Scribblings of An Empty Mind

But I'm Still Not Good Enough To Perform At Funfairs

2010-11-28T13:23:00.001+08:00

It's been almost a month now that I've started taking up guitar lessons. The motivation to do so came from the self-realisation of how little I know whether what I'm doing at the moment is correct or actually just plain wrong (my hands hurt when I play for longer than an hour. That has got to be a bad sign, hasn't it?)

Some acquaintances brushed it off as being a waste of money, saying that with the advent of the Internet - and more notably, Youtube - learning stuff online has become cheap and effective. "There are so many people in cyberspace who take the time to produce really good, informative instructional videos covering all sorts of topics ranging from what kind of make up to apply for a dinner event to how best to go about training your tortoise to leap through deathly rings of fire. Thus, it goes without saying that there are tons of instructional videos on guitar playing. Why waste your money on lessons?" they argued.

It's true that the interwebs does help in learning. A LOT. I'll be honest right now and say that I've downloaded a fairly large number of videos myself and if it weren't for those videos, I'd still probably be holding the guitar upside down or back-to-front. However, there's something about the human interaction that takes place during teaching that can never be replaced by any online lesson. The awkward mistakes that are corrected on the spot by a stern rap on the knuckles, say, or the simple nod of approval at having perfectly nailed that riff - these are things which make learning more meaningful.

Though it's a bit embarrassing to admit, another personal reason why I took up lessons was nostalgia. I wanted to remember my days learning the organ - the songs I had to repeat for two to three weeks because I sucked at playing them, the scales that tangled my fingers worse than a messed up ball of yarn and the sight reading which I have never really understood.

I'm still not good at playing the guitar and my left hand still hurts at having to hold down those damn bar chords, but at least I now know the 5 posititions of the A minor pentatonic scale and their correct fingering! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to practise my hammer ons and pull-offs for a bit for next week's lesson.

Hungry at Half Past One In The Morning Did This

2010-10-24T01:20:00.001+08:00

When I was growing up in primary and secondary school, I didn't have that much of a chance to stay out of the house and explore the local geography. This would be in direct contrast to a boy of similar age living somewhere in say, Kampung Orang Asli Donglai Baru, Semenyih. However, it is understandable for my parents to be naturally worried that their firstborn son might be led astray by the bad influences of video game parlours or shopping malls should they let him go out too often. At least in the rural village, the biggest threat would only probably be the rabid, flea-infested neighbour's dog.

So when I reached the legal age to go outside and stay outside after 7 p.m. - if there's ever such a thing - you can imagine what it was like for me. Details are a bit hazy, but I think it did involve a lot a walking, perpetual sweating and a pair of dead tired legs by the end of the day. I really enjoyed not being at home at night partly because of the stuffy atmosphere in the house (still is) and partly because I was fascinated at how colourful the nightlife was. Simply put, I was like a moth hypnotized by the soft blue glow of a pendaflour light and I loved every moment of it.

But I'm older now and that excitement has worn off. A bit. Still, these days I do enjoy the occasional nocturnal escapade, especially if I have the spare dough for it since driving around the relatively quiet streets at night still uses fuel and fuel costs money; not to mention the late night supper of nasi lemak and iced milk tea. And it is usually during these late night suppers that I bump into young parents with their even younger children also enjoying the food on their plates.

Now, it strikes me as odd that such young children (I'm talking about as small as 3 months old) should be wide awake at such an ungodly hour, and eating while they're at it. Once, I came across such a family at 2 plus in the morning. Eyh, what's that about? Don't these kids need their sleep? I thought babies were supposed to be asleep more than half of the time and what's this I see?

I may not be in the best position to talk about the disciplining of bedtime habits of children since (a) I don't even have some of my own and (b) my own sleeping habits aren't exemplary - as you may be able to judge for yourself by now. But to me, it's still a bit weird and downright wrong that these parents should be bringing their children out at such an hour, especially if it's only to socialize with like-minded friends with children of their own. Even worse than that would be the parents that bring their children to the extra-late night markets that go on until the wee hours of the morning. Surely that can't be healthy, right?

Has the influence of nocturnal vampires (and to probably a lesser extent, the Twilight series) finally gotten to us? I don't know. I'm going out for a late night supper to clear my head now

It's Crystal Clear, Isn't It?

