that I have since changed the name of the bookshop. Someone (I am not sure who actually cos the note was anonymous!) from the bookstore found this and 'advised' me to change it! Gosh, the drama my blog brings! Haha, I checked it up with my Legal Advisor minion who said though the law is a little iffy in this area- I should just change it, in case; since the lot of you know where I am talking about already! :p

A Joyeux Noel to me!

2009-12-20T05:45:00.000-08:00

In case you haven't guessed, that just means Merry Christmas. To me though, it also stood for the one doll I've dreamt about every Christmas since it's release in 2003; the Joyeux Silkstone Barbie. I thought I'd never own her. When she was at retail (RRP RM396), there was no way I could afford her on my allowance of rm50 a week. Of course when I started working, unscrupulous secondary market scalpers shot her price up to RM499 and similarly, specialist toystores in my area such as ToyWiz in Amcorp and Grafitti Toys in Times Square, thought nothing of charging up to RM700 for her stating she was an old release and therefore hard to find.

I could nearly afford RM700 but why should I? Seemed unfair.

Then a colleague mentioned in passing a toy store in BSC that her sis got her doll supply from. It was there, in York House in BSC, that I found not just Joyeux, but also Mademoiselle Isabelle at almost retail! Joy cost me RM399- just three bucks more than retail.

I held on to her and never looked back.

So a Merry Christmas to me! And the only one who appears unhappy is Lady of the Manor who now has to share curio space with Joy!

Some R & R

2009-10-30T08:40:00.000-07:00

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.

Mane Story

2009-10-19T07:35:00.000-07:00

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...

Attack of the Skanks...

2009-10-12T08:31:00.000-07:00

I feel like perhaps I was asleep for a few millenias and suddenly looking like a streetwalker is in fashion...

Forgive me, I am sure I do sound like I am discriminate against ladies of the trade but thats really not it.

If you are in the business of selling your lady lumps and crevices then by all means, dress in the most efficient way of doing so. But if you are not; then why in the world would you want to?

I don't understand- I truly don't. Now, I am no prude; you won't see me covered head to toe and I always thought some cleavage is really nice. Its just that when you team that Wonderbra in Leopard print with a micromini that shows your V, a plunging neckline to your waist, fried-dyed hair and panda eyebag worthy eyeliner- sweetie I think you've crossed that delicate line from sexy to skanky. No, actually you smudged that line and raced all the way to the other side of the equator.

I am not mad or annoyed though, I am actually sad. Sad because the girls I see doing these things are really young, sometimes really smart girls so why would you sell yourself that way? I admit, in this looks and fashion conscious world, you get caught up in trying to look your best, to work your assets and win as many admirers as you can. Its simple psychology; to perpetuate the species, you need to be on top of the food chain so you get choice pickings of the male species. Truthfully though, this isn't really what happens. Since time immemorial, men will ogle and drool over the hussy in the street corner with her boob hanging out but at the end of a good bang; he goes home to his wife to shower with his affection and money and to plan for future generations. What happens to the hussy? Well, back then she would've died of syphilis. Now, well, you can paint your own picture.

Little has changed in terms of the male species. He'll tell you you're the sexiest thing on earth, that he wants you, desires you but after you give him what he wants- he's out the door. Its sickening. Believe me, I know exactly how it feels- to want to be the desirable one, to be the one he turns to, not just for love but everything else cause you just don't want him doing the nasty with someone else. But just as I am heading for SkankVille, upon which there is no return, I always stop myself and ask if its all worth it. If he wants to leave me tonight to get his jollies with some busty bar wench then I was prolly too good for him anyway. Even more so if he blames it on me and whatever it is he claims I am lacking.

Even for me; I struggle with trying to maintain this balance, to keep from going into the seedy world of the morally decadent or even looking like I have slipped. I can only imagine what it must be like for young, impressionable girls with half my stubborn sense of self!

I really shudder at the thought!

A shooting star...

2009-10-11T05:37:00.001-07:00

I was a pimply 13 yr old when I first glimpsed Stephen Gately in the flesh at the Sunway Resort hotel. As he walked by with the rest of Boyzone in tow, it took all of my self control not to run and grab all of them

Yes, I grew up loving the Boyz and their music defined my adolescence. I know every word to every song even til now.

I still can't believe Stephen Gately is gone. He was found dead in his hotel room in Majorca whilst on holiday with his husband Andrew Cowles.

The cause of death has yet to be revealed.

Rest in peace, Stephen. You've touched many people around the world who will always be grateful to you and the rest of the Boyz for your contribution in music. Boyzone won't be the same..

Pre-set Notions

2009-10-04T08:02:00.000-07:00

I lazily clicked the ignore button with nary a glance at what I was ignoring. In the background, Ronstan played a medley of Jazz instrumentals. Suddenly, I shot up. 'You know what?' I announced. In the distance, probably engrossed in a science experiment of some sort, Ronstan replies; 'what?'

