remaining days

i know I've only lived for 23 years thus far, but this brief time spent on this planet has taught me plenty. The one thing I've always struggled with is expressing how i feel. I can't articulate, or put it in a way that will truly make the other understand what i'm thinking or feeling. Maybe it's called pride, but if i dig deeper, i would pinpoint it to fear of rejection or fear of being laughed at. Or maybe just the pride.

As i grew up, people around me grew too. They got into relationships, got out of em, got married, had kids, got jobs, got into drugs, got into the music scene and some of them...died. An old school friend, Rajan passed away a few years back in a car accident. I wasn't his close friend at high school, but we were buddies. Until after high school, when we all added each other in FB and had this crazy notion that we are all still friends. We're so wrapped up in this security blanket that being "friends" with people means they won't go away, that they are invincible and more importantly, that they will always, always be there.

When Rajan passed away, the only thing that came to my mind was, why didn't i ever keep in touch with him. Why didn't I get the chance to say goodbye. The fault is mine though, I DIDN'T "create the chance" to talk to him. I thought people lived forever on FB.

So credo from now on, is to try, try to let people know how i feel. It won't hurt as much saying "I'm sorry", "I truly appreciate you", "I care for you" and all those who haven't called your dad and said "I love you", than hurting by NOT saying a thing. Coz if i ever missed that boat again, I'd be sorry for the rest of my remaining days.

criteria for relationships

a) Low expectations- just mark the punchcard every morning, afternoon and night. nothing more needed. dont hang on the phone saying sweet nothings.

b) Low needs- dont want to hang out with u ALL the time. need personal space, loads of it, less time with you and only to fill basic needs

c) Be an accessory-understand that you're a handbag to show my friends and family at all major occasions like weddings, reunions, double dates.

d) Be a beanbag- listen to my problems and hear my rants out but DO NOT interfere in my life!

e) Be a homie- when you do spend precious moments together, watch TV, eat pizza and play vid games. Forget romantic dinners and concerts and bla bla bla

f) Leave it at home- all displays of affection at home. dont hold my hands in public..ewwwwh!

g) Good kisser- practice if u aren't perfect. i don't want ur saliva all over me.

h) NON VEG.- there will be flesh of the livestock served from my kitchen! Live with it, eat it!

i) Hang in there- don't bring up wedding bells till we're 50 and its necessary for continual living. otherwise, lets just stay friends in love (if you can call it love)

tada!!

P.S: unrealistic, but ultimately what i want.

homegirl

who is she? She is the girl that never says no. She doesn't know how to without hurting someone's feelings. She doesn't like to cause a scene, so she doesn't refuse in public. She is the girl everyone feels comfortable talking their problems to. When it comes to relationships with their girlfriends, guys find homegirl the BEST person to listen to their whining and moaning. Not just guys, girls too. When homegirl gives them advice in return, it's NEVER taken, rather thrown back in her face when things are going good for them. Homegirl never gets asked how she is doing. That is sort of her own fault. She probably squirms in discomfort thinking of the unease she might cause the other person talking about her own problems. Or think it selfish or that the other person may have something better to do. Homegirls is blind to the fact that she gets taken advantage of. She'd rather believe that the person is nice than evil at first and continual encounter. She is quick to forgive, making her stupid for forgetting that someone has previously hurt her in precisely that fashion. Homegirl tries her hardest not to be rude back at you, even if she hates your guts and all that you represent. But don't underestimate homegirl, she has a strength to her that might surprise you. She might wall herself off or ask you to get your fat ass off her life. She might ask you to hold her handbag while she throws up what she thinks of you on your face! So don't take her for granted. Coz' one day, she will cease to be homegirl and become THE girl.

Ctrl + Alt + Del

there is an observation I find to be extremely true is that all girls control their boyfriends. Now, don't deny it, I've been there too. It could be a bad or good thing they do that exacts OUR discretion to limit. Whether it's smoking, drinking, playing video games, working out at the gym, futsal, skipping classes, overworking...all these activities need the control of a girl. It's in her she's-always-right genes.

That's when they either "alternate" or "delete" us :P

the story of david walters

He opened his eyes, head spinning around like the Ferris wheel in a circus and thought, heaven.

