Stop And Smell The Roses

Why girls hate each other

2012-02-04T16:53:00.000+08:00

Look at me! Posting again after only a few days, WOW!

Aaanyway. Watched this awesome Jenna Marbles video that I think all girls should watch. If you don't already know, Jenna is this super funny, straight-talking, comedic genius who talks about issues, life, and what girls do in the bathroom amongst other things. Swears a lot, so if you can't take that.... well... JUST WATCH HER ANYWAY! It's worth it. This particular video is about why girls hate each other. Ready??

GO!

Obesity isn't the only alternative to anorexia

2012-01-28T19:07:00.000+08:00

Ok I know it's been ages since my last post, but I really didn't have much to say and even though having a blog is really a large indicator of narcissism, I didn't really feel like blathering on about myself any longer. Today, I do have something to say. I was reading this article about the latest anorexic model-bashing ad, and the writer - in-your-face though he was - made an excellent point: We're endorsing obesity, cue scary music and background live-audience gasps.

Manuel Pfister, the writer of the article I linked above, calls it 'enabling' and I think he's right. Ads like this might be doing more harm than good; the model is gorgeous, but she's not really very healthily-sized! Hello, she's 2 large pizzas away from being really fat! Why couldn't they get someone who's large, yes, but fit? Or a normal-sized woman? That ad, while condemning excessive skinniness, is actually condoning fatness. And in an era where obesity levels are skyrocketing, THIS. IS. ENABLING. We are telling all those people with triple chins and dimpled knees that 'Hey! It's great to be fat! It's beautiful! Eat more fast food and chuck that gross-looking salad!' Sure, some models are scarily thin to the point of being unhealthy, and anorexia is a very real disease that can eventually kill. I completely agree, we shouldn't be advocating photoshopped, fake standards of beauty and idealising disproportionate bodies (super skinny women with DD boobs? Hello back problems, wtf). But saying 'no' to an overly-glossed woman who looks 30 pounds lighter in her picture than she does in real life is NOT the same as saying 'yes' to obesity and clogged arteries! Are we being cruel by being kind? Is it not better to tell your friend

"Ok, you might be a little overweight, but it's not the end of the world! Dump the burgers and go for a jog"

rather than

"You're not fat, those skinny bitches look like starved, rabid dogs"? Of course, this only applies if you like your friend and want her to have a longer lifespan. If you hate your obese friend's guts, then by all means buy her another Quarter Pounder, extra cheese.

This is unhealthy...

But the more socially-accepted end of the spectrum is just as bad! Say no to both!

That being said, there are people who find it a struggle to lose weight and keep it off, even while eating healthy and exercising, AND they feel unattractive because they're larger in comparison to the average XXS covergirl (aren't we all, lol). Personally, I think this can be fixed by there being more pictures of healthy role-models, minus the slimming effects of that miracle weight-loss product Photoshop, after all, if you're already eating healthy and regularly exercising how fat CAN you be? Not really fat at all, IMO.

Normal-weight woman. I see cellulite!

About the fake representations of beauty in the media: I don't really get why it's so hard to tread middle ground in the mass media's arena: Why is it either skinny or fat? Fuck the extremes, how about pictures of normal humans? How about a nice picture of Kim K without excessive Ps-ing? Issues aside, her body is pretty damn hot even if her boobs look fake (hey, at least they're proportionate). She's fit, sits squarely in the middle of the weight spectrum, and has an ass to die for. Let's be shallow and advocate her solely for her body. All in favour say aye!

AYE!

Don't Duck It!

2011-10-21T08:59:00.001+08:00

As you may already know, my mum was diagnosed with nasopharyngeal cancer ('nose cancer' is so much easier to type out wtf.. had to Google 'nasophy' and wait for the proper spelling to pop up) about 12 years ago. Since then, we as a family have been so much more aware about cancer and health in general so it only made sense that, when I was given the opportunity, to do something to support the cancer awareness cause.

Don't Duck It is a collaboration between Assunta Hospital, Asia Assistance, Jaya One and Pj Live Arts, founded to encourage community support for the breast and cervical cancer awareness cause. Also, Don't Duck It hopes to raise funds for Assunta Hospital Foundation's Social Welfare Fund which provides subsidised or free-of-charge treatments to patients who can't afford healthcare otherwise

But Don't Duck It isn't all lectures and/or uniformed nurses going around and dispensing medical information: it's going to be FUN! With Quacky Kart Races, a Fashion Walk (I'm going to be walking in it, whee!), a raffle draw, a go-kart track as well as breast check-ups, you will definitely be entertained.

Your participation in this event doesn't just stop at getting your boobs checked or taking part in the raffle draw - DDI (getting seriously lazy to type it out in its entirety) is actually a social media campaign under Passionately You that aims to further their reach into the community using social media in various forms and ideas (on-ground as well as going viral). Want to make a larger contribution to this effort at promoting breast and cervical cancer awareness?

1. Pledge at http://www.dontduckit.com/ and stand a chance to win a 32-inch Panasonic LCD TV.

2. Take a photo with ‘Don’t Duck It’ sculpture and win prizes.

3. Be part of the Wall of Heroes and Heroines by submitting your photo HERE!!

4. Contribute a quote or story that you want to share HERE.

5. Spread the word by printing out a doorhanger and placing it in every other place you frequent so that nobody misses the message. It’s all about being caring and fun. Download it HERE.

6. Add a #dontduckit Twibbon to your Twitter/Facebook display picture to show your support. #Dontduckit Twibbon can be added HERE.

7. Buy the #dontduckit T-shirts and Charity Raffle Tickets to support the campaign! You can contact Assunta Hospital, Asia Assistance, or Jaya One. Check out the details HERE.

I'm going to be there, will I see you there? Don't duck your check-up!

Life Is Made Up Of Split Seconds

2011-10-13T08:50:00.000+08:00

So many things can happen in a split second. You can first make eye contact with the person you'll spend the rest of your life with, you can walk in on your boyfriend doing the funky monkey with your best friend, you can make the decision to spend money you don't have on a dress. You can die.

On Monday, I was happily (and somewhat sleepily) driving home on the LDP heading back to Subang from 1Utama. The radio was turned up loud, and I was listening to mushy romantic songs on Red FM's Late Night Love Songs (suited my mood, see). I was a bit sleepy, so I wasn't going at my usual 110-120, but anyway the traffic was backing up somewhat so I was forced to drop to about 90-odd km/h which is a pretty reasonable speed to be traveling at, right? In a split second, everything changed. I barely had enough time to register that the car in front of me had screeched to an almost-complete halt before I plowed right into his rear. Right now, as I type this, I can almost literally see the glare of his red brake lights rushing up towards me as I jammed my foot - uselessly - on brakes that slowed me down enough to save my life but not to save my car. The sound of screeching tires and that final, sickening bang as my baby made brutal contact with the huge solid Exora in front of me is something that haunts me at random intervals. On the road, obviously. But also while in the bathroom, while working, while sitting, while eating.

The Exora and I got off the highway ASAP and headed to a Caltex off the highway (in hindsight, I'm lucky he didn't turn out to be a rapist or something, don't they always warn not to go off to 'settle' stuff, in case the other party turns out to be a robber?). I'm not proud to say that in my shock and shaken state, I literally hopped out of the car the minute I stopped at Caltex and started shouting at the man in Cantonese. I can barely speak Cantonese at the best of times, but on Monday night, I had sudden fluency. In the back of my mind, I was totally admiring my own suddenly-perfect accent and silently begging myself not to screw it up cos then I'd look a right idiot, wouldn't I? Anyway, he was quite nice about it since his car was relatively unhurt (scratches and a malfunctioning decorative light, I shit you not. Who says Proton sucks? Buy Exora), and his wife was really nice too, which made me feel like a total bitch =( I hope being very very calm and somewhat civil (I tried my best ok!!) after that made amends somewhat. Hi Mr. Driver! If you're reading this, and I'm pretty sure you're not, lol.. I'm sorry =(( You're not a crazy driver and it's not your fault. Cool leg tats, btw.

Unca Phyo came to make sure I didn't get kidnapped by unfriendly foreigners (as opposed to him, the FRIENDLY foreigner lulz), and my parents arrived pretty soon after I called. As per usual, my parents' individual methods of dealing with shit vary greatly: My dad's first reaction - after giving me a look-over to make sure I wasn't hurt in any way - was to get on all fours and peer under the car to see if it was leaking water. My mother - who went 'WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT???' in a very Exorcist-like tone when I called home and told my brother to get my mom quick cos I'd been in a car crash - started up with "I TOLD YOU YOU DRIVE RECKLESSLY!" and stayed on that theme for the rest of the night. Obviously, they were worried shitless, which is prolly why they didn't really yell at me much... even during the car-ride to the police station or on the way back home. I felt so numb that everything either completely passed over my head or struck me as hilarious, much to my parents' annoyance. Honestly, the only time my dad yelled at me that night was to tell me to shut up cos I was laughing like a retard in the police station. Which, you know, is no place to be acting like you're high on weed.

Post-accident, everything in life seems more intense and important. After all, according to my dad, if I had been going about 20km/h faster (and I would've been if I had been driving at my usual speed), I'd probably be dead or seriously concussed because my car has no airbags. Everything now has a sense of "OMG if I had died on Monday night I wouldn't be experiencing this right now". Wake-up call? Yes. Death has always been quite an abstract idea: you know, the inevitable thing that surely wouldn't happen anytime soon... after all, I'm only 23... shouldn't I be thinking about life and not death, etc. But honestly, thinking about death has, if anything, made me appreciate life so much more. I know this is a pretty typical reaction, but I'm kind of hoping that I'll be able to hang onto this newfound appreciation for everything for a long time yet.