'The tables are going to turn...' I announced cryptically.
'What? Fables?' he strains to hear what I am saying through the sound of a saxophone.
'TABLES!'
'Oh, why's that?'
I proceed to explain why things were different and why one marked event would change lives forever no matter how much we try to help it. But instead of taking the whole story, he zooms in on one little tit-bit and quips, 'Don't you think that's a little unfair?'
I shrugged. I hadn't thought about it, I said. And I shan't because why should I be fair? Ronstan says little more but I could tell he was perturbed.

Strangely enough, Ronstan's constant questioning and sometimes ill-timed probing and prodding has proven to be quite the problem fixer and mood upper. Whilst so many were good naturedly taking my side and giving me support; Ron never took my side or anyone elses. He then forces me to think abt tables really turning and what if, for a moment- I was the person on the other end. Because then, the notion of fairness would be completely different. And so would the notion of truth...

My truth, my fairness or lack thereof- would I accept it if it were thrown back at me in the same way? I don't know.

Perhaps I should endevour to find out!

Paint me a Seine!

2009-10-01T05:47:00.000-07:00

Earlier I wrote about the painting my minions and I were admiring- well- Dev just became the proud owner of it! Me? Well, couldn't possibly afford such an expensive painting but got a few of smaller, less expensive ones of my own! Yes, my new house will not have furniture- just 2 paintings! Lol...

I will not endevour to tell you how much they collective cost- just lesser than Dev's! hehe

Signed, Sealed, Stored...

2009-09-29T06:54:00.000-07:00

I have read many self help journals and article, which advise us to write 'letters' to people we have strong feelings for (hate, love, disappointment, unrequited love) as a therapy and not actually deliver them (lest you destroy the delicate balance of being!). It is the secrecy and confidentiality of the letter which will allow you bring out every bit of emotion, every feeling, every word you daren't utter in public. Every sordid, rude, distasteful detail. The whole point is to get it off your chest and off your conscience. You can then pack it up and bury, burn or simply throw it away.

Some theorists also point out that by writing, we turn our thoughts into actions that translates into ripples in the universe than can in turn actually use our thoughts to right the wrongs, send messages or atleast alter a sliver of reality to make your day more bearable. Of course, even if all this was poppy-cock- atleast you would've told your neighbour you fancy his cat without looking like a right turd. You would've unburdened at no one's cost.

I took the time this evening to pen 4 letters to 4 people. Some were angry and filled with hateful connotations, some were disappointment in its sincerest forms and some incomprehension. Not all were addressed to people I disliked- some even to people well loved. It is not uncommon to find that the people you love can wound you the deepest.

I don't know if I feel immediately better or if it comes with time. Perhaps I will. A few things did stick out of the experience that shook me. Depending on the tone of the letter- my handwriting seemed to change and the words dictated in my head seemed to come from different places.

There was one letter- written in absolute and utter hatred. The handwriting was the most slanted and cursive of the lot. A raspy, low voice in the back of my head seemed to dictate the harsh words flowing frm my pen and I could scarce believe- when I was done, how much bile I had spilt!

Another one, displayed a childlike circular handwriting, large and easy to read. The third a mixture between the slant in the first and a thinness in letters that was new. The last bore light marks on the paper and a small, dainty curve in the alphabets. They all seemed to mirror the emotion being written.

I don't think I am 4 different people. Its just tht the qualities in the four people I wrote to brought out different parts of my psyche to deal with them, I believe.

I do hope there is something to all this and that perhaps after writing this- I needn't worry about it any longer.

UPDATE! (3/10/09)

It is the strangest thing. My relationship with 2 of the 4 letter recipients significantly improved! I can't explain it and its really bizarre but it would appear there is something here.. there definitely is!

Celebrating a Real Woman

2009-09-28T18:55:00.000-07:00

Peer Pressure

I can't help but feel fat on a daily basis. In the office I am surrounded by stick insects who eat carrot sticks and dry toast- I kid you not. I've seen people overcome by this pressure who end up crash dieting and forking out thousands in slimming aids but end no better/happier people no matter how much thinner they've gotten. Also, when my med test results came back quite positive showing me much healthier than some of my thinner counterparts due to my abhorrence to drink and tobacco, I realised perhaps there's more to life than losing weight.

Yes, I do fancy a bit of cake and a nice KFC meal every now and again. Though to counter that, I do 30mins cardio and 20minutes weight training at least three times a week, only drink a glass of any alcohol less than 3 times a YEAR, have had 2 ciggies my entire life on earth and my biggest guilty pleasure is drinking tea (?!).

And yet, because of my size, I am constantly picked on by family and 'well meaning' acquaintances about how weight loss would do my health wonders!! Sure it probably can, but I am sick of my worth being measured by the weighing scale. Worth by weighing scale is for the fish/poultry market but if any other girl wants to be in on it- great for you- just leave me out of it.

