Yesterday, after a night spent battling a battalion of 'Z's' in order to finish an important PowerPoint proposal, I left my office at 4.45pm, reached home around 5pm, and went straight to bed. I reckoned I'd nap for a while and wake up for dinner or in the middle of the morning with a screwed biorhythm and some hunger cravings—nothing really major so I didn't bother removing my contacts. I vaguely remember two dreams: one was set in someplace akin to my old primary school but I was in my secondary school years; I remember how I was with some mafia-like fifth-former who ordered around a bunch of third-formers in a very militant way and how twelve of us managed to squeeze into a car that was headed for a party in a rubber estate. The second dream featured an eight-winged thorned insect, which was more interesting than scary, but obviously my dad in the dream didn't think so, as he kept spraying it with insecticide for what seemed like an eternity, and it was, because by the time he was done despite me shouting that's enough!!!, the acid had bored holes into my favourite sleeping bag-comforter, which I love because it is so silken and which now lay in tatters on the floor, a sorry memory of what it once meant to me (the insect was now strangely missing). I was pissed and mad and sad at the same time, and was trying to think of how I could get someone to buy the same sleeping bag for me from Australia and mail it to me. I slept again after that, and might have woken up for a microsecond. (My subconscious gut tells me this is what happened.) The next thing I knew, my dad was knocking on my door asking me to get up. Whoa, like get up? I felt really disoriented. I opened my eyes, and tried to focus. Vision was beginning to clear: books looked like books and CDs looked like CDs. Crap, my contacts are still on?! A depressing realisation started sinking in. It was bright. I looked at the clock. It was nine. In the morning. I felt really, really bad.
It was time to go to work again. For the record, I slept sixteen hours straight.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Word of the Day: Unwind
un-wind
- verb (used without object)
1. to relax by farting, i.e. "Ahhhh, this teh halia is really helping me unwind." (SFX: Pooot...)
(Thanks, Chris, for the excellent idea.)
- verb (used without object)
1. to relax by farting, i.e. "Ahhhh, this teh halia is really helping me unwind." (SFX: Pooot...)
(Thanks, Chris, for the excellent idea.)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
C'mon Hijau, Fight, Fight, Fight!
I am so screwed. It's L.A.T.E. and I'm not even halfway done through this PowerPoint proposal for a TV capsule due tomorrow morning. I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight.
To keep awake, I have consumed in the past hour:
My eyes are slowly closing. ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Better more H's than Z's.
To keep awake, I have consumed in the past hour:
- Dozens of rotten pistachios left over from Chinese New Year (they've gone green and soft)
- Preserved mango from the Philippines (finished the pack)
- Passionfruit Boh tea
- Oxygen and water
My eyes are slowly closing. ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Better more H's than Z's.
Monday, April 09, 2007
A Commemoration of an Insignificant Incident
At precisely 7.31pm, Monday 9th April 2007, the pimple in my left audio cavity erupted, first leaving a trail of blood and puss, then a slight wooziness on its former tenant. Minutes later, the heat of such an explosion was sensed, like warm blood trickling into my middle ear, though I know I'm probably just being paranoid. Wooozyyyy...
Lennie Feels Deaf (Not Dumb) in Her Left Ear
I need reprieve.
I need a sterilised needle and a steady hand.
I need a dab of alcohol; a cooling tide.
I need this monster
punctured
ruptured
placated.
(The sufferer lets out a high-pitched scream only heard by musical dogs and Superman.)
Pesky pimple in my ear,
When will you freakin' disappear?!
OI! TALKING TO YOU LAH PIMPLE!
I need a sterilised needle and a steady hand.
I need a dab of alcohol; a cooling tide.
I need this monster
punctured
ruptured
placated.
(The sufferer lets out a high-pitched scream only heard by musical dogs and Superman.)
Pesky pimple in my ear,
When will you freakin' disappear?!
OI! TALKING TO YOU LAH PIMPLE!
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Hmm-bop
I am a phoney. I am a faker. I am a professional poser.
Twice, yesterday, I caught myself trying to impress random strangers by:
a) Speaking in good English
b) Bopping my head to jazz music
(Three times, if you count that pseudo-artsy look I was trying to achieve with my face.)
GOSH! WHAT A LOSER!
Ever since I wasold smart enough to realise that certain patterns of behaviour I displayed (mainly showing off on the guitar or banging the drums in church) were probably due to insecurity issues unresolved during my childhood, I have luckily managed to move past the chagrin of being such a loser and plonked myself in the frontlines of the punch line: me.
