the girl
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She's the girl who sits and watches while others live a charmed life. The girl loves to write but doesn't know if she's any good at it. She loves rainbow sprinkled ice cream on a rainy day. She loves to take walks with the wind blowing. Giggling should be made a career. She tells you her secrets in not so many words.
in the past
blog pokes
well-known pokes
Tuesday, January 30, 2007 10:11 PM
i.o.u (s)
To you, who waited for almost half an hour holding your pee-ness.
Who didn't mind banging your way with me to an event you knew nothing about.
And bringing your Nikon so I could snap almost a 100 pictures of people supposedly playing floorball (which were mostly butts).
And standing in the hot sun helping me get good shots.
Also paccifying your starving tummy with bitter coffee from the weird-feeling diner figuring your Perspectives out.
Not to mention walking around KLCC when you actually wanted to sleep so bad.
On a day when you could have been in the comfort of your air-conditioned room with your Perspectives and Figures.
And having to borrow the sd card reader so I could have the pictures in before the deadline.
Not forgetting walking me through the whole sharing folder nonsense and failing and still managing to zip the files and send them to me.
And to you who surprised me with this book last year on the day I got a year older.
For being concerned with my heightened stress levels.
And also for wanting to stay up even if the eyes refuse to stay open.
For calling to check on my progress.
And for requiring a firm chase before you finally left.
thankyouthankyouthankyou.
*infinite hugs and kisses*
Who didn't mind banging your way with me to an event you knew nothing about.
And bringing your Nikon so I could snap almost a 100 pictures of people supposedly playing floorball (which were mostly butts).
And standing in the hot sun helping me get good shots.
Also paccifying your starving tummy with bitter coffee from the weird-feeling diner figuring your Perspectives out.
Not to mention walking around KLCC when you actually wanted to sleep so bad.
On a day when you could have been in the comfort of your air-conditioned room with your Perspectives and Figures.
And having to borrow the sd card reader so I could have the pictures in before the deadline.
Not forgetting walking me through the whole sharing folder nonsense and failing and still managing to zip the files and send them to me.
And to you who surprised me with this book last year on the day I got a year older.
For being concerned with my heightened stress levels.
And also for wanting to stay up even if the eyes refuse to stay open.
For calling to check on my progress.
And for requiring a firm chase before you finally left.
thankyouthankyouthankyou.
*infinite hugs and kisses*
minx wrote at10:11 PM
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Sunday, January 28, 2007 8:48 PM
think about it okay?
Saturday, January 27, 2007 12:00 AM
when you bang your way.
And you give an allowance of two whole hours for getting lost and the other hundred thousand misfortunes that might happen, you're still late! This is not an ordinary 10 to 20 minutes delay but an hour's worth! That's when the freaking-kill-slaughter-me-i-don't-want-to-be-alive feeling starts to poke fun and laugh at you. *dies*
Aio! The whole drama was so hilarious, I couldn't believe it was actually happening. Except maybe during the phone conversations and text messages in which 'sorry' was repeated more than anything else. My nervous system is probably malfunctioning. Stress okay!
I met iritated LRT ticket personnels (is that the term for their job?) who brushed me off with whiny leavemealone voices.
And well-meaning passengers who reassured me that I could reach okay if I took the bus to Titiwangsa after which I could hop on another bus. They were even concerned for my expenses.
There was also the guy in front of me at the ATMs. Seeing that the queue was uber long, he was so nice to direct me to another ATM.
Then there was the Pak Cik taxi that never stopped giving me expert advice on getting around Sentul. Pak Cik even comforted me about being late and getting yelled at. He was such a sweetheart to speed so I could reach before five. Sliding around in the back and hitting my head was something else. Haha. It felt like I was a bandit with Pak Cik as my getaway car driver and we're running away from the world.
Such great people to meet on such chaotic circumstances.
My priceless moment in this? I could have apparently just taken a cab from Damansara. This could have saved me the stress, expenses, and craziness of going around the whole of KL. But then again, that would mean I wouldn't have met those darlings.
So, I'm glad I got lost. I never thought I'd say that.
Every cloud has a silver lining. This here is testament to it! =)
ps: chris dearest, note down my i.o.u okay. thankyouthankyou for bearing with the pointless calls and texts.
Aio! The whole drama was so hilarious, I couldn't believe it was actually happening. Except maybe during the phone conversations and text messages in which 'sorry' was repeated more than anything else. My nervous system is probably malfunctioning. Stress okay!
I met iritated LRT ticket personnels (is that the term for their job?) who brushed me off with whiny leavemealone voices.