"You look great in white, God,"said David, managing the most flirtatious side grin he could in his condition, whatever it was. "That coat makes you look super hot."

Dr. Audrey ignored him and continued pressing her stethoscope along his left mid sternum. Lifting it off, she said "Your heartbeat and pulse is steady....," she referred to the chart that she carried on her left arm, "...David Walters."

"Exactly where am I and what happened to me?"He tried to sit up but Dr. Audrey protested by gently pushing his shoulders back. She went to the edge of the bed and cranked up the headrest. The gentle push of the headrest made him realize how very sore his body was.

He looked in front of him but all he could make out was his left hand was infused and connected to a pole on the left of his bed with a clear tube running to and fro. Waist down, he was covered in the pasty coloured sheets that he recognized as belonging to a hospital. Now, he felt a little panicky and the jesting mood he was in evaporated.

"What happened?" he repeated with alot more urgency.

Dr. Audrey looked at him with the blank stare he remembered seeing in Grey's Anatomy when they had to break bad news to a patient. She was attractive, all brunette, grey eyes and a sweet smile. Now she wasn't smiling though.

"You're lucky to be alive, Mr. Walters. You were hit by a passing car, and, you lost consciousness. The driver sent you here. But..," her voice trailed off sadly and her eyes ran over where his legs were tucked in under the hospital sheets. Or were supposed to be.

"Oh my God, no. Oh my God, no!!" David exhaled like he just came up from nearly drowning in a lake. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. This was horrible! He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer, then tore the sheets apart with as much strength as he could muster.

Two brown legs, a little pale, stuck out from his hospital gown on the bed, both very much there. He looked at Dr. Audrey disbelievingly, then back to his legs. Very gingerly, he wiggled his toes and...it wiggled! He bend his legs as slowly as he could, and they both followed, painful but obedient.

"Hah!" Dr. Audrey exploded, then laughed her head off! "You should have seen your face!" She wiped a tear from an eye. "That was for hitting on me."

David sat back in utter disbelief. Then smiled slowly, and with the return of some spirit, said,

"I could totally sue you for distress that you know."

Dr. Audrey stopped laughing and looked back at him with amusement in her eyes, "I could counter sue you, for harassment."

"I guess there is only one way to solve this."

"Oh yeah, what would that be?"

"You could take me out to dinner."

"Is this your way of asking me out?" She smiled.

"Yeah." David smiled back and then looked confused again, "What did you say my name was again doc?"

i have...erm...had a plan!

Who at 23 is still in doubt about their future plans? I hope there are more people out there other than myself who are equally lost in the clouds of the present. After all, misery loves company...

A year back, ask me who i wanted to be and i would tell you with no hesitation. There was a plan. There was a well-planned plan complete with sticky notes and highlighted paragraphs. I was going to save the world, all on my own. I was going to conquer the unknown and NOTHING woulds stop me! And now, a year later, i'm all jaded and washed out. All my plans have faded into the memory of a dying passion.

As I was desperately pouring out all this frustration to a very smart friend of mine *ehem*, she shot me back an important question, "Forget the five-year plan. Where do you see yourself, at say...30?" That was a fair question, but it was the five year plan question dressed differently. I truly cannot say that i want to be a career woman with no time in the world, or the woman that has decided to slow down to give a shot at having a family or the woman who has given up everything to do what she truly loves. I want to be all of them, i want to be none.

The truth is, I don't know. And is it wrong to have no plan? Not really, it isn't. I truly do admire people who can, without a doubt say, "This is what i want to do for the rest of my life," or "These are the curtains that are going to go with the walls in the dining room in my future home." Or something along those lines. Life seems so much more structured, more directional when you have a plan. But where is the fun in that?

So for now, maybe no five year plan. Not even an after-i-graduate plan. Maybe just a five minute plan? To clean my room, perhaps?

To sum this up, i will paraphrase my very smart friend, something that is from my heart as well, something i have a plan to do! "They say that this world is going to end soon. I don't know how or when, but God, let me have a chance at changing this world."

Time slips through our fingers like grains of sand and builds a sandcastle of memories.

