Taken.

Taken.

As dictated by Faranza Syns

Il a 4 jours pour retrouver sa fille

[He] has 4 days to retrieve his daughter

Awesome-est thing ever. I don't know why, but it was awe-some. Awesome, awesome, awesome.

The greatest (if not the goriest) pick-me-up movie ever. For me, that is. Strictly off-limits for delicate sensibilities.

I seriously wanted to screw the mother. In a bad way. She should have listened. Bleargh.

And wow, all that French and Albanian is making me dizzy.

Baby, they will take you.
You have 10 seconds. 10 very precious seconds.
I need you to concentrate.
Put the phone on the floor,
When they grab you, shout out anything you can see about them,
Hair colour, height, scars, tattoos, anything
Do you understand?

17th August.

17th August.

As dictated by Faranza Syns

Just to annoy some people, just to get this straight, and just to be an AS,

I am not going to prom.

Apparently Erin is going.

*gasp*

And Ian is thinking of going.

*swoon*

What has the world come to, you may ask.

Me: Erin, are you sure you're going?

Erin: ... [hesitate] .. Yeah. Aren't you?

Me: No, I'm not going.

Erin: Why?! [appalled]

Me: 1st, it's RM 100 for one night; 2nd, it's at night, and I don't know if my parents are going to allow me to go; and 3rd, I'll have to look for a dress (which will cost me more)

Erin: [about to say something]

Someone: Erin!

And she finally got distracted.

Silly me, I thought that would be the last of that discussion.

Erin: [turns attention back to me] Ok, wait, what was your last excuse?

Me: ...I'll have to look for a dress.

Erin: Okay, 1st, RM 100 - it's once in a lifetime. 2nd, you parents haven't actually said NO yet, so it's fine--

Me: [cuts off] Erin, they say misery loves company. That's the only reason you want me to go, isn't it?

Erin: ...

Silence is so damning.




A scene not so long ago...

Me: Erin, Erin, are you going to prom?

Erin: ... Yeah.

Me: ...

Erin: [looks at other friends in a "they made me do it" kind of way]

Me: YOU LALANG!

Erin: [laughs in the most Erin way.]

Not my fault you got dragged into it, dear.

________________________________

Pn J: So then, the pollen tube will burst and release the male gametes into the ovary--

Me: Gee, it's just like ejaculation, isn't it?

Thank god only Amanda heard me.



You know you're not stupid.

Atten-hut!

Atten-hut!

As dictated by Faranza Syns

Attention SMKSBU Students:

There will be no school - I repeat, NO SCHOOL - from Friday (31st July) until the Thursday of the next week (6th August). And just in case you people think I must've mis-posted this, yes, it's the year 2009.

This is for SMKSBU students only. And really, if you know me, you know I don't joke about school.

If you need confirmation, call Ong Cheng Ken, or even the bloody principal if you want to.

Or of course, you could just let me convince you. *wink*




Pray hard enough, they say,
Well, I did.

A Different Kind of Feeling.

A Different Kind of Feeling.

As dictated by Faranza Syns

Debate training was awkward. It was by far the most awkward training I've ever conducted.

Me: Does anyone have any questions?

Everyone: ... [deadpan look]

Me: Really, if you have any questions, ask them now. I don't want to repeat myself.

Everyone: ... [continuation of deadpan look.]

After explaining about the role of the speakers:

Me: Really, any questions?

Everyone: ....

Me: ...

Jansen: ... What's rebut?

Me: ...

Amanda: It's a counter-argument of sorts.

And here I thought he was a smartass.

But eventually, we divided them into two groups that were rather... lopsided. Because Amanda's team had more geniuses in them (think Jansen - Ian's brother, Janice of form 3, Kiran of form 2, and Kayla of form 1). I on the other hand, had Karisma, the only form 2, with 3 form 1 students.

Me: You do realise that you have more seniors in your team?

Amanda: [smug look] Not my problem.

As Kessler likes to say, "Life is like a wheel." (Apparently he doesn't believe in karma, but believes in wheels instead) And so, I sat with my team, and discussed the topic at hand. Arishah is aggravatingly adorable, Karisma is open and smart, and the other two girls contributed to the arguments we were building (shouting over each other, more like).

