Random Quotes From The Past

"Return from whence we came!"

"I see a little kitten coming.... I see a little being!"

"Red.. Yellow... Green... Bleeuww!"

"Selamat Hari Ra-ra!"

I shall update those with pictures and audio, hopefully soon, once my STUHPIDASSADMNAD***&*(^&^&#^$*!!ing PC decides to actually start functioning like it was made to do instead of terrorising my life with it's PMS-tantrum-showing-assignment-destroying anomalies.

*!@$%^&*()&^%$HGDYSIJKNAKJT(*&^%^&@(*#JBTYHJKDJSLYTA!!!!!*

*swears uncomprehensibly while having a ginormous backlog of words to read & write by Tuesday*

Flimsy Whimsies

Hey you. Yes, you. You're like a bad habit. You're my little secret habit.

Win me over with Words. Bowl me over with Memories. And I'm yours.

 

Pick up where we left off.


Dream about that castle in the sky, build it any way we want and defy gravity. Furnish it like money is non-existent and the world is ours.


Let's escape to somewhere full of clouds, blue skies, green meadows with a winking sun peeking out from behind a tall forest.


Turn that into a quiet, old, smoky bar, dimly lit, with sultry jazz and some bottles of red. We could take turns at picking them.


When we wake up, let's jet off to Paris and have freshly baked croissants, with whipped cream, fresh fruit, with shots of black coffee.


Take a walk in an art gallery, and discuss what the painters ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner the day before.


Catch a movie, in a language we don't understand one bit, just so we can sit through a silent movie without any silence.


Read Oscar Wilde with champagne and come up with drunken wittisicms of our own.


Bungee-jump together into an ocean full of sunlight and wishful thinking.


Drift away on a lake, with your guitar and my ukulele just to get inspired.


Eat like a pig, laugh like a fool and live like a dream.

Sunshine, Butterflies & Nothing Else

Here's to a day filled with Sunshine, Butterflies and nothing else.
I think, I'd like to have a theme for everyday. Just a random theme generator to set the mood for the day, ay? :)
 
I love moments in life where you can just be silent with someone and go away feeling like you've had the most meaningful conversation ever. Or even those moments, where you both talk endlessly without a word in edgewise and still have tons to talk about when it has to end.
I love lying down for hours, looking up at the clouds, taking in their graceful and subtle dance amidst the everchanging spectrum of blue.
I love smelling the fragrance of newly cut grass, the cool feel of earth between my toes.
To days where I would run barefoot in fields, laughing excitedly, and just flop down tiredly when I couldn't run anymore.


And then look all around me. Insects scuttling among the blades of grass, in their little worlds, with their little itineraries.

Zigzagzigzag.

And then, pluck a stray leaf or two, and find out, that daun pegaga makes a most delicious kerabu, paired with hot steaming Indian-style cooked rice.


The days where we would sprinkle powder all over the red sandstone verandah, and pretend we were graceful iceskaters. The occasional ah-choo! and less-than-graceful slippy-slide on the sides, each taking turns and choreographing our own gangly routines, applauding each other despite not even knowing what we were doing.


Running around, in a musty smelling mansion, rooting out old scandals, love stories and hauntings, on a hot sweltering afternoon. Shuddering at the skeletons of lizards under the carpet and then going up a flight of stairs to discover it's been boarded over right at the top. Why? we asked ourselves, and then proceeded to concoct the most deliciously eerie ghost stories, that even until today, give me the shivers.
A little Indian girl, clad only in her pajamas and diapers, running around the compound, calling, "Yi-Lin Aka!" while I hid and laughed as she tried to find me and tried to scare her when she did.
Those mystic days, where everyone had ash daubed on their foreheads, necks and tongues, where I was also included and I dutifully nodded my head in respect, with the smell of raasam cooking in the background, solemn clear notes of bells in the air.


Chilly mornings where I'd sit down with the girls and eat Idli with spicy coconut chutney and laugh and joke. The metal plates and cups would lend their unique flavours and ambience to the meal.


Those merry moments when there were large family functions and I would be dressed up just like everyone else, Pottu complete, and try to help around with serving the candies, while sniffing at that smell of Uncle Bala's famous Mango Chutney that "he only makes, and only he can make, for functions such as these" so whispers Aunty Valli.