~if there is one reason why I would want to have a boyfriend, it's to pass time~

i would like to..

I would, i would

Like to play on my guitar all day long,

Strumming sweet nonsense in breeze of the noontime,

Singing softly under my breath.

I would, i would

Like to read all day long,
Gripping a thriller in the middle of the midnight,

Drinking in the words like a blood red wine.

I would, i would

Like to take pictures all day long,

Capturing a scene foreign to others,

Playing with the dials, changing the focus.

I would, i would

Like to meditate all day long,

Arms spread wide on the floor of my hall,

Hoping that i could solve the mysteries of life.

daily delights -for a month-

Holidays. They are gifts sent from up above, especially if you're under a system like my university's. If you are hardworking or "intelligent", you may find yourself enjoying a month's worth of stress free days and nights and a gastronomic indulgence like no other, should you choose to come back to the wonderful country you're from.

So, bestowed upon graciously by God a month, i came back to the land of more for some solid R&R. Heaven knows my temper and nerves were frayed by the months of being cooped up on a land surrounded by water. (yes, that's why babies cry and grounding is an effective method of parental punishment; no freedom of movement)

My tummy had a party, even upon landing i was given food and just like an ancient wedding feast, it lasted for days eventually panning out for weeks. What did i have, you ask. An assortment of dishes, from the cooking stylings of different races, different places and with different faces.

deena's wall on FB served as my personal food diary, so we could both remind each other of what there was to eat and how fast we could do it. Also, it enabled us to mentally tick off food we have already sampled so that we didn't do too many repeats. Trust me, these memories will carry us through those hard months of "ayam lalapan" and "nasi goreng".

So goes on the taste buds galore, a ride i never want to get off.

like a helium-filled balloon..

Now that I've officially completed what was the second toughest exam in the history of my uni's papers, i feel not unlike a helium filled balloon. The past two weeks into the exams was stress-laden with all the sports day practices and time spent on attempting to understand the human brain, which i must confess, i haven't succeeded at.

Though i did revise, i felt like a blank page at the exams, ready to be ripped into pieces. The consequence of not fully understanding a subject is that you second guess your thoughts, wondering if you remembered right, thinking how very alike answer A is to B. And C. And D. Maybe not E. Or maybe.

The feeling of freedom that came afterwards was giddiness itself. Time to do anything i wanted to. To restring my guitar, go to a beach ( i went to two after the exams), chat with a friend paying no respect to time, to watch another version of Emma without feeling guilty, to breathe the cold Bali air and ponder about life.

What will i do next? I don't know. Maybe sit here on my bed and stare at myself in the reflection of my musings. Maybe come up with an idea that will change the world. Maybe i'll read up on sperm whales. The possibilities are endless..

the Climb

Recently, a bunch of friends and I decided to climb up Mt. Batur, the baby of the three mountains in Bali. To use the term mountain would be incorrect, for it's actually an active volcano that's currently taking a nap.

Since we wanted to make it in time for sunrise, we left our houses at 2 a.m. rather reluctantly and stared climbing at 4.30, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed.

The climb in itself, wasn't all that interesting, since it involved lots of huffing and puffing and pit stops on my part not to mention it was too dark to take any pics. The night sky was sprinkled with frosted diamond stars and spotlighted by a beautiful sickle moon.

To cut the long story short, a huff and a puff later, we reach the first summit and low behold, heaven's gate lay chest-to-chest with us. Creamy, cotton clouds lined the summit of the mountains opposite and the sun burst through skyline like a ball of fury then exploded yellow, buttery rays all over. Needless to say, my fingers clicked the camera relentlessly.

The volcano crater's depth dived for a good 300 meters, it was nothing but an empty hole with smoke rising from a hole in the side. Our guide told us gory stories of people who fell while we faked pushing each other in. A few camera clicks later, we started heading down the mountain. This proved a trifle harder than getting up because we kept slipping on the smooth stones on the way down.

The sunlight gave definition to the scenery and i tried my guide's patience while i took numerous pictures of seemingly ordinary panorama. He soon gave up, ran ahead and sat on the road, waiting for us to catch up.

