So, Valentine's was a week or so ago, and love is still in the air. Well, it's true for me, regardless of the date. I also think that Valentine's Day is, in this modern age, an absolutely horrifying commercialist celebration, a day for opportunistic businessfolk to glut and grow fat on mindless consumerism, but that is a different story altogether. Besides, I don't need ONE specific day to celebrate my love. I do it every day.
Also, I think she said it rather well, so I'll leave this at that. Hee hee.
Right now, I'm feeling moony. I like that. :o)
And it was all, well today anyway, triggered by a song. It's bittersweet, but so beautiful.
And I'd love nothing more than to share it with you.
Be well, and be loved.
*HUUUGZ*
Numb and broken, here I stand alone
Wondering what were the last words I said to you
Hoping, praying that I'll find a way to turn back time
Can I turn back time?
What would I give to behold
The smile, the face of love?
You never left me
The rising sun will always speak your name
It won't be long, we'll meet again
Your memory is never passing
It won't be long, we'll meet again
My love for you is everlasting
I mourn for those who never knew you
~ Rose of Sharyn ~ by Killswitch Engage
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
Feeling:
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Monday, February 21, 2005
Jas 101 - A Crash Course
Stealing a page off her, who stole a page off her. *winkz*
Jas 101 - A Crash Course
1. My mum wanted to call me Stephanie ..
2. .. but I ended up being named after Jaclyn Smith, my dad's favourite (original) Angel.
3. So my mum got her say in it by changing the pronunciation, so my name is pronounced with an 's' (or two) in lieu of a hard 'c'.
4. I was born on the last day of September (which is NOT the 31st!!!), 1980 ..
5. .. which resulted in 80's Rock, Cyndi Lauper, and Wham! being my first exposure to music. One of my earliest memories is sitting in my mother's car singing along to "Wake Me Up (Before You Go-Go)". Yes. Amazingly, music still developed into an eventual passion for me.
6. Sesame Street.
7. AND Moonwalker, the Movie. *rolleyes*
8. When I was six, my mother decided that her children should be prodigies of some sort, possessing half her genes and all, and decided that it would be nice to hear strains of classical piano tunes permeating the halls of our house. Therefore, she carted us (me and my sisters) off to piano lessons.
9. I hated it. I fucking hated it. Saturday mornings used to be Times of Torture. It didn't help that my teacher was a woman with a wicked temper who stood over me and the keyboard with a wooden 30cm ruler and would *SMACK!!* me across the knuckles when my wrists drooped.
10. Imagine what happened the year she got pregnant!! It was then that I refused to leave the house for piano lessons, and when my mother bodily carried me to class, I refused to do a single thing beyond sitting with my arms tightly folded across my chest. She gave up after three episodes of wilfulness.
11. However, piano classes resumed when I was 13, with Miss Wendy, who awakened in me the passion for creating music. Oh, she was one of my first REAL teachers, and I went six grades in three years.
12. I spent 11 years in an all-girls government school, CBN...
13. .. and did NOT turn out socially inept for it, rather it instilled a confidence in me that I might not have gotten anywhere else.
14. I wish I was as smart and as beautiful as Min,
15. and Ben,
16. and Nadia, and Intan, and Anne, Hanim, Azie, Sharm and Amanda...
17. ...all of whom make up the GirlyGirls (!) who taught me all I know of beauty, poise and grace, in every sense of the word. *hugz*
18. I went to Taylor's after high school, to do my A-Levels, where I met a whole bunch of people I couldn't imagine living without.
19. Like Fong, who taught me compassion,
20. and Del, who taught me faith,
21. Don, who taught me strength,
22. and Nadia T., who taught me patience.
23. If there ever was to happen a wonky sort of famine, I could subsist on char koay teow and chocolate mousse alone.
24. I think.
25. My most expensive purchase to date: my beautiful beautiful Maton 12-String Acoustic.
26. I want to race track, but have no money, so it'll have to remain a dream.
27. For now.
28. Cars, I mean. Cars.
29. I did gymnastics for three years in primary school. I had to give it up when I grew too tall.
30. I am somewhere between 5'8" and 5'9"..
31. .. and weigh 67kg. Well, now anyways. Yes, I have put on a bit of weight, so I am now decidedly pudgy...ier. Pudgier.
32. But it's okay, because I am happy. I lose weight when I am unhappy due to lack/absence of appetite, and I'd rather be pudgy..ier and happy than thin and miserable.
33. And I have Faiz to thank for that, who taught me what it is to love, and be loved in return. :o)
34. I could go through life blind, but I never want to live without music; I would wither and die. A good composition is literally capable of moving me to tears with its sheer beauty.
35. On my bedside tables are candles, a mountain of books,
36. a telephone, a stash of chocolates,
37. a dictionary AND thesaurus; all the things you'll ever need in life.
38. is the plate number on my car, which is 8 years old but I won't get rid of because I love it soooooooo much!
39. Something else I love sooooooo much is my three-and-a-half year old brother, Fareed. Life has never been the same since he arrived, he makes all of us so happy.
40. But the thought of having my own children scares the bejeezuz out of me. Commitments don't get larger or more irreversible than that!
41. 31 Flavours for me please. None of that Haagen Daaz shite.
42. Dealing with people drives me bonkers. I detest having to pander to other people's mengada-ness, therefore I will never work in sales and/or marketing. Ugh.
43. Machines. Give me machines that don't talk back any day. *winkz*
44. That's why I chose to study Mechanical Engineering, so I (hopefully!) don't have to work behind a desk. Much.
45. But what I really wanted to study was Zoology,
46. because I feel a compassion for animals, which are trapped by circumstances, that I don't feel for humans who, I believe, cause their own misery.
47. The only exception being babies and children. Good little children, say under the age of nine, who behave themselves, eat their greens and don't talk back.