Which is why, in these days of post-enlightenment, I am sometimes wary of how I behave at gigs. (And in another setting, how I play in church. I have a specific prayer to address this—just need to remember to say it.) You see, although I am a phoney, a faker and a poser, I am an honest one. Hence, if I suddenly realise I am bopping my head to music in a gig, I try to check my motivations. Was it automatic? Did it happen subconsciously as I got into the groove? Or was I just trying to show I can keep time? It sounds pathetic, but that’s because it really is.
I can’t say that I’ve ceased this bad habit of fishing for compliments, because obviously, I haven’t. Somewhere deep inside still lurks that inferior beast squealing like a spring pig for attention. Two options remain: to reach a celestial level of snobbery so that earthly comments become so inconsequential to my identity I could flick them light years away with a gigantic middle finger, or to remember to root my identity in a Higher Being, which I am so slack in doing.
In the meantime, if you ever catch me smiling to myself while bopping to a beat then suddenly stopping, know that I was merely rejoicing in the idiot that I am.
P/S: The North Rhine Westphalia Youth Jazz Orchestra was good. Better than expected. Their discordant rendition of ‘Rasa Sayang’ with haunting vocals made my night. And unlike the Earth, Wind & Fire concert or the gig at Little Havana, this was FREE. :D
Twice, yesterday, I caught myself trying to impress random strangers by:
a) Speaking in good English
b) Bopping my head to jazz music
(Three times, if you count that pseudo-artsy look I was trying to achieve with my face.)
GOSH! WHAT A LOSER!
Ever since I was
Which is why, in these days of post-enlightenment, I am sometimes wary of how I behave at gigs. (And in another setting, how I play in church. I have a specific prayer to address this—just need to remember to say it.) You see, although I am a phoney, a faker and a poser, I am an honest one. Hence, if I suddenly realise I am bopping my head to music in a gig, I try to check my motivations. Was it automatic? Did it happen subconsciously as I got into the groove? Or was I just trying to show I can keep time? It sounds pathetic, but that’s because it really is.
I can’t say that I’ve ceased this bad habit of fishing for compliments, because obviously, I haven’t. Somewhere deep inside still lurks that inferior beast squealing like a spring pig for attention. Two options remain: to reach a celestial level of snobbery so that earthly comments become so inconsequential to my identity I could flick them light years away with a gigantic middle finger, or to remember to root my identity in a Higher Being, which I am so slack in doing.
In the meantime, if you ever catch me smiling to myself while bopping to a beat then suddenly stopping, know that I was merely rejoicing in the idiot that I am.
P/S: The North Rhine Westphalia Youth Jazz Orchestra was good. Better than expected. Their discordant rendition of ‘Rasa Sayang’ with haunting vocals made my night. And unlike the Earth, Wind & Fire concert or the gig at Little Havana, this was FREE. :D
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Happy Birthday, Pa
It was my dad's birthday yesterday. His 64th, to be exact. I didn't buy him anything. Neither did we go out to celebrate.
My father doesn't believe in celebrating birthdays. I suspect birthdays weren't grand affairs in his family of eight kids when he was young. Why else the wrinkled, disapproving mug when refusing my invitation to organise a rare family dinner? I don't think it's mere modesty.
All he said were, "I just don't want" and "You organise for Mummy's birthday lah." That's it.
In his room are birthday and Christmas presents from my sis/bro-in-law and I from years ago; some shirts still in their plastic wraps. He is not into fashion. While the culture of gifts has always been en vogue, he doesn't buy into it; hardly any of it.
The birthday presents I remember receiving from him as a kid were watercolours, oil pastels and poster colours—practical things to help you advance in school (or at least in art class). No big presents for milestone years. No big fat angpaus for scoring A's. No bribery. (He did, however, get me my third guitar which I, uh, unfortunately broke.) :(
Sometime early this year, a few incidents helped me to be mindful of my parents'—and in particular my father's—mortality. As my parents age, I am saddled with the responsibility of a grown-up daughter. For the most part, I don't do much. I don't pay rent. Or help with the bills. Instead, a small amount of cash out of my monthly salary has so far acted as 'compensation' for taking care of me all these years. Thinking about the 'what if's' sobered me a little.
So what is one refused invitation for a family dinner together? My father does not want us to fuss over him. He doesn't even relate very well to us. Yet despite his failings as a father—and all fathers are failed humans, as are mothers, children and grandparents—he has provided for the family the best he could. Not in the same way other fathers would. But in his own way, faithfully, yes.