When we were nearly done...

Amanda: [resigned look] Can we combine teams now?

Me: Why?

Amanda: Smart people are no fun.

Me: Hnn?

Amanda: They're smart, but they're so... quiet.

Yes, I love my group very much. That, and I love wheels.

Jansen (Amanda's team) came up with a new argument. It seemed impenetrable at first. But when I managed to make it seem shaky... he doesn't seem that intimidating, really.

It started off quite awkwardly, but when there was only me, Amanda, Kiran, Karisma and Janice left, it was rather fun. Janice is adorable. Kiran seems a little shy, but she'll get over it. Karisma has the makings of a good speaker, and me... well, I'm just fly.

And full of myself apparently.

The five of us started off with discussing about the topic, and then it suddenly veered off to lesbianisme, me and my date-less prom, and basically all and sundry.

We laughed real hard, and shouted real loud, mind.

It's a different kind of feeling, now that we're leaving soon. Because I know I'll never look to my right ever again and say, "On my right, I have my second speaker, Sheng Rei, who will rebut the opposition, and present forth two of his main points." I'll never grin at Dharr and say "Further on my right, I have Dharrnesha, the third speaker who will rebut the opposition, and reaffirm the government's case."

I'll never grin at Dharr and make faces when we find loopholes in the opposition's arguments. I won't be able to prod Sheng about a rebuttal and hug his arm when I get nervous.

And really, what I'm trying to say is, I'll miss "us".

Suppose we'll still have that trophy to remind us of all this.

_______________________________

Karisma: Maybe you can go to prom with Faisal.

Me: NO!

Definitely not ever after that crack he made about me being round.



You leave me enamoured;
Suppose you've realised,
But I'm making a fool of myself.

The No-Post Post

The No-Post Post

As dictated by Faranza Syns

I used to put him on a pedestal.

Or somewhere close to it.

But the moment I found the guts to refute his words, I realise that he is human after all.

And I'm not so sure how I feel about that.




Because finding the guts to say no gives me relief.

La Petite Mort

La Petite Mort

As dictated by Faranza Syns

If you understand my post-title (without having to google it), then you know me well.

_______________________________

A few days ago, we had a Bio class. Since everyone else was busy with RIMUP, nearly half the class was missing (including those who weren't involved with the whole RIMUP programme.) Despite all that, Pn Juliana continued on with the class.

Oh and what horrors we faced.

Has anyone ever seen a placenta? Yes? No?



Well, now you have.

It is gory. I can't imagine such a thing would be delivered by me one day, right after giving birth to my baby.

Some smartass said: "You know when you fulfill your biological prerogative you're going to generate one anyways."

Not entirely comforting. Okay, it might just be all the blood and gore that I'm opposed to. But really, I've heard (by word of mouth) that people use placentas to get clean, smooth skin.

Pardon me, I know it has nutrients. Sure. But it's been bathed in blood, inside the female's womb, has been there for months, and was ejected through the vagina, of all orifices.

I would never inject the essence of something from my own stomach (or anyone else's for that matter) just to get clean, smooth skin.

And certainly not something ejected from ANY of the human OR animal orifices (unless they are really harmless and don't look icky. Placentas look icky. I rest my case.)

And we saw an image of sperms trying to plant themselves within an egg. The image was captured using an electron microscope. The image was so ... traumatising, it put all of us off the thought of having sex for... oh, maybe a decade to come. It all looked to squiggly and... icky. Icky. Good God, why does reproduction look so icky?

And why does the image of sperms give me the chills?

Anyways, as the class progressed, each of us cracked a joke or two.

Pn Juliana: And please don't be surprised, ya. Some fathers, when in the delivery room, they faint, you know.

And really, that just set off a chain of laughter. And also, that set off our imagination.

How would Daniel, the class's 2nd clown (because I think the 1st clown-cum-sweetheart is Chi Hoe) , react when his wife delivers his baby?