48. The snotty little brats we should feed to insane, hungry, canniballistic gorillas.
49. *sings* All you need is love, all you need is loove, all you need is looo-ooo-ooo-oooove... ala Moulin Rouge!. *winkz*
50. Which, I think, was a brilliant movie. Baz Luhrmann had a vision alright. I love his 'trilogy'.
51. My Little Pony, Jem and the Holograms, Care Bears.
52. I played gamelan in high school. It was kickass cool.
53. My favorite flowers are madonna lillies, jasmines, prostitute flower (hehe.. tuberose) and roses. In that order. :o)
54. I like perfumes which are 'open-ended' scents. Nothing too sweet, heavy and cloying. My favourites are rose-based.
55. Blue Bunny - Bunny Tracks, Boom Boom Brownie, Super Fudge Brownie. Yumma-yumma. Aaaah! Screw 'Lite'!! *grinz*
56. I have a sweet tooth. *G*
57. Melanie Rawn.
58. Dragons. I have an incurable fascination with dragons. I blame "Flight of the Dragons".
59. 500 Miles, The Proclaimers. The most romantic song I've ever heard.
60. I'm a realist-romantic. An internet quiz told me so. *winkz*
61. I'm also stubborn.
62. I don't know where I get it from.
63. My mother taught me more than I have the wisdom to understand. She's irreplaceable.
64. Famous Amos. Chocolate Chip Macadamia. *drool*
65. Macadamias. *drool*
66. I wish I had a green thumb.
67. I love my sister and brothers. :o)
68. Cherries. Fresh cherries, maraschino cherries, cherry pies, cherry cheesecakes. Cherries Jubilee, Bordeaux Cherry Chocolate. Cherries.
69. I love rock-climbing. Artificial rock-climbing. Not very superb at it, but I love it.
70. Silverhawks, Transformers, Voltron.
71. Before I turn 60, I must a) get a navel ring, b) go skydiving, c) get a scuba divers' licence, d) travel the world.
72. One out of four ain't too bad. I've got 35 years and a bit to go.
73. Land a job I'll be happy at. If it pays well, it'll be a bonus.
74. Sun, sun, sun, sand, sea and surf. I am a born beach baby. I believe I was an iguana in a past life.
75. If I were an animal, I'd be a cat. Independent, keeping to myself, apathetic, and when I want to manja I'll come looking for you. *lol*
76. I love to bake. It relieves stress. My best? Pineapple tarts, my grandmother's recipe.
77. A perfect quiet day? Sprawled under a tree on a cool day, reading. No ants/mosquitoes. Or sprawled in the sun, on a beach, dozing, working on a nice tan. No sleazy pot-bellied mat sallehs offering me RM300 or mosquitoes. Yeesh.
78. I am slighty lactose intolerant. Ice-cream doesn't count. It's not milk. It's ice-cream. ;oP
79. Johnny Rzeznik is the Most Beautiful Man on Earth.
80. And the Goo Goo Dolls are my favouritest band.
81. Mike Melanin inspired me to pick up drumming..
82. .. and I've already achieved Grade 5!
83. .. in one-and-a-half years! *grinz* Sorry, a bit proud of myself there if I do say so meself. :o)
84. I periodically suffer from insomnia. Couldn't you tell? :o)
85. Shiraj's Honey Chicken. Mmmmmmmm ....
86. Black Adder. Fawlty Towers. And recently, Father Ted. :o)
87. Pink. The colour.
88. *warbles* Diaaaaaamonds are a girl's best frieeeeeeeeend! *G* It doesn't just end there though. lolz. My favourite gems are sapphires. And I favour princess cuts.
89. I have been bringing home stray mogs since I was five. We currently have three cats, which are not mogs, but it's the only thing that keeps me from bringing home lost kittens.
90. I can't wait to start living on my own.
91. I never have enough clothes.
92. And I will never own a credit card. No willpower. Not in that department.
93. I believe in karma. What goes around, comes around.
94. I believe in the Natural Law, and I believe it rules Supreme. Some people call it God, some people don't.
95. And I believe in Absolute Good, and Absolute Truth.
96. But I also believe chocolates are the only vitamins anyone ever needs to maintain excellent mental health, so maybe I don't know what I'm talking about.
97. Or do I?
98. Perfect pizza topping: pineapples, mushrooms, green peppers, turkey ham, pineapples, black olives, tomato slices, pineapples, onions, cheeeeeeeeeese, chilli flakes, and oh, have I said pineapples? *winkz*
99. Lay's Salt & Vinegar *pucker!*
100. God Bless the Internet.
101. World Peace, and an end to World Hunger.
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
Bless y'all. Toodles.
XOXOXO
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
Feeling:
Jas 101 - A Crash Course
1. My mum wanted to call me Stephanie ..
2. .. but I ended up being named after Jaclyn Smith, my dad's favourite (original) Angel.
3. So my mum got her say in it by changing the pronunciation, so my name is pronounced with an 's' (or two) in lieu of a hard 'c'.
4. I was born on the last day of September (which is NOT the 31st!!!), 1980 ..
5. .. which resulted in 80's Rock, Cyndi Lauper, and Wham! being my first exposure to music. One of my earliest memories is sitting in my mother's car singing along to "Wake Me Up (Before You Go-Go)". Yes. Amazingly, music still developed into an eventual passion for me.
6. Sesame Street.
7. AND Moonwalker, the Movie. *rolleyes*
8. When I was six, my mother decided that her children should be prodigies of some sort, possessing half her genes and all, and decided that it would be nice to hear strains of classical piano tunes permeating the halls of our house. Therefore, she carted us (me and my sisters) off to piano lessons.
9. I hated it. I fucking hated it. Saturday mornings used to be Times of Torture. It didn't help that my teacher was a woman with a wicked temper who stood over me and the keyboard with a wooden 30cm ruler and would *SMACK!!* me across the knuckles when my wrists drooped.
10. Imagine what happened the year she got pregnant!! It was then that I refused to leave the house for piano lessons, and when my mother bodily carried me to class, I refused to do a single thing beyond sitting with my arms tightly folded across my chest. She gave up after three episodes of wilfulness.
11. However, piano classes resumed when I was 13, with Miss Wendy, who awakened in me the passion for creating music. Oh, she was one of my first REAL teachers, and I went six grades in three years.
12. I spent 11 years in an all-girls government school, CBN...
13. .. and did NOT turn out socially inept for it, rather it instilled a confidence in me that I might not have gotten anywhere else.
