Fab, Mad and Bad Addie

Things That Pop Into Your Head On A Sunday Night

2009-06-07T21:04:00.001+08:00

Like - what's His plan for me? Is He even in the picture? What am I doing wrong? Does the clairvoyant know anything? Was it true what she said? Why don't I like some people? You can't force me to like em when I don't.

Why do I bother?
Why does it hurt?
Why is it so complicated?
When did we get so scared? Choosy? Greedy?

Why do I never learn?
Learn what?

How many times have I wrote this note?
And I'm still writing it today? Again?

7th June 2009:
I feel lonely, and suddenly afraid that I will never find love.

What do I have to do to be loved by someone?

The Other Side of Growing Older

2007-11-27T22:06:00.000+08:00

"Party!" he says to me.

"Get doused with chocolate sauce and have nubile young sex slaves lick it off your body."

"Because since you've seen 34 wild, crazy, PG-rated birthday celebrations, have another that will outdo all else! Indulge!"

Au contraire, my good man. After 34 wild, crazy, PG-rated birthday celebrations, all one really wants is normalcy. All one seeks is simplicity, and all one yearns is security.

To shut the world out and spend the entire day with The One.

To walk into Pizza Hut in your pajamas and flip-flops and have the worst pizza on the menu.

To go home to Nina Simone tinkling on her piano, to read poetry to one another.

To lie on his chest and hear his heart beating in rhythmic trance.

Then to fall asleep and have him give you a belly rub.

Just one night of complete sloppy-ism, of being who you truly are sans noise, distractions, pretense. Just enjoying being YOU, and being loved for it.

And it's such an irony... I am thankful that I was late to work today because my phone didn't stop ringing from well-wishers. Last count of birthday greeting sms-es was 14. Facebook: 12 gifts, fun-wall posts, and messages. Not bad considering I'm such a terrible friend to begin with.

And yet...

And yet, I find myself pining for the presence of the one person who obviously didn't remember.

Why are we made this way? Why do we pine for what is naught? Why do we set ourselves out for heartache? Why do we not practise what we preach? Walk the talk?

I know this will pass. I'm saying so because I know so. At the end of the day, all I really wanted was to remind myself what a fubid zodd I am, and to have an entry that bore the date

27-11-2007

Sigh, Happy 35th, Addie!

(Picture courtesy of Getty Images)

Sooweeciidall...

2007-10-03T11:31:00.000+08:00

Eliza thinks I'm dark and morbid. In her gentle and completely unstirred way, she was ... err... gravely disappointed when I listed out my favourite songs. This is another one of them, and of course there's My Immortal by Evanescence, and almost all of U2's scorching, desperately wanting wailings.

.... Nice whaaaaaattt...

Goodbye My Lover
James Blunt

Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.
So I took what's mine by eternal right.
Took your soul out into the night.
It may be over but it won't stop there,
I am here for you if you'd only care.
You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your hand.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

I am a dreamer and when I wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.
I know your fears and you know mine.
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,
And I love you, I swear that's true.
I cannot live without you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bare my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.

Insensitive

2007-10-03T11:26:00.000+08:00

This is one of all-time, all-weather favourite songs. Not just for suicidal days, but I just like the painful honesty of it.

Insensitive
Jann Arden

How do you cool your lips
After a summer’s kiss
How do you rid the sweat
After the body bliss
How do you turn your eyes
From the romantic glare
How do you block the sound
Of a voice you’d know anywhere

Oh, I really should have known
By the time you drove me home
By the vagueness in your eyes
Your casual good-byes
By the chill in your embrace
The expression on your face
That told me
Maybe you might have some advice to give
On how to be
Insensitive
Insensitive
Insensitive

How do you numb your skin
After the warmest touch
How do you slow your blood
After the body rush
How do you free your soul
After you’ve found a friend
How do you teach your heart
It’s a crime to fall in love again

Oh, you probably won’t remember me
It’s probably ancient history
I’m one of the chosen few
Who went ahead and fell for you
I’m out of vogue, I’m out of touch
I fell too fast, I feel too much
I thought that you might have
Some advice to give on how to be
Insensitive

I really should have known
By the time you drove me home
By the vagueness in your eyes
Your casual good-byes
By the chill in your embrace
The expression on your face
That told me
Maybe you might have some advice to give
On how to be
Insensitive
Insensitive
Insensitive

Au revoir, Valhalla

2007-10-01T19:28:00.000+08:00

How can I tell the world how much it hurts?
It hurts, it bleeds.
And God is looking down at me. Gleefully.
"Silly bunny" he says.
Sighs and floats away.

It hurts, my friends. It hurts.
Don't tell me, I already know it.
I'm dumb, I'm stupid, I never learn.
And yes, I'll find someone else.
"You deserve better."
"He doesn't deserve you."
"You're stronger than this. You'll be fine."
"Go get a Marine, get a good bang-up."
"You need a drink and some pot."

(All are welcome to tell me what else I need.)

Oh god it hurts so bad. It's gonna be difficult to drive home tonight with blurry eyes...

The Saturday pasar malam and the murtabak.
My babydoll.
My hair.
The spuds with corned beef, no onions. Crispy popiah.
Green Citroen.
PJ Hilton.
Stupid cordless mouse.
Anyone wants a Perlini's silver bracelet?
Creme-filled Bavarians and Nicoise salads.
Water chalets.
Chris Brown, Marilyn Manson and gym tunes.
Carpets and underlays.
Migraines, sharks fin and Kahlil Gibran.
Transformers.
Arsenal and NFM Football Manager.
Thongs and spoilt remote controls.
Renovations.

Adekin Skywalker and her Valhalla.

...

Inflated Deflator Rides Again!!

2007-10-01T18:39:00.000+08:00

I'm single again. That didn't last too long now, did it? I'm not in the right frame of mind to talk about it now, so I'll leave it at that. But know that it hurts real bad.

Where will I be tonight? Face down on my pillow, drenching it with my tears.

Remember 140807.

Yasmin, Ya Rocksss!!!

2007-09-22T17:13:00.000+08:00

I rest my case... and now, I too understand it.

Lost, And Not Yet Found

2007-08-21T20:14:00.000+08:00

Hello La Fiamma,

We have been quiet, haven’t we? One can’t help but wonder…

Where did we go? Did I blink and miss something?

My over-analytical mind has come back to stay, because at moments when the issue is a baffling one, you take out your tools and start the elimination process.

My charred senses tell me I’ve just been burnt again. No matter how many times I tell myself “never again”… my stupid self-will collapses on me.

I’m a terrible judge of character, each time thinking it could be different. And I’m always wrong. Always.

At this point, only you can tell me if I’m wrong about you. “Judge me not by my words but my actions” you once told me.

Going by that, your words have been nothing but cold, distant and emotionless of late.
Actions? What actions? That I’ve been reduced to "enquiries desk" in the span of two weeks?

I have a high tolerance for funny characters, trust me. It’s a trait one picks up in advertising; to put on a smile and soldier on despite the worst insults and humiliation. In this scenario, I can understand that you need space just as I need mine. But it’s not logical to completely cut one off cold turkey. In the chaos of your life at the moment, I have been tolerant and waited on the sidelines for the dust to settle. I told you the truth, that I still cared for you and thought of you constantly.

Where did we go, la fiamma? Did you take my heart, with all its feelings for you – and just crumpled it like you would a scrap of useless paper, and trashed it along the highway somewhere? I’m missing something in my chest, it’s cold… I’m feeling lost.

Have you suddenly realized that I was right about me? That I am complicated and indeed, a challenge? That I’m not worth the trouble after all? Or was it the opposite, that since you’ve figured me out, you felt I was no longer exciting?

If you were “just a friend”, I wouldn’t bother, la fiamma. I could go on for years without so much as a pip. But is that what you want? To be put in that basket with the others? That’s not what we started out with, did we?

Maybe there’s a side of you that I don’t understand at all. And unlike you, I don’t make it a point to read too much into a person’s character. Unlike you, I don’t want to figure people out, because it’s all about accepting each other for who we are, warts and all.

Maybe you need to teach me. Maybe you need to tell me to calm down, not to be so stupid and melodramatic. Maybe I was right about me all along.

Whichever it may be, I believe it’s time I said something so that you know what I’m going through. A whole lot of turmoil in my head and heart. I’m moments away from slicing my heart and burning it so that it will feel its final pain and then be silenced and feelingless forever.

I was wielding a weapon around my heart when we first met, and you coaxed me to put it down. Now, weaponless and defenseless, I am suddenly left alone in this vast jungle, longing for the sanctuary of my dank, grey, cold, hard cave.

I’m looking for directions, and you’re holding the map.

A friend, an acquaintance, a passing fancy,
Me

Face Behind Tha Blog (yyechh!)

2007-08-20T19:40:00.000+08:00

Verne tagged me. I have no idea what this means, but it's some kind of ploy to get people to view our sites and everybody else's sites so that we can "network" on the 'net and give our sites some net worth.

Note of caution: I hereby declare that I will not be held responsible for the loathing and hatred, sudden gush of nausea and outbreak of rash that might occur as a result of reading my unintelligible utterances or just by gazing at my face. Sympathy is welcome but preferably in a physical form of an able-bodied, straight, age-compatible, straight, loyal, straight, devoted, straight, single male.