Possible scenario 1:

Daniel looks away with agony. And faints.

Possible scenario 2:

Daniel: Push, push!

...and when the baby comes out, he grabs it, fawns over it, and brings it away to show it off, leaving his tired wife gaping after him. Then, giving up (in other words, understanding her husband fully), she'd fall dead asleep, and vow to kill him later on.

Possible scenario 3:

Daniel: Yeah, baby! Yeah baby! Come on! Push!

(and when the baby comes out)

Daniel: Awe~some~

... It just might happen. Since he so loves to use the word "awesome" on a regular day, I'm sure he'd use it on the event of his first child's birth. It is, after all, awesome.

________________________________

I went to see Pn Prema today.

I GOT 30/30 FOR MY ORAL EXAMINATIONS!

I feel like I just went through my own special version of la petite mort.

Who needs sex when you can feel the same sensation of euphoria just by getting a full score for your oral exams?

Pn Prema: The pentaksir kawasan (district evaluator?) told me that she had listened carefully, and tried to look for mistakes in you girls (me and Amanda) but she couldn't find any.

AHHA!

Take THAT, Habibah! Eat crud and keel over!

Now, I am at peace with myself.

Thank you. So, the agony was worth it.

After all, I finally got my 'little death'.

disclaimer: image of placenta was taken from plysandplus.wordpress.com. Apparently this person loves placentas.



Petite mort, petite mort,
You kill me with perfection.

Incessant

Incessant

As dictated by Faranza Syns

My nose is running. Yet again. I am seriously contemplating the idea of shoving a balled-up portion of a piece of tissue up my nostrils just to save me from the aggravation at having to dab at my nose every ten seconds. And yes, I am breathing through my mouth. What could be sexier? Not.

This week has been hellish. Granted, it comes second to debate weeks, but it's pretty darn high up there.

It started with Monday.

I got my first Pink Slip. My first "demerit" slip, per se. The first mar in my otherwise pristine clean record. The first disgusting taint on my reputation. The first horrific slander. It would've been bearable had the reason for getting the Pink Slip in the first place been something equally shaming, like "caught nude with male in class" or "smashing glass on fire-alarm", or maybe even "harassing male teacher." But NO. I had to get one because I "did not attend PE lesson". If that didn't beat all, I went and apologized to the teacher, explained and grovelled, and she accepted my apology. And guess what? She still gave me the Pink Slip, despite accepting my apology. How ironic. I feel so ecstatic that my grovelling got me deeper into a situation I've been trying to extricate myself from. Super duper happy.

Then, I nearly got my second Pink Slip. Within a week. For the whole 5 years of my being a student, I've never had even a single pink slip. But hey ho, this week, which is so close to my retirement date, teachers seem to relish giving me incessant supplies of BSLs. It's like a curse. Like something out there is trying to tell me: "Bwahahaha! You're stepping down! The protective shield of the Prefectorial Board shall protect you no more!"

Oooh, the betrayal. And after all my naive loyalty, no less!

But anyways, at least there are some great perks that came with this week.

I bought an awesome new set of trinkets which included a pair of earrings I cannot wear because I don't have pierced ears

Which is the reason I beseeched Mama to allow me to pierce my ears (despite the fact that no one will ever see me with earrings anyway)

She gave me the okay. Whoooohoo!

Me, Kess and Syarifah managed to talk Pn J out of giving us BSLs. We had to clean the whole class from top to bottom because of that, but at least I found out about a part of Kessler that wasn't entirely so clear before. When he does something, he does it doggedly. His persistence is touching. Someone (not from our class) spilled water in the class. When we found out, me and Kessler were nearly murderous (at least I think he was. He seemed pretty incensed). Nevertheless, I swept the class, Kessler mopped up, then swept, Chi Hoe mopped a little (which looked more like he was racing around the whole class with the mop as a hockey stick) and Syarifah oversaw us cleaning up. Me and Kessler swept every nook and cranny of the class.

I was pretty annoyed and upset about getting (nearly) getting two BSLs within a week. It was a matter of pride for me and for Kessler as well, I guess. I've always said that I'd leave school with no BSLs. But to suddenly get a BSL because I didn't close the class windows the day before was a bit over the top.