14. I wish I was as smart and as beautiful as Min,
15. and Ben,
16. and Nadia, and Intan, and Anne, Hanim, Azie, Sharm and Amanda...
17. ...all of whom make up the GirlyGirls (!) who taught me all I know of beauty, poise and grace, in every sense of the word. *hugz*
18. I went to Taylor's after high school, to do my A-Levels, where I met a whole bunch of people I couldn't imagine living without.
19. Like Fong, who taught me compassion,
20. and Del, who taught me faith,
21. Don, who taught me strength,
22. and Nadia T., who taught me patience.
23. If there ever was to happen a wonky sort of famine, I could subsist on char koay teow and chocolate mousse alone.
24. I think.
25. My most expensive purchase to date: my beautiful beautiful Maton 12-String Acoustic.
26. I want to race track, but have no money, so it'll have to remain a dream.
27. For now.
28. Cars, I mean. Cars.
29. I did gymnastics for three years in primary school. I had to give it up when I grew too tall.
30. I am somewhere between 5'8" and 5'9"..
31. .. and weigh 67kg. Well, now anyways. Yes, I have put on a bit of weight, so I am now decidedly pudgy...ier. Pudgier.
32. But it's okay, because I am happy. I lose weight when I am unhappy due to lack/absence of appetite, and I'd rather be pudgy..ier and happy than thin and miserable.
33. And I have Faiz to thank for that, who taught me what it is to love, and be loved in return. :o)
34. I could go through life blind, but I never want to live without music; I would wither and die. A good composition is literally capable of moving me to tears with its sheer beauty.
35. On my bedside tables are candles, a mountain of books,
36. a telephone, a stash of chocolates,
37. a dictionary AND thesaurus; all the things you'll ever need in life.
38. is the plate number on my car, which is 8 years old but I won't get rid of because I love it soooooooo much!
39. Something else I love sooooooo much is my three-and-a-half year old brother, Fareed. Life has never been the same since he arrived, he makes all of us so happy.
40. But the thought of having my own children scares the bejeezuz out of me. Commitments don't get larger or more irreversible than that!
41. 31 Flavours for me please. None of that Haagen Daaz shite.
42. Dealing with people drives me bonkers. I detest having to pander to other people's mengada-ness, therefore I will never work in sales and/or marketing. Ugh.
43. Machines. Give me machines that don't talk back any day. *winkz*
44. That's why I chose to study Mechanical Engineering, so I (hopefully!) don't have to work behind a desk. Much.
45. But what I really wanted to study was Zoology,
46. because I feel a compassion for animals, which are trapped by circumstances, that I don't feel for humans who, I believe, cause their own misery.
47. The only exception being babies and children. Good little children, say under the age of nine, who behave themselves, eat their greens and don't talk back.
48. The snotty little brats we should feed to insane, hungry, canniballistic gorillas.
49. *sings* All you need is love, all you need is loove, all you need is looo-ooo-ooo-oooove... ala Moulin Rouge!. *winkz*
50. Which, I think, was a brilliant movie. Baz Luhrmann had a vision alright. I love his 'trilogy'.
51. My Little Pony, Jem and the Holograms, Care Bears.
52. I played gamelan in high school. It was kickass cool.
53. My favorite flowers are madonna lillies, jasmines, prostitute flower (hehe.. tuberose) and roses. In that order. :o)
54. I like perfumes which are 'open-ended' scents. Nothing too sweet, heavy and cloying. My favourites are rose-based.
55. Blue Bunny - Bunny Tracks, Boom Boom Brownie, Super Fudge Brownie. Yumma-yumma. Aaaah! Screw 'Lite'!! *grinz*
56. I have a sweet tooth. *G*
57. Melanie Rawn.
58. Dragons. I have an incurable fascination with dragons. I blame "Flight of the Dragons".
59. 500 Miles, The Proclaimers. The most romantic song I've ever heard.
60. I'm a realist-romantic. An internet quiz told me so. *winkz*
61. I'm also stubborn.
62. I don't know where I get it from.
63. My mother taught me more than I have the wisdom to understand. She's irreplaceable.
64. Famous Amos. Chocolate Chip Macadamia. *drool*
65. Macadamias. *drool*
66. I wish I had a green thumb.
67. I love my sister and brothers. :o)
68. Cherries. Fresh cherries, maraschino cherries, cherry pies, cherry cheesecakes. Cherries Jubilee, Bordeaux Cherry Chocolate. Cherries.
69. I love rock-climbing. Artificial rock-climbing. Not very superb at it, but I love it.
70. Silverhawks, Transformers, Voltron.
71. Before I turn 60, I must a) get a navel ring, b) go skydiving, c) get a scuba divers' licence, d) travel the world.
72. One out of four ain't too bad. I've got 35 years and a bit to go.
73. Land a job I'll be happy at. If it pays well, it'll be a bonus.
74. Sun, sun, sun, sand, sea and surf. I am a born beach baby. I believe I was an iguana in a past life.
75. If I were an animal, I'd be a cat. Independent, keeping to myself, apathetic, and when I want to manja I'll come looking for you. *lol*
76. I love to bake. It relieves stress. My best? Pineapple tarts, my grandmother's recipe.
77. A perfect quiet day? Sprawled under a tree on a cool day, reading. No ants/mosquitoes. Or sprawled in the sun, on a beach, dozing, working on a nice tan. No sleazy pot-bellied mat sallehs offering me RM300 or mosquitoes. Yeesh.
78. I am slighty lactose intolerant. Ice-cream doesn't count. It's not milk. It's ice-cream. ;oP
79. Johnny Rzeznik is the Most Beautiful Man on Earth.
80. And the Goo Goo Dolls are my favouritest band.
81. Mike Melanin inspired me to pick up drumming..
82. .. and I've already achieved Grade 5!
83. .. in one-and-a-half years! *grinz* Sorry, a bit proud of myself there if I do say so meself. :o)
84. I periodically suffer from insomnia. Couldn't you tell? :o)
85. Shiraj's Honey Chicken. Mmmmmmmm ....
86. Black Adder. Fawlty Towers. And recently, Father Ted. :o)
87. Pink. The colour.
88. *warbles* Diaaaaaamonds are a girl's best frieeeeeeeeend! *G* It doesn't just end there though. lolz. My favourite gems are sapphires. And I favour princess cuts.