Mommy's so sorry, baby T__T I'll tell the doctors to make you all better, and soon. Be good while you're at the hospital. <3

"Death is very likely the single best invention of Life" - Steve Jobs, 1955-2011

2011-10-07T00:58:00.002+08:00

Woke up this morning to news of Steve Jobs' death. Everybody is alternately saying 'OH EMM GEE STEVE WE WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU' or going 'SHUT UP ABOUT STEVE, IT'S NOT LIKE YOU PEOPLE EVEN CARED MUCH ABOUT HIM WHEN HE WAS ALIVE', but I'd still like to chuck in my 2 sen worth and say that, while I may not have really bothered with him while he was alive, I still think that we've lost someone truly visionary. I mean, when everybody else thought that the computer was something purely utilitarian and corporate, Steve Jobs made it elegant and personal. He found that middle road between function and aesthetics and made magic; he took technology and made it art. If I were to describe the design of his products, the word shibumi comes to mind - the Japanese word for the concept of simple, unobtrusive beauty (rediscovered an old classic by the same name but that's a tale for another day). His presentation of said technology, however, was always pure American showmanship (who can forget his manila-envelope-Macbook Air-stunt?).

Steve the philosopher made people seriously reassess their lives, especially when he gave that famous commencement address at Stanford's 2005 graduation ceremony. Telling them (and us!) "Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary." made a lot of people sit up and look inward. I bet it made you, too. How many times do we do what we're expected to? That job you took because everybody said it's good, the girlfriend you married because your mother approved of her, the children you produced because corporate culture in your workplace dictated that having children equals better chances at a promotion... the list goes on. We could all sit down and discuss what made Steve Jobs STEVE JOBS; it could be the psychedelic drugs, or the ashrams he lived in after he dropped out of college; it could be the calligraphy classes he took that opened his eyes to the clean lines of beauty that would feature in his Apple products; it could be the soaring heights and deep lows that he traversed throughout his short life that made him the person he was. We could discuss the hows and whys, but isn't it much better to learn from him and take his words to heart?

So, Mr. Jobs? Thank you. For everything.

Oh, and one more thing?

We'll miss you.

I Convocated!

2011-10-01T15:07:00.000+08:00

How could I let the entire month of September pass me by so fast? It's almost as if I've been in some sort of dreamlike alternate reality, where time stretches for ages between the hours of 9 am and 6 pm, and then zooms by too fast for me to make use of the rest of the day. I have been spending a huge quantity of time with Mingasaurus, more than ever before (he's bloody well addictive, what can I say), and of course I'm working like the responsible adult I am (ha!) which, while sapping slightly less energy now that I'm more used to this whole working shebang, still saps too much for me to even form coherent sentences after I get home from work.

Oh, and you may now refer to me as Responsible Working GRADUATE. That's right, I'm bloody well a graduate of the National University of Malaysia!

Me, the brother, mum, akor.

Akor is not a very good photog HAHA. Still! It's a nice picture.

Green, green, green, green.... oh, look there's a human!

I told everybody that my robe makes me blend into the background. With a flowery sarong to boot. Nobody believed me. Honestly now, CAN YOU EVEN SEE ME?

I don't even really recall what I was saying when this picture was taken. My father, the paparazzo.

One of the rare candid shots that have passed my careful vetting. Not because I look good, but heck, good memories have to be shared right?

Me and sunsilk model.

:')

We made it! 3 years of group work, the occasional spat (pfft no point whitewashing everything right?), of tears and frustration and weirdo lunchtime conversations (we talked about penises, I kid you not), of meeting up at 3 am in the morning to study. 3 years of icy-cold showers, monkeys, sweltering walks to class, freezing classrooms, weirdo lecturers, AWESOME lecturers, dodgy UKM security guards, monotonous cafeteria food, random escapes into civilization for Starbucks and massages, manicures and makeovers in class, and most of all, 3 years of friendship.

David made us supper on one of our late-night thesis sessions at his place. =)

My mother cried at my convo...... Right until she fell asleep from boredom.

Add caption

Squinty boyfriend. <3 Poor boyfriend had to wait outside for an hour cos my session went on for WAY TOO LONG.

Have I mentioned that I bribed my brother into coming for my convo?

Out of UKM and back into civilization at last!

I guess a convocation is just a pumped-up, over-glorified affair signifying what is essentially the full-stop of my undergraduate experience. What really matters is, of course, what I got from the three years I spent in Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia... and the piece of paper that is supposed to be my passport to life. But I'm still damn glad I got the opportunity to put on a ginormous green robe and prance across a huge stage and have my name announced because, heck, IT WAS BLOODY FUN! And I like feeling spesyel ^__^

I'M STILL ALIVE!

2011-08-15T10:13:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I imagine love to be like sky diving or bungee jumping (although I've never actually dived or jumped): You take a leap of faith, trusting completely in your equipment; there is extreme fear AND extreme exhilaration; and sometimes there are casualties. I'm talking about the sort of love where there are no calculations, no 'I'd better love him a bit less than he loves me so I won't get hurt', no clauses, no fine print, no T&C. And let's be honest, a lot of relationships out there have at least a faint element of 'I better protect myself', hence some girls' method of cleaning out his bank account as fast as possible, or some people who always keep other options open "Just in case la, must have spare what". Of course, you can't go around metaphorically hurling yourself out of airplanes: statistically speaking, you definitely run a huge risk of ending up with a smashed face (heart?).

I've never been one for leaping off bridges and planes without a whole lot of safety equipment and back-ups. But I'm free-falling now. Have been for a while, but I guess I still had the plane in sight... Well, it's gone now. And my plummet is in earnest. Good thing I'm certain that my parachute works.

Oh, and my birthday pictures! Well, I won't be putting any of ME cos I look horrendous. But you MUST see the gorgeous hand-made pressies I got. It's a bit too belated to be posting pictures of my pressies, its smacks of total narcissism no? So I won't post all of them up, just the ones that my darlingest girls actually MADE.

Chrissy made the tiara: Beads, wire, hairband, and LOTS of tape. I always did like being a princess after all!

Sasa bought me a makeup pouch (she always laughed at my huge-ass makeup case) but personalized it by sewing on flowers and blanket-stitching my initials onto it! <3

Jesus, I look FAT in my birthday pics. Sigh.

We all had to wear funky headgear! Ming didn't, though. He was planning to wear a plastic bag but left it in the car at the last minute. I don't know how I would've been able to eat my dinner with my boyfriend in a plastic bag, so maybe it was a good thing.

Birthday pics courtesy of the ever-gorgeous Pei Vin!

P/S: I'm only blogging today because I'm on sick leave. Regular days have me writing too much to even contemplate writing MORE, even for personal narcissism!

Sometimes My Brain Produces Plotless Romantic Drivel =D

2011-07-06T22:38:00.000+08:00

Sometimes she sits beside him, just drinking in his scent. Right now, he smells like clean laundry and Dove soap. Last night he smelt like the Mont Blanc cologne his mom got him for his birthday, mixed with a hint of his Marlboros. That slightly smoky smell of him makes her almost cross-eyed with delight, although she would never, for all the berry panacottas in the world, admit it ("Get those cancer sticks away from me!" she'd tell him every time he attempts to light up. "Look at the poor dead baby on your cigarette box!"). Last Monday, he smelt like satay. Tomorrow he'd probably smell like sweaty male (basketball). She loves them all.

He's reading the paper, and she watches as he casually props his right ankle on his left knee. He frowns a little as he reads the Business section (or the Boring section, as she privately terms it), and she longs to kiss away that small crease. His hair is getting a little long, and she wants to smooth some away from his forehead..... She realises she's been still for far too long, and ostentatiously turns the page of her as-yet-unread magazine. She also realises that she would make a very bad spy. She would dearly love to put her feet across his lap, but his bloody newspaper is in the way. Should she...?

He looks up, and she's caught staring speculatively at his thighs. He smiles. Magically, the newspaper disappears and a sweeping gesture of invitation is all it takes for her to swing her legs up and into the very same lap they were lusting after. He suddenly pounces on her, clamping her kicking legs between his thighs and tickling her tummy, and when she's lying there, flushed, disheveled and more than slightly breathless from the squirming and the giggles, he says "Marry me."

Yeah, what did I say about pointless romantic drivel? Congratulations, you've just wasted 5 mins of your life, yay!

I just HAD to write myself a happy ending, it was a long day at work and I was feeling a little down.

Oh yes, I've started working! I'm now a working adult. God save the world. I am officially a writer for Emmagem, a fashion, beauty and lifestyle magazine (phwoar it's a mouthful, innit?) where I was interning for the last 2 months. Been busy trotting off to events and writing like a mad cow in the office, hence the lack of posts... after writing all day, I'm loath to sit and type anymore, and anyway, once I get home from the office my brain just shuts down and refuses to think coherent thoughts. I'm lucky it's even still chugging along right now, sluggish though it may be.

The muse beckoned, and the muse has fled. So it is now time for me to go beddy-bye. au revoir! =D

I'm 23. And I Blog Less Cos Of Old Age.

2011-07-03T22:13:00.000+08:00

Have been postponing my birthday post for a while because I don't have any pictures *looks meaningfully at Pei Vin*! This is just a short post til I can get all my pics (camera died, SIGH. Suddenly less motivated to take pics and blog WARGHH) but I just want to say that turning 23 has been one of the most awesomely touching events of my life thus far. From the boyfriend buying me a pair of GORGEOUS shoes that I gushed about MONTHS ago (he remembered the details and went to look for it in the store!), to David and Chrissy serenading me with my favourite song (David really doesn't like that song, which just makes it all the more heart-warming that he sang it!), and Sasa HAND-STITCHING my name onto a little bag for my makeup, I could not ask for more. Sasa and her bf, Sam, drove up all the way from Seremban just to celebrate with me, and everybody else made time to celebrate me getting a year older. The presents are intangible things, I swear.

That being said, Chrissy made me a tiara. By hand.

*tears up*

Pics and a proper post to come, I swear.

P/S: HOLYY SHIIT. I'M 23.

I'll Try To Give As Good As I Get

2011-06-19T18:17:00.001+08:00

'Freedom of choice' sounds super fantastic when we're the ones getting that freedom, no?

But when it's someone else you're giving that freedom to, it can be a little galling. ESPECIALLY if you're convinced they're completely and utterly wrong.

I'm talking about that completely and utterly ridiculous Obedient Wives Club. When news of it first broke the surface, I (predictably) reacted with total rage and feminist war cries. Let me tell you, it's especially frustrating to be all ball-busting feminist against my own gender! Everybody had an opinion, that they're ridiculous, that they have a point, that men are bastards, that men are kings and should be treated as such. There were calls for the club to be shut down, etc etc etc.