The simple bus ride late at night, along the winding coastal road, smelling the different scents wafting in through the windows. Even in the afternoon, on the same bus route, so much would have changed.


I still look back and smile at a memory of a minibus, with only two passengers. The driver stopped by the side, picked up a friend with a guitar. And he just sang some bluesy tune while the driver hummed and drove us slowly to the last stop on the route. I didn't want it to stop, resting my head on a creaky metal frame, with the cool night air drifting in, rearranging wisps of my hair and that unforgettable tinge of salty, sea air.


The late night jaunts with the neighbourhood burger guy and his brother who made drinks, with their friend, the koay teow man. How we'd go there, sit down on their stalls' bicycle seats and chat while they made our orders. Even the time, when all the tables were full, we sat on the grass and had our meal nonetheless.


The precious moments when we'd be so hot and bothered, but we'd still walk all the way to KOMTAR from school, just to save us that 50 cents.


Sitting down in McDonald's, with a whole cheesecake covered in chocolate chips, bought with our money pooled together. And then, we'd drop in coins, to play our favourite songs from the jukebox, to sing along, to blush, to be reminded of a certain someone the song represents to us.


Staying back in school with Elaine and Lay Hoon, and walk to FIMA, where we'd buy roast potatoes in their jackets, and sit on the stairs and yak our lives away. Following which, we'd wander around in the furniture shops, picking out the designs we'd like in our future houses.
Braving that grumpy old uncle and aunty in Times Bookstore, to sit down and read the books we never had the money to buy. All the RL Stines and LJ Smiths and whatnot. Looking through teenybopper magazines for pictures of boyband members, and sigh as we each picked out our "handsome" choices.


Walking all over the island, collecting donations for Red Cross, and meeting all types of people. Replete with complaining about how our school uses us, we'd still persevere, for the sake of continuing "the never ending 32year streak of MGS being the highest collector on Flag Day" so threatened by our seniors. No... we wouldn't dare. In front of them, that is. Of course, success was ours each year. That triumphant feeling, as our plump, saree-clad teacher would show off the trophy proudly during Assembly was actually quite priceless.


Going to "Gatherings" and "JOTA-JOTIs", touted the most prestigious events of the years, where invitations are paramount to elite social status. And, would that "special someone" be there? That question plagued everyone and would set the tone for the entire event. Collecting all the badges and souvenirs from those events was testament to how influential you were in the highschool community. Of course, for a school's event to be decreed a failure, would throw that school's reputation and its members into the a social desert. Turnouts for following events involved constant cajoling and definitely less people, with some of them turning up just for friendship's sake. Turn that one around, and have a waiting list comparable to the hottest club in New York.


Hacking away at stubborn bamboo sticks in the pouring rain, and ending up creating a suspended, swinging bridge for a gateway. Building multi-levels and marvelling at daredevil Swee Phaik for going up and jumping up and down, to test if the knots held and then, finally, sitting down and grinning endlessly at our handiwork, mopping away sweat with our dusty, grimy and splinter-filled hands.

=============================

Life, I believe, and us, are shaped by those moments. Small and trivial as they may seem, but it is in those precious little moments, that I see myself, my friends, my state and my country in its own original simplicity. Where there were no barriers, no differentiation, no campaigns to 'unite', no race, no prejudice, no anger, no hate.


We just did. It came naturally and all we did, was take the ride and enjoy the places it took us.

I have never viewed anyone's lunches as poor or lower standard. In fact, I shied away from big, impersonal houses. A meal, no matter what, where and how, is sacrosanct. The mere offering of that simple act, is more than enough to show that they have invited you into their homes, with an open heart and a warm welcome.


I believe, to eat with a family, food cooked with their own hands, is one of the highest gifts anyone can ever give you. It doesn't have to be contrived or fancy as long as the sincerity of heart exists. They have invited you to partake in a ritual as old as mankind, their inner circle where they perform acts so personal : and you, you have been asked to be there.

=============================

I see all this and smile.

THIS is what makes the world a beautiful place.

Restricted Entry

Hah. Seems like everyone's into blog-reading these days... Again another comment, saying,"Hey I read your blog!" *lol* OK la.... I actually post my thoughts online, what did I expect? *rolls eyes*

And now, somewhere over the rainbow.... someone's going through my mind. Eeeeeerie!


It's like...