I think I'm supposed to follow what he wrote in his entry, so I copy paste ok? Tharr goes it:-

Blog Title: Fab, Mad and Bad Addie
Description: Online diary for my very censored and private thoughts and feelings, edited for the safe consumption of the pubic. Er, pubLic.
Why: Because sometimes I'm fabulously lovable; most times I'm mad - sanity wise and temperament wise; and in essence, I'm just a bad sod... :(

Name : Adeline
Country : Malaysia
Occupation : Advertising Slut
Birthday : November
Fav Color : Black, white, purple
Fav Drink : Coffee
Fav Fruit : Mango, papaya, watermelon, lychee
Fav Dessert : Ice-cream, brownies (limited to 1 intake in 2 months... sob sob)
Hobbies : Falling for the wrong man. Otherwise, it's Working My Ass Off For Pittance And Not Getting Anywhere In Life. Sometimes, I read, listen to music, watch movies. I'm such a bore.

Having done all that, I swear I did something similar some time ago... let me see if I can find that useless entry... OK, found it!

In every blog, there’s always one entry that is a waste of anybody’s time to read…

Anyways, Verne also said sumfink about posting pictures. I don't have many pics and I look absolutely horrigible terrigible veggitible in photographs, no matter how much I try to pose and "show my good side". That can only mean that I don't have a good side and I'm oreful all around. Heh, surprise, surprise.

You still wanna see pictures ahh? Vhat lah u all??!! OK fine, here goes. *Important: Please read "Note of caution" above before proceeding.

Now that I've caused a bubonic plague, I think I should make like a zip and fly. Or was that "make like a fly and zip"?

140807

2007-08-16T23:00:00.000+08:00

August 14th 2007.

The day I screamed, bawled and howled like a banshee at 1.00am in the morning.
The day I ripped my heart open for "them" to see.
The day I uttered unintelligibly into the quiet, open darkness.

What-the-fuck.

What do you actually want from me?
How many times have you seen me like this?
How many times more do you want to see me like this?
Are you trying to teach me something?
Do you want me to learn something?
You want me to learn to be tougher?
How tough do you want me to be?
Do you want me to be smarter?
A better judge of character?
How much better?
Till I trust no one?
Till I am able to sniff the good from the bad?
And when I meet the good, that I still cannot like them?
How hard do you want my heart to be?
Till I cannot love anymore?
How many times do I have to get my heart ripped out?
How many's that again?
How many's good enough for you?

Are-you-not-entertained?

Am I still not smart enough for you?
How come there are so many more not so smart ones?
Why don't you pick on them?
Does it make you laugh to see me cry?
Does it amaze you that I always bounce back?
Does it upset you that I always bounce back?
Do you want to see me broken?
Do you want to see me beg for mercy?
Does it tickle your fancy to see me worship you?
Who are you?

Fuck you.

Fuck your gifts and teases and taunts.
You want to see how tough I can be, let's see who gets to the finish line first.
The finish line? That's the day I'm finished.
That's the day I die. In being.
There is no way my spirit can die, I'm sorry... tsk tsk tsk...
So as long as there's still a breath of life in me, then the finish line's not reached yet.

You're twisted.
And because of that, you've twisted me.
Because you've toyed with me. You made me.
Don't come round and tell me I'm not merciful.
What's mercy when I have known none from you?
Fuckhead.

Remember, remember.
The day I screamed, bawled and howled like a banshee at 1.00am in the morning.
The day I ripped my heart open for "them" to see.
The day I uttered unintelligibly into the quiet, open darkness.

The day I threw his gift out the window.
The day I wiped out every memory of him.

Read me now.
Read me again. And again.
Read me always.

Precious.

Read me till it cuts.
Read me till it's inscribed in your memory.
Like an open wound.
Bleed, bleed, gush, gush.
Slice it again. And again. Slice it raw.
I bleed. Warm blood. Nice red.

So beatifically beautiful to be without feeling.

Ever again.

Long Live The Storyteller!

2007-08-15T12:31:00.000+08:00

Malaysia has her heroes. From corporate stalwarts to merciful messiahs. But if there was one superstar to emerge from this lot, one to have her very own star on Bukit Bintang's Walk Of Fame (if ever there was one), one to have touched every Malaysian's life either in a good way or bad through her works, it has to be ...

Yasmin Ahmad

We have to admit, her stories and films have touched us in ways we never thought it could. It has incited disbelief and anger, and drawn tears from our eyes through reflection and humour. There is a fervour every Hari Raya and Merdeka for "what will the Petronas ad be this year?" True, in this advanced day of creativity, every corporation which has the moolah to spend on a tearjerker TVC will try to outdo each other with stories dug deep from the attics of our minds and cellars of our hearts. Each in an attempt to awaken lost loves, hope and inspiration in each of us.

But I ask - do you remember who started it? Who remembers the MAS commercial which started the ball rolling with three boys who grew up together, through the Japanese Occupation (voiced over by Ali Mohd, Chairman of Leo Burnett)? And the 3-minute rockumentary featuring Frank Sinatra's "My Way", heralding Malaysian heroes? Did those not leave your eyes moistened? Or at least made your hair stand at the back? How about Petronas' Hari Raya commercial about the trishaw puller whose son had forgotten him? That had many people saying how un-festive it was, that instead of bringing cheer, brought reflection and depression. Well at least it had people talking - and I know that some of my friends actually canceled their holiday trips just to be home with their parents after watching that commercial. If only it sold more petrol though... And of course, who can forget the uproarious Sepet, which celebrated inter-racial love?

Yasmin Ahmad might not be a Scorsese nor have Spielberg's indecent budgets for a movie (she has been known to personally fund some of her films), but she has put Malaysia and Malaysians on the map. She has made Malaysia famous for its people, and made the world see that besides two very tall buildings and some funky coconut-flavoured rice with sambal, there are walking, talking, feeling, thinking, crying, laughing, funny, tall, short, fat, skinny and coloured human beings that mobilizes the country behind the name, behind the "Malaysia, Truly Asia" jingle.

I left this comment on her blog:

Selamat petang, Yasmin.

This comment is not a showcase of intellect, but rather, it is a simple note to record my highest admiration, respect and support for all that you have done and are doing for the everyday Malaysian. Thank you for reaching deep inside and bringing our insecurities, fears and beliefs to light, making them all seem totally human, forgivable and acceptable.

Once upon a time I worked in LB (02-04, on the BCB account). No we never worked on the same accounts, but nonetheless, I was star struck from the very beginning, from the first email we received from you, telling us the sights, sounds, smells and smiles you saw on your way to work. Honestly, I'd never seen Masjid Jamek in such a romantic light!

Anyway, abashedly I announce that I have watched all your films, and that Mukhsin made me cry. I listened to Schumann's Traumerei Op. 15 over and over again with renewed zest!

Congratulations on all your achievements and accolades. There will be naysayers, but know that here is a bunch of people who love and adore you and your work. Unconditionally.

Long live Yasmin The Storyteller.
Adeline Law | 08.13.07 - 8:53 am | #

And here's her reply:

oh adeline, that's just the sweetest, most reassuring thing ever said to me. i hope never to disappoint you with any of my films, inshaallah.
yasmin | 08.13.07 - 1:28 pm | #

Long live patriotism, beautiful cultural differences, funny misunderstandings, beautiful weaknesses, ugly idealism and national petroleum!

Now You See It, Now You Don't

2007-08-13T10:51:00.000+08:00

I was right. I AM complex. Now he can't figure me out and he's given up - or is at the brink of it. What happened to the "bring it on" rah-rah-ism? But thank you to all my friends who wished me well. Thank you Chris (you read my blog??? why???) and thank you JC who has heard me out through my "funny" episodes. "Funny" - because having been an observer from the sidelines all along, one notices all the classic mishaps, miscommunication and misunderstandings that couples go through. And you think you've seen them all, and you think you'd know what to do if you were ever in that situation. And you dole out advice like you were Oprah, the strongest woman on earth who don't need a love life to make it in this world.

Or so you think.

There's something my mom told me about feng shui - don't start, because once you get into it, you can't ignore it. And if you did try to ignore it, you'll live the rest of your life worrying about it. Same thing with this crazy little thing called "love". It's easy to tell someone to "walk away". But when you're in the eye of the whirlpool, your mind is mangled and logic is yanked from it. **And you can't be holding on to all you've got, when all you've got is hurt...

To all my friends I met during the weekend who asked me where he was and how he was doing, I'm sorry that I don't know. I'm sorry to have to tell you that we had a quarrel on Thursday night and we haven't communicated since. I tried, but it was non-reciprocated. Please don't ask me what we quarreled about; just know that people quarrel about things and words get spoken and egos get wounded and regret is always the aftertaste.

The weekend is come and gone. And all I've got to show is silence. My hands are sore from my sitting on them, all in the name of "space". I have no idea when this Cold War is going to end. The one between US and the Soviet Union lasted fifty years!!! All I do know is what I feel. But my guess is that he's given up. And I'm back to status quo, status solo.

If things don't turn out well, I'm gonna heed the fortune-teller's advice and go down south and find me a gweilo, get hitched, run a spa and get a daughter and become a queen. If God decides to be nice to me, then I'll probably delete this entry as it would hurt too much to read it again in future.