I seethed as I read about people CONDONING the club, and would passionately join in the denouncement of these completely sex-oriented misguided women. And then one day I read a tweet that said, in essence, Mind Your Own Business. The guy doesn't condone the OWC but he said - and he has a point!- that the thing about freedom of choice is that people are FREE to choose what they want to join and what they want to say. We demand for greater freedom of speech, we demand for more freedom, BUT we refuse to give people one iota more than we deem is 'right'. Then what sets us apart from those we feel to be our oppressors? Nothing, that's what. Who am I to tell people that their beliefs are wrong? That's the thing about freedom, you see. It goes both ways. They're free to try to spread their ideology. We're free to try and spread our own in direct contradiction to theirs. But we're not free to ask them to shut down just because we don't like their ideas. Muslim men are free to marry up to four wives, and women are free to reject proposals from men with wives if they don't believe in polygamy. See, freedom. The OWC is free advocate first-class prostitute sex, and we're all free to decide whether or not sex alone can make a good marriage. The right to make our own choices is something we shouldn't hoard, don't you think?

P/S: I personally think that first-class prostitute sex (from both wife AND husband, mind) coupled with mutual love and respect can only do a marriage good.

Don't Squish Them Bras!

2011-06-11T15:16:00.000+08:00

From despairing mum to part-time helper Auntie Rosie:

Trying To Live A Life Without Regrets: It Isn't Easy, Bud.

2011-06-10T08:55:00.000+08:00

I came across the 'Top 5 Regrets People Have On Their Deathbeds' during one of my internet trawls recently, and it really made me stop to think. And it made me sad.

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.

3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

All this really hit home with me: while I'm not in the same position as those people were when they had these regrets, I'm on the threshold of entering that period in my life where the decisions I make may result in said regrets. I've only been interning for a month and a half; in these 6 weeks, I think the sobering realities of life have been shoved down my gullet like the bitter-tasting antidote to fluffy fantasies.

I like writing therefore I will be fan-bloody-tastic at it?

POOF.

Going out every night to catch up with the girls?

POOF.

Heck, staying up at night to do meaningful, adult things?

HA. Don't make me laugh.

I leave home at 6.45 in the morning due to my dad not letting me drive and insisting on dropping me off at my office on his way to work. I get home at about 6.45 in the evening, tired to the bone. It's not so much physical tiredness, more like mental exhaustion. It's really hard to be creative and witty (or at least TRY to be) for about 9 hours a day, it's hard to write something and get a less than enthusiastic response, it's hard to write through major writer's block, it's bloody hard to think that I'll be doing this for the next 3 decades or so. THREE DECADES! That's longer than I have been alive so far! Last night I tried to clear the fog in my head that sweeps in after 6 p.m. and think of a way to make as much moolah in as little time as possible. The only thing I could think of was to sell my kidneys, and I'd really prefer to keep all my parts in working order.

There is more caffeine than iron in my bloodstream right now. And that's the only thing keeping me upright. Oh, and I also sleep at 10ish at night.

HOW CAN LIKE THIS?? I'm getting old before my time!

With almost 70% of my life going into my job, it's almost too easy to see where those deathbed regrets come from. I'm fighting hard to keep to my path, but it's difficult when I myself am not quite sure where my path is taking me. I don't want to write for a magazine when I'm 40, for God's sake (unless I own it). Sometimes I sit down and try to think "OK May Lee! Where do you want to go from here?" but all I can think of in response to that is "Sleeep......"

Stupid self.

And while I don't work HARD, I am working harder than I have ever worked and it's totally taking up my life. What social life I have is squashed into weekends and most of THAT is actually spent with me in a half-comatose state. Ok, as of now I don't really have any issues expressing my feelings (I guess you can tell), so number 3 isn't really a pressing concern.

Sigh. Rant over. Irrational worries aside, I really do like my job; it's not boring and routine-bound and that can only be a good thing!

I'm really quite happy with the way things are going now (could always get paid more, though!): I'm done with uni and moving off into a different phase of life. I have a boyfriend who gives grade-A snuggles and makes time in his crazily hectic day to exchange strange Whatsapps with me at work (seriously, I burst into muffled snickers at some of the things he says). I have friends and family. There is NO DRAMA, my god you will not fully appreciate the peace that fills the void that drama leaves behind after it's gone until you have experienced the emotional turbulence that accompanies said mothereffing drama.

Can I just say that, whining aside, I am quite contented with life?

Now, to figure out the DIRECTION my life is to take...

Meet My Older Brother

2011-06-01T08:05:00.000+08:00

You'd think 50-year-old English teachers would at least play some exercise-y game.

Dear 13-year-old May Lee

2011-05-22T10:45:00.001+08:00

I read Audrey's blog post, a letter to her 16-year-old self of ten years ago, and it made me want to write a letter to MY ten-year-ago-self.

So here goes!

Dear May Lee, you are now 13. At this point, you are somewhere in the middle of Form 1, a time we both know is a period of major upheaval. Mum is still recovering; not so much from cancer but from the side effects of radiotherapy, what we, with the clarity of vision hindsight brings, know causes more discomfort and complications than cancer itself. We are very good Seventh-Day Adventists at this juncture in life: we don't eat pork, prawns, and whatever else SDA people are supposed to abstain from. Swept up in religious fervour, you wholeheartedly listen to everything the church elders tell you and embrace the lifestyle with both arms, and maybe even a leg. Unfortunately, it also makes you a bit 'weird' at a time you desperately want to be 'cool' and fit in with everybody else. You suck at being cool, by the way. Don't bluster, I know. I'm you, remember? You wanted it but didn't know how to get it, instead, you projected your inner insecurities and issues as a sullen, belligerent attitude interspersed at random intervals with the bubbliness that lurked beneath the teenage angst. Also, being bad at social hierarchies and all that bullcrap, you've invite the ire of the seniors you 'disrespected'. Which, honestly, was your own fault cos at 13 you still haven't learnt the art of learning when to shut up, you motormouth. At almost 23, you'd still be learning. And in the 10 years that sit between 13 and 23, you will have many, MANY foot-in-mouth situations. So, yeah. Learn to shut up sometimes, and think before you speak.

Being fair-skinned - before you joined the scouts, anyway - and possessing long hair (not to say pretty or what also, but apparently those two factors are pretty important to secondary-school boys) ensures that you never really lack the attention of at least one or two pimply awkward boys, but your own awkwardness ensures that pretty soon, those boys back away. That doesn't stop you from having a new boyfriend every year, though. Not that you actually know what to do with a boyfriend, do you? Don't deny lah. You DO go on awkward group dates, and going to watch Harry Potter in December with Nicholas is fun! A boy will put his arm around you for the first time, and you'd be thrilled senseless. No, you won't kiss. That won't happen until you're about fifteen. Be patient. Don't practice on your pillow either; as you find out when you're 15, pillows feel nothing like boys. Yeah I know that you're incredibly awkward and fidgety around members of the opposite sex, and I have to tell you that it lasts all the way through secondary school. Yes, you will have guy friends, yes they will continue to steal your scrunchies and hide them, and yes, you will have boyfriends, but you won't really shake the inner feeling of "OMG what do I say NOW??" when you meet boys, until you're about 18. Look, don't despair! Lots of other people feel like you, you just don't know it yet.

And brace yourself, Nicholas will break up with you VIA SMS (!!!!!) sometime next year. And a couple of years later, you will flip through a Seventeen magazine and see a section where they pose a question to a bunch of guys: 'Would you break up with your girlfriend through sms?'

EVERY. SINGLE. GUY. SAID. NO.

Except Nick, wtf.

Oh, and speaking of boyfriends. You know Alex? That loud, slightly chubby, bespectacled boy? Of course you don't. You barely notice anybody or anything outside your immediate circle. Well, he knows you. And he'll end up sitting behind you in Form 2. Remember him, he becomes the sun around which your world orbits for more than 4 and a half years. You two will get together on the 14th of September, 2004; he will cycle to the condo, take the lift up, and with cold shaky hands ask if you would be his girlfriend. You'll say yes. Three days later, due to a sudden attack of cold feet and commitment-phobia, you'd dump him. After a few weeks of angst and emoness, you'd get back together with him, and stay that way til you're 20. Things end, though, due to both of you starting to take each other for granted, plus long-distance relationships are hard to sustain. But there's no bitterness, and you still remain friends.

13-year-old May Lee, you will make many mistakes and errors of judgment over the course of these ten years, some of which will stay with you (albeit with a lessened impact!) til you're my age. You will also make many friends, some false, some true. Aida, your Standard 6 partner-in-crime when it came to reading books under the desk in class, will continue to be your friend, even across vast distances and the sad lack of Internet. When you are older, the two of you will be astounded to realise that even while on completely different continents and with minimal contact, you both managed to cultivate the same interests. She will be a friend you can talk to without fear of judgment, and even though the both of you are absolute bollocks at keeping regular contact, whenever the two of you meet, it's like you were never apart.

Pinky, your best friend from Form 3 to 5, will be with you through all your ups and downs. The both of you will randomly go into Yahoo chatrooms and chat up strangers, pretending to be 18 or 21, and you'd share your first margarita with her, feeling super grown-up. The two of you will talk about anything and everything under the sun, from whether or not you'd ever get to snog a guy, to when would be a good time to lose one's virginity, to 'Why do you think we've been put on Earth?'. Around this period, you will start to write emo poetry centering on the themes of death and broken relationships (written in the 'down' parts of your up-and-down relationship with Alex), and Pinky will encourage you in everything writing-centric. So does Aida. They still do! You'd start to think, "Hey, maybe I can do this!" At 23, you will still aspire to be a writer someday, and you will intern at an online blogazine where you sit and write articles all day to your heart's content.