89. I have been bringing home stray mogs since I was five. We currently have three cats, which are not mogs, but it's the only thing that keeps me from bringing home lost kittens.
90. I can't wait to start living on my own.
91. I never have enough clothes.
92. And I will never own a credit card. No willpower. Not in that department.
93. I believe in karma. What goes around, comes around.
94. I believe in the Natural Law, and I believe it rules Supreme. Some people call it God, some people don't.
95. And I believe in Absolute Good, and Absolute Truth.
96. But I also believe chocolates are the only vitamins anyone ever needs to maintain excellent mental health, so maybe I don't know what I'm talking about.
97. Or do I?
98. Perfect pizza topping: pineapples, mushrooms, green peppers, turkey ham, pineapples, black olives, tomato slices, pineapples, onions, cheeeeeeeeeese, chilli flakes, and oh, have I said pineapples? *winkz*
99. Lay's Salt & Vinegar *pucker!*
100. God Bless the Internet.
101. World Peace, and an end to World Hunger.
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
Bless y'all. Toodles.
XOXOXO
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
Feeling:
Friday, February 18, 2005
That 70's Show
According to one highly qualified Internet test:-
Drat! I missed the glory days of disco by a mere decade!!! *sulk*
Disco, disco, disco... .. ala Foxxy Cleopatra a.k.a. Beyonce in Goldmember.
*winkz*
|
If you scored... |
Drat! I missed the glory days of disco by a mere decade!!! *sulk*
Disco, disco, disco... .. ala Foxxy Cleopatra a.k.a. Beyonce in Goldmember.
*winkz*
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Aaaaaargh!!!
Aaaaaargh!!!
It's terrible. Terrible terrible terrible.
When your brains are rotting away in the desolate concentration-camp-like environs of a no-brainer job.
Absolutely terrible.
Aaaaaargh!!!
It's terrible. Terrible terrible terrible.
When your brains are rotting away in the desolate concentration-camp-like environs of a no-brainer job.
Absolutely terrible.
Aaaaaargh!!!
Monday, February 14, 2005
Wretched Blogspot!!!!
Ok, ok ... This is a cop out, I know, but I wrote this semi-long entry .. which blogspot ate, chewed into mush and left only the first three lines for me to post with. Crap. Therefore, those of you wanting to read my oh-so-interesting entries *ahem* (yeah riiiiiight..) will have to wait. Sorry!
p.s. Stolen off her page. :o)
Oh!!! And @}-- !Happy Valentines Day! --{@
May you be loved, always. :o)
p.s. Stolen off her page. :o)
You Are 24 Years Old |
Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax. |
Oh!!! And @}-- !Happy Valentines Day! --{@
May you be loved, always. :o)
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Reminiscing
Two days ago, I was driving around KL. Seeing as how it was 9.30am on a weekday morning, I had a relatively quiet drive, and as usual when things are quiet, my mind starts to wander. This time, it wandered to the Rayas of my childhood.
I remember how as a child, Raya was a holiday to look forward to. Well, we looked forward to every excuse to not go to school, but Rayas were something else, something extraordinarily special.
Raya meant that we would be going back to my grandparents' in Muar! It meant that I'd get to see my cousins for extended play sessions! It meant lots and lots of yummy grub, all day long. It meant pretty new clothes and the chance to wear them nice, shiny necklaces and bracelets we were so rarely allowed to touch. Most of all - and best of all - was DUIT RAYA!! *G*
Raya holidays were always the same. The morning before Raya, Mum would pack us four kids into her Volvo station wagon. She'd lay the seats flat and spread a mattress in the back. Then, she'd heap us all onto the mattress along with a jillion pillows, blankets and cushions and pack the bags right at the rear door so that in the event the door spontaneously pops open the bags would go first before her precious children. And as soon as she had the bags wedged against the rear door to her satisfaction, she'd order us to lie down, close our eyes, shut up and go to sleep, she didn't want to hear a peep from us, not a single peeeeeep the entire drive to Tok's house. The amazing thing is, we would actually DO it; shut up, close our eyes and almost burst from not uttering a single peep. We didn't dare. That woman terrified us. *smile*
But thanks to the sleep we got (albeit forced), we would jump out of the car the moment we arrived at my grandparents' house and be ready to join in whatever game that was in progress. Kejar-kejar, police-and-thief, galah panjang, ketingting, you name it. Thing is, as small children my siblings and I spoke barely a word of Malay whereas our cousins spoke almost nothing but. I have no idea how we managed to communicate, but I suppose we did - and communicated well at that - as small children are wont to do, regardless of languages spoken. I don't remember it ever being much of a problem.
There were about twenty of us grandchildren when I was that age. More came later, but when I was a kid, there were only two sets: the teenagers, and us. There were about ten of us younger kids and we stuck together.
My grandparents had a few fruit trees on their modest plot of land. I remember one Raya when we were all playing, and a male cousin my age came up with the brilliant idea of climbing up one of the trees. Nobody else thought it was a good idea, but he talked soft-hearted me into climbing it with him. His pleas were heart-wrenching. So he and I climbed up this lovely-looking tree .. and what surprises awaited us! A few branches up, we spied a beautiful bunch of ruby-red rambutans! Bare seconds later, we made a second, more interesting but by far less pleasant discovery: kerenggaaaaaaaaaa!! We fell out of that tree hard like a couple of nangka busuks, and were subsequently chewed out by our parents, laughed at by our cousins, and grounded to the kitchen for the next few hours. *laugh*
Then there was the time the maids found me and my sisters squatting inside the chicken coop because we wanted to look for chicken eggs...*laughs*
One thing lingers: the smell of Tabard that our parents religiously (not to mention very vigorously!) rubbed onto our skin before allowing us outside to play. And to this day whenever I smell smoke off sparklers and pop-pops, I close my eyes and see in my mind us as children, writing our names bright in the black night. I remember how much pleasure we derived from such a simple game, what endless fun we had from the two short minutes the simple sparklers afforded us, and how it seemed anything but simple.