Real Beauty

Strangely though, this post wasn't supposed to be about me- its about a supermodel I found. A size 16 supermodel! Yes, I hear you gasp- it shouldn't be possible, I am sure you're crying foul deep inside your discriminatory selves but Crystal Renn has made it very possible.

Signed by Ford Models (the same folk who signed Tyra Banks and the modelling agency you'd get upon winning America's Next Top Model), Crystal has appeared on runways and modeled for Dolce & Gabbana and Jean Paul Gaultier.

When you see Crystal's ads you would hardly notice her weight unless you look really carefully because more than her size- is her beauty and photographic presence.

And if you think perhaps Crystal is draped in layers of coats and cloth to hide her lady lumps during shoots- you'd be mistaken. She's done swimsuit and even tasteful nudes (which I don't dare post of blogger, lest I be banned- but you can google it!). Even in her nude shots, one thing is evident- this is one helluva beautiful girl with bucketloads of confidence. Instead of hiding what she has, she seems to triumph in it.

What about Me?

Yes, so what does this mean to me and other size 16 girls? It means, as I've said so many times but couldn't even convince myself, we're gorgeous too- if we just take the time to take care of ourselves! I don't mean go for a mani/pedi every week or overstyle your hair like a dead badger. I mean, get a haircut, wash you face, wear nice clothes as opposed to just anything you can find in your size. I need to remind myself of that too.

I really do hope we'll see more models like Crystal in time. And this is not descriminate against naturally thin people but to allow more body types to co-exist in this world without fear of social retribution.

I've had enough- haven't you?

Next Doll Model

2009-09-22T00:07:00.000-07:00

I discovered this youtube series made by a Doll Enthusiast. Its the Dolly version of Next Top Model and I love it. I've been watching episodes all day. I found it on the blog of a fellow doll collector who maintains a gorgeous photo-blog on Dolls.

Below are the first three episodes. If you're curious to see more; they're all there on the 'Tube. *Warning!- Some Doll Nudity*! :)

The Beauty of Being

2009-09-21T06:01:00.000-07:00

I find, as I get older, I get more caught up in the things I regard as beautiful. I can just stand in awe of a beautiful sight for countless hours or repeat a gorgeous song over n over again and perhaps just replay in my head, images and scenes I find most touching. I decided to list a few things I've found beautiful thus far this year.

A Beautiful Scene...

A small booth selling paintings opened just outside the lifts to my office tower. Many paintings were crammed on display but one caught my eye- and that of my minions. Since it was hung up, we stare at it everyday- imagine and discuss what it must be like to be in it. We imagine we see the shadows of people in the brushstrokes or shadows in the colours.

I can't post the actual painting as I never got to take a picture of it but I post something closest to it that I found online. Its a scene of the waterways of Venice; completely devoid of people but if you gaze long enough you think you see them...

Then we imagine sitting by the canal - watching the boats go by and relishing every moment. The life in a painting!

A Beautiful Shot

A photographer came by LN 2 weeks ago to talk about monochromatic pictures and how to take a truly memorable picture. It was all about timing and lighting and well, whether you have an eye for beauty.

I didn't think much about it- just felt it was another self-help talk I didn't need. Then yesterday I was walking into the new house my parents bought and perchanced on this scene. Immediately I took a picture of it. Its just an old chair holding open the kitchen door but something about the chair, the window, the open door and the streaming light just made the shot magical.

I felt so many strange things when I actually uploaded the picture. It was full of life despite there being no life in it. It seemed to tell stories of the many warm meals shared in the kitchen, the people who took turns to sit on the chair and light at the window always there to greet them every morning. It was not just happy beautiful, it could be sad beautiful too. The haunting emptiness when the feast is over and the guests are gone and the one solitary chair that remains. Mayhaps I am crazy and read too much in so little. But isn't wonderful though? To see what others cannot, feel what they don't and most importantly appreciate and live like no one else!

A Beautiful Song...

Everytime I hear this song I imagine myself in a cafe sipping a foamy coffee, watching the world go by, perhaps in the arms of a lover, perhaps alone but happy nonetheless. Happy to just feel and enjoy life as is.

Josh Groban; Cinema Paradiso

A Beautiful Tale...

I finally read Charles Dicken's A Christmas Carol in full and adored it. I knew the story; how could I not? But reading it- it wasn't just a sour man's Christmas enlightening. Scrooge is in every single one of us and if we let him out; we won't even know he's taken over. Killing our hopes, dreams and those we love. It also reminds us that we don't need to look far for the inspiration to change- but merely in our own pasts, present and possible future if carry on the way we do.

Scrooge's character isn't the only one worth reckoning. The amiable nature of the clerk Bob Crachit is also a thing to be marveled at. How even as hard as times may be for him, he sings and makes merry for his family and even toasts the good health of his miserly manager. A lesson in forgiveness and understanding all of us can do with.