I. Am. Walmart.


What was that movie again? Oh yeah, "Being John Malkovich". Of course, to a smaller extent.

So here I am, reviewing icky literature for my dissertation. And, gosh, the more I read, the more I have to read. Ever had that kinda experience?? Well, try doing a dissertation/thesis. Bluegh.

And yes, it is sometimes nice having ex-friends becoming friends again, despite the horrible-ness of the opposite. Hmmm...

OK... I have to start writing! Not my blogs.. but my RM. Gaowrhh. 7000 is SUCH a hurdle. Speshly when you're NOT talking about yourself. :)

Off to work now...

*tries to log off, but keeps the window open for any random thoughts*

(Busy konon.)

Tuesday Tea Tarik Time!

We live each week, dreading Monday, looking forward to Friday and then enjoying Saturday and Sunday.

Stop.

REC.

Rewind.

Repeat.

* * * * *

Aah, today's blog shall be, I decree, all

Centralised.

I feel out of center, and so, I'd like to balance that.

I felt quite depressed lately. I do not know why, but the feeling suddenly

came upon me.

I question why. And then I think back.

Something must've triggered it. But what?

The fact that I remain stuck?

In this somewhat unreal reality of living life in college,

when other friends are already well established in their jobs...

Stuck in a position I neither hate nor love.

Stuck in a no-go situation.

backwardforward backwardforward

drawkcab-forward

Is this the life?

I get hit by this question everytime I log in to blog in.

My mind wants to unravel at a mere mention of a tumulteous word.

Which none has yet to utter.

Why O Why this lyrical waterfall?

I have no answers. Today shall be:

"Centralised Question Day"

+ the occasional statement or two. :)

* * * * *

I sit, here, Kona-fied with the ultimate Hawaiian coffee.

A mix of chocolate, aircon and mildly-milked coffee.

Alone. Waiting.

For something to happen.

Like, something in my mind, perhaps.

Yes!

Found it.

First thought:

I still can't get over the fact of that particular Crowe.

That friendship.

Anyways, last night, I didn't sleep a wink!

My mind was roving, with thoughts, fantasies,

dreams, wishes and plans (for today).

And so, I'd like to post something, in memory of a friendship that could've been so great if it had continued.

Conversation few months past:

Me: How do you say, Wild Mushroom, in French?

Crowe: Hmmm... Why?

Me: Tell me first. And I'll tell you why.

Crowe: I'm not sure, but I think it's "Champignon Forestiere"

Me: *LOL*

Crowe: Why?

Me: Well, I just saw a menu, and it was stated there,

"Champignon Sauvage Soupe"

And Mr. Gerhard went, "This is why my French and German is getting so bad.

*laughs*

Imagine that!

The Savage Mushroom Soup!

* * *

whereby me and Mr. Crowe spent the next few minutes trying to

smother our wild, uncontrollable fits of laughter,

while a 'soft' German guy was blushing due to

his attempts to speak Bahasa Malaysia from the podium.

=====================================================

And I thought, he was the only one who'd ever get stuff like that.

And, we had tons of fun in Singapore. *sigh*

Talking about Adam Duritz and Billy Corgan's writing.

Their depressedness and how it just speaks volumes

about our own lives.

Really, I can't get over it.

This is my major setback for 2010.

And I do wonder, if he'd ever see this.

If I should mail him, and tell him all the things running through my mind.

"You're a fighter! The last one I'd see knuckling down to that bastard."

"He walked away, saying he was fed up. But, it was with me.
What about staying for the other 2 in the team?

I'm not the majority. You say it's about teamwork.

So, just because you were fed up with me, you abandoned the entire team?

But YOU. You stayed.
And I thank you for that.

You found something inside you, that put aside all differences and bias

for those few hours and helped us through it."

I probably will never be able to say those words to Mr. Crowe.

I wish oneday, I will put aside my fears and insecurities

and just say my thanks to an ex-friend.

I hope it's never too late.

Too late to say my thank yous.

Too late to find out what went wrong.

Why did all the great memories just fly away,

because of one insignificant week?

The hours spent, talking, teaching, learning, laughing,

teasing, singing and sparring.

I feel really sad.

And equally indignant.

I thought Mr. Crowe had better judgment.

I thought he'd be above all this.

That he'd emerge as the better man.

But, as life would have it,

all things come to an end.

I bid you farewell

my once dear Crowe.