So really, in essence, "let's see how long this will last".

** Thank you Bono and U2 for those words

The "Let's See How Long This Will Last" Entry

2007-07-30T16:04:00.000+08:00

Eliza sniffed me out. She said that people who don’t write are people who are pre-occupied with other things aside from work. That’s because when we’re busy with work, we vent about work. But when we’re distracted by something MORE fun than work, family or the usual friends, we don’t have time for other things … like blogging *sheepish grin*

But this entry adheres to only half of Eliza’s predicament. The half that’s right is that I have been pre-occupied with something more interesting than work – I met someone, and as early as late June too. And the other half is that I was plain uninspired. But you don’t care about that.

So who’s he? Since I’m very pantang about these things, let’s just say that we met through friends, he’s not in advertising (tanks gawd!), we have tonnes – tonnes in common, and are physically, emotionally and intellectually attracted to each other. So far. It’s looking healthy. But before you think you want to start teasing me, perhaps you should also know that it will be futile, because at our age (we’re the same age!! finally for Addie, yayyy!!) we’re quite grounded and aren’t really made of what you’d call storybook romance sh**. Just to prove a point – as of today, we have not held hands in public. We have not said the “ILY” words to each other (I honestly don’t think I’ve reached that stage yet), and we have not declared each other as BF/GF. We don’t even see each other on weekdays, and on weekends, we only manage a couple of hours for dinner. The plus side is that we write (yeah, you read that right) to each other everyday without fail, and call each other every night before beddy-byes. Okay, it’s getting very geli talking about it. So really, if you don’t mind, this should be as far as I go. If I happened to mention him in my upcoming entries, it’s only by chance, or by relation to the topic at hand.

Since I’m not good at writing one of those mixed-topic entries, I’ll reserve my thoughts for another entry. Whenever that may be *guffaw* But at least you know that Addie’s days are much, much brighter these days… And if she don’t watch it, her weight might just soar again (just like her spirits!)

I WAAAAAANNNTTT!!!!!

2007-05-25T20:05:00.000+08:00

I've made up my mind. This is my birthday wishlist. List? Heck, man - I only have ONE item on that list! See? I'm not complicated... Here goes:

I want THE CONE
http://www.conezone.org/

That's it. That's the one, the onliest one. And I guarantee I'll be happy every waking day of my life, and I'll have more reason than ever to go home early - even if I'm living with Mom!

This is the Bimbo one...

2007-04-25T16:30:00.000+08:00

It's SO obvious that I'm bored, innit? TWO entries in a day! It's not that I've nothing to do but I'm uninspired. And while I'm high on blover* I might as well make the most of it.

This is one issue that's been on my mind since last week. Sorry but I'm about to sound rrrRRRrrreeeeEEEeaaallleeeeEEeee bimbo now - long fringe or short fringe?? I know, I know... that's been the status message on my MSN for the past week. Even asked buddies to vote. Some good sports did though. The score now stands at:

Long fringe = 3.5 votes
Short fringe = 2.5 votes

No thanks to Elaine who said "a bit shorter than long, but not too long... somewhere in the middle." Ekk? That explains the half point in the scores.

Anyway, I've always had a long fringe - that's the only way to go when you don't have a hairstyle to begin with. Recently, I took a major super-duper death-defying risk by having baby-doll bangs... gasp!! Bangs!! But hey - I didn't think I looked all too bad. As of today, my hair is in an interim stage between "God-forbid-what-did-you-do" and "Et voila, sassy!". I subjected my hair to some crisis management over the weekend to cover up the whities and put it on a leash. As usual, I never learn. Got duped again by the attendant who spoke very little Ingrish and who under-quoted me for my treatment. My soulmate Vernie thinks that I love to pay loads of money for absolutely no hairstyle at all. He's wrong about the "love" bit.

I'm gonna attach two pics of myself - with long fringe and short. You be the judge and vote.

* I call the short-fringed picture my "Love is Forever" pic. I had it taken with Vernie at a roadshow of some sort and the photographer put us in this ghastly flower-power frame with those words on top of it! Vernie had to do some nip-tucking to crop it out, hahaha!

vs.

*Blover = blogging fever. Sendiri buat punya perkataan :P

So how ah?

Of Pietas and Prophets

2007-04-25T13:30:00.000+08:00

I have a past. And I'm ready to share it.

http://ofpietasandprophets.blogspot.com

*blush*

The Curse of Madam Helen

2007-04-24T23:54:00.000+08:00

You know the feeling when you get a papercut that's just about healing? Yeah, that not-so-painful-but-stinging throb. It doesn't hurt so much that you'll cry or curl up in a feverish fit but it's enough to remind you that it's THERE. OK, so this is another 'rant' entry. But what else are blogs for anyway?? Besides, this is MY blog, and I'll write what I wanna! *scowl* *stick tongue out*

Today was a typical Madam Helen day. The kind of day that will end up in disaster no matter what you do, by virtue of the fact that it is the day you have to meet Madam Helen. Madam Helen is the type of person who lives by the mantra that "if it screws up, it's somebody else's fault". And the "if I don't like what I see in the first 5 minutes, it's a waste of my time". Oh, and the "you look too young to know what's going on, therefore I think you're unworthy of my respect". Ooh, ooh, wait - there's one more - the "once you make a teeny-weeny mistake, you're stupid for life". I think you get the picture.

So we had a bad beginning with Madam Helen when we first met her. She didn't like me from the start. Maybe it was my black bra behind my see-thru bust-enhancing top. Maybe it was my exec's clumsy demeanour. Maybe it was a misuse of a taboo word during our presentation. It was just so wrong from the very start. She just didn't like me. I don't really know if I should be thankful, but her son seemed (and still does!) to think we deserved some credit and went on to work with us. And just as luck would have it, this account has seen more bad days than good. First, we were cursed with the misfortune of a badly-placed ad in the newspaper which made the brand look so insignificant, and which threw Madam Helen off her chair as she demanded for a full rebate from us. We gave it another shot and this time, paid the newspaper extra money for our ad to appear on a good page. Then some big shot's mother had to pass away, and our ad was again pushed to the back, in favour of a full-page obituary. Why why why? No one can answer the streak of bad luck we're having with this client.

In a lot of ways, today's mini volcanic eruption was the last straw for my exec Tim and I. We'd done our best, and yet Madam Helen wasn't happy. In fact, she stormed off halfway during our presentation while uttering that we were such a waste of her time. Oh well. Tim and I weren't new to her outbursts, but my boss was. She was embarrassed, humiliated, and her ego was hurt. NOW she knows what we put up with ever so often. And as far as Tim and I are concerned, we are SO not impressed with Madam Helen's childish, bratty, primadona behavior. We've pretty much lost our respect for her. Totally. I don't give a rat's ass that she's so-and-so's friend and Lord-knows-what kind of sterling silver spoon is shoved up her be-diseased mouth. I'm just very sorry that her children have to put up with such a shameful mother.

I'm kinda proud of myself that I didn't flinch, but I was secretly hoping they'd fire us. Honestly, like I've always made known - I would rather starve than to tolerate ridicule from an ungrateful client. I've been cursed, almost, with a string of very difficult clients ever since I started working - starting with the notorious fishnet-stocking clad horror of a credit-card client, the spoilt Dato's son at the hotel, the slave-driver manager at my first big agency, the whiny verbally-abusive merchant banker, the oppressed closet gay Chinaman at the healthcare department... and now, this. Ho-hum. If this doesn't make me bitter and cynical, I'd most probably be a moron or Mother Teresa reincarnated.

Well you win some, you lose some. I can only continue to do the best I can for this campaign - for the love of advertising. The late great Leo Burnett said "Sometimes clients buy ideas not because they're great, but because they trust you". He also said "Advertising can bring the customer to the shop, but it cannot make the customer buy the product." In normal Ingrrish, since the client doesn't like us anyway, she's not going to trust us, let alone buy our ideas! Fairplay or not, I won't wince if we don't win this job, plainly because I don't like her either!! *snort snort* And inasmuch as we can do a fantabulous award-winning campaign, it won't mean a thang if the place doesn't deliver the promise. Whoops - I guess that means that we'll be blamed again. La dee da. So be The Curse of Madam Helen.

I don't wish this on anybody, but it's almost the norm in the ad industry. Ridiculous clients and even more ridiculous demands! There will come a time when one party has to give in and reach a compromise, and we all know the chances of the client giving in is as slim as getting a one-night stand with Keanu Reeves. (Provided he's straight, of course.)

Have you ever had a Madam Helen day? Or a Madam Helen streak of bad chemistry with a person? And why do I hear Daniel Powter singing in my head???

Latest update 14/5/07
We lost the account to a 4A's agency somewhere in Damansara Heights. Good luck fellas!

True Zeroes: The Inflated Deflator!

2007-04-17T20:52:00.000+08:00

I'm a Superhero. Did I ever tell you I'm a Superhero? Well I am a Superhero. And I have super powers. My super sonic powers enable me to attract the male bastards, losers and lamers (MBLL) of the Universe. Once they get attracted to me, you'll know they're MBLL. And when I'm close to them, their stinky MBLL traits are exposed and that causes an intense negative reaction in me, which will result in me biting their heads off but not before I unwittingly shred their egos to bits.