And well-meaning passengers who reassured me that I could reach okay if I took the bus to Titiwangsa after which I could hop on another bus. They were even concerned for my expenses.
There was also the guy in front of me at the ATMs. Seeing that the queue was uber long, he was so nice to direct me to another ATM.
Then there was the Pak Cik taxi that never stopped giving me expert advice on getting around Sentul. Pak Cik even comforted me about being late and getting yelled at. He was such a sweetheart to speed so I could reach before five. Sliding around in the back and hitting my head was something else. Haha. It felt like I was a bandit with Pak Cik as my getaway car driver and we're running away from the world.
Such great people to meet on such chaotic circumstances.
My priceless moment in this? I could have apparently just taken a cab from Damansara. This could have saved me the stress, expenses, and craziness of going around the whole of KL. But then again, that would mean I wouldn't have met those darlings.
So, I'm glad I got lost. I never thought I'd say that.
Every cloud has a silver lining. This here is testament to it! =)
ps: chris dearest, note down my i.o.u okay. thankyouthankyou for bearing with the pointless calls and texts.
minx wrote at12:00 AM
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Wednesday, January 24, 2007 10:15 PM
while researching,
I found a treasure chest filled to the rim with only the best.
It is not possible to believe that the sole reason for our living should lie in a torment that seems to us unjust and inexplicable (Pirandello, 1925).
Pirandello, L. (1925). Six Characters in Search of an Author. Retrieved January 24, 2007 from the World Wide Web: http://www.eldritchpress.org/lp/sixp.htm.
The line hit a chord. This is a superbly written piece.
So maybe spending on this is justified.
*crosses fingers and toes*
Please don't go up in smoke!
It is not possible to believe that the sole reason for our living should lie in a torment that seems to us unjust and inexplicable (Pirandello, 1925).
Pirandello, L. (1925). Six Characters in Search of an Author. Retrieved January 24, 2007 from the World Wide Web: http://www.eldritchpress.org/lp/sixp.htm.
The line hit a chord. This is a superbly written piece.
So maybe spending on this is justified.
*crosses fingers and toes*
Please don't go up in smoke!
minx wrote at10:15 PM
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Tuesday, January 23, 2007 6:43 PM
from the inside staring out.
The doors close behind me and my eyes follow as it does. The man behind the wheel looks iritated. I can't see his eyes. Maybe sunglasses and gloves are important in his line of occupation, I don't know. I rummage for my ticket and quickly present it to him. It doesn't seem to cheer him up the least.
I choose a seat nearest to the doors. The doors just have an effect on me today.
The view is nothing fancy. I've seen it a thousand, maybe a million times before. But today, it seems too fascinating to look away. The normally freezing air conditioning has nothing on me. Even the drones of the engine couldn't annoy me enough to dig for my iPod.
I just didn't feel like looking away, you know? I tell her.
She looked too tired to think of her usually witty answers. That is the effect of tuition on the young. Sounds like an experiment that could benefit.
All the things from before rush to me and I feel as if someone pulled the chair from under me and my bottom is sore from the fall. The pangs of pain are continuous. Only the view and this pain is all that matters now.
These animate and inanimate objects that I see rushing past the glass doors seem good. But will it be enough? How is your view any different from mine, I wonder. Will it suffice to hear of your great feats? Is this how it is meant to be if everything happens for a reason?
I choose a seat nearest to the doors. The doors just have an effect on me today.
The view is nothing fancy. I've seen it a thousand, maybe a million times before. But today, it seems too fascinating to look away. The normally freezing air conditioning has nothing on me. Even the drones of the engine couldn't annoy me enough to dig for my iPod.
I just didn't feel like looking away, you know? I tell her.
She looked too tired to think of her usually witty answers. That is the effect of tuition on the young. Sounds like an experiment that could benefit.
All the things from before rush to me and I feel as if someone pulled the chair from under me and my bottom is sore from the fall. The pangs of pain are continuous. Only the view and this pain is all that matters now.
These animate and inanimate objects that I see rushing past the glass doors seem good. But will it be enough? How is your view any different from mine, I wonder. Will it suffice to hear of your great feats? Is this how it is meant to be if everything happens for a reason?
minx wrote at6:43 PM
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Sunday, January 21, 2007 10:13 PM
to you, with love.
I was determined to have this post be a cheerful one since the last two were not very cheery but that is not be.
Just goes to show that you never really are in control of the things that happen to you.