You'd discover a love for literature sometime in Form 5, when you take Literature in English as an elective out of desperation because you're floundering in Science Stream. Having dropped Chemistry due to a complete lack of comprehension when it comes to formulas, you take literature, and never once look back. You take literature in Form 6 too, dropping Business because you are really quite retarded at practical things, and go on to do Literature in English in UKM. Yes, Form 6 and local university. I'm aware that it isn't the private college and overseas uni that you are looking forward to with starry-eyed anticipation, but finances dictate that you give private college a miss, and after Form 6 you will actually look forward to doing your degree in a local institution. You were aiming for UM, but due to an overabundance of (strip!) card games and talking cock in class, you wouldn't do well enough to even get into the preliminary interviews for UM. You'd then get a place in UKM, your 2nd choice, but it'd turn out awesome because you'll meet fantastic friends like Chrissy, Chris, Hani, and Sasa (I won't tell you how awesome they are, leave something for you to experience on your own muahaha). Oh, here's something you'd never expect: You'd live on campus, and you'd love it. You don't feel it now, but by 17 or 18 you'd be chafing at the bit, impatient to get out of the house and live the life that our over-protective parents are trying to shield you from. After your initial 'Omg!! So ulu!!' reaction, you will settle into campus life and live life to the fullest extent you can. You'd experience sleepovers by the dozen, the panic one gets when one runs out of toilet paper and there's no Mum to hand you a new roll, and the sudden responsibility over one's own life. True, you go home twice a month on average, but the weeks that you live away from home are like bite-sized servings of independence, which is probably a good thing because, knowing you, too much freedom at one shot would've turned you into a rabid monster.

Oh, and here's something you'd never expect: you actually get into the Dean's List a couple of times. I know right?? Shocking! Especially since you will flunk your way through science stream. You'll also join the choir in UKM, something you wouldn't ever dream of doing in school. And you'll be a debator! Finally, some use for your incessant talking and inability to NOT try to win in arguments! Uni will do you good, make you a stronger person. And guess what, Miss Procrastination, you'll still be a grade-A procrastinator of the highest level. You will complete a 10,000 word research paper in about 3 weeks and get an A, but almost kill yourself in the process. So maybe you'd want to think about practicing getting your homework done now so you don't have to go down the 4-shots-a-day-and-sporadic-sleep route that I did.

Oh, and the SDA thing? Not really working out. At 22, you would find that you don't quite believe in organised religion anymore, and start questioning what you've wholeheartedly believed all this while. I'm still trying to figure my way through this, will get back to you someday when I have!

Hmm. What else can I share with you? Ah yes. The annoying little brother who makes you watch Barney and Bananas in Pajamas all day after school grows up to me an amusing little brother. Strangely enough, the ten-year gap ceases to be a big deal once he starts speaking in coherent sentences. So PLEASE fight the urge to toss him out the window, I promise it's worth it! He's an adorable kid, and you'll be proud to call him brother.

You'll still be able to sing the Bananas in Pajamas theme song at the drop of a hat though. Some traumas are not easily forgotten.

Watch out, stormy waters lie ahead for you and the parents. Throughout your teen years you will fight with them over the smallest issues, and many times contemplate running away because you're THAT much of a drama queen. Just hang in there and try to see things from their perspective because you can be an unreasonable little bitch and you know it; one day you'll realise that you and Dad can actually sit down and have a conversation, instead of yelling and getting yelled at. And you'll realise that the parents are actually fun to talk to! And after a certain age, they stop censoring the pervy jokes, and then conversations REALLY get interesting.

Also, the time you decide to rip open a condom packet to see what a condom looks like, please for the love of God dispose of it properly because Mum found the wrapping on the floor and freaked out. And when I say 'freaked out', I MEAN it. You narrowly escaped with your life there, kid. Speaking of bad ideas, another bad idea is to buy that pink sling bag you will stumble across in Form 6. Walking around with an imbalanced load will give you scoliosis, and for months you will have back pain like you've never experienced before. At one point, you'll lie in bed and cry because you worry you'll be paralysed or something. But it's just a nerve that is out of whack because your spine is curved. And your back gets better!

One last thing? Tuition classes are for LEARNING. In Form 3, your boyfriend at the time will ask you to meet him in the bathroom area so you guys can 'talk'. Your teacher will suddenly appear (luckily the two of you were just standing there and not touching at all!) and unceremoniously kick him out of the centre. On the other hand, that humiliating incident spurs you to study like crazy and you get straight A's for your PMR. So maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all. And funnily enough, years later you will visit your teacher for Chinese New Year and find out that she actually finds the whole incident FUNNY. And this boyfriend? He will be the first of a long line of "I'll love you forever"s that don't come true. His romantic letters will cease coming, but then again, your letters to him would too. And after your impassioned tears have ceased, you'd realise that, meh, boys are aplenty in the world.

Stay strong, babe. I know things are weird and you feel like you're floundering. Mum is sick, Dad is in Australia, and your baby brother is, well, a baby. But you'll get through it, I promise. Look at me, still around 10 years later! Don't keep escaping into books, sometimes you need to experience the real world, as confusing and painful as it can be.

All my love,

The 23-year-old you.

P/S: Guess what! Your boobs grow! And you'll actually have to wear a bra!

I Blame Procrastination And Work For This Belated Mother's Day Post!

2011-05-20T08:31:00.004+08:00

In my family, the laughter is loud and the fights are even louder.

We slam doors, threaten to run away, threaten to throw each other out his or her ear, sulk, shout accusations, and I have distinct memories of legging it when my mum came after me brandishing a hanger (her rationale being that cane: 1 stroke = 1 line and hanger: 1stroke = 2 lines = WIN).

In spite of it all, or maybe because of it all, we are extremely close. I have forgiven my mum the hanger and she has forgiven my (unintentional!!) destruction of many an item. Last Thursday, I scuffed her new sneakers. She still loves me. See? Forgiveness.

On Mother's Day, we took the boss out for dins at a healthy organic place cos my mum is a total health freak. We went to a place called Green Green Organic, located somewhere in Sungai Besi or something, on top of a ginormous Nichii store, and as far as organic places go, this one is pretty swanky. I don't know how awesome their food is usually cos for Mother's Day they pretty much only had some sets and a really REALLY limited ala carte range.

But first! Obligatory family camwhore pics yay!

THIS picture, however, is not an obligatory poseur picture, it's to demonstrate how damn low the tables are. My dad is about 6 feet tall. He's not made for this sort of table!

They're ALL this low. Looks pretty, though!

Unfortunately for my dad, 'pretty' means nothing when you can't really fit your knees under the table. He spent the whole night with his knees sticking out.

Happy Mother's Day, Mother!

(seriously, though, my mum deserves an award for putting up with me.)

Yay matching ugly en famille slippers!

Not really. You have to leave your shoes outside.

So don't wear your Louboutins or you'll spend your entire meal with your heart somewhere in a shoe cabinet outside the restaurant.

And ooh look! The teapot stand thing is so pretty omg. So art-deco-y. Loves. If I could (and if there weren't so many wait staff hovering around), I would've totally smuggled it home *shifty eyes*

*squeal*

Oh and the tea was nice too. Some sort of sweetened ginseng-y thing.

Starter was a fruit salad, just a bunch of cutely-shaped fruit balls (heehee) with a sort of berry sauce. I thought it was the yums so I totally stuffed my face.

"Huh..? Fruits..?"

Little brother was less enthused.

Mother was outraged at the slightly bad fruit.

Yes, she complained.

Waiter: "Happy Mother's Day, beautiful Mother!" *brandishing carnation*

Mum: "Uh.... Thank you.." *half a second's pause* "Your fruits are bad."

*awkward silence*

No, we didn't get a discount.

Sorry, I was very jakun and simply had to take pictures of the cute teacup! Ignore the poseur at the back -___-

More pictures of over-priced (but yummy, granted) organic food below.

Yong Chow fried rice, all dressed up and organic-fied.

More starters.

A sweet soup. Apple-something, it REALLY wasn't my cup of tea. The rest of the family liked it, though.

Good ol' minestrone, made the organic way. Which isn't really like the Italian way, apparently.

Dad: "Pfft. Spoons. For what need spoons? Drink like this can already la."

Because Malaysian organic-y people are so kick-ass, we eat Aglio Olio with cili padi. No pussy chilli flakes for us, pfft. Give us the green stuff!

I teared up. Cos I'm not kick-ass enough.

Ok, THIS definitely deserves a mention. Butterfish covered with a creamy herb-y sauce, on a mound of mashed sweet potato and pumpkin. Holy crap delicious. The fish was cooked to perfection, like, you'd poke it with your fork and it'd peel away and whisper "Eat me," while looking at you, all glistening and fragrant. THAT good. Serious. I'm not sure if it's on the ala carte menu, but yeah. It's called Hawaiian Fish or something, but honestly I'm not too sure what's Hawaiian about it. Maybe the sweet potato-pumpkin mash? Ah well. Who cares. It's delicious.

Spaghetti Alfredo with salmon.

Dad: "Noodles are eaten with chopsticks. End of story."

Ok, and THIS, dear reader, is how to make something sinful UNsinful, and ruin it in the process. What you see appears to be pie and chocolate ice cream, no?

Ok, the pie is pie. Yummy. Not rave-worthy, but yummy, and made of the flaky sort of pastry so it wasn't ACTUALLY really pie-like. But they take creative liberties all the time so yeah. What's new.

BUT THE ICE CREAM WAS A LIE.

They made it out of aloe vera and cocoa powder *cries outraged tears*

It tasted NOTHING like a chocolate ice cream, instead it was a weird, sticky, cold, bitter goo.

"No dairy, no sugar, and no fat!" the waiter happily announced.

Ya, no yummy also ok.

Oh, and more camwhore shot! See how I'm smiling? I did not look like that while eating the pseudo ice cream. Which my dad had to finish for me because nothing makes me more miserable than strange-tasting fake food.

Moral of the story?

DON'T CON MAY LEE WITH FAKE FOOD.

AND LET ME BE SINFUL, DAMMIT. IT MAKES ME HAPPY.

I Refuse To Fit In The Jelly Mould.

2011-05-02T22:42:00.000+08:00

I just watched the latest episode of Glee - Born This Way - which has a self-acceptance message, and it got me thinking: how much of ourselves do we accept?

We live in an age where there are solutions to every flaw about ourselves.

Fat?

Diet, Marie France, liposuction, take your pick.

Eyes too small? Nose too large? Facial structure a bit wonky?

Plastic surgery, baby. You'll get a whole new face. All you need is money.

No leadership skills/relationship dud/bad in bed?