And therein lies the very root of my cursed singlehood.

I don't think I've explained how the superhero alias came about. Simple. I'm fat = Inflated. And I deflate egos = Deflator. See? Inflated Deflator.

So ladies, if you want to know if your man is an MBLL, send them over! Men - sorry my powers don't work on gays.

Note:
I'd like to add Kenneth, Aled, Neel, Chris and Dr. Kumar to the list of MBLL's. Original list in last blog. Will update list from time to time when I remember them bastards I've pulverized.

Bluffology

2007-04-10T21:35:00.000+08:00

For some reason, I always get hit on by Indians. Don't get me wrong, I have no racial preference. I have long told all my friends that as long as ada otak and can spikking England, I'm cool with him. And whaddaya know, most of them who speak good English turn out to be Yindians. And I suspect that they might have a fetish for wobbly, generously-overflowing women too. Oh well, it's just a hunch.

I also realise that 3 out of 4 Indian men who hit on me will talk about the size of their members. And I have to go on record for this - 3 out of 4 who brag about it end up having smaller-than-medium sized members. I'm serious. I can vouch for the fact that Indian men DO NOT have bigger members by virtue of genetics. Sorry. Although there was one loser who did measure up... but that was all he had - size. He couldn't even keep it up. Poor me.

So there - this entry is dedicated to you (reckless name dropping starts... NOW) - Radah, Vijay, Syah and Kish. All losers, liars and lamers.

Disclaimer:
Ahem. NO, I didn't sleep with ALL of them!! Some of them just bragged too much.

Life's Lessons Revisited

2007-04-09T23:04:00.000+08:00

This entry is dedicated to my cousin Audrey. What was originally intended to be a ferrying service turned out to be a crash course in life’s lessons, some of which I’d long put in cold storage. Audrey is, after all, 20 years old and enjoying the spoils of her youth. Boys (not men), clubbing, make-up, fashion – typical topics (yawn) tabled during our occasional meetings. Sunday’s meeting was a little different in that it involved a very silly little distraught girl, an annoyed older cousin, and surprise, surprise – one extremely possessive, jealous and totally misguided and desperately in need of some serious Addie-pulverizing young boyfriend.

You see, what seems to be The Problem of The Century in the eyes of a 20-year old, is in fact nothing more than an annoyance to a 35-year old; a fruitfly buzzing under your nose – nothing a SWAT! of a newspaper couldn’t fix. Of course, we’d have to be quick to understand that when we were young, every new situation – was a new problem.

Life’s Lesson #1
Everyone’s allowed to be young and foolish. I said to Audrey, “One part of me wants to be Big Sis and tell you to walk away from this small problem, because, really, there are so many more fish in the sea. I want to tell you that you don’t deserve to be treated this way, and that I can’t bear to see you cry over a broken heart. And I’d tell you to leave this boy and find a better one.

“And yet if I do that, I’m stopping you from experiencing the very essence of living life. Of getting your heart broken, the pain of knowing too much pleasure, the thrill of pursuit and possession, and the sweet victory of overcoming rejection. You will be a half-baked chicken with only the rich experience of trashy high school romance novels as your guide to growing up in this big bad world.”

“The other side of me wants to be cruel to be kind. To let you see how foolish you are, to let you fall and see if you can pick yourself up. Of course, if I do that, I would be totally irresponsible as an older person not to lead you in the right direction.

“So here’s what I think I will do. I’m going to let you make up your own mind as to what you want to do with your useless boyfriend, ha ha, but not before imparting some of my own experiences. Then you be the judge of things.”

Because, really, you only get to be young once. It’s perfectly alright to make mistakes. But it’s disastrous if you don’t learn from them.

Life’s Lesson #2
There will always be Bastards. You can wish them dead, but you can’t stop them from being born every minute of the day, all across the world. You can’t avoid them, and, as I have just recently discovered, they can comprise of the most unexpected and seemingly saintliest of them all!

But for every 50 bastards, there is one truly wonderful man worthy of being heralded. But chances are, he lives in Greenland and already has a boyfriend. Nonetheless, we celebrate his existence and silently hope that he soon realizes that planting his seed in the rectal regions of his lover’s anal cavity will not produce an offspring anytime soon. And that he will donate his DNA for scientific research and bless the female population with his clones. (Didju git that, Mr. Scientist? I wrote “cloneSSSSSSSSSSSSS”!!)

So what do we do, but walk on. Again, to learn from experience so that in future, you know exactly how to deal with the bullshit and dodge the blows. And until that time, never close your heart. Love grows where kindness shows. Love was put in your heart, and you can’t make it go away. Love is inevitable. Even if you love durians – that’s love too, you idiot!

Life’s Lesson #3
A husband is NOT family. Friends are forever. Boyfriends, girlfriends, lovers, fiancées, even married couples NEVER last. I tell you, the marriage institution is a joke now. Alright, children and parents are family, and if you’re lucky they’ll stick by you no matter what. So don’t sever ties with the rest of the world just because your lover doesn’t get along with them. They’re YOUR friends, and all these years you’ve gotten along just fine. So who died and made your lover God? When they walk out on you, the only people you can turn to are your friends and family. And can you imagine how unsettling the situation will be if you’d gone and pissed them all off? So no matter what, never EVER turn your back on your family, or give up your friends.

Life’s Lesson #4
If it adds value to your life, then stick to it. Being good in bed is a definite boners… uh, bonus… but when you’re 60 and your willy is as hard as a deflated balloon and your pussy is as scalloped as your Datin neighbour’s curtains, what then? Yeah, yeah, we all know about stimulating conversations. And then what?

It’s that silent teacher, that invisible halo that we hang on to. That noble characteristic that makes us want to always be bigger and better than what we are, everyday in every way. For him, for her. It’s that unspoken word, the unseen gesture, that leaves us tingling and makes us feel wonderful inside. It’s the mental ganja that makes us stick together. The questions we need to ask ourselves are, “How can he/she make my life better?” “Am I learning anything good/gaining anything beneficial from him/her?” “How can I be a better person?” “Am I willing to sacrifice my vices to improve myself for him/her?”

If your answer is anywhere between “Nope” to “F*** off!!”, then you’re better off single (like me, surprise, surprise). The saying goes, “You never know what you’ve got till you lose it.” Yeah, I learnt that the hard way. So I always ask myself nowadays – what will I stand to lose if I walk out now? The answers are all-telling, whether it concerns your job or your love life.

Life’s Lesson #5
Blood is thicker than water. Audrey and I are not very close. But she came to me in her time of desperation. Yes, I feel somewhat heroic, but more surprising was how quick I rose to the defense to save my kin’s skin. That’s saying something, and it echoes Life’s Lesson #3 on family. That no matter what, when even your friends can’t help you, there’s always a family member around who can. And will. Or just bloody has to or answer to BOTH your parents.

And so it was warm and fuzzy. I dropped Audrey back at her boyfiend’s house (that was NOT a spelling error) to let her sort things out with her – ahem – newfound wisdom. While I’m just pleasantly surprised that all of my life’s mistakes, heartbreaks, mishaps and lessons did come in handy after all. There was a purpose for it albeit a teeny-weeny purpose; but there IS good from being a rebel, an accidental flirt, a clumsy lover and unconventional woman.

Bravo.

The Other Woman

2007-01-30T23:26:00.000+08:00

The other woman finds time to manicure her nails
The other woman is perfect where her rival fails
And she's never seen with pin curls in her hair

The other woman enchants her clothes with French perfume
The other woman keeps fresh cut flowers in each room
There are never toys that's scattered everywhere

And when her baby comes to call
He'll find her waiting like a lonesome queen
Cos when she's by his side
It's such a change from old routine

Oh my God, I don’t believe I actually qualify for this. I can’t imagine the things I’m saying to myself, and the things I’m doing to myself. There I go saying that I can come and go as I please, and no-one owns me. And here I am allowing myself to swallow the remnants of his time and affection while he devotedly nurses his girlfriend who’s down with God-knows-what. And listen to me bitch! LOL.

Face it, Adeline. You’re not as precious as you make yourself out to be. Hel-lo… you were the one who didn’t want to have a relationship with him. ‘He’s too old’ lah, ‘he’s already got a girlfriend’ lah, ‘my parents will kill me’ lah… all excuses you made and gave yourself. In the end, he’s just a man. He’s just human. It makes sense, all of it. He’s in a relationship devoid of physical affection, with a long-standing girlfriend. But it’s a long-standing relationship alright; come rain come shine, in sickness and in health, she’s the one he runs to when in dire need of help – and he, her. So no matter what happens to you – it doesn’t matter if there is no water in your house for the next two days and you can’t shower, when the bona fide girlfriend gets a high fever, he’ll devotedly bring her to the doctor’s, buy her dinner, clean her and even after watching football at 2am in the morning, will drive to her house just to look after her. You wish lah he’ll drive to Ampang when you’re throwing your guts up. Because in the end, she’s the Real Deal. And you?

You’re an afterthought, you fool. An idea, a fantasy, a sigh… nothing, by-the by.

Get real, Ade. Hard your core! Your eggs are rotting in that basket. They’re not going anywhere. Yet you keep plying on the eggs and they’re all getting crushed.