After saying goodbye to our excellent guides who truly,truly helped us up and down, we sat said goodbye to the mountain, goodbye to the freezing cold, and goodbye to a beauty that can't be replicated anywhere else. Oh, and I took an acorn for a souvenir.

ambition versus mechanics

Pictures paint a thousand words,

So it's said and so I've heard,

In all pictures I've taken and seen,

A story is told in between,

It isn't the sharpness or tint or light,

The shading or whether its dark or its bright,

It's the subject in it that captures your mind,

The movement in it that is gently outlined,

Reminding you that there are other views,

Another way of looking for clues,

To one it may seem flat or dreary

But to another the angle has changed the story,

So to hell with technicalities like exposure,

Or changing the settings for better aperture,

If it helps you ease your modern mind,

Make you think it makes pictures divine,

Go ahead and toy with the dials,

Call me a fool, an ignorant child,

I'll take my stories and frame them my way,

The equations and settings are thrown away,

If quality is all that you seek,

Then that quality makes your story weak,

For all is lost and all dies,

The innocence lost from the camera's eyes.

a lil racism...

Living on an island,

Thought it would be fun,

Now after 3 years,

I find i'm freaking done,

These beaches aren't so blue,

And sun ain't too yellow,

Although I've got my crew,

The rest are kind of shallow,

The uni's admin sucks,

The grading system's biased,

But according to them,

We are the stupid liars,

Their curry puffs are weird,

They stuff them up with mee,

The only thing that's nice to drink

Is teh po-ci.

Carrot jeans are all they wear,

oh yeah, and shirts with checks,

They walk around with Blackberrys

Making calls and sending texts,

They zip around in coloured bikes,

paying no heed to traffic rules,

they even talk in sing-song voices,

making English sound so cruel,

It's not that i don't like them,

Those coffee-coloured clones,

I guess i just want to,

Go home.

wishful thinking (or analyzing)

in the past, i wished i could fly to the future so i could skip all that was happening in that moment, but now that i'm here in the present, which i assumed in the past was the future, i wish i was back in the past, reliving every moment that lead to the future, which currently, is my present. does that make any sense???

open doors

like the joker from a deck of cards, the phrase, "I'm fine" could mean...practically anything. It ranges from the enthusiastic, "I'm on top of the world! Even a Spanish bull couldn't bring me down!" to the tenacious "I'm at the lakes of hell, ask me why, coz' the dam at my eyes are going to burst any second and I need a shoulder i can thoroughly wet" to the guarded, "I'm not fine, really, but I don't want to talk about it and if u ask me i will ignore you like a British guard (you know, the one with the huge, furry hats).

likewise the plethoras of "are u alright?"s, "you ok?"s and other versions of this question. they could mean, "i'm asking you because i truly, deeply care about you" or "I don't really give a shit, but I'm asking because it's the right, social thing to do." to "I don't care, but my gossip cart is empty and i really need to fill it up with new dirt."

social conventions. despicable really. makes you say things you don't want to say, makes you ask things you don't want to ask. but sometimes, asking these questions, asnwering them, they get you somewhere. they open a door from one human to the other. they create trust, understanding, things we humans sadly need to keep us reminded why we are what we are and how we can help. or ask for it. you can't really get away all your life without a small emotional leak in the otherwise watertight bottle of togetherness.

all in all, we should just be honest with each other. if you feel like a drama is about to explode in front of you and you can't take it, then hold on with the questions. or if you really have something to say, then don't wait for the questions. (this really is for those with a million defense mechanisms). yeaps, that's all I have. In otherwise unrelated news, I'm going to the circus tomorrow! :)

where did C go?

where did C go? contrary to what you may think, im not inquiring about Chad Michael Murray. Though, where did he go? Bring him back please, someone.

i'm talking about chivalry. where did it go? why can't i see it anymore?

yes, probably a very well abused subject (especially blogs handled by the fairer sex) but, as a darker member of the fairer sex, I too would like to know, where did it go.

A few months ago, a guy opened the door to a restaurant for me and waited till i went in first. I stood at the entrance, speechless and motionless. And then it hit me, i haven't seen that gesture in a long, long while.