Self-help books practically fly off the shelves in bookstores.

I mean, yeah it's awesome that we want to be the best we can. But there is such a thing as doing too much, and trying to squeeze into a societally-constructed idea of what is the ideal person. I mean, beauty is relative. Not everybody has to be a 5'6", 36-24-36 blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman to be considered beautiful. Not everybody has to scale to the absolute top of the corporate ladder to be considered successful. Not all happiness comes with the black AmEx. Not all porn stars are actually having good sex.

Sorry to burst that bubble, boys.

But the point I'm trying to get at here is that sometimes we should embrace what makes us unique. Why try to fit in the mould? Why try to be like everybody else?

The girl who thinks she's 'fat' probably has a boyfriend who adores her curves.

The girl who thinks she looks like a giraffe probably has lovely, long legs.

I have shite leadership skills but who the fuck cares? We can't ALL be leaders, who would we lead then? I'm fucking awesome at what I do (following), thank you very much. And is it so bad to follow? Is it not better to be a grade-A follower than a fail leader? It's not like I'm a mindless sheep, I contribute in my own capacity. Are you trying to say I'm less successful because I can't organise people? Well, I'm not. And neither are you a failure if you can't become CEO in 5 years.

After 22+ years of falling over and hitting things, I have come to accept that I have almost non-existent hand-eye coordination and I will never be able to do sports that require that particular gift (which is pretty much all sports). That's me. In a crowd of normal people who do not knock over coffees, I like to think I stand out.

I also have a lot of junk in my trunk. Baldly stated, I have a big ass. I hate it. But it makes me ME. I mean, who would I be without my butt? Friends actually recognise me on the street by the butt (wtf!). And for that, I have extended a grudging olive branch towards the backside. We now have a grudging peace treaty. Don't antagonize it.

So, what is it about yourself have you wanted to change but you now think you should accept instead?

Embrace your unique awesomenesss!

Hi, May! Let's start you off with an emo post!

2011-05-01T10:17:00.000+08:00

In lieu of a blog post, allow me to share with you the facebook note I posted last night.

Today, it finally hit me that I'm done. Done with assignments, with lectures and tutorials, with cafe food, with dorm rooms, with skirting around monkeys to get to my room, with random late nights out singing in the car with Hani Bunny. There would be no more 4 a.m McD's with my Christinas, no more KTM trips to Midvalley with Sasa and Nana. No more getting yelled at in the PK by grumpy nurses, no more pleading for deadline extensions (remember those, Dr Shan?). Today, I finally sat down amongst the luggage I brought home from UKM and looked at the detritus of the life that I will never live again. Is it any surprise I started bawling?

I guess not.

This is my, well, goodbye of sorts to UKM and my three years there. If this was a movie, there'd be a collection of pictures accompanied by sad violin music. Alas, this is a Facebook note. No violins. Allow me instead to share with you a few memories.

I still remember waking up at 6 in the morning on the very first day, knots of fear and anticipation in my tummy. I was actually LEAVING HOME to go to UNIVERSITY (important points are in caps, dear reader). After a breakfast that refused to settle properly because it had to jostle for space - the butterflies were really adamant about having enough room, you see - we set off for Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia with Alex in tow because he was a super awesome supportive boyfriend. Upon reaching, my first thought was "HOLY HELL THAT'S A LOT OF TREES". You see, coming from Subang where the flyovers outnumber the greenery, I was terribly uncomfortable being surrounded by such an abundance of non-concrete things.

And then I checked into my room. Pay attention, friends, this is where Azhani Azman comes in. So, this is what happened: Alex and I walked in. And stared. Discoloured walls, discoloured mattress, cement floor. Parents came in. Stared.

Mum: Be right back, we're going to buy you a new mattress!
Me: Can you buy me a new room??

Unfortunately, the second option was, uh, not an option.

The parental unit left in a mad rush to purchase for their eldest child a mattress fit for human use.

Said child and boyfriend stared at the room some more.

Alex:Where's your Dettol?

He proceeded to clean the room. I tried to help but I gotta say, housekeeping was never my strong suit. So I hindered more than I helped, and then we heard it: The blessed sound of a vacuum cleaner. We looked up like animals scenting prey. I followed the sound, Alex encouraging me with flapping hand gestures, and voila! Hani Bunny, vacuum in hand. She still calls me Pencuri Vacuum Cleaner. I suppose barging into people's rooms and saying "HELLO! Can I borrow this after you're done??" is not exactly... subtle. Or... well... normal.

And that's the first friend I made in UKM.

I've made countless others in the course of my three years there. To my Christinas, I love the two of you. Thanks for all those girly chats, all the encouragement, gossip, shopping trips, makan sessions and stressing-together times: in a word, friendship. I'll always treasure it, and you can be damn sure I'll never ever forget it. Sasa and Nana, I will miss the two of you!! You have been super good friends, I hope you can say the same of me. If you don't keep in touch, I'm going to crash your houses and live there til you guys remember me again MUAHAHA. To Hani Bunny: woman, I will always remember our indon song karaoke sessions in the room. And driving your car. And your choc cheese cupcakes. And constantly embarrassing myself in front of your mum. And what we used to do every Friday in first year! Laki pakai baju Melayu: hot yo! Too many people to mention individually, but there are so many people who have touched my life in many different ways. It may be in small ways, or larger ones, but thank you for taking part in my life and making it richer. If you feel I'm talking to you, I am. =)

Sitting here, thinking about everything that has happened between the time I stole the vacuum cleaner and right now, I'm starting to feel a bit wobbly again. Excuse me while I go sob into a UKM tshirt (all have turned into pajamas because they're so damn huge, but that's beside the point).

Things I love about UKM#1: Choir!

Things I love about UKM #2: FRIENDS!

See you guys during convo <3

Things I love about UKM #3: Lecturers!

I've met so many wonderful people in this leg of my life journey, and I am supremely grateful for the opportunities I've had. All this awesomeness just makes the leaving more painful to do, but I guess it's bittersweet because I know that I'm not actually losing anyone, we're just.. going to be physically apart for a while. But that's all good. Cos my true friends and I will stay friends for a damn long time.

I Drew a Rainbow!

2011-04-17T01:16:00.000+08:00

You know how sometimes you think "things cannot POSSIBLY get any worse"?

It usually comes when you're on the Federal Highway at about 5.15 pm.

In the office on a Sunday.

When you're totally out of cash, and your car breaks down.

When you suddenly realise that what was the love of your life is now... not.

When you feel all alone, and like the sun will never reach your dingy little corner of life.

When you feel like your world is one big drizzly grey day, THIS is for you!

"Life is like a rainbow. You need both the sun and the rain to make the colours appear."

~ random quote from the internet!

I guess what I'm trying to say is that everybody feels shitty once in a while, but sometimes good things are born through the crappy ones. Which sounds so trite and useless, but it's true! This stupid thesis has made me literally break down and cry over it. But I'm almooost done now and I'm still alive! If anything it has taught me how to type really fast. And use Google Scholar.

Raaaiiinbooowww..!

P/S: Spent 40 mins of my life on this rainbow, and I like it! I guess I was having a case of the blues, and randomly decided to try and draw a rainbow instead of typing stupid thesis stuff. =D

P/P/S: Had to Google 'rainbow colours' fml. Education fail.

I'm Waaiiitiiingg

2011-04-13T12:51:00.001+08:00

I have no time to write a proper post but still have a need to share my views on random shit.

So.

Ahem.

I love this song!

Am supposed to be sweating over my thesis, but instead I'm running around the house bellowing 'KU MENUNGGUUU.. KU MENUNGGU KAU PUTUS DENGAN KEKASIHMUU' scaring my parents because now obviously they're wondering whose relationship I sekkretly want to break up.

Well.

Prince William, it's still not too late!

Send me a facebook message, we can run away together!

I like tiaras.

=D

Btw this is a ridiculously happy and chirpy song, considering the meaning.

But Momma, I Want Another Round!

2011-04-07T22:54:00.000+08:00

I felt like I was climbing a damn mountain. But not as a human, more like a pack mule. Struggling upwards towards a goal that was somewhere waaaay up there, obscured by mist and fog; being whipped along by a taskmaster; laden with responsibility. And then I reached the top, and suddenly not only was I NOT a pack mule, I was a super-fucking-star and the rising sun was serving as my spotlight.

THAT'S how it's like to be in a play.

In a way I guess it's like sex: you work damn hard, you put your back into it and you use your creativity, and then you get a moment of pure bliss. And then it's over, and then you bask in the afterglow. And THEN you talk about it incessantly (if you're a noob). And you can't wait to do it again.

Pics of the production to come when I get them from the media people!

Look Ma, Teamwork!

Let me tell you, pictures can be deceiving. Also, pictures aren't always worth a thousand words. There were so many battles before the damn play started, UN would've admitted defeat.

I've come to realise I like that fucking spotlight. The attention-whore in me squeals with unholy glee when I'm under the hot glare of a spotlight and everybody's attention is focused on meeee.

Not that I'm in that picture. But still.

See, look at me drawing attention to myself when I'm not even in the damn picture.

That's Pei Vin and Leli.

Bad May Lee. BAD.

Pfft.

Ching Chong Means Asians Are Cool, Goddammit.

2011-03-24T02:37:00.000+08:00

I assume most of you have heard about Alexandra Wallace, that blonde UCLA student who went on a racist rant against Asians, and in what can only be called a blonde moment posted the video on Youtube of all places (uh, Alexandra, Asians DO know how to use Youtube you know). So yeah, bla bla Asians say 'ching chong ling long' bla bla racist racist racism. Boring. There have always been racists, there will always be racists.

It's how people react to racism that matters, right?

THIS guy turned something insensitive and ignorant into something funny.

He's, as far as I can tell, one of those guys who produce songs and post them up on Youtube. One of countless others, until he made this song which has since catapulted him into the limelight. Jimmy Wong, I don't think you'd ever read this but thank you for not reacting in anger and rabid reverse racism which totally just generates even more hating and anger (but I think you knew that already). Plus, your song is pretty damn catchy!

Buy his songs on iTunes, all proceeds go to charity!

