Life Is Made Up Of Split Seconds

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

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!

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.

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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!

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

<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

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.

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

'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.