A Beautiful Memory...

One of the most beautiful memories I have of this year was in Bukit Tinggi with VJ as we ate real Italian style pizza and street musicians played Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon and after which we took a stroll on cobbled pathways lit by old fashioned streetlamps and savoured the cool air of the hills, quietness and serene beauty of the surroundings.

Here's to more beautiful things- I'll be looking out for you!

Perfect to a T(ea)...

2009-09-19T09:10:00.000-07:00

While there's tea, there's hope.
--Sir Arthur Pinero

I assure you, I am not exagerrating! To me there could be no better fix- to a bad day, a hard task or just for some pampering. If there is one luxury rich and poor can take refuge in alike- it is tea. I am positively addicted and there is no such thing as a bad time for tea. I'll try them all- the English, the Chinese, the Japanese, the Ceylonese, the African...well, tea of course, what were you thinking?

It really miraculous how a cup of tea at the office makes the boss bearable, how the scent of camomile or bergamot at night can send me into blissful slumber and how a spot of peppermint after a good meal or luxurious day out, energizes and relaxes me inside out. Its really like alcohol to me minus the guilt and organ busting properties. In fact, tea in its finest form boasts some pretty good benefits.

To me, the best part about having a house is having a patio to sip tea on. And yes, in case you were wondering, I sip with my pinky in the air. ;)

I really don't know why I am jabbering on about tea. Perhaps its to share my vice; my dirty secret; my guilty pleasure. Back here I horde cartons of tea awaiting their next steeping whilst I scour the malls for the perfect teapot. Yes, that must be it. In a world of smokers, alcoholics and druggies- I've taken my fix from a bunch of leaves too- in a pot; steaming hot.

How do I like my tea? I found this quote from Anne of Green Gables:

"I can just imagine myself sitting down at the head of the table and pouring out the tea," said Anne, shutting her eyes ecstatically, "and asking Diana if she takes sugar! I know she doesn't but of course I'll ask her just as if I didn't know."
--Anne of Green Gables

Wonder how she knew? ;)

* fab quotes courtesy of Victorian Rituals. Be sure to stop by if like me, you love all things Victorian and all things Tea!

Book-ends

2009-09-17T06:37:00.000-07:00

Well, in my case they never do. Who would've thought someone so into writing pages and pages of nondescript meanderings wouldn't be able to finish a proper story? Its not easy, I tell. Just when you're beginning to like how things are going, you find something earlier doesn't add up or you're prose is too narrated and unbelieveable that u r forced to start over.

I need to finish something; if not for a publisher than for myself. How can anyone claim to be a writer when they have never finished writing anything?

Hmm... but I need a plot- something not so complicated and research heavy- that I could whip up from my own knowledge. Now what do I know best about?

Broken hearts? Broken families? Office affairs? The stuff of soap operas at least!

So you think I can do it? I do hope so... Best get off my blog and get cracking!

Picture Perfect Prose

2009-09-06T04:52:00.000-07:00

I had ashamedly never heard of a graphic novel until VJ showed me a few of his. They look a darn lot like comic books but with better more realistic illustrations and longer, more intricate storylines. Many comic favourites have also been elevated to 'graphic novel status'; such as X-Men, Superman, Batman... you get the basic idea.

Today I came across one I had to get. Not of any famous spin-off or franchise; the story was unique and the illustrations quite accomplished. Entitled the Professor's Daughter, it only took one page to get me hooked and I knew I had to have the book.
The story was set in the 1900's and told the story of an affair btwn a young woman and a mummy! I have not finished the novel but at this pace, I am quite certain I'll be done with it tonight. Both VJ and I got a copy each which made me wonder why we couldn't have just gotten one to share but I think we both knew the answer to that! There would've quite a struggle on who should keep it. ;)

From what I've seen of VJ's collection, these novels tend to be dark and delve into that little part of human psyche that we are all so fascinated by and yet can never really accept. The contorted, twisted reality that exists in the far recesses (or in the case of some of us- not so far recesses) of our imagination.

But the question begs to be asked: will this be my last graphic novel? ;)

Just one...

2009-09-05T06:53:00.000-07:00

With the spread of the H1N1 flu pandemic, my dad has taken his usual paranoia about disease and death up several notches. Everyday I am reminded about how I could die. I can't blame him though. He has witnessed disease and death in our family in many forms and stages and it has understandably gripped him. Being himself told by doctors at one point that he had barely 4years left on this planet- he fought those prepositions over ten yrs now; proving his medical practitioners wrong.

Then there is my mother. Eternally afraid of hospitals, she never gets tested, screened or advised unless absolutely necessary. And by absolutely necessary, I mean when she has blacked out or started experiencing massive trauma.

Their opposites in every way; my dad believing that we must always plan and prepare for the future and the preservation of it; my mum believing that life is too short to be spent worrying and if we really are to die of some disease tomorrow, we'd best enjoy today.