So, I went on "surly mode". Chi Hoe, who walked beside me as we got back to Bio class, sensed that I was really close to tears. He noticed it when we were on our way to try to persuade Pn J too. I know because he suddenly went from annoyingly playful to wary and gentle. I don't care if this revelation embarrasses him. Hah. But Chi Hoe's a great dude eventhough he makes me want to throttle him sometimes. Most of the time, actually.

Alas, since he made me feel slightly better, I have to refrain from killing him.

Oh, and my obsession with someone in our new debate team is not showing any signs of abating. Pave, Dharr, stay away.

___________________________________

On news: Objection of the people against the construction of pig slaughterhouse.

Me: Eeeh? Slaughterhouse? What the hell. What the hell for?

Jaz: Yeah. I mean, don't they know that there's the swine flu going around?

Me: Haha

Jaz: Oh, wait, we can't say that. If we do, they'd give some smart comeback about bird flu.

Me: "Hah! How about bird flu? There's that thing going around, but we still eat bird(s)."

Jaz: ... That sounds wrong.

Me: *grin* I live to please.




Can't feel my feet
When did they cut it off?
How do you expect me to stay grounded?

I Dig You

I Dig You

As dictated by Faranza Syns

Oh, so friggin' amusing.

I was browsing through an Aunt-Agony site, and oh, I found one of the correspondence amusing.

Dear Prudence,
My husband works in an office populated by "alpha males." They are mostly former military men now working for the government. They seem to miss their uniform and wear similar clothes in blue, gray, and brown colors. My husband stands out because he wears designer shirts in the whole spectrum of colors. He is being regularly mocked by one individual in particular for his pink-toned shirts. I'm talking about subtle stripes, something any businessman might have in his wardrobe. He has told this man several times that he doesn't care for his opinion on his sartorial choices, but he keeps at it, and others are joining in. Their boss is a woman, and she does not "interfere with the boys joshing." The human resources department for his company is in another state. What can he say to stop these attempts to make him uncomfortable?

—Mrs. Dapper Dan

Dear Mrs. Dapper,
Unless this escalates and the office starts to resemble the hazing-in-the-barracks segment of Full Metal Jacket, your husband needs to deal with these bully boys himself. (That you're writing this letter indicates he could stand to work on fixing his own problems.) If he's shown any whiny weakness in replying to these alphas, that's the equivalent of telling the drill sergeant that push-ups make your arms sore. Your husband needs to be able to either laugh this off or shut it down. Which he decides to do depends on his personality. The next time the lead antagonist makes a snide comment about your husband's choice of shirt, he should look at him and say in front of the group, "Greg, every morning when I'm getting dressed, I wonder what you're going to say about my wardrobe. I've never had another man care so much about my clothes. But since you do, I'll let you know next time I'm going shopping. Maybe we can get a pedicure while we're at the mall." Alternatively, the next time Greg makes one of his comments, your husband should wait until Greg is seated in his office, then go in and lean across the desk. He should say something like, "You've now made the same joke about my wardrobe about 40 times. It's ceased to be funny and I'm asking you, for what I sincerely hope is the last time, to knock it off. Thanks." Then he should turn crisply, military style, and leave.

—Prudie

Oh, how I wish I could come up with those type of repartees on a daily basis.

____________________________________

We had debate tryouts today. A bit disappointing, but also a bit fun. Especially the part where Kim shouted at two of the juniors who seemed to have been playing behind me. I was seated at the long table at the front of the Multi-purpose Room. And so were the senior members of the debate team. Then, we had Kim do a mock-up of the tryouts to let the juniors see what we expected. And so, Kim was going on and on about the current ban on maids from Indonesia. And then, she paused, and looked straight at me. I paused.

"What are you doing?!" she snapped.

I sat still, resisting the urge to do a double take.

"GET OUT."

And voila, I heard the shuffling of feet, and saw two juniors leaving the room from the corner of my eye.