My father doesn't believe in celebrating birthdays. I suspect birthdays weren't grand affairs in his family of eight kids when he was young. Why else the wrinkled, disapproving mug when refusing my invitation to organise a rare family dinner? I don't think it's mere modesty.
All he said were, "I just don't want" and "You organise for Mummy's birthday lah." That's it.
In his room are birthday and Christmas presents from my sis/bro-in-law and I from years ago; some shirts still in their plastic wraps. He is not into fashion. While the culture of gifts has always been en vogue, he doesn't buy into it; hardly any of it.
The birthday presents I remember receiving from him as a kid were watercolours, oil pastels and poster colours—practical things to help you advance in school (or at least in art class). No big presents for milestone years. No big fat angpaus for scoring A's. No bribery. (He did, however, get me my third guitar which I, uh, unfortunately broke.) :(
Sometime early this year, a few incidents helped me to be mindful of my parents'—and in particular my father's—mortality. As my parents age, I am saddled with the responsibility of a grown-up daughter. For the most part, I don't do much. I don't pay rent. Or help with the bills. Instead, a small amount of cash out of my monthly salary has so far acted as 'compensation' for taking care of me all these years. Thinking about the 'what if's' sobered me a little.
So what is one refused invitation for a family dinner together? My father does not want us to fuss over him. He doesn't even relate very well to us. Yet despite his failings as a father—and all fathers are failed humans, as are mothers, children and grandparents—he has provided for the family the best he could. Not in the same way other fathers would. But in his own way, faithfully, yes.
This is a Happy Bass Riff
If a bass riff had the power to make humans happy and contented, it'd probably sound like the one on The Magic Numbers' 'This is a Song'. Technically, it's not very difficult at all, but it sure can make me smile. :)
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
A Designer's Zoo
At the office dinner, someone (a guy) was gushing on about the movie 300 yet again.
"You simply must watch it. It's sooooo good. You know the battle of..." (Here he rattles off the film's historic background and how gobsmackingly brilliant this bunch of 300 Spartans were in defeating an army of a few hundred thousand.)
"Oooh, must watch then," says a female colleague. "3000, right?"
"300! Not 3000!" I exclaim.
A pause, then...
"Ohmygawd! I thought that movie was called Zoo!" she says, as those around the table start laughing and teasing her.
I stare in shock and awe. Somewhere up there, the stars have gamingly aligned for the first of April.
Zoo, anyone?
"You simply must watch it. It's sooooo good. You know the battle of..." (Here he rattles off the film's historic background and how gobsmackingly brilliant this bunch of 300 Spartans were in defeating an army of a few hundred thousand.)
"Oooh, must watch then," says a female colleague. "3000, right?"
"300! Not 3000!" I exclaim.
A pause, then...
"Ohmygawd! I thought that movie was called Zoo!" she says, as those around the table start laughing and teasing her.
I stare in shock and awe. Somewhere up there, the stars have gamingly aligned for the first of April.
Zoo, anyone?Sunday, April 01, 2007
Broken Things Break Me
A loud thump; wood on cement. D string meets D-Day. The murderer, a Higher Power whose mention here would prove bad workplace etiquette.
Darkness where light should be. My camera is blind. So am I.
Car woes. Second-hand car woes. I am broke.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
R-evolution, Revelation
Someone I know thinks we came from monkeys. I guess that's what he means when he says I am ignoring the 'scientific explanation' of one of life's profoundest mysteries: Where do we come from? My revelation today is not that I have evolved successfully from having a tail and scratching my buttock half the time (while happily sniffing my clan members' buttocks the other half), but that slowly, I may be experiencing a r-evolution at this stage of life.
So what is this r-evolution? Because I am the author of this post and whatever I say goes, simply, it stands for reverse evolution. But unlike a logical step-by-step rewinding of our supposed-genetic roots which would lead us to assume we should end up being monkeys again, it is becoming increasingly obvious that I, for one, am turning into a bitch, a pig, an owl and yes, a monkey.
A bitch. While I have never considered myself to be bitchy, today proved to be one of the most irritable (and rather frustrating) days of my life. Hormones may have had a part to play, certain irritants another, but overall, I am becoming a bitch. Gah. I shall not elaborate for fear of irrefutably proving my point. However, suffice to say that if you like your impression of me unsoiled and untainted, you had better stay away these few days.