When I heard the news, it seemed so wrong. She spoke about her friend's sudden death only days ago. The entire class can testify to that. And now this? I can't bring myself to say "Oh well, life goes on!". It would be injustice. Something should be done or said to signify that she made a difference. An impact. And no, the last rites don't cut it. She was so controversial, always checking to see if she was in violation of the Internal Security Act (ISA) or if any of our parents were employed under that body.
Hearing it brought back memories of things that took place a year ago. It gnawed at me to think that her relatives are going through the same tortures at this exact moment. I would not wish this even on my worst enemy because even they don't deserve it. It sure is going to take time to register this. There goes seeing her feminized man oufit at eight in the morning three days a week for the next 12 weeks.
Just goes to show that you never really are in control of the things that happen to you.
When I heard the news, it seemed so wrong. She spoke about her friend's sudden death only days ago. The entire class can testify to that. And now this? I can't bring myself to say "Oh well, life goes on!". It would be injustice. Something should be done or said to signify that she made a difference. An impact. And no, the last rites don't cut it. She was so controversial, always checking to see if she was in violation of the Internal Security Act (ISA) or if any of our parents were employed under that body.
Hearing it brought back memories of things that took place a year ago. It gnawed at me to think that her relatives are going through the same tortures at this exact moment. I would not wish this even on my worst enemy because even they don't deserve it. It sure is going to take time to register this. There goes seeing her feminized man oufit at eight in the morning three days a week for the next 12 weeks.We'll miss you.
Try not to tease the system from wherever you are okay.
*hugs*
Try not to tease the system from wherever you are okay.
*hugs*
minx wrote at10:13 PM
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Friday, January 19, 2007 10:06 PM
jazz foreplay.
I have the option of closing my door and shutting out the mundane chorus that his newly modified amps are repeating. But I don't and neither do I let my favorites on iTunes drown his. It's a dull tone that tortures and even he admits to that. As I sit here in the study he designed in doodles on the many sheets of Ikea shopping lists, I realize that although I don't love this genre of music, I love this man who loves it.
I ask if he would put on another cd to save me from self-mutilation and he says no while frowning.
"It's a free cd. I'll spoil mine if I keep repeating them."
I plead, please?
"Church music, what. Good for you!"
That was donkey years ago and he still puts on this same cd to give his valves and amps a good workout. I would have thought the darn cd would have died or burned out or gotten spoiled by now. Church freebies are quality goods huh?! And so it continues on giving the 12 songs its share of airtime.
Each note I hear has "home" signed beautifully in cursive. As the music soaks in, I know that Lee Ritenour, Dave Koz and Peter White will always be special to me. Always.
Everytime, we brace ourselves through the eternity of church music which apparently is "suitable and wonderful for meditating" because its his only form of entertainment. One that he can see without having to adjust his glasses or seat. And one that will never let him down or alert him of an impending future. He doesn't show it but the helplessness is something I read amidst the thousands of things his eyes try to communicate.
. . . . .
The radio dials are read by the fingers and memory aids the rest.
Dawns are the hardest. When the orange lights lining the street go off altogether thinking the sun would lend its rays to illuminate the dark stairway. But its much too early. As such, it is only right to grapple the banister and repeat a count of eight for four consecutive times to find out if it is the last landing.
An action movie where every few scenes depict men putting their fight skills to the test and even with the tele volume balanced perfectly in the base, tone and mid, all else is silenced in the background by "Why? What happened?".
Or when all is silent and a head hang low in the corner with the blue armchair while all else laugh until their stomachs hurt.
Dawns are the hardest. When the orange lights lining the street go off altogether thinking the sun would lend its rays to illuminate the dark stairway. But its much too early. As such, it is only right to grapple the banister and repeat a count of eight for four consecutive times to find out if it is the last landing.
An action movie where every few scenes depict men putting their fight skills to the test and even with the tele volume balanced perfectly in the base, tone and mid, all else is silenced in the background by "Why? What happened?".
Or when all is silent and a head hang low in the corner with the blue armchair while all else laugh until their stomachs hurt.
. . . . .
How does one live with things like these?
minx wrote at10:06 PM
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2 replies
Thursday, January 18, 2007 8:25 PM
thoughts on a journey.
There is not a valid reason for this feeling. A feeling so strong it affects my thoughts, throwing me into this violent hurricane that even I am afraid to stop.
Will I have it?
Will I be as good?
Will mine be a great one?
Or will all of these remain but a dream?
Sitting there watching cars go by with legs dangling in the air was perfect. It couldn't have been better. Wodehouse was kind enough to lend me two of his best. As Wooster and Jeeves figured the problem in the form of Clementina, I was in a world where even the ugliest of deeds are treated like the funnies. Where problems are but small puzzles with eventual happy endings. And nothing less.