How I wish the two of them could find middle ground. That my dad would stop adding the creases to his forehead at least a couple of hours a day and enjoy life a little and that my mum would stop to take care of herself.

It is because of these two primary pulls, I find myself violently swinging from one end to the next like a pendulum on a rampage. On some days, I am the anal planner and constant worry-wart. Thinking up numerous ways to preserve my future and all the god-awful things that could ruin it that I need to avoid. On other days, I find myself splurging and indulging really believing that there is no future to be worried about.

How can I expect them to find balance when I myself can't?

The truth is I am tired of worrying about how I am going to die. I am tired of worrying if it'll happen this year or when I am 72. I am also tired of the frivolity of indulgence. If I am really going to die in a week, what good is 200 pairs of shoes anyway?

I think the conclusion is simple. I need to par away the bullsh*t and come down to what's real and really important. Health and financial stability is important but not when the worrying overtakes you and you can't even enjoy what you've saved or reap the rewards of your struggles. At the same time, its also important to enjoy the really good things in life- such as the hobbies you immerse yourself in, the love you give and receive and the satisfaction of little pleasures like a foot rub or a choccie bar.

Today I did my full medical check. Results is only to be in sometime next week and I found myself suddenly hit by pangs of worry over what it may show. And then I chided myself. Said Stop! If you are going to be diagnosed with something awful next week, then so be it. But for now; you're hale and healthy and fully able to enjoy life, so go do it.

I then asked myself- morbid but such a provocative question. If you had just one week left, what would you do? The first thing I thought was that I wanted to write. Let writing be my legacy. I also want to spend it being happy with the people I love, telling them how I feel about them and making sure my last few days are filled with positivity; at work, at home.

Perhaps this is what the great Masters speak of; finding peace in death is the only way to fully live; contradictory as it sounds.

Make the next week the best you ever had!

Inconsideration-Nation

2009-08-24T21:27:00.000-07:00

If there is one thing I love doing on my well-needed rest days; its having a steaming latte and reading a good book. My hangout of choice is usually Coffee Bean, on one of their comfy couches. However, this weekend I found myself denied that little indulgence by the perfect example of Malaysian Inconsideration. Usually from one particularly ethnic group (Re: sadly, my own)- these people tend to go about their daily business as if the world and all its inhabitants belong to them and thus should bow to their every bidding. Now unfortunately when you have 1 million people believing such a thing, there's very little of the world to go round and the rest of us, less ill-bred folk are left to wonder how to get about our daily lives.

This time, my patience for such people wore a little thin so I bravely snapped pictures of this inconsiderate behaviour and decided to post it here for the WWW (my bravery could very much be attributed to the 6'4 inch Giant I carry about nowadays... :p).

In the picture you will see a tiny couple (the girl is so tiny the guy is pratically covering her from view of my camera) taking up a large EIGHT seater sofa. Yup, count 'em- EIGHT seater after ordering 1 Esprit water and 1 cake. They proceed to sit hogging that 8 seater for well over the 1 1/2 hrs I was there.

It wouldn't have hurt them to let other people sit. Even if they took the 2 table 4 seater I wouldn't have felt so annoyed by it all.

All this, to shamelessly scrounge free wi-fi.

Perhaps some of you are going 'So what? Its a free country...' Well, honey, Coffee Bean isn't. Some of us really pay good money to buy stuff there to enjoy the atmosphere. If they wanted freeloading- go sit in a lorong with your water and scrounge free wi-fi from neighbouring houses. Actually, they might actually start doing that- the miserly lot!

Something's Missing...

2009-08-10T17:42:00.000-07:00

A person I know has recently experienced the unexpected loss of a father. The deceased leaves behind not only children but his wife. I don't think one ever gets over such losses- you just learn to live with the pain.

More so though than the children, it made me think about the wife. I've seen people lose parents and they sooner rather than later move on because I believe that we are all, morbid as it sounds, prepared for the fact that we will lose our parents before anyone else. It is in the far recesses of our minds, a fear just waiting to materialise. It when things happen that aren't so certain that it throws us off guard. The death of spouse when you hadn't a clue it was going to happen or the death of your child.

Its a strange thing to want to discuss but I know it is something I've definitely thought about. I've wondered- is the pain of losing someone you spent your whole life with enough to warrant deciding to be alone? Perhaps if we never knew what it was like to love somebody, to share dreams with them, to share our home and lives with them; we won't have to feel what it would be like to lose them.

Imagine if you will (if like me you have not experienced such things yet); sharing a home with the person you love; having every waking moment making decisions, having fun, raising kids and even the little things like seeing their shoes at door and the wet towel strewn on the bed that annoyed you so much; the arguments you had over what to eat for dinner or what brand of paper towels to buy. After 30-40 years of this, one day it is gone. There is no one there and how much you wish you could come into your bedroom one day and find that wet towel on the bed again.