I stared at Kim, the whole time. And then, after a few seconds, she picked up where she left off. Apparently, the juniors were playing around with something behind me. Idiots.

The line between senior and junior seems to have blurred and they can't get enough of stepping all over our heads.

Anyways, I have decided. My new 1st Speaker will be just as adorable as I (it not more adorable).

And oh, did you guys know? I dig someone new now. *wiggles eyebrows*.

If he were 5 years older, I would totally hit on him. I will kiss him, hug him, and buy him flowers. What better way to scare a boy off?

___________________________________

It's actually touching how much some people try to convince me I'm not fat. Although some people have mentioned (albeit off-handedly) that I am fat.

I seem to derive a lot of pleasure from pretending that I get offended when someone mentions the word fat.


Situation 1

A: Eeesh, this stupid, fat *struggles with purse*--
Me: *gasp!* OUCH!
A: *blinks*... NO. No, I meant-- YOU KNOW VERY WELL THAT YOU ARE NOT FAT, FARHANA.



Situation 2

A group of prefects sitting together at the gazebo:

N: bla bla bla... that FAT boy ah...
Me: HEY. Please! Shh. There're fat people here, too, okay.
Whole table: ... *looks around*

[after 20 seconds]

S: OH. Hey, Farhana, you're not fat, la.
D: That's just crap, Farhana.



Situation 3

D: Aish, this big, fat bag--
Me: ... ouch.
D: What?
Me: Fat. I'm fat.
D: FARHANA AZAHAR, I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU SAY YOU ARE FAT.
Me: Okay, let me rephrase that - a few months ago, I used to be fat.
D: Better. Although that's still full of crap.
Me: Haha.




Situation 3

In the Multipurpose room, the senior debaters were sitting, discussing our verdicts.

Me: What?! Ivan came for the tryouts?
Kim: Yeah. Why?
Me: When?!
Kim: During recess.
Me: Why didn't anyone call me?
Kim: We did!
Sheng: Yeah, we did! But what did YOU do? You HAD to be (a) Fat.
Everyone: *GASP!*
Me: *gasp!*

Mind, I just gasped because everyone did. I didn't even hear what he said.

Amanda: What?!
Me: *gasps again*
Kim: Sheng Rei!
Sheng: NO! I MEANT TO SAY A NERD! I just said it wrongly.
Amanda: But you must've thought about it!

By this time, I just sat down quietly, pretending to be reading Kim's notes.

Sheng: Farhana.
Me: *stares at notes*
Sheng: Farhana.
Me: Yes? *mutters, still looking at notes.*
Sheng: Farhana!
Me: Yes?
Sheng: Farhana binti Azahar!
Me: Yes! What?!
Sheng: FARHANA BINTI AZAHAR, LOOK AT ME. FARHANA BINTI AZAHAR!
Me: Yes! *looks at him mutinously*
Sheng: I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!
Me: Okay.
Sheng: No, Farhana, I AM SORRY.
Me: Okay, I get it, okay?
Sheng: NO. Farhana, I am sorry, okay?
Me: I get it, I get it.
Sheng: FARHANA. I AM SORRY.


I think this went on for a while. Then, he started trying to convince me that I was actually big-boned instead.

Which didn't actually help.

But the fact that he tried was adorable.

Ah heck.

__________________________________

Me: *yawns*
Marc: Oh, what's this? Didn't get enough sleep?
Me: No.
Marc: Why? Reading your... books? *wiggles eyebrows*
Me: *stares drolly* No. I was busy doing something else.
Marc: Writing your... books? *grins*
Me: ... No, I was actually busy acting them out.
Marc: Oh, practicing for Bio next week, eh?


Mind, the Bio chapter we are learning next week is Reproduction.




You,
So lovely and precious you are,
Cherished as only you are.

Oh-ha-bloody-ha.

Oh-ha-bloody-ha.

As dictated by Faranza Syns

We did a career test yesterday. Somehow, my answers seemed to have deviated from my one true passion-- writing. And somehow, my strongest like turned out to be ART.

Good God.

And the most suitable job for me was (oh, look out for it!) Art Therapist.