A pig. This transformation is one of the most universal. Of course, for it to flourish, you'd need several conditions like a sufficient income, a high penetration of round-the-clock, cheap food stalls and the right company to pig out with you, i.e. those who aren't Fitness First evangelists. Add to that the silly fact that hanging out with friends almost always occurs over food and drinks. If I found another social environment for people to hang out sans the calories (or sweat, as in the case of playing futsal to bond), I might actually be remotely rich.
An owl. I do not sleep. Thus, I am going cuckoo (pronounced koo-koo). Koo! Koo!
A monkey. As long as you're not the master, you're a monkey.
I rest my case.
So what is this r-evolution? Because I am the author of this post and whatever I say goes, simply, it stands for reverse evolution. But unlike a logical step-by-step rewinding of our supposed-genetic roots which would lead us to assume we should end up being monkeys again, it is becoming increasingly obvious that I, for one, am turning into a bitch, a pig, an owl and yes, a monkey.
A bitch. While I have never considered myself to be bitchy, today proved to be one of the most irritable (and rather frustrating) days of my life. Hormones may have had a part to play, certain irritants another, but overall, I am becoming a bitch. Gah. I shall not elaborate for fear of irrefutably proving my point. However, suffice to say that if you like your impression of me unsoiled and untainted, you had better stay away these few days.
A pig. This transformation is one of the most universal. Of course, for it to flourish, you'd need several conditions like a sufficient income, a high penetration of round-the-clock, cheap food stalls and the right company to pig out with you, i.e. those who aren't Fitness First evangelists. Add to that the silly fact that hanging out with friends almost always occurs over food and drinks. If I found another social environment for people to hang out sans the calories (or sweat, as in the case of playing futsal to bond), I might actually be remotely rich.
An owl. I do not sleep. Thus, I am going cuckoo (pronounced koo-koo). Koo! Koo!
A monkey. As long as you're not the master, you're a monkey.
I rest my case.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Joanna, 'Gift of God'
Here are the first pics I'm posting of my niece Joanna. She's almost a year old in these pics (taken in January), but she's now really one year, one month and one week. Rock on, baby. (Btw, that's my sister next to her.)
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Blistering Post This Is!
Those whom I've been in more regular contact with in RL (real life) might know that I've been atrociously busy at work. Yes, work is stealing my precious time, energy and... youth. My eyebags are back with a vengence and a huge gawking zit is freeloading on the prime spot of my face: at the confluence of my eyes, eyebrows and nose. It is bloody annoying as I'm trying to make an impression these days. Certainly, this is not it.
Yesterday was one of the busiest days of my life, which culminated from an overall mad week. My company, being one that does everything from ads to PR to events to TV productions, has been gearing up for a CNY TV production called 'Dreams Come True'. The recording was at Pyramid yesterday, so, after setting up till late the night before and starting the day slightly after noon, I... met the sampling girls and tried to arrange for a table for them, failed, carried down two buntings by myself and got 'lost', resulting in unnecessary embarrassment as I was literally a walking billboard, carried down a table myself since the guards refused to help, met printer for a bit just to check the colour in the test print for an unrelated advertising job, rushed backstage for a new tablecloth since the original one was wayyyy dirty, went back up and down again but with some water for the sampling girls since I messed up the arrangement earlier, rushed to meet wern--who was there shopping--for lunch, rushed to toilet (the first of half a dozen times... just kept drinking water and releasing it again in the loo), had half a dodgy shepherd's pie, but as wern says, the company was better than the pie, met up with client immediately after to discuss print ad, got digital beta tapes from him; halfway, got call from lorry driver who was bringing the foodstuff for the goodie bags so had to rush to meet him (but luckily, the client came along and we figured out where he was [loading bay] and managed to get the stuff to the backstage), after client left, I arranged for boss to prepare invoice for client for bunting stands, then, walked over to hon ming's dental surgery to borrow his digital camera to take photos of the event / live shoot, walked back, feet starting to ache from all the running about, blister was forming... met another client who was filling up the goodie bags, by this time, other colleagues had started arriving, went away to buy a pair of slippers as the back of my foot was really a goner, stumbled in and out of three shops before deciding on one, changed into slippers, walked back to stage, started arranging chairs and later, labelling them, started arranging buntings, had really yucky dinner from TAJ CURRY HOUSE. SUCKS, started taking pics, guests arrived, checked that client's tvcs were playing, then client arrived again, took photos. took photos. took photos. then we had a technical problem--one of the major hardware died, so we had to wait for them to deliver a replacement. took photos. walked walked walked walked walked walked walked--was so glad I bought the slippers--more pics. walk. pics. walk. pics. walk. pics. walk, took pics of the event's hosts for the flyer which I've to do after this, after the shoot was done, packed up, collected tapes from car to pass to colleague, cleaned up, took down buntings, packed stands, went home, downloaded pics to comp. slept.