Big Waves, Big Problems

2011-03-16T21:39:00.001+08:00

I was, along with pretty much the entire world, horrified when videos of waves battering a nation came up on the internet. Before that, I was like "Oh... Tsunami again?". Not that I don't care, but somehow, after repeated occurrences of natural disasters all over the world, I have ceased to be "OMG OMG OMGGGGG HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN??" and more ".... Again??"

Then I saw the videos of huge-ass waves rolling gleefully where no waves should be. It's frightening to see how easily man's best efforts can be crushed under the weight of nature. It's almost like the technology and advancements we're so proud of are like little sandcastles on the beach. One wave, and it's all gone. Again, we are forcefully reminded that we're temporary and despite our arrogance, we are pitifully dependent on the goodwill of Mother Nature. And sometimes Mother Nature can get nasty, you know?

Click here to see satellite images of before and after the tsunami in Japan.

Damn horrendous right? All I could do was gasp in horror. It takes a while to process the fact that PEOPLE lived in those little houses in the pictures, worked in those little buildings, and laboured in the little green squares that WERE fields. And now homes and entire livelihoods are gone. It's not just a matter of a tsunami, it's about how this nation is going to rebuild itself in the aftermath. And just like how sometimes you need a helping hand to find your feet after a bad fall, Japan needs us right now. If you haven't donated, do it! There are many ways to do it, from dropping money into the donation box at temples, churches, etc, to donating via iTunes.

Google Crisis Response is a Google.org project for the tsunami, your donations will go to the Japan Red Cross Society.

You can also donate through iTunes! Not too sure how it works, cos I don't have iTunes, but apparently it's really easy. Check it out, iTunes people!

Do it for the homeless Japanese people who can't take a shower cos there's a water shortage. And shiver in the almost-freezing temperatures. And can't find their loved ones. Or at the veeery least, for the sake of the cool techy stuff that come from Japan.

Minor Abuse, Major Fucktardness

2011-03-04T18:17:00.001+08:00

What were you doing at 11?

By 11, I mean age-wise, not time-wise.

At 11, I was in standard 5. I had just begun to grow out of my tomboyish ways and accept that it was not the wisest thing to do to climb trees while wearing a pinafore. I came home from school every day, and sat in a corner reading the latest offerings from the book rental shop. I would then get yelled at for reading when the latest offerings from my sadistic school teachers still lay unattended. I had dinner, I watched TV. I had a normal childhood.

Dhanalakshmi, from Tamil Nadu, was 11. At 11, she succumbed to injuries sustained from torture at the hands of her employer. Torture injuries include multiple burns and a fucking HAEMORRHAGE in one eye. She was in a frickin coma when her useless SOB employer (who is a lawyer, btw) took her to the hospital. What kind of sick animal beats the crap out of an 11-year-old girl? Come to think of it, what kind of person hires an 11-year-old to work? There are child labour laws in place, LAWYER.

All I can say is, there's a special place in hell for you. And I hope that you get haemorrhaged eyes everyday there.

Sugar Makes All Things Good.

2011-02-27T19:55:00.000+08:00

God, the wonky internet in UKM is driving me up the wall!

Between the play that my class will be doing for our Performance Studies course and my thesis, I feel like I'm being run ragged.

Oooh, speaking of the play! I'm super excited, the script was taken off the internet but so heavily modified that practically the only thing that remains of the original are the names of the two lead characters. The copyright had expired anyway, so I don't think I broke any rules. Jeann, Pei Vin and I made so many changes, it's almost a whole new piece of work! Incidentally, am also the lead character. Which sounds super unfair, but we all have to be both cast AND crew. So we had to audition (it was 10% of our final grade!), and I was actually angling for the antagonist - I gave her extra lines and everything cos I wanted that part! - but as I was rehearsing, my mother came up to me and said very bluntly "Ah Ger, if you go for that part, you're not going to get it."

So I switched.

My mum was right, as usual.

I am now the lead character of a frickin musical. And I can't even really sing, holy hell! But it's a LOT of fun to act. I won't say I'm very good at it tho, and I definitely need to work on memorising the lines that I enthusiastically wrote a few weeks ago, thinking "HAHA kesian the person who gets the part of Karla, so many lines!".

Karma, ass, bites. Make sentence.

Life has been a series of ups and downs: ups being acting, a certain whale, awesome food, good friends and awesome lecturers. Downs would include my thesis. And the saying 'who needs enemies when I have friends like you'? Yeah. I've met people who have convinced me that I don't really need to expand my enemy collection anytime soon. I've filed them under the 'downs' label.

BUT!

Am not going to let the downs get me down.

Ha.

Made a (pretty lame) funny.

Anyway. Life goes on, no? The positives vastly outnumber the negatives, anyway. Life is good.

Oh, I cut my hair again!I figured "what the heck lah, hair grows back anyway! Carpe diem!", hopped into the chair and told the lady "BANGS, AND THIS SHORT", and let her do her thing. I quite like it! I think it symbolises the risks one has to take in life (chewah! Sesungguhnya pelajar sastera!).

And MMM.

Cuppacakes.

Cuppacakes make life sparkly when things start to get a little grimy.

I love sugar.

No Cows HERE

2011-02-21T01:21:00.000+08:00

When I think 'Bangi', I always think 'small, dingy coffeeshops, nasi goreng USA' etc. BUT, I have to admit that I am a terrible person who overgeneralises things. Because hello, Little White Cafe is situated smack in the middle of Bangi! The exterior looks so quaintly chic (or is it chicly quaint?), it looks like it'd fit in with other upmarket eateries in, say, Bangsar.

The awesomeness continues indoors! Absolutely pretty, with a combination of ye olde English charm and contemporary zing in the form of a wall of really gorgeous photos. Sorry I didn't take a picture of said wall, I was too busy alternating between stuffing my face, and looking around in wonder like a total jakun. Oh, and posing for pictures *shamefaced*

One of their most popular items is the English tea that's about 50-odd bucks for two people. Mmmm. English tea in Bangi. The mind boggles. With a pot of tea, in this case, chamomile. Would I have ever guessed that there is chamomile tea being served in sweet floral teapots in Bangi? Nope. That being said, I'm not being snobby in being so surprised. After all, there are cows wandering the roads not too far away from my uni. But back to the Little White Cafe!

I like cream. I like pastry things. I like strawberries. And sugar. Looking at this picture makes me want to lick my screen!

I also decided to choose something I've never, ever tried before - the Sausage Egg Bake. It's really interesting: it's bits of sausage, chunks of potatoes and some cheese, all embedded in egg, sort of like a casserole. Topped with cream and some chopped tomatoes to give it a bit of a zing. Yummy! Looks a bit.. yellow, but it's something different.

And oh holy God the Red Velvet cake. I've had awesome Red Velvet, starting with Whisk's version, which has a stronger flavour for the cake, and sweeter cream cheese. This one is subtler all round, but just as delicious! The cream cheese icing is just.. God. Not too sweet, you can taste the cheese and scrape every last smear of it off the plate without being overpowered by sweetness. It's 1.10 in the morning right now, and I'm not doing myself any favours by staring at the cake. It's masochism, that's what it is.

Chrissy being lady of the manor. What did I tell you about the teapot?

Bangi, I forgive you the cows. And the monkeys. And the crazy drivers. Just make sure more nice food places open up!

Sincerely, May Lee.

Escaping the Pressure Cooker, Letting Off Some Steam!

2011-02-11T14:08:00.000+08:00

How does that song go? "Girls just wanna have fun"?

Damn straight.

My friends and I seem to be food-crazy but I swear it's not deliberate. We just end up in yummy places!

Yummyy. Like serious. Sorry, I have no idea what the shop is named, I just know it's somewhere in ss2! Corner shop. Go forth and search! I wasn't a big fan of their wu kok tho.

We also do.... sports..?

And true to sports failure form, I score 6 consecutive longkangs.

I've actually gone for bowling lessons, to my utter shame. Chris Tan, who's so slim she looks like lifting a bowling ball would snap her in half, is really good! Life Lesson: Skinny people CAN lift heavy balls.

Oh, we finally ate at Brotzeit! I've been hearing about it but never actually knew WHERE in Midvalley it's located (same row as Chilli's and the police station, if you're just as blur as I was). Brotzeit is.. phwoar. A little on the pricey side for impoverished students such as I, but GOD, SO WORTH IT.

Mango beer! Sounds strange but tastes really good! Like fizzy mango juice with the bitter tang of beer. I think I'll ask for more mango and less beer next time, though. I turn embarrassingly red when I drink. Is there any way to suppress the redness? I literally look like I dunked my whole face into a big tub of blusher!

Ahem.

For food, we tried the chicken breast. I'm not usually a fan of chicken breast, because it can be dry and rather tasteless, but omg this one was awesome! It totally helped that it came topped with huge pats of herbed butter, and was nestled on huge beds of mashed potato. The salad it came with was not, as you can see, some pathetic leaves on the side of the plate. Hell, no. This salad was practically the main dish. I love my veggies so I dove into the green goodness like a starving wolf. It doesn't LOOK like a lot of food, but it's actually very filling! Two girls with medium appetites can share, I think. The three of us shared and we were pretty satisfied when we were done!

Which was a bad, BAD thing because we also ordered the pork knuckles!

Ok, this one I remember the price. 85 bucks, but it's designated for two people, according to Brotzeit. Which means that it can feed 3, maybe 4 Malaysian girls. There were three of us, but we were already quite full from the chicken! It comes with potato salad, sauerkraut and pickles, and is REALLY REALLY REALLY awesome. But we were stuffed to the eyeballs so we had to tapao it and take it with us for dinner. It was all we had for dinner, and even then we struggled to finish everything! So, if you're going with a bunch of girls, don't order individual portions unless you have German-sized appetites. (I assume that's the average amount of food German people eat. If I'm correct I salute you, Deutsch menschen.)

Oh, and Spoon! Yum. Uh, the three of us shared one which testifies to our insatiable need to EAT stuff even though we're full. Was yummy! But a bit exp. And it could do with more fruit toppings! I like how the counter changes colour, though.

After all the mad shopping and eating and shopping and clubbing, though, we return to the pressure cooker to be good girls and work on our respective thesis-es (what's the plural for thesis? theses?). Which is obviously what I'll be doing right after this blog post.