2010-10-09T03:37:00.004+08:00

I may or may not have mentioned this in the past, but I am blessed to have spent quite a good number of years growing up abroad, Edinburgh to be more precise. Though my memory is hazy when it comes to details, there are bits and pieces from that period of time which are very clear and vivid to me. Let's see...I remember going to Sciennes Primary School and running around the school grounds during recess. I remember having a red-haired boy as a best friend; Robert was his name. I also remember jumping up and down the apartment till the person downstairs (Mr McKenzie was his name, wasn't it?) came upstairs and blasted my parents for not taking care of their offspring.

Yes, good memories in all.

Another thing which I remember well is a game show that was on air at that time. It was called The Crystal Maze and it had me glued to the telly whenever it was on. And why wouldn't I be? A team testing their skills in a maze the size of two football pitches with a bald host named Richard O' Brien who talks nonchalantly makes for a fascinating watch, wouldn't you agree?

Intermission: I'm watching a clip of it on Youtube as I'm writing this

It was thrilling to watch the drama unfold as each member of the team took turns to play games testing them in terms of skill, strength or intelligence and if they failed to complete the challenge in the set amount of time, they'd be 'locked in'. On the other hand, if they successfully completed the game, they'd acquire a crystal which buys them more time for the final act - catching gold tokens flying in a flurry in a giant crystal dome.

According to Wikipedia - and the few comments I've read so far on Youtube - it was a massive hit among viewers; very fitting for a game show prepared on a massive scale. A healthy number of commenters have also cried out for a new season but I don't think the producers are in a hurry to build another giant maze after tearing the previous one down several years ago.

Is it too much to ask for to have The Crystal Maze replace some reality shows on Malaysian telly?

Axe Rock

2010-09-28T00:59:00.001+08:00

I was blessed with the opportunity to go to a boarding school when I was in Form 4. However at that time, it wasn't so much of a blessing as it was a display of authority on the part of my parents, but I was too young and too foolish at that time to realise (or rather, admit) the benefits a boarding school had to offer a growing young adult like myself.

Besides learning how afternoon prep sessions are actually just siestas in academic disguise and packets of Milo can be subject to ironing to become a sort of crunchy biscuit, I also learned to listen to what some people might call rock kapak or 'old school rock'. Some might cynically point out that most of the songs are just sappy love ballads sung by skinny men with long hair in tight jeans, but hey, who cares?

XPDC. Wings. Search. Lefthanded. BPR. Slam. Spring. You name it, I listened to it.

I still remember how a couple of friends and myself would be lying on the chilly floor of our dorm during the cold weekend nights when the hostel was quiet because most of the students were back in their hometowns enjoying themselves. A cassette player would be playing and we'd be singing along softly - or loudly, depending on the song - until we either dozed off without realising it or the warden came in and whipped our sorry asses to sleep.

Ah, good times. Good times indeed.

The funniest thing about it all is that most of my friends who also went to boarding school would have the same memories - late night sing-a-long sessions accompanied by friends. And though they don't talk about it, I deeply suspect that they also had their fair share of getting a taste of the cane for staying up way past bedtime.

So is rock kapak actually a universal phenomenon among students in boarding school? If so, it should probably be made a compulsory co-curriculum activity. Better than whatever rubbish it is that's played these days.

P/s - given this knowledge of my personal history, it's amusing to see the surprised look on my friends' faces when I tell them I listen to Malay songs. Is it that weird?

Mari Beraya!

2010-09-17T14:28:00.003+08:00

Is it already a week into Syawal? By golly, time sure flies doesn't it? Even if you're not having fun and are stuck at home feeding the stray cats that come begging for food every day.

So yes. Life is about to resume as normal as the week draws nearer and nearer to a close. Those still enjoying their days back in their hometown will most probably start sighing while packing their bags. I'm not too familiar with the feeling as I've been back in Kuala Lumpur since the 3rd day of Raya. My sighing would be when I'm forced to drive on the roads this weekend when everybody - and I do mean everybody - comes back.