Okay. I don't expect you to read all that by the way. Just felt like looking productive. Anyway, it sure explains the volcano on my forehead. And the hot springs (pictured below) on my feet. Sigh.
Yesterday was one of the busiest days of my life, which culminated from an overall mad week. My company, being one that does everything from ads to PR to events to TV productions, has been gearing up for a CNY TV production called 'Dreams Come True'. The recording was at Pyramid yesterday, so, after setting up till late the night before and starting the day slightly after noon, I... met the sampling girls and tried to arrange for a table for them, failed, carried down two buntings by myself and got 'lost', resulting in unnecessary embarrassment as I was literally a walking billboard, carried down a table myself since the guards refused to help, met printer for a bit just to check the colour in the test print for an unrelated advertising job, rushed backstage for a new tablecloth since the original one was wayyyy dirty, went back up and down again but with some water for the sampling girls since I messed up the arrangement earlier, rushed to meet wern--who was there shopping--for lunch, rushed to toilet (the first of half a dozen times... just kept drinking water and releasing it again in the loo), had half a dodgy shepherd's pie, but as wern says, the company was better than the pie, met up with client immediately after to discuss print ad, got digital beta tapes from him; halfway, got call from lorry driver who was bringing the foodstuff for the goodie bags so had to rush to meet him (but luckily, the client came along and we figured out where he was [loading bay] and managed to get the stuff to the backstage), after client left, I arranged for boss to prepare invoice for client for bunting stands, then, walked over to hon ming's dental surgery to borrow his digital camera to take photos of the event / live shoot, walked back, feet starting to ache from all the running about, blister was forming... met another client who was filling up the goodie bags, by this time, other colleagues had started arriving, went away to buy a pair of slippers as the back of my foot was really a goner, stumbled in and out of three shops before deciding on one, changed into slippers, walked back to stage, started arranging chairs and later, labelling them, started arranging buntings, had really yucky dinner from TAJ CURRY HOUSE. SUCKS, started taking pics, guests arrived, checked that client's tvcs were playing, then client arrived again, took photos. took photos. took photos. then we had a technical problem--one of the major hardware died, so we had to wait for them to deliver a replacement. took photos. walked walked walked walked walked walked walked--was so glad I bought the slippers--more pics. walk. pics. walk. pics. walk. pics. walk, took pics of the event's hosts for the flyer which I've to do after this, after the shoot was done, packed up, collected tapes from car to pass to colleague, cleaned up, took down buntings, packed stands, went home, downloaded pics to comp. slept.
Okay. I don't expect you to read all that by the way. Just felt like looking productive. Anyway, it sure explains the volcano on my forehead. And the hot springs (pictured below) on my feet. Sigh.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall
My office toilet has no mirror. I noticed it the first day I used the loo. It felt awkward at first--going out without first checking on how you look, but I think I've grown somewhat used to it. But the most curious thing I've observed is this: when I look into the mirror less, I feel younger. Now isn't that interesting?
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
United & Mosquito Bites
I apologise for not writing. Not that anyone reads what I write here anyway. Oh well, hell.
So I've started a new job. It requires much multi-tasking, as it's a small company and you tend to dip your feet in this and that. Or maybe it's like swimming in a pool of Paddlepop colours. Yes, work's been taking up a lot of my time.
But I did manage to catch United's concert last Friday. It was GREAT!! That sorta upped my spiritual life a bit; the music was great, much better than PS. The buffed-up guitarist has the loveliest clear voice. The bassist was this cool understated dude with a freaking ugly shirt. His bass solo, leading up to Amazing Grace, was da bomb. All in all, it was a nice experience worshipping with the United team. I just wonder if they're gonna stop dressing so emo... the tight jeans and shirt ain't exactly sightly.
Then last weekend, I attended my youth's Core Group Planning Retreat. It's my last year as a Core Superviser, so I still got to attend for free. Muahaha. It was a good break even though I'd only started work recently. Despite the many mosquito bites that continue to plague me with a terrible itch, I've come away from Bukit Tinggi more refreshed and spiritually encouraged. Thanks to all Core Leaders for the fun time! (Not that any of you read my blog anyway.)