Yup. That's what I'll do.

Hooking a Hooker: Accomplishment?

2011-02-05T15:23:00.000+08:00

Happy Chinese New Year!

And also, HOLY SHIT IT'S FEBRUARY!

Time passes by so fast, it's almost like whatever we experience in life is not Life itself, but the breeze that you feel after Life zooms past.

Haven't been blogging much, I guess I haven't had much to talk about. Sometimes I get the feeling that I'm on the outside looking in, wondering what it's like to do all the things other people do. Not that I actually have the time to DO stuff, what with a script to complete and a thesis to START, fml. Any time that I spend lying in bed sleeping like a pig in the middle of the afternoon is totally stolen and guilted over when I return to consciousness five hours later *scuffs toe*

Oooh, random topic: Why do men look upon having mistresses as status symbols? I was recently introduced to the LowYat.net forum, and I stumbled upon a thread where a guy was asking for advice. His problem? He was seriously considering marrying a Chinese hooker and making her his 'xiao lao po' or second wife. At one point, he actually said (and I quote) that it'd be "quite an achievement for me to have a 'xiao lao po' before even i get married". He DID say it was his ego speaking, but that just begs the question "Why is it an achievement at all?"

Does it mean that it's an achievement to buy a hooker for personal use?

Or.. that he earns enough money to maintain another woman? He's in a steady relationship, btw.

He was seriously considering marrying her in China, and then bringing her back here to Malaysia and keeping her a secret from his family and future wife (he's planning on marrying his current steady girlfriend). I can see SO many problems with that scenario, but nevermind. He has since changed his mind and has discarded the idea. But still! My question still stands: Besides having a hot woman to do the funky monkey with whenever you want, what's so awesome about having a mistress?

Shopping = Workout

2011-01-28T23:59:00.000+08:00

One day, while trudging around Sunway Pyramid, my family and I discovered something:

There is a buggy to drive you around INSIDE the shopping centre!

Taken from my seat inside the buggy, sorry no outside view. People were gawping, I'm not thick-skinned enough to stand around and take pictures while people stare in my direction.

We truly live in a world where pretty much every want or need is anticipated and fulfilled by service providers and manufacturers, no? Now you don't even need to walk around in a mall if you don't want to! And trust me, after a couple of shopping trips in huge-ass places like Midvalley and 1Utama, you don't want to. I always feel on the verge of collapse after a shopping trip, but nobody shows any sympathy when I start with "OMG, too much shopping is really hard!" because apparently shopping is recreational and in no way a hardship. I beg to differ! People who scoff, YOU try walking in circles for a good five to six hours, only stopping to try on clothes (which requires a lot of stretching and bending over), or look at items to compare prices (brainpower), or to eat (refueling). If you're in a rush, you end up brisk-walking, which is what people do on treadmills in gyms worldwide, but you actually do it for longer! Bonus points if you walk up the escalators! Think about it, carrying shopping bags are like lifting weights, walking around is like doing time on a treadmill; who said shopping is all fun and games? And have I mentioned the mental exhaustion that comes after a long day of calculating prices after discounts? And to ascertain that you get the best value for money, you have to make sure that the item isn't cheaper just because it's lesser in volume! All that requires a certain agility of mind, pooh-pooh-ers.

Now, excuse me while I collapse in bed, I've managed to convince myself that I've had a terribly strenuous day today and I deserve some rest. Goodnight!

It's Not Gold-Digging, It's Biology

2011-01-22T01:30:00.000+08:00

I've just discovered an awesome TV series - Mad Men! Ok, I know I'm waay behind the rest of the world, bla bla, but being late doesn't diminish my love for it! I have a sneaking suspicion that my love stems from Donald Draper, the suave James Bond-esque (without the fighting and gadgets but with all the debonair sexiness that makes women want to carry his babies) advertising man who heads the cast. Don is pretty much what my mother would term 'A Bad BAD Husband Candidate': he cheats on his wife, has a secret past that no one knows about, and is just waay too good-looking for his own good.

Jesus. Look at that.

Actually, all of the men on the show are pretty much unfaithful womanisers. Kids, don't be like these men (even though they're sexy). I know, I know, women didn't burn their bras and fight for women's rights just so I can drool over the patriarchy that is portrayed in the show. But! There's something about unabashed masculine authority that appeals to the primitive female inside every woman, be she decked out in LV and shining with urbane polish or dressed in some Mormon dress and sharing a husband with 6 other women.

Or maybe it's just me.

But I really do think that deep within every man resides a Neanderthal wielding a club. Therefore, it only makes sense that there is a corresponding Neanderthal within every woman, who secretly wants to be clubbed over the head and dragged into a cave. Of course, I'm all for equality amongst the sexes in the things that matter such as the right to vote, the right to education, the right to be heard. Misogyny is definitely something that should be stamped out and abolished, women have just as much right to live on this earth and be treated with the same respect men get. But is it wrong to want to be wooed the old-fashioned way? I like doors to be opened for me, even though I can open them myself. I like chivalrous gestures. One day when I have a home of my own, I want to be the one who cooks (I can't yet, but I will learn!). Of course, if he does the dishes after that, that's fine by me!

I've done enough gender studies in school to know that I am subscribing to a rather archaic school of thought constructed by a patriarchal society that favours men over women. But I don't think anyone can, if they're truly honest with themselves, deny the fact that some ideas are so deeply rooted into our psyches that we cannot rip them out any more than we can change the direction of the earth's orbit. Rich men dating beautiful young women is a prime example of basic mating: The women go for the best provider, and the men go for youth and looks which all point to healthy offspring. You can cloak it in many disguises 'oh she's a gold-digger', 'he's shallow', but it's biological! I'm not saying I'm off to get my claws into the first guy with a fat wallet, I'm enough of a modern girl to think that it's unnecessary to depend solely on a man since women now can have good jobs, etc. But I'm not about to get married to a bum who freeloads off me. Whether or not he drags a club.

I'd let Donald Draper hit me with a club, though.

Just saying.

Stop The Senseless Violence!

2011-01-15T16:49:00.000+08:00

This is just too much, ok!

I happily signed into my MSN account and stopped short when I saw the headline "SS2 Bridal Houses Targeted In 'Serial' Arson".

Waddafark??

When I think of SS2, I only think of two things - food and bridal shops. I'm not ashamed to tell you that I LOVE being driven past the row of shops veery slooowlyyy so I get to press my nose to the car window and ogle the dresses on display and drool! I used to date a guy who would make detours to drive me there at funny times in the morning just so we could cruise by at the speed of a snail while I pointed and squealed. <-- on hindsight, it wasn't a good idea because while I love wedding gowns, I was and still am a bit of a commitment-phobe whereas I'm pretty sure he was already mentally calculating the cost of our wedding, being of that age where all his peers were getting hitched. Ooops.

In light of my obsession with wedding gowns, and therefore my love of the shops housing those awesome dresses, is it any wonder that I am outraged by this senseless burning - BURNING!! - of said shops? Bridal shops are like... symbols of true love! You go there when you've found that one person you're ready to take the plunge with, the person you think you'll be able to live with for the rest of your life. You think "Ok! I love this guy! He doesn't like to go karaoke with me but he makes me giggle AND he gives awesome foot rubs!". So you buy a dress (or two. Or three. Ok, I'm getting carried away) to wear on the day you pledge your love to each other in front of everybody who matters to the both of you. You can't just buy a dress from, say, Topshop! Or.. or.. a cute boutique on Telawi Street!

YOU BUY IT FROM A BRIDAL SHOP!

AND THOSE MOTHEREFFING MORONS ARE BURNING THEM DOOWWNN!!

Ahem.

Got a bit carried away there.

What I MEAN to say is: Please, Arsonists, stop burning down these symbols of love. Or else one day Karma will bite you in the ass and you will have to be married in some 70% discount ugly suit (or a yucky psychedelic print dress if you're - GASP - a GIRL). And your bridesmaids will look better than you. IN YOUR FACE.

Roll Camera!

2011-01-13T00:21:00.000+08:00

One small rant:

Why is life never like a movie script? Why can't people meet the one they're destined for, have a conversation, go on a date, and get together? Ok, of course there will be a conflict (crazy ex-girlfriend, personal issues, etc etc) but True Love will prevail and then there will be a Happy Ending with a nice soundtrack. But nooooooo, real life has to be a right bugger and throw all sorts of monkey wrenches in the works, jamming up our Happy Ending production machines.

Then we wander around, lovelorn and sad. And not even lovelorn like those movie characters! Those people get to grow beards and mope around, drinking milk from the carton and looking like dirtier versions of hobos. We have to clean up and get shit done or else life turns around and bitch-slaps us. If I had my way, then we would one day wake up to find the loves of our lives at the front door with a cute sign or a sparkly ring (of course, we'd look absolutely fabulous cos we'd sleep with makeup on, unless you're a guy then you'd be stubbly but CUTE) and we'd live Happily Ever After, after having the Big White Wedding.

Sigh.

Screw you, movies. You've given me unnaturally high expectations.

That being said, while not exactly movie-like, I quite like my life. Sure, I don't roll out of bed with perfect hair, but still. Could be worse, no?

Commercial Break

2011-01-11T00:12:00.000+08:00

Sometimes when things are whirling around me and people demand answers,

I feel.. quiet.

Ok, quiet time over, back to work!

Google Search: How Do You Get Answers?

2011-01-05T13:44:00.000+08:00

Say you have a question. Where do you turn to for help?

I was reading an article by the Star columnist Mary Schneider, about questions posed on the internet. Apparently people ask things like 'how to kiss' and 'how to tie a tie'. It got me thinking - how much DO we rely on the internet? I know I have, on many occasions, enthused about how much I love the internet and how I rely on it to answer everything, but I do actually ask humans for help! Come on, 'how to boil an egg'? Do you really need the internet for that?

There are lots of things that the internet can help with, especially when it comes to questions we don't really want to ask people cos of the potential embarrassment they could cause.