Pffsh. Like there would ever be an Art Therapist in Malaysia.

But somehow, whenever I mentioned Art Therapist, people jumped to other conclusions (most probably because I disconsolately muttered the "Art" bit of it).

Scenario 1: Walking out of the computer lab, blustering on about the test results. Amanda was empathic (since her choices were somewhat not to her taste as well).

Me: Eeesh, I mean, art therapist?! What can you do?

And then, Marc, who was walking in front of me, whipped around.

Marc: SEX THERAPIST?!

Which makes me wonder what my friends think of me. Yes, I know I go on about the intricacies of coitus with great ease and not much blushing. And yes, I admit, for someone who looks damn near virginal, I act anything like it.

But to get not only Marc, but also Mel, who assumed I wanted to become a sex therapist was a little intriguing.



Scenario 2: Stares at screen of the computer as the results come out. Mel bent down beside me to take a look as well.

Me: *mutters* Art therapist.

Mel: [misinterprets tone] Why, you want sex therapist, is it? Well, you can't expect that kind of career to come up, you know. *laughs*

Ha-bloody-ha. But come to think of it, I wonder what questions they would ask for that kind of career.


State whether you like or dislike the following:

Sex
[like]

Talking about sex
[strong like]

Finding out solutions for sex problems
[strong like]

Guiding couples in sexual discovery
[strong like]

Intriguing sex positions
[strong like]

It would've been amusing considering more than three-quarters of the whole teen population on earth would get their first choice of career as Sex Therapist.

Or maybe a sex addict. Who knows.

Oh, and due to extreme pressure, I concede to the fact that Amanda's first true love turned out to be her new gay best friend. Some people have all the luck. Because really, I think gay best friends are a lot more fun than your one true love.

I want a gay best friend.

________________________________

What's RM 1.50 to your closetful of designer labels?

The Waiting

The Waiting

As dictated by Faranza Syns

I've been waiting for someone in our blogsphere to catch the blog-award fever.

It's mostly not certifiable anywhere but in our own little world. But then again, it's fun, so let's indulge, eh?

From Alya:



I wonder if they have it in gold?

But many thanks to Alya. Muahx muahx.

___________________________________

Kim Ng: Why do people blog? Seriously.

I was stumped. Because from her tone, I could easily hear the answer that she expects.

"Because bloggers are people who crave attention."

And if the tone with which she asked that question didn't give her away clearly enough, her diatribe on bloggers gave her views extra clarity.

One of her arguments was that people who blog have no life.

And there we were, me and Afzan, avid bloggers, staring at her. Afzan was already starting to defend her hobby when I was still trying to formulate a strong reason for blogging.

But I suppose Kim saved us anyways when she started listing the type of blogger she particularly hates.

Yay us, we didn't match her criterions of worthless, spineless bloggers.

Come to think of it, my reason for blogging really boiled down to one reason: attention. I really wanted that attention. And I suppose I had not much of a life back then when I blogged incessantly up to three posts per day. But lately, I get the itch to blog less. And I mostly blog to get to know new people. I've met countless new people through my blog. It's fun.

And seriously, if I didn't have a life, I wouldn't be sitting here blogging about it, would I?

Really, why generalise?

Because although at first, my motives might be not so exemplary, now I write to amuse. I write to express. Diaries are fun to express in, too, but a blog is like a licence to air your dirty laundry without getting caught for violation of sensibilities.

You get to tell people how you feel. If they please, they can read. If they don't, they'll just close the window, or merely press the back button.

Come to think of it, if there aren't blog readers, I doubt there would bloggers.

Oh shoot. Someone kill me before I start using some adage about light and darkness.

But I suppose Kim had a right to ask those questions. It's her opinion. And really, she lays down her own law pretty brutally.

Thank god I'm not so sensitive around her anymore.

Oh, being in V.I. once again was invigorating.

Amanda found her first love there, too.



Just one sensitive spot,
And geez you found it.

Reminisce

Reminisce

As dictated by Faranza Syns

I just got rejected.

Ouch.

I think spurned sounds way nicer, anyways.