But I had to leave the two and return to the nitty gritties.
The old uncle's tight grip on the umbrella made me wonder if he too had wanted to hold on to much more than his grip would allow. He took small steps. Strong ones, mind you. But it seemed as if the world was whizzing past at the speed of tens of thousands to the power of light. It looked as if he had a pace of his own. One where only he knows the secret formula to calculate. Oh, if only.
"Maluri! Maluri! Ikut dia, cepat!"
He quickened his steps as fast as he could manage. Seeing others run past frustrated him immensely. He tried reaching further ahead with the trusted umbrella but that could only do so much. I silently cheered him on. My cheers did not produce a miracle. I knew it wouldn't and the fact that I knew this made me want to kick myself. I walked in his steps thinking this would lend him support. Ridiculous, I know.
Her loud gasp acted like a huge rusted hook, reeling me in from looking at a few brief minutes in this old uncle's life. And just like that I was back where I began.
This hurricane is still raging strong. There is no sign of letting up.
Can I please stay in this underground shelter forever and forget that danger lurks?
I hate knowing the answers and not knowing if my version is correct. But no one knows any better. So, I do what everyone does best, put one feet ahead of the other and move on.
Will I have it?
Will I be as good?
Will mine be a great one?
Or will all of these remain but a dream?
Sitting there watching cars go by with legs dangling in the air was perfect. It couldn't have been better. Wodehouse was kind enough to lend me two of his best. As Wooster and Jeeves figured the problem in the form of Clementina, I was in a world where even the ugliest of deeds are treated like the funnies. Where problems are but small puzzles with eventual happy endings. And nothing less.
But I had to leave the two and return to the nitty gritties.
The old uncle's tight grip on the umbrella made me wonder if he too had wanted to hold on to much more than his grip would allow. He took small steps. Strong ones, mind you. But it seemed as if the world was whizzing past at the speed of tens of thousands to the power of light. It looked as if he had a pace of his own. One where only he knows the secret formula to calculate. Oh, if only.
"Maluri! Maluri! Ikut dia, cepat!"
He quickened his steps as fast as he could manage. Seeing others run past frustrated him immensely. He tried reaching further ahead with the trusted umbrella but that could only do so much. I silently cheered him on. My cheers did not produce a miracle. I knew it wouldn't and the fact that I knew this made me want to kick myself. I walked in his steps thinking this would lend him support. Ridiculous, I know.
Her loud gasp acted like a huge rusted hook, reeling me in from looking at a few brief minutes in this old uncle's life. And just like that I was back where I began.
This hurricane is still raging strong. There is no sign of letting up.
Can I please stay in this underground shelter forever and forget that danger lurks?
I hate knowing the answers and not knowing if my version is correct. But no one knows any better. So, I do what everyone does best, put one feet ahead of the other and move on.
minx wrote at8:25 PM
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Sunday, January 14, 2007 2:46 PM
a smudge.
The little smudge of white paint is still on the strap of my left sandal. It's obvious and seems to attract it's share of attention.
"Why haven't you cleaned it? It'll only take a second," she promises me.
I don't answer her. It's been almost a month. Almost. Heck, I can even count the days back to when we went there, together. I miss it. I know missing it shouldn't be an excuse. This pair of sandals were costly and the smudge should be cleaned before it soaks in or does the other theoretical damage she claims will happen with time.
She hands me a cloth and tells me to just do it. I tell myself it's okay to do away with the smudge since I still have the burn lines on my feet where the sandals and the sun made it's print. That should hold on for much longer, right? But I can't bring myself to.
Everytime I see the smudge I hear Roz telling me how she loves peeling the paint off the walls.
I feel the warmth and comfort of Sri's mother's voice as she tells me how proud she is of me.
I see Arasu smiling cheekily as he is interviewed by three girls.
I remember the mural that seemed too complicated to complete.
I feel the dread of having to leave Sri's company to go on painting.
Will I forget if the smudge is gone? I'm not sure. But I'm positive it'll be repressed into the backburner. That's the saddest part, really. It's etched in memory but rarely will it present itself unless of course something calls for it. I hated the way it took me awhile before I could recall Azmi's name. The experience had such a profound impact and yet I lost bits and pieces of it.
"You want me to do it for you?" she asks.
"No" I say and hand her the cloth, "I don't want to erase the smudge"
Or the memory.
Besides, the white paint looks like it is part of the sandal design.
. . . . .
I miss Bethany. I miss signing with Ilyas! Mannn.
minx wrote at2:46 PM
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