I only have my imagination but even that is enough to tell me; thats going to hurt! Should I then just confine myself to a life of solitude so I won't have to feel what that's like. Yet somehow, I can't convince myself that those end years would be enough to trade those good 30-40 years. I guess its the reason people still love and connect despite death being a stark unchanging reality. I guess, like me, they've all come to the conclusion that its worth it.

Bangkok- Day 3

2009-08-08T17:20:00.000-07:00

Typical tourists go to typical tourist places and get typically ripped off. Well, it was a slight ripping so it did not mar the experience of the rest of the day. We decided to visit the beautiful temples that Thailand is famous for. Whilst locals enter free, tourists are charge 50bhat (RM5). Not a hefty amount by any means but still a little annoying to be charged to enter a place of worship! I did notice I could’ve slipped in as a local but it was hard when I was hauling about a giant who was the wrong colour! (yes, sadly it appeared like most Asians, Thais didn’t seem too fond of darker skinned people). That aside, the temples were beautiful!! I never thought I’d be so in awe of Eastern architecture but it was just spectacular. It was so intricate and painstakingly done you couldn’t help but be humbled by it all. The reclining Buddha was also a thing of absolute beauty. It started to rain when I was inside the temple but I did not mind the least being stuck in with the statue. I did notice a complete sense of serenity every time I was in the presence of a Buddha statue. They all seemed to emanate a warm peaceful glow. It felt wonderful just standing there and soaking it all up. At the temple of Dawn however, my fear of heights got the better of me and I couldn’t scale the massive monument. I can’t say its something I regret- I wasn’t ready but I am sure there will be a time when I will be and when I am, I’m sure the Temple will still be there. I have a stern policy of not forcing myself to do things I don’t want to unnecessarily. :p

After the temples, we took the boat to the Sririraj Hospital to see the forensic museum we had read about online. After a loooong walk through a rather large hospital, we found the museum wing. The museum was split into 4 wings- prehistoric, forensic, anatomy and parasitology. The prehistoric and parasitology museums weren’t much- just pictures, pottery and some manikins. It was the forensic and anatomy museums that did not believe in fake anything! The forensic museum had four mummified remains of serial killers and even some preserved limbs of accident victims. The most horrible were the glass cases containing preserved babies that died of various causes including illegal abortion! Initially I wanted to take pictures but soon felt it would be in bad taste. After all, these were once people just like you and I and no matter how we may think murderers deserve some amount of retribution- I am inclined to think that they have paid their dues by being executed and being on display for the past 50 years. It does not seem fair to add picture taking and spectacle making to all of that.
We left the museum just a little horrified. We thought we wouldn’t have been able to eat but oh how wrong we were! Once on the street again, we were faced with so many delicious street food, we couldn’t say no! I bought mini doughnuts, thai fish cakes, fried tofu bites and some sausages all for RM10. We pigged out on the boat ride- even missing our stop and ending up on the pier closest to Khao San- backpacker haven of Bangkok. Although I have been to Khao San, a lot seemed to have changed in 2 years. The streets were now lined with stalls selling everything a backpacker would need- luggage bags, comfy beachwear, string bikinis, hair wraps, flip-flops and even ninja swords and taser guns (yes, which every backpacker would certainly need! Hehe). I bought two string bikinis to show off my glorious fat in. Lol… We then sat for a while on a streetside bistro to have some drinks and cheap alcohol. A mojito cost VJ rm12 but according to him wasn’t great. The non-alcohol drinks were quite nice though. I had a mint soda for rm4. Dusk at Khao San marked the end of day 3.

Bangkok- Day 2

2009-08-08T17:14:00.000-07:00

If there is one thing that can get my mind of my troubles- its shopping! And that’s what day two was all about! Oh, and also some Swensons and a good massage! A day of hectic retail therapy and then a quiet night of pampering; Day 2 made the troubles of Day 1 almost disintergrate with every baht spent and every knead made on my tired feet! My horde included 3 dresses, aromatherapy oils, scrubs and lotions and 3 blouses- all within my rm200 budget, with a little to spare to whack a Swenson’s Sundae and pay for an hour of Thai reflexology at a parlour nearby. It did appear that the highlight of the shopping trip appeared to be Boots Chemists (A UK franchise widely available in Thailand) where Nicole and I went a little overboard with the lovely toiletries! I went home tired but pretty pleased. Day 3 could only get better!