At night, it was us kids' chore to set out the mattresses for sleep, under our parents' supervision. My grandparents have a decent-sized house, and the living room would be packed wall-to-wall with mattresses as bedtime rolled around. Raya was also the only time we were not forced to sleep early, although anyone who stayed up playing congkak when everyone else was trying to sleep would be told the hantu congkak goes around at night looking for children to play congkak with. *lol* They told us that every night, every year, and it never failed to get us to shut up, and curl up under the blankets, sometimes shaking with fear. :o)
Raya morning would start with us being wakened at 8am. There would be a rush for the bathrooms (there were only three!), which resulted in sometimes five of us bathing together at the same time. Then we would dress in our new Raya best and have breakfast as soon as my grandparents came back from sembahyang Raya and visiting the kubur. Invariably, breakfast would be the ketupat, lodeh and sambal kacang sotong my aunt had cooked in the wee hours of the morning. Anything else and it would not have been a Raya breakfast. :o)
This would be followed by a whole morning of photography, followed by the distribution of .. DUIT RAYA!!!! Heheeeee!
My grandparents had ten children: five boys and five girls .. which summed up to helluva LOT of duit raya! Eeeheehee. Right after all photographs had been taken, there would be a yell of "Pak Ndak bagi duit raya woi!!" and a rush to queue in front of Pak Ndak: youngest first, the oldest right at the back. Salam, "Selamat Hari Raya Pak Ndak", take angpow, kiss cheek, biiiiig hug .. and two steps later gleefully open the packet. And right after the last person in line had received their packet would come the cry "Mak Bang woi! Mak Baaaaaaaaang!!" and another rush to be first in line. We always knew the order in which we had to line up, but the mock-mad rush was always, always part of the fun.
The only time spontaneous order would occur was when it came to collecting duit raya from my grandparents. They would sit side by side and we would shuffle past them decorously, all rowdiness put aside, but not smiles nor spirit. They always got the biggest kisses and biggest hugs even if they didn't give the biggest angpows because they were our Tok Ayea and Tok Mat. And after the last of the cousins had received their angpows, it was our parents' turns to give our grandparents their Raya wishes. And it was always a quiet moment, even for us kids, full of emotion as we watched our parents kiss their parents hands, then their feet and ask for their forgiveness and blessings.
Then there would be a lunch of beryani gam, ayam masak merah and rendang daging, a whole day of just hanging out at home as a family, eating rojak at the Tanjung whilst out on an evening stroll, followed by a dinner of mee SinSin or KFC by the barrels.
We no longer have Rayas like those. Nobody really has the time anymore, nobody could be arsed, and family politics have gotten in the way of our being a family. It's amazing how things have changed, or were things so simple then only because I was a child, unable to comprehend unpleasant nuances, or perhaps just able to shrug it off as unimportant.
I've said it once, and I'll say it again. Maybe children should be left to rule the world.
I remember how as a child, Raya was a holiday to look forward to. Well, we looked forward to every excuse to not go to school, but Rayas were something else, something extraordinarily special.
Raya meant that we would be going back to my grandparents' in Muar! It meant that I'd get to see my cousins for extended play sessions! It meant lots and lots of yummy grub, all day long. It meant pretty new clothes and the chance to wear them nice, shiny necklaces and bracelets we were so rarely allowed to touch. Most of all - and best of all - was DUIT RAYA!! *G*
Raya holidays were always the same. The morning before Raya, Mum would pack us four kids into her Volvo station wagon. She'd lay the seats flat and spread a mattress in the back. Then, she'd heap us all onto the mattress along with a jillion pillows, blankets and cushions and pack the bags right at the rear door so that in the event the door spontaneously pops open the bags would go first before her precious children. And as soon as she had the bags wedged against the rear door to her satisfaction, she'd order us to lie down, close our eyes, shut up and go to sleep, she didn't want to hear a peep from us, not a single peeeeeep the entire drive to Tok's house. The amazing thing is, we would actually DO it; shut up, close our eyes and almost burst from not uttering a single peep. We didn't dare. That woman terrified us. *smile*
But thanks to the sleep we got (albeit forced), we would jump out of the car the moment we arrived at my grandparents' house and be ready to join in whatever game that was in progress. Kejar-kejar, police-and-thief, galah panjang, ketingting, you name it. Thing is, as small children my siblings and I spoke barely a word of Malay whereas our cousins spoke almost nothing but. I have no idea how we managed to communicate, but I suppose we did - and communicated well at that - as small children are wont to do, regardless of languages spoken. I don't remember it ever being much of a problem.
There were about twenty of us grandchildren when I was that age. More came later, but when I was a kid, there were only two sets: the teenagers, and us. There were about ten of us younger kids and we stuck together.
My grandparents had a few fruit trees on their modest plot of land. I remember one Raya when we were all playing, and a male cousin my age came up with the brilliant idea of climbing up one of the trees. Nobody else thought it was a good idea, but he talked soft-hearted me into climbing it with him. His pleas were heart-wrenching. So he and I climbed up this lovely-looking tree .. and what surprises awaited us! A few branches up, we spied a beautiful bunch of ruby-red rambutans! Bare seconds later, we made a second, more interesting but by far less pleasant discovery: kerenggaaaaaaaaaa!! We fell out of that tree hard like a couple of nangka busuks, and were subsequently chewed out by our parents, laughed at by our cousins, and grounded to the kitchen for the next few hours. *laugh*
Then there was the time the maids found me and my sisters squatting inside the chicken coop because we wanted to look for chicken eggs...*laughs*
One thing lingers: the smell of Tabard that our parents religiously (not to mention very vigorously!) rubbed onto our skin before allowing us outside to play. And to this day whenever I smell smoke off sparklers and pop-pops, I close my eyes and see in my mind us as children, writing our names bright in the black night. I remember how much pleasure we derived from such a simple game, what endless fun we had from the two short minutes the simple sparklers afforded us, and how it seemed anything but simple.