So where did bloody chivalry go? Or did it die with Fitzgerald Darcy or worse, Ben Franklin? Is it covered up with the stink of testosterone?

The truth is, I can't entirely blame guys for killing the wonderful tradition of opening doors and pulling out seats. Feminism has played a major role in scorning even the tiniest acts of gallantry, deeming it condescending and sexist for a guy to carry her heavy books or walk beside or behind her on the street. I admit, that i have been guilty of that too.

I don't want an immortal slave, throwing flowers in the path that i walk, I don't even want a constant companion pulling doors and chairs apart for me.

So I call for a truce. Once, in a sky-blue moon, surprise me with a deed of chivalry. Let the words, "Ladies first" escape your lips. And I promise not to harp on the rest of your blinding faults. :P

a small reality check

Getting through medical school is no joke. Initially, I didn't take it seriously, just like I never took any course of education seriously throughout my entire life. If i ever did well in any major exams, i credit it to the fact that I hated failing when my peers did better than i did and i didn't ever want to see my parents sad.

Now it's getting more and more obvious that i am going to be a doctor. I AM. Reality is finally setting in and instead of getting more excited, the gravity of being responsible of hundreds of lives is finally hitting me between the eyes. The fact that i could prolong the life of human or vanquish it with a wave of carelessness, ignorance or plain stupidity is terrifying.

I'm going to become a doctor. With white coats, stethoscopes, ability to read machines, graphs, charts, having intelligible handwriting and no social life. I'm going to become a doctor. Late hours, patients coming in, dying, getting better, placing their hopes and fears or teaching me my job.

Though it is time to finally grow up, a part of me still wants to play.

the green cubes

Quiet as a mouse, i peer down from the top of the shelf. They don't come in much as night, but approximately as the sun sets, this one girl, blue bespectacled, slightly overweight, comes in with great trepidation, knocks quickly on the door, peers around in the darkness, watching and listening (for God knows what?). She then, snaps the lights on, whilst walking slowly, one foot in front of another, a kettle for a weapon, fills it up hurriedly, bangs it on the stove and rushes out and fast as she can. Her fear is tangible, i can almost smell it.

From time to time, another girl comes in, thinner, with eyes as wide as Beyonce's hips. As the blue specked girl looks from the outer room, the wide eyed one would do the kettle deed. Sometimes, they come in as a trio, this time with a kid with a device attached to his right hand which he constantly fiddled with, talked into or heard music from. They used the stove to cook (can u imagine that!) food with spices and powders, things i would never nibble at.

I try, as much as i can, to keep away from these people especially the blue specked one. I could tell she didn't like someone, perhaps me. When all of them came in they talk about me in such a strong, hateful way. Why did they hate me so much?

One day, some men came in. They peered around, checking under cupboards and stoves, on shelves and in all nooks and crannies. I was smart and hid well, but one guy caught sight of me. He called the other one and he came, trying to catch a glimpse of me, but i managed to run away through a hole to the other side. I smelt trouble and manipulation...

A week later, I came back. I couldn't stay away for long, these people gave me so much to hope for. Right there, at the corner near the cupboard, a offering of forgiveness was spread out. Four green cubes of some sort, emitting a LOVELY smell sat innocently on a piece of paper.

They love me after all! I felt a kind of relief and happiness. I came here uninvited and unloved, but they probably got used to my presence. I dug in and nibbled on a cube. Delicious!

Suddenly, a wave of sleepiness hit me. Boy, i sure needed a nap. But a sort of pain in the gut evolved and all of a sudden, the pain and sleepiness became one, exploding sensation and thats when i knew. I knew. I squeaked, a hopeless cry of desperation and sadness, of friendship believed and betrayed. They came, all of them. As i dropped the green cube and lay on the floor of the kitchen, my life force ebbing out, they smiled, malicious and finally free.

if all the world's..

if all the world's story, i was to hear,

Would it make me shed a tear?

Or share its joy over tar roads and grass,

Are the stories fit to be passed?

if all the world's tale, should pass by my eyes,

Would i react in surprise?

Would i cry out at all the blood,

That men have caused to come in floods?

if all the world's flavours, i was offered to taste,

Would i spit it out in haste?