____________________________________

I re-read the emails I once sent Tom (an act propelled by extreme boredom).

I couldn't stop choking on my own tongue.

And then I got to the "Break Up?!" email.

Faranza,

Im sort of getting the feeling you only wanted to be lovers so you could amuse your friends about me...it seems 100% clear thats what you've been doing on your blog. I read through it 10 times...and each time....i felt heart broken....i can't belive i actually thought i liked you...more than liked....but i guess you never once felt the same way....it pains to write this letter.....i've never ever felt like this before....i guess....this is goodbye....

Goodbye Faranza

Some people have a gift for melodrama. Some people don't. I'm still deciding whether he has it in abundance, or he ran out of it halfway-through spelling "Faranza".

Ah well. That's water under the bridge anyways. Call me cruel, but it was an amusing interlude. Call me jaded, but I trust internet relationships as much as I trust a thief with a penchant for my heart.

I so don't trust it.

Oh, oh, Tarr. This is the guy whom you assumed lived in a monastery. Or was it a rectory? Can't recall.




Just about enough,
Can't take anymore of you.

Break off.

Break off.

As dictated by Faranza Syns

It's funny how unlucky I am with things that hang off key-chains.

My phone-chain, the one in the shape of an outline of a heart, just snapped off its string one day.





And now I only have a pitiful-looking string hanging off my phone. I suppose I should remove it, but I'm still in the mourning process.





The key-chain Dharr bought for me from Cameron Highlands faced the same fate as my phone-chain. It's those adorably common key-chains of fruits and vegetables. Mine was a mix of red and yellow peppers. Just to butter Dharr up, I attached it to my bag. But somehow, I've forgotten how rough-and-tumble my ways are. Why pull when you can snatch? And so, one day, (quite unshockingly) I found that only one pepper was left attached to the key-chain. I shrugged it off, and continued on with my life. Then, once again, I pulled the zipper of my bag roughly by the key-chain. And I found myself with just a key-chain hoop and no peppers. I feel safe admitting this since my dear Dharr never reads my blog. I've replaced the hoop with a key-chain from Pangkor. Let's see how long this one lasts.

My MP3 player once had a lanyard attached to it. Have mentioned how I like to whip things off instead of meticulously removing them with the gentle touch of a trained courtesan? Well, I'm mentioning it now. I don't know how I managed to fool myself that this kind of rough handling would never affect my player. Until one day, the little chain holding the lanyard attached to the MP3 player snapped. And I've never bothered with a lanyard anymore. I've learned my lesson: no more lanyards. They're like capes for superheroes: utterly redundant.

Although, some would say that the lesson I should have learned was to be more gentle. I'm a female after all. Ah, on that point, I remember mentioning that not many Malay females debate, since most of the Malays I've encountered were male.

Eugene: It's because Malay girls are considered to be delicate and gentle.

Me: Are you saying I'm not delicate and gentle, Eugene?

But I digress. The point is, anything that hangs off a chain is in a very high threat of being ruined.

Lesson for you people out there: don't buy me anything with delicate chains. It's bound to be unbound.





That was my 'Maro he maimed and made his bedmate.

Yes, I'm still bitter about that.




Mr J. is an arse.
I'd rather kiss a corpse than love him.

March 17

March 17

As dictated by Faranza Syns

March 17

It's fated.

Because it's bordering on obsession.

Sore Shoulder

Sore Shoulder

As dictated by Faranza Syns

I believe I was called a chicken today.

I don't know if I should be incensed or humiliated (there's a vague difference, you know).

Currently have up to a thousand plus e-books in my computer. Where I'll ever find the time to read all of them is beyond me.


"She conveniently forgot that we've been winning."

Seriously, if you can't love us, do you think we will love you in return?

Shoulder's sore.

I think someone massaged me a mite too hard.

I want to find solace within the arms of a soldier.

But I think that's just the romance novels in my head talking.

We won 3rd place.

We so bloody rock.

Eyes feel gritty.

I think I'll just curl into a ball and snore to oblivion.



Clap three times-
That's three times less than you deserve.