At night, it was us kids' chore to set out the mattresses for sleep, under our parents' supervision. My grandparents have a decent-sized house, and the living room would be packed wall-to-wall with mattresses as bedtime rolled around. Raya was also the only time we were not forced to sleep early, although anyone who stayed up playing congkak when everyone else was trying to sleep would be told the hantu congkak goes around at night looking for children to play congkak with. *lol* They told us that every night, every year, and it never failed to get us to shut up, and curl up under the blankets, sometimes shaking with fear. :o)
Raya morning would start with us being wakened at 8am. There would be a rush for the bathrooms (there were only three!), which resulted in sometimes five of us bathing together at the same time. Then we would dress in our new Raya best and have breakfast as soon as my grandparents came back from sembahyang Raya and visiting the kubur. Invariably, breakfast would be the ketupat, lodeh and sambal kacang sotong my aunt had cooked in the wee hours of the morning. Anything else and it would not have been a Raya breakfast. :o)
This would be followed by a whole morning of photography, followed by the distribution of .. DUIT RAYA!!!! Heheeeee!
My grandparents had ten children: five boys and five girls .. which summed up to helluva LOT of duit raya! Eeeheehee. Right after all photographs had been taken, there would be a yell of "Pak Ndak bagi duit raya woi!!" and a rush to queue in front of Pak Ndak: youngest first, the oldest right at the back. Salam, "Selamat Hari Raya Pak Ndak", take angpow, kiss cheek, biiiiig hug .. and two steps later gleefully open the packet. And right after the last person in line had received their packet would come the cry "Mak Bang woi! Mak Baaaaaaaaang!!" and another rush to be first in line. We always knew the order in which we had to line up, but the mock-mad rush was always, always part of the fun.
The only time spontaneous order would occur was when it came to collecting duit raya from my grandparents. They would sit side by side and we would shuffle past them decorously, all rowdiness put aside, but not smiles nor spirit. They always got the biggest kisses and biggest hugs even if they didn't give the biggest angpows because they were our Tok Ayea and Tok Mat. And after the last of the cousins had received their angpows, it was our parents' turns to give our grandparents their Raya wishes. And it was always a quiet moment, even for us kids, full of emotion as we watched our parents kiss their parents hands, then their feet and ask for their forgiveness and blessings.
Then there would be a lunch of beryani gam, ayam masak merah and rendang daging, a whole day of just hanging out at home as a family, eating rojak at the Tanjung whilst out on an evening stroll, followed by a dinner of mee SinSin or KFC by the barrels.
We no longer have Rayas like those. Nobody really has the time anymore, nobody could be arsed, and family politics have gotten in the way of our being a family. It's amazing how things have changed, or were things so simple then only because I was a child, unable to comprehend unpleasant nuances, or perhaps just able to shrug it off as unimportant.
I've said it once, and I'll say it again. Maybe children should be left to rule the world.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
An Educational Week
This last week has certainly been .. exhausting. Eventful. Eye-opening. Extremely educational, not to mention exciting.
.. Okay, enough with the alliterations already, although I must admit I was doing in on purpose towards the end. Hee hee ....
Seriously though, in the last eight days, I've learned that the ones you love are the ones you take for granted and that the ones you love the deepest are the ones you hurt the worst.
That you don't realise the worth of something until you lose it, that you don't know how infinitely precious something is until it's gone. And if there is need for regret, then it is often too late.
I've learned that allowing yourself to be vulnerable sometimes doesn't make you weak but instead makes you all the stronger for it and strengthens your relationships.
That relationships don't survive without forgiveness, and when you are on the receiving end, few experiences are more humbling.
And I've finally learned that to be able to love and be loved with no 'if only's and 'but's is a liberating experience indeed.
.. Okay, enough with the alliterations already, although I must admit I was doing in on purpose towards the end. Hee hee ....
Seriously though, in the last eight days, I've learned that the ones you love are the ones you take for granted and that the ones you love the deepest are the ones you hurt the worst.
That you don't realise the worth of something until you lose it, that you don't know how infinitely precious something is until it's gone. And if there is need for regret, then it is often too late.
I've learned that allowing yourself to be vulnerable sometimes doesn't make you weak but instead makes you all the stronger for it and strengthens your relationships.
That relationships don't survive without forgiveness, and when you are on the receiving end, few experiences are more humbling.
And I've finally learned that to be able to love and be loved with no 'if only's and 'but's is a liberating experience indeed.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Happy Birthday Fong!
It was our lovely Fongite's birthday .. yesterday.
' . ' * . ' " *
Happy Belated Birthday, my angel!
* . ' * ' . " . '
May all your wished come true. *HUUUUGZ*
' . ' * . ' " *
Happy Belated Birthday, my angel!
* . ' * ' . " . '
May all your wished come true. *HUUUUGZ*
Monday, January 03, 2005
A Sunday In KL
I thought to stay in today but found sitting around doing nothing unbearable, so I got in my car and drove around, windows down.
How beautiful and quiet my KL is at 8am on Sunday. It is almost a different city - the lack of traffic, the cool mist still clinging to the air, blanketing KL; a city subdued, a city only just waking. The breeze fresh, cool on my face, I drove down streets so frequently travelled, past buildings filled with memories, past landmarks changed, past sites of buildings which no longer exist. How I love this city, so attached am I to it that I don't believe I shall ever leave. No matter how far I travel, this is the place I will return to.
I went to Lake Gardens where I sat and read my book in the cool morning with the sun shining down on me, caressing my skin.
I went to the National Art Gallery, where I wandered and lost myself in the quiet of its halls, for a few hours severed from the tiresome world outside.
I watched "Phantom of the Opera".
I went to eat assam laksa at one of my favourite shops.
I went ice skating. I love the sense of freedom, the almost-weightlessness of frictionless gliding across the indifferent ice.
I went to the small park I used to frequent as a student, read a bit more and chucked McDonald's fries at the squirrel that was there, in all probability the very same one who used to tease me and keep me company when I did the exact same things as a student. It once swindled me out of almost half a box of fries. The critter cutely scampered back and forth, grabbing the fries I chucked its way and stuffing it in its cheeks before sitting on its haunches and giving me a curious look until before I knew it, I sat with a much diminished box of chips. I often brought a packet of Ngan Yin for it if I knew I was going to the park. It once showed me where it lived.