But the other woman will always cry herself to sleep
The other woman will never have his love to keep
And as the years go by the other woman
Will spend her life alone...

59kgs!

2007-01-26T19:29:00.000+08:00

That should say it.

I weighed in at 68kgs when I signed up for gym. No I don't have any pictures of me because I haven't been to outings where anyone carries a camera. Altho I have to say that my pictures during the office Xmas party last year weren't too telling of any weight loss. Maybe I'm just too harsh a critic.

Ah, but I'm still 8kgs overweight anyway. According to some chart someone did and by which all PE and Kesihatan teachers, and nutritionists measure levels of health, at my 5' 1" frame, I should weigh 51kg. The last time I was that light, I was 23 years old, in college, starving and had just recovered from a cough that lasted two months and four visits to the doctor. In a desperate attempt to cure my illness, I embarked on a self-designed meat-and-oil-free diet of soup, porridge, teh o limau panas and barley for almost 1 month.

Given my sluggish daily routine, I don't think that will ever work again. Anyway back to work. It's a Friday evening, 8.30pm in my office. Gerard the designer has popped out for dinner. He has to finish 2 mock-ups for a corporate brochure for Monday morning. I have to read through and leave comments on an 11-page copy sheet on asset management processes and strategies. NOW WHO WAS IT WHO SAID ADVERTISING WAS GLAMOUROUS???

For some reason, of all nights I've stayed back there are lots of mosquitoes and funny-looking bugs flying around tonight. I am so sleepy and brain dead now. Last night I didn't sleep too good cuz there was a water problem in the apartment and I couldn't bathe. The ickky part was that I couldn't wash my feet! Mommy says that if you don't wash your feet, the bad "chi" will follow you to your sleep. I guess I was too afraid to dream so I forced myself to stay up.

Tomorrow I'm following a buddy to Hijjas Kasturi's Rimbun Dahan or sumfink like that. He said he wanted to introduce me to a wider set of people so that I don't just mingle with the same ol' same ol' people. Well I personally think artists and ad people ARE the same. They're all jaded, intoxicated, pretentious, cynical, bitter, glory-seeking, cocky, unreal and annoying. The only difference is the size of their wallets - whose is bigger I wouldn't know. All I know is my wallet is anorexic.

I have a "beach" wedding to attend on Sunday - which means more $$ out tha window. OK - now my wallet is bulimic.

Gerard's back with some cheese tarts (so sweet of him) and I've just made up in weight what my wallet will lose over the weekend. Right now, back to more quantitative strategies and investment research processes. Macamlah aku faham...

Bugger off!!

2007-01-19T20:10:00.000+08:00

OK listen up buddies.

It hasn't been easy for me. I'm not in good shape. I have an ulcer under my tongue altho I drink 3 litres of water everyday. My eyes are drying out and I have to take them off contact lenses for awhile, which means I have to make new spectacles because my current ones are old and scratched. I went to the optician yesterday and she told me she I could only take an eye test if my eyes were off contact lenses for at least 30 minutes. I don't even have 30 minutes to spare without my eyes!! I was planning to get my eyes checked this Saturday, then come in to the office to work but now I have to wake up at an ungodly hour, hit the mall optician at 10.00am, then make it to the office by 11.00am because of an emergency meeting!

Mom keeps asking me if I'm going home on Saturday for lunch? Dinner? How about breakfast on Sunday? Dad will be back, can you come home for dinner?

And The Boss is another problem altogether. Her management methods and creative strategies (what strategies?) are stuck in the 80's and all she knows how to say is "So HOW are we gonna do this?" ... "WHAT are we gonna say?" And all the while maintaining this primadona stance that insinuates that we OWE her a bloody solution. In the first place, if she's not going to lift a finger and help with the presentations, reports and client liaisons, then she should just be gone, and I don't even mind driving to her house to get my paycheck signed, you know what I mean? Just don't pile your insecurities and incompetencies on me!

And you know who you are - I told you I'd hit the gym if I could! I'm still paying for it aren't I? And don't start about how "I won't see the real benefits" - I DO, and I have. But here's a consolation so you'll sleep easier tonight - I'm not giving up on losing weight. I haven't lost all hope and throwing it all away. I keep an eye on my diet like a bird on its prey. I've maintained my size. OK?

Start up your own ad agency maybe. And do the Client Servicing for 5 clients with deadlines due one after another. But it has to be AN AD AGENCY. And CLIENT SERVICING.

I'm sorry, my darlings V & F - that was a blow that was below the belt. Heck, I'm not even gonna ask you to understand because to you, I'm a loser. To you, it's typical Addie, giving up mid stream. To you, these are all excuses. So I'm not asking for your sympathy, I'm just laying the facts. And yes, I'm telling you to stop what you're about to ask me every single Mon, Wed and Fri.

I know I've been a whiner, complainer, ranter, bitcher. I know because my friends have tired of asking me how I am. I get it, folks, I wasn't born yesterday. So if you really don't want to hear me rant, then don't ask me how I am. Don't even talk or write to me if you aren't going to sympathise. I won't be nice, and that's not a good thing to look forward to.

There!

Disheveled, Disgruntled, Disappointed

2006-12-28T21:27:00.000+08:00

I'm just dissed.

I know why, but I don't know where to start.

Firstly I owe an apology for not updating my blog for the longest time.

Secondly I want to apologise for the pessimism that this entry will wreak of.

Thirdly I want to warn you that the next few entries will seem disorderly and completely out of time. That's simply because I've been writing multiple entries at different point of time, and in different frames of mind. And I haven't had time to complete those, or had the time of day to post them. Which is not to say that I have the time now, but I just need to vent and rant and I know if I don't do this now, I will be jaded, vengeful, angry and ugly like a prune.

I'm overloaded with work and my personal life is in shambles. At this year end when everybody's taking time off, I'm inundated with work - presentations and proposals for 2007, all happening back to back. It's a very sadistic and painful blessing, this. It's a positive end to the year and definitely a great year ahead - we've secured one business pitch, and I just received news this evening that we have been recommended as the agency of choice by another client whose business we pitched for a month ago. On top of which, we have been entrusted with the year-long A&P activities for two other clients - without a pitch, and all of these will amount to a billing of close to RM2mil by year ending 2007. Not bad for a new start-up! Yay to me!!! And today, and old Client called me up to award me with a job - without even having to pitch for it. I guess I must've done right and done good in my past eh. Sadly I can't even celebrate. After this entry, I'm going to have to start on another project - pronto!

My personal life is in dire need of organizing! I'm moving out of my apartment and into another - you'll read about it in future entries. As of this afternoon, I have moved 3/4 of my clothes, the rest are partially still hanging in the cupboard, half packed into a suitcase the size of China, some stashed in the laundry basket and some turning into pickled vegetables in the washing machine. I still have to figure out how to cart my two side tables, shoe rack, SHOES!!, mini home theater set, chair and about 10-odd stray paper bags containing stuff that couldn't fit into boxes. Too paltry for a lorry to cart, too much for a car. I wanted to cart them bit by bit, day to day, but looking at work schedule, it'd be suicide to go home, stuff my car, drive all the way to Ampang at blinkin' 1.00AM, deliver stuff into apartment, then drive back, shower and sleep by 3.00AM. And wake up by 9.00AM to get to work by 11.00AM. Wow. Yippee. Yay.

Which brings me to answer the question you're all asking - why isn't anyone helping me? Before I begin, please mentally play Faure's "Requiem, Opus 48 - In Paradisum"...

I've been terribly disappointed, but I think mostly, hurt by the revolting attitudes of two particular persons who had volunteered to help me. Let me also explain that my brother - who lives with me and who is also moving out at the same time - and I share the same friends. Seeing that we are both moving on the same day and that he has a lot more things to carry, I figured my friends would be flat out tired enough. So I thought I'd take on my other friends' offers to help me move. Nearer to the date, I sent text messages and even called, but neither responded. So I'm religiously skimming the pages of our dailies looking for news of more people being blown up by explosives, alien abduction or perhaps the quake in Taiwan caused Celcom lines to go kabonkers as early as 2 weeks back. Straaaaannnge...

The hurtful bit is that I thought there was a chance of a relationship with one of them. There - Addie spat it out. What to do? Move on lah. Another soiled attempt at a relationship with someone I liked. And that's rare. Finding someone I like, that is.

All I want to do now is to get all job reports out by end of this week, move on out and organise my personal life, work myself to the brink of death, hire some staff and then go on holiday during Chinese New Year. Sorry folks - you are most welcome to my Mom's apartment in Cheras - she makes kick-ass Mee Siam and Peanut Cookies - but I won't be there. I'll be on sleep mode on some remote island with only the native primates to annoy me.

It's bloody 10.20PM on a Thursday night, three days to the New Year. Bah humbug. I haven't had dinner, am hungry as hell but I really don't know what to eat. Some idiot is laughing like a hyena on the street below. My bladder is full. I'm going nuts.

Sigh...

In every blog, there’s always one entry that is a waste of anybody’s time to read…

2006-10-28T00:41:00.000+08:00

(in some, more than others!)