Bangkok- Day 1

2009-08-05T17:49:00.001-07:00

After less than 5hrs of sleep, I found myself braving the ample shops at Chatuchak, the weekend market with Nic and Josh. The market was beyond huge with inroads and nooks/crannies that we couldn’t hope to finish in a week, much less a day. But like real troopers we set off anyway- the scent of roasted pork egging us on! First stop, of course, had to be pork treats stall that sold pork snacks in so many glorious forms- from sausages to crispy roast slices to meatballs.
The shopping started off slow for me, with even Josh quipping that he was utterly disappointed at my lack of shopping bags. It wasn’t long til I exceeded both him and Nic in the shopping stakes! For rm200, I got quite a lot of stuff including a black poly-resin figure of Anubis; the Egyption God of the Underworld. I was very proud of my purchase, until I realised what a chore it would be to lug back to KL!
After shopping til our legs could go no further we found ourselves back at our respective lodgings taking an afternoon nap. VJ arrived at around 5pm after which we headed straight to dodgy, yet colourful Patpong for an entertaining night!

It was here that our trip took a slight turn for the worse. We couldn’t locate the particular street that was famous for the raunchy shows and asked a local. The ‘helpful’ local turned out to be a tout who took us to a seedy upstairs bar. There were warning signals everywhere but we didn’t heed it- the fact that he took a back alley instead of a lit main street and the fact that instead of taking us to the street- he brought us to one specific bar. We didn’t heed any of this and just proceeded to enjoy the show. Only five minutes through it, a bargirl in a bikini coolly dropped off an orange cocktail drink at our table that we never ordered. I knew something was already amiss but I thought I was being my usual paranoid self. It was only after a 2nd bargirl leaves another glass on our table that I told my friends we had better leave. We called for the bill after barely 15minutes in the bar. The bill we received amounted to rm500!!! The tout had lied to us when he claimed we only needed to buy drinks. We argued with the ‘mother’ of the den until she agreed to take rm400- still a rip-off but we figured there was no point getting beaten up for a couple of hundreds. We paid and left, completely disappointed not only at the show that turned out to be boring but that we paid rm100 each for it!
We were a little out of spirits and it wasn’t a good start for VJ, having only just arrived a couple of hours prior. Nic felt bad for what she thought was her making us go, but I felt bad too as I should’ve known something was up and should’ve said so at the beginning. But what’s done is done and atleast we can say- we’re wiser with the experience! (ok, yes I am consoling myself! Hehe)
So we weren’t off to the best start but I had paid heavily not just in cash but in time and losing hair over work, so I was determined to make the best of what was left! On to Day 2!

PS- You do understand, I can't exactly take pics of the raunchy shows! My blog may be banned... :p

The Return

2009-07-26T22:34:00.001-07:00

I have been gone a rather long time! Just on Saturday, someone even called to check if I was alright due to my prolonged virtual absence! Well, I have had a truly interesting week to say the least. Saw many things and thought about many things- not really the kind of thing to do when on holiday!

But then again, I am tempted to think that a holiday to Bangkok isn’t really like any other. Yes, many would think that since I’ve already been there, it shouldn’t be new to me but it certainly is different when travelling with someone like Nicole who insists on trying everything and pushing the envelope where travelling is concerned! I experienced more Bangkok in the last week than I did in the two months I was there previously! Well I am going to write all about it in the coming days breaking it down to the individual days. That later with pics but now this is just a small note to say hey, I am still here and doing alright!

Its just that when people ask me how my holidays ended, I say ‘horribly’. Why? Cause it ended and here I am at the office again! If that isn’t ‘horribly’, then I don’t know what is. ;p

Miss u Lots, miss u naught...

2009-07-10T17:22:00.000-07:00

It was 9.30pm when I glanced at the glowing digital clock on my dashboard. The soft whirr of the engine was the only sound in the lonely dark streets as I waited by the side of a quiet road in a residential area. I picked up the phone and dialed his number again wondering why he was not answering when he had promised to meet me at 9.00pm at this very road.

My heart hit a crossroads- should I wait or leave? What if he for some reason could not or did not want to see me today? What a fool I would look like- after waiting over 3 hours in the office after work, and then rushing over to his house nearby to wait for him .

I was a fool, wasn't I?

No. When I saw him hurrying in the distance and opening my car door at 9.45pm- I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The underlying truth is that when we care, love and really, really miss someone- time, place, feelings of tiredness melt away and I would use every free moment I have to try and spend with them. For me anyway, but perhaps I am wrong to expect that of other people.

I, for the life of me do not understand how a person can say they miss you, the want to spend time with you but when they do have free moments they proclaim they are tired or that you are too far away- and yet this tiredness and distance ebbs away long enough to allow them to stay out till 5 am with others... and then they 'demand' ever so nicely that particular days be devoted to them because they are too 'tired and busy' on others to see you and yet they 'really miss you'.

No, I wasn't a fool to wait til 9.45pm on a worknight for someone who defied all plans and every other commitment to prove he really wanted to spend time with me but I am still a fool because I allow other people to just pick me up when it is convenient to them and discard me when it is not.

So save your I miss you's. They are only words.

The Long and Short of it...

2009-07-10T06:02:00.000-07:00

I didn't tell a lot of people this simply because I didn't want to jinx it- but since I know now I am not on the shortlist and therefore have no chance of winning- there is nothing to jinx.