I spent two hours sitting on the floors of Kinokuniya, browsing through book after beautiful book at random.
Then I went to Chocz and people-watched while I sipped on an Aztec.
And when I finally came home, I baked a lovely cheesecake for my neighbour's birthday tomorrow and my grandmother's pineapple tarts enough to feed a horde.
Then I sat under the stars in the garden, lit a few citronella candles and played my guitar.
It was nice, doing the things I love most, the things that make me forget my troubles for the moment, the things that bring me a measure of peace, even if only for a short while.
I spent the day in my own company. Like I said, it was a nice day, I enjoyed it, but I wish I had someone to share today with. Nobody I know would have enjoyed the day so with me, and I wish there was.
How beautiful and quiet my KL is at 8am on Sunday. It is almost a different city - the lack of traffic, the cool mist still clinging to the air, blanketing KL; a city subdued, a city only just waking. The breeze fresh, cool on my face, I drove down streets so frequently travelled, past buildings filled with memories, past landmarks changed, past sites of buildings which no longer exist. How I love this city, so attached am I to it that I don't believe I shall ever leave. No matter how far I travel, this is the place I will return to.
I went to Lake Gardens where I sat and read my book in the cool morning with the sun shining down on me, caressing my skin.
I went to the National Art Gallery, where I wandered and lost myself in the quiet of its halls, for a few hours severed from the tiresome world outside.
I watched "Phantom of the Opera".
I went to eat assam laksa at one of my favourite shops.
I went ice skating. I love the sense of freedom, the almost-weightlessness of frictionless gliding across the indifferent ice.
I went to the small park I used to frequent as a student, read a bit more and chucked McDonald's fries at the squirrel that was there, in all probability the very same one who used to tease me and keep me company when I did the exact same things as a student. It once swindled me out of almost half a box of fries. The critter cutely scampered back and forth, grabbing the fries I chucked its way and stuffing it in its cheeks before sitting on its haunches and giving me a curious look until before I knew it, I sat with a much diminished box of chips. I often brought a packet of Ngan Yin for it if I knew I was going to the park. It once showed me where it lived.
I spent two hours sitting on the floors of Kinokuniya, browsing through book after beautiful book at random.
Then I went to Chocz and people-watched while I sipped on an Aztec.
And when I finally came home, I baked a lovely cheesecake for my neighbour's birthday tomorrow and my grandmother's pineapple tarts enough to feed a horde.
Then I sat under the stars in the garden, lit a few citronella candles and played my guitar.
It was nice, doing the things I love most, the things that make me forget my troubles for the moment, the things that bring me a measure of peace, even if only for a short while.
I spent the day in my own company. Like I said, it was a nice day, I enjoyed it, but I wish I had someone to share today with. Nobody I know would have enjoyed the day so with me, and I wish there was.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Me, Stripped Bare
I'm currently reading "The Bride Stripped Bare" by Nikki Gemmell, formerly known as Anonymous.
I'm only somewhere near halfway through, but if I have one thing to say about this book, it is that it is depressing. Poignantly so. Well, so far. Yet, it was a best-seller. Chic lit. It is undeniably chic lit, but heavy stuff it is. IMHO.
Reading it, I felt it strike a chord. It was about a woman who is dissatisfied with her marriage, or rather the state her life is in. More accurately, I think, she is unable to find satisfaction in something, in anything at all about her life in the aftermath of her disillusionment of marriage. Eventually, she takes a lover, which satisfies her for a while, but only really offers a brief respite. After the novelty has worn off, she begins to tire of him. I've just started reading that part, and the story continues in its poignant sadness.
The protagonist is an unending paradox. She is naive, but deeply cynical. A woman of innocence, but possesses great sexuality. She is a woman who has given up hope, yet keeps her eye riveted on the horizon, waiting for a knight in shining armour, the cresting of the faintest glimmer of happiness, something, anything to change her life for the better. She is a woman who no longer believes, yet clings stubbornly to faith. I don't think we ever know her name.
Nikki Gemmell initially did not publish this under her own name, but anonymously as, well, Anonymous. Apparently, she did not want it to be known as her work as she feared it would hurt her own relationship with her husband, family and friends as something so raw and plainitive could only hit too close to home. And apparently, it did. The people closest to her were hit hard by it, apparently, when it was revealed she wrote the book. Yet, she felt it needed to be written.
The book is raw. It is plainitive. There is a certain desperation to the way it is written, and it is disturbingly haunting, because for me, it did hit close to home.
I sometimes wish I could write here anonymously. Not for the first time. Then I could write what I really wanted to, without fear of hurting the people I know, people I care about, because sometimes what I have to say, what I need to let out I know WILL hurt some people. I have tried to write anonymously, but was found out. Apparently, my writing style is too recognizable. :oP It is frustrating having to censor myself for the sake of diplomacy, yet it is necessary. I have no desire to hurt my nearest and dearest, yet it is sometimes at war with my need for self-expression. But today, the need for self-expression wins.
I think that sometimes I could easily be her. The Bride. Having to hide what I really am, what I'm really feeling behind a mask of who I'm supposed to be, behind an act of who I ought to be, because I don't want to hurt the people I love, the people who love me.
You know how some people say that if you keep thinking you're happy and act like you're happy, you'll eventually achieve true happiness? What a load of bollocks. Believe me, I've tried it, and all it did was make me almost hysterical with the whole pretence of it. Pretending is well and good, but it is only pretend.
I'm only just realising some things. I feel like I give too much of myself without taking enough back in return. Generosity works both ways. It is not better to give than to receive, another load of pure bollocks. Rather, it is finding the balance between giving and receiving - and right now, I do not take back enough.
Having said that though, I don't blame anyone for it. It is part of my character to not ask for things. I hate asking for things and absolutely refuse to accept things not freely given, of the person's own accord, hence the refusal to ask. And when people don't, I get disappointed. I know, I can't realistically expect people to be psychic, but.. *shrug* I hate imposing myself on people.