It’s a Friday night and I rewarded myself by coming home early. And by “early”, I mean leaving the office at 7pm! Vernie had a craving for “sumfink hewty” so we both ruled out dim sum and mamak food, and headed for Subway samwiches at Menara Millenium. Not as a great as O’Brien’s, but it beats having to drive to The Curve on a Friday evening! And to cap a great dinner, I had a present from a visiting “relative” – who so considerately decided to leave a stain on my skirt… right… at… that… spot… NNNNNG-GAAAHHHH!!!!

Having ssoooo much time on my hands, I decided to watch a chick flick (after a useless week of rendang, muruku and too much sleep, your brain is a slab of mush anyway). “The Devil Wears Prada” was the perfect choice for a non-intellectually challenging movie. I have to hand it to Anne Hathaway – she has such a fantastic and infectious smile! I found myself breaking into one each time she smiles on screen. That girl is angelic!

The movie ended – and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t even 11pm yet! By golly – had I still been working in the big agencies, I would be clocking in for night shift right about now! Oh… what’s a girl to do… but read a silly interview on Vince Vaughn in last fall’s InStyle magazine? And so silly was the interview that I decided to play celebrity and answer some of THOSE questions myself!! (Some questions altered to suit the entry, but all answers are impromptu.)

SO, WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE...

Film:
- A Few Good Men, In The Name Of The Father, Dead Poet’s Society, Scent Of A Woman, Dead Man Walking, I Am Sam, Crash, Pulp Fiction. Erm… did you say filmSSSS?

Reality TV show:
- Only one worth watching, really. The Apprentice.

Childhood TV show:
- aahhahahahahaa… The A-Team!! (I was madly in love with Murdock… I mean, IN LOVE!!), Eight Is Enough, Seven Brides For Seven Brothers (eh, so many numbers one?), V, Battlestar Galactica (yang ori!!), Buck Rogers in the 25th Century. OK that’s all I remember.

Love song:
- The Answer, Sarah McLachlan. Annie’s Song, John Denver. When I’m With You, Sheriff.

Book:
- The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran. Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie. Jungle Book, Rudyard Kipling. Is it me, or don’t all these books have something to do with India or Middle East?

News source:
- CNN, The Star, The Edge, BBC. I like DW sometimes because they’re soooo devilishly rebellious!

Government leader:
- That’s easy! None. (Do Mandela and Aung San Suu Kyi count?)

Car:
- Beemers – hands down. If I could afford it, I would do a BIG, HUGE X5!!! Failing which, a 5-year old 660cc manual Kancil will do fine… sigh.

Sport:
- No particular sport. I’m so un-hip aren’t I? But if I absolutely must, I’ll watch tennis – men’s only, please – them tight asses in teeny-weeny white shorts quite do it for me, thank you! And probably some football – remnants of my “forced” World Cup frenzy.
(“Forced” because in my last job, we did a World Cup tie-in for our client, and we girls had to practically watch ALL the matches in order to get the project running on a daily basis – which eventually turned out to be fun, because I discovered that Zizou, Figo and Cannavaro are abso-smurf-ly yummyyyy!!!)

Item of clothing:
- 2 things: my Padini Authentic shorts and Dockers cargo pants. I’ve had both of them forever, and they go with everything! I dread the day it falls to pieces. I’m not kidding when I say ‘forever’ – they’re almost 7 years old, babe!

City:
- KL lah… what to see in JB and Ipoh? I like Singapore too. But that’s only because I’ve never traveled further than that!! aahahahhahaa….

Landmark:
- Must say am quite proud of our Twin Towers. They look crappy in postcards but when seen upfront, up close, they still leave me in awe. Apart from that, I love the old kopitiams and rustic backlanes of our smaller towns. Poetry in motion.

Candy bar:
- Kit Kat in Lemon Cheesecake coating!! I actually love chocolates but they give me migraines. So I’m pretty much reduced to ONE cube – cube! – of chocolate a month. Or two. Or three… Or…

Fruit:
- Mango, papaya, rambutan, lychees. I’m such an Asian! yay!

Time of year:
- April, because I take most of my holidays then. And year-end, not because I go on holiday, but my clients do!! And that leaves me with no stress, no work, and a paycheck at the end of the month!! Fa la la la laaa la la la laaa…

Breakfast:
- Cranberry Almond Crunch! Banana Nut Crunch! And once a decade, nasi lemak, char kuay teow, curry laksa, yau char kuay, roti telur and rava thosai!!!!

Thing about Malaysians:
- We’re not too kampung, and not too civilized. A bit awkward, a little naïve, but strong, smart, and always willing to learn, always trying that little bit harder. Always smiling, sometimes humble, but not without self-respect. This by no means refers to the politicians and orang kaya baru’s that wreck the good Malaysian soil with their rotting attitudes and obstinacies.

Compliment:
- I still don’t get it, but when people tell me I’m “sweet”. Basket, they haven’t heard me swear! But my favourite is from my ex-colleague Stef Tan, who claims that my mom ate too much cotton candy while carrying me, and that’s why I’m so sweet and fuzzy. AAWWWWWW… but WAIT! Stef’s a copywriter… biatch!

Ok, ok... no more! no more! :P ... hey, why don't YOU take this interview yourself? Will be quite fun to look back at this 1 year from now. IF your blog is still in existence that is.

Revelations 10:06

2006-10-24T17:26:00.000+08:00

Dear M,

When we first met,
I remember telling you that
I would rather be alone
Than to be owned.
And to this very day
I still feel the same way.

When I was with you
I’ve made myself do
Things I never thought I would
Things I never thought I could
Things I knew I should
Both bad and good.

But one thing remains
And this I say with pain,
That you and I
Are nothing but a lie,
An idea, a fantasy, a sigh
Nothing, by the by.

An alternate reality
A girl with no identity
A temporal fixture
Existing only for your pleasure
A sin so clandestine
She is robbed of her spine.

I apologise
But I must arise
I cannot be your slave
To beckon when you crave
I have too much self worth
To live only to serve.

With this declaration
I await your decision
Will we ever meet again?
Will you still call me “friend”?
Either way this will reveal the truth
If I ever meant anything to you.

TRAMPLED!!

2006-10-19T21:20:00.000+08:00

The hippopotamus landed with a thud today.

Was doing some balancing thingy on the trampoline with PT Kim and landed on the edge of the 'pline. It flipped over and lunged towards me. I fell forward, landing SPLAT! on the 'pline on my belly but not before gallantly breaking the fall with my left thigh and my right elbow. I now have war scars on those spots. Nice colours I must say. Looks like strawberry and raspberry jam. Tomorrow it will have a yellow ring around it, and that will look like lemon sauce.

On the sunny side, I've lost 2kg. Kim said "wah, losing weight ah", and I said "no lah, I'm wearing bigger clothes".

I'm sorry Grandma... I don't love you

2006-10-16T01:51:00.000+08:00

nce upon a time, there lived a malicious, juvenile, selfish, power-crazed, son-favouring, glory-seeking, rumour-mongering, sympathy-seeking, money-minded swine who had seven children – four daughters and three sons. A daughter, a daughter, a son, a daughter, a son, a son and a daughter. The eldest daughter was adopted, so that makes the second daughter the rightful Firstborn. However, because she was a girl, she was to have no place nor share in the family heirloom. That honour was bestowed upon the eldest son, the second born. Sadly, that much-loved son passed on early in life.

Without a doubt, the two younger sons were favoured above everyone else and their families were heralded as heaven-sent deities. They were presented with jewellery, precious stones and priceless objects just for existing on this good earth. The rich get richer, they say.

Of the three daughters, the two younger daughters married into wealth – and this pleased the old swine tremendously as it gave her bragging rights and the justification she needed to give them their rightful places on the family tree. Alas, the Firstborn daughter did not enjoy such prosperity. She had followed her heart and married a good, humble man of modest income and insignificant birth. “Your eyes are in your panties!” the old swine shrieked when she heard of the news. And from that day forth, the Firstborn had no choice but to rough it alone, living on love, fresh air and sunshine.

The Firstborn gave life to three overweight brats who caused her immense pain and infinite joy all at once. Although semi-estranged, she was still summoned to the ruling family’s occasions, if only to quench the ridiculous power-drenched face-saving desire of her mother, the matriarchal swine. All that effort lugging her three children and modest husband around – and all she got was more ridicule.

“Your children have no confidence or personality!”
“How come they all look like their father? Features all not nice!”
“Your husband doesn’t know how to make conversation.”
“Why are you wearing last year’s dress?”
“Please throw your shoes away. The kway-teow lady has better taste than you!”

…

The matriarchal swine gave all the children jewellery from time to time. She would distribute the jewels based on “suitability”, “priority”, “more deserving” and other urine-drenched criteria. For the afore mentioned reasons, the Firstborn somehow always got the smallest, the ugliest, the worst quality, the flawed one. But she held out her hand humbly and accepted what remnants of love were dished out to her. For years, she stood by and watched as gift after gift was showered upon her younger siblings.

And then came the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The Firstborn had asked the matriarchal swine for an antique chest of drawers, and nothing more. “I have never asked of anything from you” she said, “but this one thing which I have loved ever since I was a little girl. May I please be given your chest of drawers when you no longer have the need for it?”

Yes, of course, the swine had promised. Year after year, the Firstborn reminded her mother of the chest of drawers. Year after year, her mother the swine said Yes, of course.