BUT learning from experiences and people can sometimes create the memories that make up the tapestry of your life. I mean, how did you learn to tie a tie? I was taught by my dad, and even though it's something quite insignificant as far as memories go, I'll always remember standing there while he patiently taught me how to loop it around and pull it snug. Every time I tie a tie (it's been ages since I last did, though - hello school memories!), I think of my dad. And every time I reverse a car into a parking space, I can totally hear my mum's voice in my head going "OK! Bai zhik (straighten out), don't go in too far!". Would I have these memories to share if I, say, Googled 'how to reverse park'? Nope.

That being said, I have Googled 'how penises work' on the urging of friends who shall remain unnamed for fear that they will exact painful revenge. It also makes for interesting memories. And the internet totally saved my ass when I dropped my phone in the toilet and frantically searched 'what to do phone dropped in toilet'!

I guess, on second thought, that it doesn't reeaally matter HOW we get our information. But isn't it nice to have memories of stuff like learning how to kiss WITH another person? My first one was sort of awkward and fumbly. It was sweet. And it wouldn't have been the same if I had first Googled 'how to kiss' and had done it with things like 'no face-chewing like a zombie' running in my mind!

No, there was no face-chewing.

10... 9... 8... 7... OMG I CANNOT WAIT, HAPPY NEW YEAR!

2010-12-31T17:15:00.000+08:00

It's the last day of 2010, can you believe it? It feels like time zoomed past and I'm lost in the dust, totally disoriented and a bit lost. Looking back is a bit hard too, everything is a jumble of memories, colours, voices, too messy to see clearly. But one recurrent theme in my memories is laughter. And that's good, right? A year spent laughing is definitely something to be proud of.

In 2010,

I took up guitar! Actually, no.

I cut my hair!

This guitar was merely a prop in my camwhore picture wtf.

I also had great times with friends!

I drank waaaay too much coffee. Procrastination is bad for you, people.

Did my bit for domestic violence!

Not my best picture, but yeah. STOP DOMESTIC VIOLENCE!

Went for my first ever countdown

with a truly awesome guy!

Had my first ever parasailing experience!

Was scared shitless before we went up, but up there it was just... calm. I botched the landing though, sorry David!!

But David isn't the grudge-holding type.

Have I mentioned spending 2010 having fun with friends? Cos I did, and I can't imagine any better way to spend my time.

Got my culture on at the Dewan Filharmonik Petronas, yo. It was awesome! Will go again cos there are cheap tickets sometimes, RM10 is totally affordable right!

Made new friends! In this case, David's friend Thaddeus (the tall guy, far right) who drove us to Seremban to visit Sasa (the short girl in white shorts =P).

Christmas party at Chrissy's with Ming! We may have scared him with our ability to talk non-stop. Ho ho ho!

And best of all, I spent 2010 having an awesome time with my family.

We've gone through ups and downs together, always bickering and making up but never ever letting any member go through shit alone. We've gone through my turbulent teenage years together, the soundtrack of those years being "YOU GUYS DON'T UNDERSTAND ME!", accompanied by tears and slammed doors. I've gotten older and wiser now, though, and my parents and I have forged bonds that are stronger than ever *cue happy tears*

But seriously. This year, more than ever, we've gotten closer. They are less my PARENTS and more my friends. Who tell me to clean my room and to be home before the sun rises. But you know, friends.

2011 is going to be just as awesome, if not more so!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

It's Not Cradle-Robbing

2010-12-27T19:05:00.000+08:00

if it's TRUE love!

Evidently, the secret to a successful marriage is matching COLOURS, not ages. My bad.

Hugh Hefner, long envied by men who dream of having their own big-boobied harems, is about to tie the knot for the third time to a girl only 2 years older than I am. And I'm pretty sure Hef was around when man invented the wheel.

Do you think he's saggy everywhere?

'Tis The Season

2010-12-25T01:34:00.000+08:00

It's Christmas!

It's about 1 in the morning. I bet some of you have ripped the paper off the presents, admired your loot and are now getting ready to go to bed. Tomorrow morning, another batch of people will tear wrapping paper into shreds amidst shrieks of glee (and maybe groans of disappointment at yet another pair of socks). Then it's off to church, and then Christmas lunch/dinner/teatime/supper with friends/relatives/church members/people you don't even know at all. And then bedtime. And then it's the next day.

Amid all the madness and merriment of the holiday season, take some time to remember the foundation of Christmas - giving. Whether you want to come at it from a Jesus angle or a Santa one, it's all about giving. And it doesn't have to be pressies! Give yourself, and your time, to others. DON'T SPEND CHRISTMAS TWEETING, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT'S HOLY. OR FACEBOOKING, FOR THAT MATTER. Put that phone down and talk to the auntie sitting across the table from you. Make friends with the random stranger you're seated beside. Glare at the annoying kid who keeps asking you for a pressie.

Your time is probably the most precious thing you can give to those who love you.

Merry Christmas, ho ho ho!

Fa La La

2010-12-21T18:14:00.000+08:00

It's almost Christmas!

As I worship at Santa's altars of consumerism in a frenzy of "BUY BUY BUYYYY!!", I - heck, all of us - get the opportunity to listen to a whole host of Christmas songs, from the Santa sort to the Baby Jesus sort. On repeat. Until you drive home with the sound of bells going 'ching ching ching' in your head and you look half-crazed.

But there's hope!

Here's a really awesome song that helped me recover: there's no fat guy in a suit nor baby in a manger, no presents, no over-enthusiastic singing, and no Glo-ooooo-oooo-ooooo-riaaaaaaa.

Just what, in my romance-fed mind, sounds like the best part of winter: a snowstorm outside, a fire inside, wine, music and two people getting their flirt on. Yum.

It's Lady Antebellum, but there are loads of other versions of this song. I like this the best though.. I'm quite biased towards country songs, heh. I first heard this song on Glee, but figured not everyone would want to listen to a lomantik song sung by two guys.

Lyrics!

I really can't stay
Baby, it's cold outside
I've got to go 'way
Baby, it's cold out outside
This evening has been
Been hoping that you'd drop in
So very nice
I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice

My mother will start to worry
Beautiful what's you're hurry
And father will be pacing the floor
Just listen to that fireplace roar
Now really I'd better scurry
Sweetheart, what's your hurry
Well, maybe just a half a drink more
Why don't you put some records on while I pour

And the neighbors might think
Baby It's bad out there
Say what's in this drink?
No cabs to be had out there
I wish i knew how
Your eyes are like starlight now
To break the spell
I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell

I ought to say no, no, no sir
Mind if I move in closer?
At least I'm gonna say that i tried
What's the sense of hurtin' my pride?
I really can't stay
Baby don't hold out
Oh but it's cold outside
Oh but it's cold outside

I simply must go
Baby It's cold outside
The answer is no
But baby it's cold out outside
This welcome has been
So lucky that you dropped in
So nice and warm
Look out that window at that storm

My sister will be suspicious
Gosh your lips look delicious
My brother will be there at the door
Waves upon a tropical Shore
My maiden aunt's mind is vicious
Oh, Baby you're so delicious
Maybe just one little kiss more
Never such a blizzard before

Oh I've got to go home
You'll freeze to the bone out there
Hey, lend me your coat
It's up to your knees out there
You've really been grand
I thrill when you touch my hand
But don't you see
How can you do this thing to me

There's bound to be talk tomorrow
Think of my lifelong sorrow
At least there will be plenty implied
If you caught pneumonia and died
I really can't stay
Get over that old out
Oh but it's cold outside
Oh but it's cold outside

It is kind of chilly
Just stay right here, Baby
You ain't gotta be nowhere
Alright, you win

Don't jump, you selfish - Great. NOW what?

2010-12-19T21:45:00.000+08:00

I'm probably going to get flak for this, but I just need to say that suicide is essentially a very self-serving course of action. I totally understand that a person who contemplates suicide is one who is utterly desperate and unable to see any way out of the bleak situation he's in. But does he stop to consider the effect of his death on other people?

The mother who killed herself in spite of her ten-year-old child's pleadings. Did she stop to think of the emotional scars that kid will bear for the rest of his or her life? At ten, her child now has a host of abandonment issues that will probably screw up the way he or she interacts with people. Nice going, Mom.

The 45-minute suicide countdown guy. His ex is probably going to feel shitty forever (actually I'm pretty sure he meant to make her feel bad for dumping him), all because she decided to end their four-month relationship. And his sister, who took him seriously but was reassured (by him!) that he was only joking: what about her? She's going to have emotional issues that seriously outweigh getting dumped by a gf of four - FOUR! - months.

I know the general reaction to death, whether natural or forced, is sympathy and sadness. The deceased is described in glowing terms, any flaws are glossed over and photoshopped. But seriously, in certain cases, it's the plain truth to say that the dead person is dead because of selfishness.

No?

The person who kills himself over loansharks: who has to pick up the tab? His family members. And they didn't even apply for the loan. Who gets the red paint? His wife. His parents. His brother. Who doesn't get their money back? The loansharks (ok, I know they're illegal and ruthless, but sometimes I feel sorry for them). Who gets off scot-free? The dead person.

The person who leaps off a building because her husband dumped her for another woman: she didn't write a will. Her cheating asshole husband got everything, and nothing went to her son. Who, by the way, is now living with relatives because his cheating asshole dad would rather partay with his mistress using his late wife's money. Where's his mother who should be there to comfort him in his fatherless state?

Oh right.

Dead.

I'm not saying "BE HAPPY AND NEVER EVER CONTEMPLATE SUICIDE, SELFISH ASSHOLES!!".

I'm saying before reaching for that bottle of pills or the razor or opening that window up on the 20th floor, people should think of the people who would be devastated by their deaths. By the messes left behind. I mean, yeah, for the dead person, things can only get better. All HIS problems end with his death. Loansharks can't follow you over to the other side and threaten you. Your heart can't be broken after it stops beating. But his problems continue for the people they leave behind. And for those left behind, things CAN get worse.

All things said, people who contemplate euthanasia are not included in this rant. Nor are people who are tortured in abusive homes. Although the latter should try running away to shelters and seeking help, especially if they have children who need them.

If you ever reach a point in your life where everything seems shitty and dark, reach out to others for help. Seriously. You may think you're alone but I'm sure that there are people who care about you. Or contact the Befrienders if you want somebody to talk to but prefer to stay anonymous. They are non-judgmental, will never bocor your secrets to the world, and best of all, don't even know who you are.

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