So I tried asking, it's about time I learn to anyway, but that doesn't seem to be working too well either. Is there a Plan C? Or maybe I should persevere with Plan B still?
Oh God. Blue is on the telly, singing horribly horribly off-key. Some Concert in Hyde Park shite. Someone shoot me through the head now.
I feel suppressed, people demanding I'm not allowed to do things, forbidding me things I like and enjoy, denying me my desires. People telling me I can't do certain other things, that I am incapable of accomplishing some dreams. I know I shouldn't let it discourage me, but when there's nobody there to root for you in your camp, it's hard to keep your chin up and you don't really know how to cope. And to hope your loved ones will be there for you, I've long since learned that not even loved ones can be depended upon to be there for you when you really need them to be. And that makes the loneliness ever more lonely.
The Bride. The desolation, the feeling of being invisible and insignificant in every sense, the feeling of utter hopelessness and being infinitely weary. So weary. I feel so tired.
I'm rambling. It's late, that may have something to do with it. But I've always been less inhibited when I write, late at night, all alone. I no longer feel like I have to jaga hati anyone, be someone else for everybody else's sake. No, that's not entirely right. I'm not someone else for other people, I'm just the chirpier me, burying all the unhappiness for sake of better social interaction. Pteh. But when the quiet velvet of night falls and I am entirely alone with my thoughts, the need for pretence slips away. And the need to write compels.
Why I want people to read this, I know not. But write I have. I'm going to watch TV now. Potatoes and Dragon is on. I love that cartoon. Have a good night, everyone. Better than mine, at least. Be well.
I'm only somewhere near halfway through, but if I have one thing to say about this book, it is that it is depressing. Poignantly so. Well, so far. Yet, it was a best-seller. Chic lit. It is undeniably chic lit, but heavy stuff it is. IMHO.
Reading it, I felt it strike a chord. It was about a woman who is dissatisfied with her marriage, or rather the state her life is in. More accurately, I think, she is unable to find satisfaction in something, in anything at all about her life in the aftermath of her disillusionment of marriage. Eventually, she takes a lover, which satisfies her for a while, but only really offers a brief respite. After the novelty has worn off, she begins to tire of him. I've just started reading that part, and the story continues in its poignant sadness.
The protagonist is an unending paradox. She is naive, but deeply cynical. A woman of innocence, but possesses great sexuality. She is a woman who has given up hope, yet keeps her eye riveted on the horizon, waiting for a knight in shining armour, the cresting of the faintest glimmer of happiness, something, anything to change her life for the better. She is a woman who no longer believes, yet clings stubbornly to faith. I don't think we ever know her name.
Nikki Gemmell initially did not publish this under her own name, but anonymously as, well, Anonymous. Apparently, she did not want it to be known as her work as she feared it would hurt her own relationship with her husband, family and friends as something so raw and plainitive could only hit too close to home. And apparently, it did. The people closest to her were hit hard by it, apparently, when it was revealed she wrote the book. Yet, she felt it needed to be written.
The book is raw. It is plainitive. There is a certain desperation to the way it is written, and it is disturbingly haunting, because for me, it did hit close to home.
I sometimes wish I could write here anonymously. Not for the first time. Then I could write what I really wanted to, without fear of hurting the people I know, people I care about, because sometimes what I have to say, what I need to let out I know WILL hurt some people. I have tried to write anonymously, but was found out. Apparently, my writing style is too recognizable. :oP It is frustrating having to censor myself for the sake of diplomacy, yet it is necessary. I have no desire to hurt my nearest and dearest, yet it is sometimes at war with my need for self-expression. But today, the need for self-expression wins.
I think that sometimes I could easily be her. The Bride. Having to hide what I really am, what I'm really feeling behind a mask of who I'm supposed to be, behind an act of who I ought to be, because I don't want to hurt the people I love, the people who love me.
You know how some people say that if you keep thinking you're happy and act like you're happy, you'll eventually achieve true happiness? What a load of bollocks. Believe me, I've tried it, and all it did was make me almost hysterical with the whole pretence of it. Pretending is well and good, but it is only pretend.
I'm only just realising some things. I feel like I give too much of myself without taking enough back in return. Generosity works both ways. It is not better to give than to receive, another load of pure bollocks. Rather, it is finding the balance between giving and receiving - and right now, I do not take back enough.
Having said that though, I don't blame anyone for it. It is part of my character to not ask for things. I hate asking for things and absolutely refuse to accept things not freely given, of the person's own accord, hence the refusal to ask. And when people don't, I get disappointed. I know, I can't realistically expect people to be psychic, but.. *shrug* I hate imposing myself on people.
So I tried asking, it's about time I learn to anyway, but that doesn't seem to be working too well either. Is there a Plan C? Or maybe I should persevere with Plan B still?
Oh God. Blue is on the telly, singing horribly horribly off-key. Some Concert in Hyde Park shite. Someone shoot me through the head now.
I feel suppressed, people demanding I'm not allowed to do things, forbidding me things I like and enjoy, denying me my desires. People telling me I can't do certain other things, that I am incapable of accomplishing some dreams. I know I shouldn't let it discourage me, but when there's nobody there to root for you in your camp, it's hard to keep your chin up and you don't really know how to cope. And to hope your loved ones will be there for you, I've long since learned that not even loved ones can be depended upon to be there for you when you really need them to be. And that makes the loneliness ever more lonely.
The Bride. The desolation, the feeling of being invisible and insignificant in every sense, the feeling of utter hopelessness and being infinitely weary. So weary. I feel so tired.
I'm rambling. It's late, that may have something to do with it. But I've always been less inhibited when I write, late at night, all alone. I no longer feel like I have to jaga hati anyone, be someone else for everybody else's sake. No, that's not entirely right. I'm not someone else for other people, I'm just the chirpier me, burying all the unhappiness for sake of better social interaction. Pteh. But when the quiet velvet of night falls and I am entirely alone with my thoughts, the need for pretence slips away. And the need to write compels.
Why I want people to read this, I know not. But write I have. I'm going to watch TV now. Potatoes and Dragon is on. I love that cartoon. Have a good night, everyone. Better than mine, at least. Be well.
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