And yet one fateful day, the Firstborn chanced upon her younger sister’s negotiation with the swine on that very same chest of drawers. And to her utmost chagrin, the swine immediately cleared the drawers out and surrendered it to the second daughter. No, I did not promise it to you, she had denied. No, I definitely don’t remember it at all!

The Firstborn left for home and told her story to her three brats, and they all cried for her. I’m not sure about the other two brats, but I’ve personally made an oath to never forgive my grandmother for what she did to my mother. Not even if she were choking on a chicken bone and begging me for help.

Grandmother, I hate that I am related to you.
Grandmother, I will NEVER forgive you for being who you are, for doing what you did to all of us.
Grandmother, you will NOT have a morsel of my grief when you die. The only grief I will have is for my mother, in that she will lose her useless mother. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

You swine. When my brother was no more than a toddler, cousin Aaron roughed him up. When they both started crying, you hit my brother. Fuck you.

You scum. You gave my sister and I rejected jewels from a bracelet that you disliked. I gave it to my mother for safekeeping so that she can pawn it for money one day when she needs to make that trip to Rome.

You cretinous ebola strain. You told my mother not to burden her with OUR visits because we wore you out. You stupid bitch, the only reason we stay with you is just to give you face. I can fucking afford to put my mother up in the Raffles Hotel if I wanted to and don’t need to subject ourselves to your mosquito-infested house, driving our grey matter crazy with your nauseating Chinese variety shows and downgrading our palette to your canine-worthy leftover food. AND THAT’S WHY WE, THE LAW SIBLINGS, NEVER SET FOOT IN YOUR FUCKING HOUSE ANYMORE. And I don’t fucking care if I don’t see you alive anymore. You are dead in my eyes and my heart to begin with.

The swine is ill, and these next few weeks may be her last. I am looking forward to taking a much-deserved holiday from work on the pretext of “compassionate leave”. Singapore, here I come! And I should ask Aaron to buy that iPod Shuffle clip now so that I can collect it during that trip.

Matilah aku...

2006-10-15T19:29:00.000+08:00

I’m into Week 7 of my road-back-to-shape project, with 17 gym visits and – give and take – 12 Personal Training sessions out of 26. Yes, I’m keeping tabs with scrutiny because it’s a love-loathe emotional bond, this whole gym thing. While I love the fact that I DO feel the benefits and love getting compliments about how I look now, I abhor the painful sessions with my trainer Kim.

It’s good, though – with Kim around, he pushes me on and on when I feel like giving up. He torments me with comments like “C’mon, what is that? Why are you crying? That’s too easy!!” to “How many are you gonna give me? 10? Too easy – gimme 15. If you break, gimme 20!” I’m not sure if psychology is one of their qualifications, but he has pretty much got me figured out – he knows how much I hate feeling belittled, and he knows that if he throws me a challenge, he’d better be prepared because I try. It’s all good.

And yet I cringe before my sessions. Every single time. If Stephen King built my character into his novel “It”, my monster would be … The STAIR MASTER. I hate the pain. My heart beats so fast and my legs hurt so much. And the day after, I can hardly sit because my butt hurts so badly. I now do Level 9 at 58 floors in 15 minutes. “Only??” Kim remarks, “That’s so-so.” AAARRRGGHHH. Truth is, I do 7 minutes non-stop, then break for a few seconds to catch my breath, then do the remaining 8 minutes in spurts of 2-3 minutes. That’s why it’s “only” 58 floors. And after that, I have to do the Ark for another 15 minutes. He has stopped me from doing the treadmill because he thinks it’s too easy for me. Sob sob.

Last Friday, Kim told me in a fairly warning tone that he was going to put me through an excruciatingly thorough check-up to mark my progress thus far sometime after Raya. Why this gets me nervous I don’t know. After all, I have lost some inches here and there and I watch my diet closely. I swear he’s trying to undermine me again. He knows I’ll rise to the challenge. Dammit. I sent my gym buddy Faeez an SMS saying that if I go Raya and Diwalli visiting, I’ll have to pack my own food. Boiled vegetables. Matilah aku…

I really have to apologize to my blog readers (if I have any that is) if my gym grimacing is beginning to sound like a stale tale but it seems to be a major part of my life at the moment. I’ve never done serious exercise, never kept up a good diet program, never even been remotely fit! This whole thing is new for me. However I also know that there are more than enough obese Malaysians who are not doing something about their health. Perhaps they’re living in oblivion. Perhaps Vogue was never their favourite magazine. Perhaps Spring/Summer never meant anything more than cherry blossoms and Chinese New Year to them. And I actually feel sad for them. Shallow as it sounds, it really makes a difference to how the world views you if you’re fat. There are enough fat jokes and discrimination against fat people. They think you’re sloppy, messy and disgusting. You can be the most genteel and educated person but because you’re fat, you’ll sweat a little more, breathe a little heavier, eat a bigger portion – and that’s taboo in the eyes of the shallow.

Before you begin to criticize my observations, let me assure you that I speak from experience. Hel~lo – I’m 5’1” and weigh 67 kilos. My hips are so wide I wear a size 44 bottom. My chest area is so bulky I have to wear frumpy tops from the Plus size range because bloody fashion labels don’t understand that some women are allowed to be buxomous!! My friend who designs her own maternity wear fashion range uses me as a model. And all my life, I’ve had to work that much extra harder just to be accepted as a person worthy of being noticed. While being noticed is one hurdle overcome, the other is the challenge of finding that someone who will fall in love with me for who I am, behind this generously overflowing folds of fat.

The easy way out is, of course, to “…not give a damn about what the world thinks of you…” blah blah blah. Stop kidding yourselves lah. There is no such thing. People who say that are people who do care, and they do care that the world sees that they don’t care, and they do care if they are seen to care when they shouldn’t. Well folks – I DO care what the world thinks of me. I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am, and it would be a terrible waste if I didn’t overcome this one simple hurdle – to get slim and trim.

On a parting note, I was actually digging some dirt up on my gym recently (hehheh) and came across their testimonial page on their website. Instead of making me puke, it made me stronger-willed believe it or not! I don’t believe it!!! I’m a sucker for testimonial ads!! Oh my God, I’ve been dispelling this notion for the longest time while working on Nivea!!! Anyway, these are real-life accounts of actual ‘ornery’ Joe’s and Jane’s who worked their way to fitness. I can actually relate to some of their insights. And honestly, I really can’t fault Kim at all for anything. No dirt on this guy. He’s been nothing but a motivator and is in essence a cool dude. We get along, and it’s actually fun to see him. Faeez says he wants to be like Kim when he grows up (lol), and it’s not difficult to see why. The dude’s got looks and character, and he’s passionate as hell about fitness. And that kinda rubs off on you when you’re with him.

Ah well, another grim gym entry comes to an end. More grimacing to come…

Ode to Desperate Wanting

2006-10-02T10:33:00.000+08:00

Inspired by The Urban Poet

Your face haunts
Your words taunt
Your promises flaunt
That which daunts
Your memory warrants
A flow of currents
The heart beckons

Hercules
Achilles
Adonis
Tease
Appease
Oh, please
You beast!
Feast
On my bliss
While I cease
To breathe

How sweet
Your bitterness
So replete
With emptiness
I deplete
My happiness
Must needs
The loneliness

Lick
My bleeding wounds
Suck
My poisoned heart
Wet
My scorching soul
Finger
My ruffled pride
Thrust!
My virgin mind
Quicken!
My staggered thoughts
Come
My departing pulse
Fill
My dank spirit
Awaken
My tired inspiration

Republished, circa May 2005

The World, United

2006-10-01T12:05:00.001+08:00

This post can well be called anything in between "Love All, Serve All" to "See No Evil". This year marks the 40th anniversary of Benetton, the fashion poster child for conscientious objection and consience raising. I leave you with their campaigns to tell you the tale.

United Colors of Benetton, we will never get enough of you.

www.benettongroup.com/en/whatwesay/fabrica.htm

www.benettontalk.com

Grim Gym Sins

2006-10-01T00:19:00.000+08:00

When my brother joined the gym way back when, my mother threw such a fit it was unbelievable. She gave him hell for the fact that it was expensive, a waste of money and time, the supplements were expensive and that he could injure himself, yadda yadda yadda. Old folk and their paranoia. It didn’t end there either. She told the universe about it, kicking and screaming. My brother didn’t speak to her for months. It’s not one of those things that “scarred me for life”. More like, we’ll know better never to tell her if we ever joined the gym ourselves.

I can totally understand my mother’s total disapproval of the gym. Back in the day – pre-Merdeka, post Japanese Occupation, Malaysia was not unlike a jakun teenager from the kampung, trying to adjust to the big city life. We were largely (and hey, we still are!) an agri-centric nation. Food was scarce, work was laborious and people just moved a lot more. In fact, the surroundings were just one, big monolith gym. The only people who did pump some iron were those who made a living out of it. But what was gym in those days but a few crowbars capped with iron donuts, a coupla benches padded with sponge and uber-retro fabric and some makeshift tools the creative owner made in his backyard. None of those “Platinum Membership” gimmicks, no sirree.