Or would i store it in a pickle jar?

To give to all from near and far?

if all the world's goodness i was made to feel,

Would i faint with that glorious deal?

Or would i feel sadly in lack?

is there more that is still held back?

if all the world's deeds are to be judged,

Would the world stand without a smudge?

Or would men turn to dust at the stand,

Do we know what is waiting in the end?

The Misery of Cuisine

i do not like cooking. Its a statement that comes from my heart. i see cooking as a scientific experiment that needs the accurate amount of ingredients put into a pot to turn out into...voila!..a meal to satisfy the grumbles of the stomach and warm the cold of the heart. Don't tell me to "follow your heart" or "put as much as you want" or "cook according to your needs". Give me:-

item i: 5 tomatoes, finely chopped

item ii: one clove of garlic or 5 pips of garlic, thinly sliced or diced

item iii: 2 tspoons of fine salt

thats more like it!

sometimes i wonder with great thought, why does my mother continuously march me to the kitchen to learn up chicken curry or sambar, when measurements for those recipes have already been taken. Or why she INSISTS that i learn up a new recipe knowing i have no head for this, probably wont remember anything and probably will call her again if i EVER wanted to try out those recipes.

perhaps, she does it because she hopes i would unleash some hidden skill for cooking. Or she's secretly hoping I would end up a multitalented housewife. Or she's training me for the day I become a secret agent and I'm stranded on some island with no food, I would end up making french cuisine with some berries and a stick. Or maybe she just wants me to eat well.

well, two things are for sure. One, no matter how much heart or lack of heart i put into my cooking, I'd definitely will call my mom from wherever (even on the lonely island) to ask for the recipe. Thats the only way I would learn. Secondly, I'm awesome at eating.

Insomnia

i am tired but cannot sleep,

i've even tried counting sheep,

i close my eyes and count to ten,

write my thoughts down with a pen,

bury myself in my pillows,

shut my door and close my windows,

off all lights and tune out sound,

roll up and down and all around,

put on some Jay-Z and did a dance,

tried to sleep, but not a chance,

then i thought that i should pray,

thanked the Lord for my day,

shut my eyes and did not peep,

finally *yawn*, I went *yawn* to....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Challenging Change

The wise words "change is constant" is something that is often heard. It's something that is easy to agree with but hard to do. When someone needs a change, its simple to nod heads and say that that person needs to do something about their attitude or decisions.

But secretly, its something we hate. Let's face it, change can be so sudden, so surprising that it takes us off guard. And who would like that? Whether its moving houses, getting in/ out of a relationship, switching Cornflakes for Weetabix for breakfast...change is pretty much abhorred.

So, unbeknown to ourselves, we try to keep things as intact as possible. We would think twice before getting a new haircut and thrice before cutting back on sleep or sharpening our time management skills or doing sit-ups. :P

Change is like cod liver oil. It tastes horrible but it may do you good. Sometimes even when the change is bad and you think that your world is crumbling around you it makes you tougher and more immune to things. Of course, we'd have to use our discretion and sift out the good, absorb it and dispose the bad.

It may come like a train crash, it may come as a soft breeze in the wind. If we don't change, then we can't learn. If we can't learn, we can't improve. If we can't improve, then we'd be our boring old selves. And that just plain sad..

Ah, the Virgin Post

I'm not new to writing. In fact, I've done it all my life. It's what I knew to do best, next to reading. It's a part of me. My very first piece of writing was when i was eight, about some bears in a garden. My mom has an embarrassing paper to prove this. If I can fit all the work I've written over past years, it would probably be a year's worth of posts.

I'm not telling this to be an arrogant prick who talks about what she likes doing best. I'm just saying that I have plenty of exercise working with words. After all, an author or writer is not unlike an agent for actress or singer. In that way, I'm an agent for words, organizing them, thinking of ways to arrange them best to attract an audience.

I'm not going to say I'm a good writer. I have no idea if I am. But I can say this. I love writing. Sure, I lack the self discipline to come up with 5 posts a week replete with citation and photographs :P I'd prolly write a post a month for the heck of it. Hey, a creative outlet is a creative outlet, right?