A couple of months back, I entered the MPH-Alliance Bank Short Story Writing competition- I entered two entries one of which some of you may have read- but the other only my two minions did because I was too embarassed by how I 'prostituted' my writing for the contest. If you're wondering what that means- it simply means that I catered my writing, wrote stuff I would usually never do- all for the sake of the cash prize. Yes, I sold myself that way.

Now I don't mean to bash fans of literary fiction (which is what this contest was looking for)- there is a place for every kind of writing niche, I believe. This just isn't mine. If you're wondering what literary fiction is- you can check out SilverfishBooks and some MPH short story publications that mainly focus on literary fiction.

I can't for the life of me write those kind of stories! Does that make me a bad writer though? I hardly think so. I should've been more upset but I kept telling myself that what was meant to be given to me would be and what isn't will not be and the thought just stuck.

In truth, my stories could have used editing and I could have polished them up a little more- I know I could've improved so it was fair that I was not shortlisted. And yet, I wonder if I'll even bother the next time. I tried so hard to fit into a genre I really don't like and quite frankly have never read. I really wonder- if I should be 'prostituting' my talent in that way.

Now one thing I've always disliked about literary fiction is the'elitism' it exudes. Writers and even some readers of such stories tend to feel themselves above all other writers and tend to think there is only one way to tell a story. Sir/Madam- to you I tell you folks who believe that- its absolutely pig dung. As I mentioned earlier- there is place on our bookshelves for all kinds of authors for all kinds of tastes- please don't force us into the cookie cutter.

What am I actually on about? Not the fact that I didn't get shortlisted but more of because of this comment on one of the judge's blogs;
Ted Mahsun said...

Is it the way they weave their stories and the plot that counts?
Why would you even think otherwise?

To those who think MPH should release the longlist so you can know where you stand, let me tell you where you stand:

You're Just Not Good Enough.

Now move on and practice your writing more so you can improve. Knowing "where you stand" on a longlist doesn't make your writing improve. Reading and writing and more reading and writing makes your writing improve.

If you want to know what was wrong with the story you submitted, then workshop it. Knowing your place on a longlist (if you're even ON the longlist) is hardly good feedback to improve your writing!

Whilst I agree with the second part of Ted's comment- the middle line just irked me no end- and that dear folks is what I mean about the elitist mentality of these people. Who is Ted to tell people they are not good enough without even reading their works? Perhaps he could have said 'your story wasn't good enough'- and I wouldn't disagree- but one bad story or even 30 rejection slips doesn't a bad author make. How many truly famous authors were rejected until they died and their books published posthumous??

What a very flawed literary world we live in!

The Affliction of the 3rd Leg..

2009-07-01T21:50:00.000-07:00

Before I type this post I must stress that I am no man-hater. I quite like them actually- well some of them at any rate. Some others, however... lets just say it wouldn't be too harsh to go medieval on their heinies.

Now I work in an office primarily filled with women, some very pretty I must say. I by no means am any match for their aesthetic qualities and I have no issues with it. After all, I joined the workforce to work and not win beauty titles. Plus, some of these pretty girls are genuinely wonderful people and thus have no reason to gain my ire.

It is sad that the few men in the office, have started to feel themselves a rare commodity and are getting a little to large for their proverbial boots- or maybe just too large in general. They feel it their utter duty to watch and rate us womenfolk on our outer appearances. Two incidences come to mind.

One just today as I left with Devena for lunch; three male colleagues were seated in the reception area waiting for fellow comrades. Dev and I quietly passed by, offering no more than polite courteous smiles when one quips to his friends; 'Why do you guys smile at their backs?' The other two protest that they were not and this one goes on to say rather sarcastically, 'Don't you know they are the most beautiful in the office?' One snorts very loudly 'Huh!!!!' Unfortunately I was out of earshot by which time and could not hear the remainder of his disagreement.

The very audacity that they go about saying such things right as we walk by. Who do they think they are?

The second incident involved another female colleague (FC) who had gone to see a male colleague (MC) over a work matter. Said MC was reading an article with a picture of a lineup of beauty pageant contestants. MC looks up at FC and says 'Look at this (FC's name), I look at this picture and now I look up and have to look at you. How sad is my life?' My colleague was so upset and she said 'what right has he to judge me? Is he soooo handsome? They should look at themselves in the mirror!'

I need to check with Jaya 33 management and see if the male toilets on our floor have been equipped with full length mirrors. Some people appear to be missing it.

However, I digress as I am pissed off. Truth is, they don't have that right even if they are built like Adonis (which they definitely aren't!!!)- they shouldn't comment on people in such a manner- especially not in a place where we're supposed to be working.

I am no prude- I can take a joke.. this however, if you had heard it, you'd know.. was no joke...

The only 'joke' in all of this is the fact that on the looks scale- I am quite sure I fare much better than any of these men judging me...