But I shan’t negate this whole idea because I just signed up with a gym myself – complete with a Personal Trainer, mind you! For the record, this has got to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I mean – look at me – all of 34 years of age, 20 kilos overweight, drained out by the ravages of advertising (yes, that infamous vampirical industry that sucks the life outta ya…), never exercised a day in my life. At some point in our lives, we’ve just got to own up to regressing metabolic rates and unkind gravitational pulls in our body. No matter how carefully you watch what you eat, the food won’t go anywhere anytime soon but lay there in your belly, hips, thighs and just about anywhere else. Stop laying the blame on water retention during periods because it’s been 3 weeks since the last drop. Stop thinking it’s your gastric problem and that you HAVE to eat so you don’t get heartburn. Trust me – all of these will disappear once you start exercising. (Honestly, I don’t believe I’m writing this…)

I still get the heebie-jeebies everytime I go to the gym for my session. My trainer is merciless and I end up nauseous and bunched up in the shower afterwards. I don’t even have the energy to soap myself. But I wake up the next morning and look at my taut tummy in the mirror reflection, and it’s all worth it. I still have a looooonnnggg way to go, my trainer tells me, but it’s a journey I’m willing to take. I don’t want to end up being 50, obese with under-developed muscles and immobile. In short, I don’t want to be my mother. Looking to the future, being retired should be the best time of one’s life to finally enjoy the fruits of one’s labour. It’s no use if you’re going to spend it hobbling with a walking stick, huffing every 15 minutes and making a nuisance of yourself to the people around you. (Of course I’m quick to the defense to say that I love my mother and I’d do anything for her without complaint, willingly with all my heart.)

I’m proud to say that for the first time in my life, I’m watching my diet with such ferocity and I don’t even crave the sinful foods that I used to eat mindlessly. I have watchdogs in the form of my brother and my lahling soulmate Verne who help me along with my food intake, and who cheer me on relentlessly. I feel healthier. I can do more things without breaking into sweat so easily. You know I didn’t know that one of the things I lacked was body balance. My trainer puts me through painful balancing regimes that make me look like Ballerina Hippo on crack. He says it’s to strengthen my lower back. Amazingly, that affects everything! I can actually run across the street without tripping over my own feet haha!

My advice to you is to do something about your health if you’re overweight and don’t feel too fantastic about yourself. But if you feel perfectly happy with yourself, then it’s OK. But what is “feeling perfectly happy”? An alternative reality you created so that you could fit right in to that comfort zone you created for yourself? I fess that I did do such a thing. I’m no beauty queen, but I’m no Ernest Borgnine either, and I do have my fair share of ‘interested parties’. For the longest time, I sought solace in that fact and repeatedly told myself that I was made for those who liked ‘em plump, and that if they had a problem with my being fat, then they weren’t meant for me. But everyday I look at my tyres, and I feel so unsexy. How could anyone love my body if I didn’t do so myself?

Armed with that, I resolved to love it. But before I could, I had to make it into something I could love. And so I did. I hope that everytime I read this entry, it would inspire me to continue, to love the pain and not find an excuse not to go. I hope that I will take this as a challenge to be something I have never been before. I have been a workaholic, I have been a survivor, I have resurrected from many a flame, I have fought and thrived. But I have never won the battle with mine own body.

I’d like to see me win this one major reality contest. If you do too, then drop me a shout out. The louder the cheers, the harder I’ll work.

Damn, I’m Broke :: Season #132

2006-09-30T16:38:00.000+08:00

Story of my life, this. Broke then, broke now, and most definitely in the foreseeable future. It has been 132 months since I started earning my daily bread. My first drawn salary was RM850 in 1995. I used that to pay for my rent, my brother’s rent, my boyfriends’ idiocies (makes me wonder now who the idiot was in the relationship), my food, my brother’s food, my buddies’ food, my boyfriends’ idiocies, my transport and all other guilty pleasures only a girl can be acquitted of.

Not bad, come to think of it now. Ms. Single-and-making-it-alone has done well considering I never had to borrow large amounts of money from anyone in my family, not even to buy my car. But it’s been tough for sure, for sure. Some months I barely make it to the finish line. Like my soulmate Vernie says “scraping the floor with your nails”. Now coming back to the present – this month is exceptionally bad!! I’m practically digging the earth with my bare hands! 2 feet deep…going on 3 feet… Hehheh, my fault entirely though. Having bummed out for almost a month and then clearing a large chunk of my credit card bills PLUS paying for a gym membership with September’s paycheck was a painful lesson in financial management indeed.

I reluctantly slip into Samuel Beckett’s Winnie, the incurable optimist buried in a mound of sand. She wakes up every morning with the yelp “Another heavenly day!” as she explores the contents of her enormous handbag. (Jo Kukathas rocked in this role!) And so do I – squeak, more like, and not without a sigh, manage the words “Another supposedly heavenly day” and explore the contents of my alarmingly shrinking wallet. Well, my brother can smirk all he wants for now because Big Sister has to be nice to him – he just lent her some moolah! But wait – the cheque’s being cleared, and really there’s no cause for alarm. Just a case of bad money management and non-paying debtors…grrrr…

I am, however, quick to realize what my learnings were, actually:

1. There is always enough money in a month, with surplus even.
2. I can save money – I don’t have to spend it all.
3. My monthly income can sustain me for 2 months, inclusive monthly bills!

And that basically set the pace for my “action plan” which I proudly devised just moments ago *big grin*. Putting my super-excellent terror-menerror Excel skills to work, I plotted out my personal balance sheet, clearly allocating for incidentals, groceries and silly indulgences *sheepish grin*. From there, my healthy balance is brought forward to the next month – and the next. Aiyoh, it’s Kunci Kira-Kira 101 lah ok! And I was so caught up in it, I continued to plot for the rest of the year, till Chinese New Year next year! And I’m such a happy bunny because the balance is looking good! A conservative figure based on conservative expenditure will bring me 6-digit savings in 5 years’ time; inflation rates, income increments, side income not counted (the big word for this slips my mind now).

I suppose this is my financial enlightenment. After all these years, I’ve finally learnt what it is to save moolah. Better late than never, I say! Of course it helps that I’m no fashion slave, neither am I fanatical about branded items. Small cozy apartment living is a can-do for me. And no, I don’t see children, let alone marriage in the near future either. Not that I’ve sworn marriage off, just not hoping to lah. But if it happens, it happens. That’s another story altogether.

I am so beside myself I decided to brag about it… yee-haw! Alrighty, I’m off to beddy-byes. Got gym in the morning – look out for that entry soon!

'Tis Not A Crime

2006-09-25T23:43:00.000+08:00

This has got to be the kazillionth time I'm answering this question. And he's definitely the kazillionth person to ask.

"You're single? But why?"

"Because I am. Because I'm not attracted to the men who like me, and the men I like are not available to me just yet. And you know what, there's nothing to be defensive about. This crazy little thing called 'Love' - I'll tell you what I think It's all about.

Love is an idea. It's so fragile It could break if you breathed too hard. It has no shape, no form, no colour, no fragrance. You make It what It is, in your own mould to your own liking. That's why people find Love in different ways, they see Love in different things. It's their own personal fantasy and reality. Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot, nine days old.

Love has no formula. You cannot calculate the breadth, length, width, height or weight of your emotions to equal Love. Love just happens to you. Because you are made different from others, you have your own thresholds. And your version of Love responds to you and you alone. Love and Insanity are of the same kind. No one can convict you of crime when you plead Insanity. And when you're in Love, you're pretty much insane anyway. You do the maddest things in Its name. Because Love gets to you in a BIG way - it gets to your brain, your heart and your bones. You ache and you don't even know where it hurts. Love agitates without even breaking a sweat, and that makes you Insane with frustration.

Love cannot be forced into anything it doesn't want to do. You cannot mould It, or even ask It to follow you. It's like a beautiful animal from the wild that you can't understand and can't predict. It might walk beside you or It might bite. It perches itself on your window sill, and that's where it shall be. There's nothing else you can do but just smile, offer it some seeds that it might feast on and grow, and make cosy your home. It may fly away, but know that it wasn't your fault. It just decided your window sill wasn't the one It wanted, that's all. You just have to be big hearted enough to accept that not all birds that perch on your sill would want to be your pet. If they fly, they fly.

Love to me is not unlike a shrub. I've never boasted of a green thumb, me. So shrubs grow and die in my care. Sometimes I'm lucky and they don't die. Sometimes I'm even luckier and the most amazing flowers grow! But whatever the case, I water them with Love anyway. They might never grow flowers, but they will always be green, and will remain green till they cannot green no more. In this little mystery called Love, my house is filled with Love shrubs. I have family and friends who - like the birdies, perch on my sill, and shrubs grow green in the sunshine of my Love. If they were birdies, they never come in, but they never fly away. they like it there on my sill. If they were shrubs, they never flower, but they make the most beautiful green carpet on my floor. See? Whatever it is, I'm never alone and I'm never lonely.

So this thing called Love - it's Everything and Anything. Sometimes it's even Nothing. But most definitely it's Something. And if I were you, I wouldn't worry too much about it. Because you must know that Love is Here, There, Everywhere. Under a leaf, beneath a stone, behind the forest, in the wake of a new day, in the purr of a cat, in the smell of coffee.

Love has definitely happened to me, and it didn't happen in the form of a Man. It happened in the form of Living. So you see, 'tis not a crime to be single. It's just another way of being in Love.