Okies... work calls. It leaves me tired and sleepy, but it's work. I'm looking forward to my first pay cheque since too long ago.
So I've started a new job. It requires much multi-tasking, as it's a small company and you tend to dip your feet in this and that. Or maybe it's like swimming in a pool of Paddlepop colours. Yes, work's been taking up a lot of my time.
But I did manage to catch United's concert last Friday. It was GREAT!! That sorta upped my spiritual life a bit; the music was great, much better than PS. The buffed-up guitarist has the loveliest clear voice. The bassist was this cool understated dude with a freaking ugly shirt. His bass solo, leading up to Amazing Grace, was da bomb. All in all, it was a nice experience worshipping with the United team. I just wonder if they're gonna stop dressing so emo... the tight jeans and shirt ain't exactly sightly.
Then last weekend, I attended my youth's Core Group Planning Retreat. It's my last year as a Core Superviser, so I still got to attend for free. Muahaha. It was a good break even though I'd only started work recently. Despite the many mosquito bites that continue to plague me with a terrible itch, I've come away from Bukit Tinggi more refreshed and spiritually encouraged. Thanks to all Core Leaders for the fun time! (Not that any of you read my blog anyway.)
Okies... work calls. It leaves me tired and sleepy, but it's work. I'm looking forward to my first pay cheque since too long ago.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Ashamed
Today, for the first time in my life, I felt deeply ashamed of my country. Next year, Malaysia's first astronaut will go into space, where he will 'do what no one in space has done before': play 'batu seremban', spin traditional Malay tops ('gasing'), paint batik motifs and make 'teh tarik'. The cost of sending him to space? RM95 million, compliments of taxpayers who have no control over how their money should and should not be used. The Higher Power argue that we're getting this trip for free, after buying some Russian space shuttle. Right. By now, our politicians should know enough about sweeping 'additional' costs under the carpet and charging an arm and a leg for it.
For a leadership that is elected, there should be accountability to her people. Sadly, there is none whatsoever. It is shocking how stupid (I mean this in the most literal way) many of Malaysia's leaders are, brandishing their racist remarks into the microphone over national TV with keris in hand in the recently concluded UMNO General Assembly. And—the reason for this post—how millions can be wasted on a fantastically irrelevant space stunt. Outsiders are even calling us 'Malaysia Bodoh'. Will this be the reason tourists flock by come Visit Malaysia Year 2007? To laugh firsthand at our looming towers of foolishness and waste?
Wake up, Malaysia's leaders. This is not 1969. In 2006, any Tom, Dick and Harry with US$20 million can book a holiday in space.
For a leadership that is elected, there should be accountability to her people. Sadly, there is none whatsoever. It is shocking how stupid (I mean this in the most literal way) many of Malaysia's leaders are, brandishing their racist remarks into the microphone over national TV with keris in hand in the recently concluded UMNO General Assembly. And—the reason for this post—how millions can be wasted on a fantastically irrelevant space stunt. Outsiders are even calling us 'Malaysia Bodoh'. Will this be the reason tourists flock by come Visit Malaysia Year 2007? To laugh firsthand at our looming towers of foolishness and waste?
Wake up, Malaysia's leaders. This is not 1969. In 2006, any Tom, Dick and Harry with US$20 million can book a holiday in space.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Neighbours
Just on the other side of the balcony, not five metres from where I am sitting, the Nepalese neighbours are making kissy sounds. They seem to enjoy drawing attention to themselves. There must be more than twenty of them--all males--living in one four-room double-story house. They work shifts at the nearby printing factory, moving around in intimidating packs. They all wear blue, round-collar shirts.
They also cut each other's hair. That's the only time I feel like laughing at them, because from a potentially 'armed-and-dangerous' male figure, they become obedient children, sitting down at the feet of their appointed hairdresser and waiting patiently till he finishes with the latest fashion. After which, they will proceed to inspect their locks in a mirror. And for some reason, they never fail to do all this outside, either on the balcony or downstairs, in full view of catty neighbours like me.
Now I just need to get a picture.
They also cut each other's hair. That's the only time I feel like laughing at them, because from a potentially 'armed-and-dangerous' male figure, they become obedient children, sitting down at the feet of their appointed hairdresser and waiting patiently till he finishes with the latest fashion. After which, they will proceed to inspect their locks in a mirror. And for some reason, they never fail to do all this outside, either on the balcony or downstairs, in full view of catty neighbours like me.
Now I just need to get a picture.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