Speaking of which, that just happens to be the thing I despise the most about Kuala Lumpur when it comes to Raya. Which bright spark came up with the tagline 'Raya di Kuala Lumpur sebulan!' I wonder? What was the purpose of it in the first place? Was it a desperate attempt to trick people into coming over to the house and finish off the abundance of Raya cookies? (our house still has about 3 containers worth of cookies, by the way) Or was it to make the effort of spring-cleaning the house worthwhile because if not you're not going to clean the house to show it to other people, why would you clean it at all?

Whatever the reason, all I know is that for the next two or three weekends, the roads will be full of cars with people in them smartly dressed for the occasion of pergi beraya. This in itself is not a bad thing, but please, can we just try taking turns holding open houses and not have everybody opening all their houses at the same time? Pretty please?

By the way, my house is always open; you don't have to wait until the weekend to come over. Just let me know in advance that you're coming so that I can scour the kitchen for any other cookies that need to be disposed of quickly.

Is It Safe To Come Out Yet?

2010-09-16T22:45:00.002+08:00

Yes, I kind of developed a phobia of putting my thoughts into writing lest people find them disgusting and started hating me.

Well, it might have taken me close to a year but here I am now, on what is hopefully the road to healing.

Watch this space

Dance Little Liar

2009-11-23T14:59:00.005+08:00

I tend to avoid putting faith in the human race. Like I once said, any race which doesn't have the merry ring of a gun shot to start you off and a finishing line where you can wave your arms in the air once you've crossed it, deserves to be looked upon with eyes full of suspicion. And the more people I get to know, or the more I get to know people (whichever is relevant) the more my suspicions are confirmed.

A little bird (to be read in the British context of the meaning) told me a few days back of how one of her friends has been showing a more unpleasant side to herself these past couple of months. The supposedly soft-spoken, modest and shy girl was slowly revealing herself to be quite the caustic, ill-willed witch who would grab any available opportunity to snidely remark on the little bird's actions. This came as quite a shock since said person was highly regarded by her peers and pressures as being a good example of 'The Last Malay Woman' standing, whatever significance that may bear.

"What are the chances of you unknowingly hurting her feelings and this is a form of revenge?"

"I don't know. But she could always be straightforward and tell me if I did any wrong to her"

"Can her change in behaviour be attributed to the normal phenomenon of menstrual bleeding?"

"As a dignified, modern day female, I am highly offended by your simple thought process that crankiness in the female species is directly linked to their monthly shedding of endometrial tissue. If you'll excuse me, I have other more important issues to focus on such as the direction of the 1Malaysia policy".

Note: the bottom half of the conversation was fabricated to add extra appeal.

****************************************

Obviously, this is a very one-sided story and I have yet to go and ask Queen Ursula about her version to the story. Then again, why would I want to? She might get angry with me or worse, turn my tail into legs and make me go above to meet Prince Eric if I poke my nose into her affairs. Plus, I have never been that close to her owing to her fondness for writhing polyps as decorations on the walls of her underwater cave.

But never mind whether I do decide to get involved or not; that is not the point. The point is, appearances are deceiving. Therefore, don't judge a book by its cover and don't judge a judge by his gavel.

p/s - I must be delirious. This post doesn't make any sense.

Speaking In Tongues

2009-11-17T19:18:00.000+08:00

It is unbelievably amazing how much power the mysterious word holds. It really is true. The more your spoken or written thoughts are shrouded in mystery, the more people become mesmerised. You can even try it out for yourself - throw a rhetorical question at the most unimaginable moment possible and watch how others are intrigued by it like moths taking to a fluorescent light. I can now fully appreciate why some people prefer to take the indirect and sometimes incomprehensible approach to express themselves.

Still, it doesn't hurt to be transparent once in a while, yes?

Sympathy

2009-11-10T20:59:00.000+08:00

I think it was Oscar Wilde who said 'Anybody can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathise with a friend's success'.

I concur with you whole heartedly, Oscar.

Still trying to find the drive to write

Redemption

2009-11-09T01:51:00.001+08:00

And to start writing again.....

....where do I begin?

Late Night Suppers - Your Gateway To Interesting Characters

2009-08-09T11:14:00.006+08:00

The saying 'the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak' nicely sums up my position for the past two or three weeks. But then again, I suppose you could probably sum up my whole life in the same way. Anyway, whoever came up with that saying obviously was not sensitive to the condition of people with Duchenne muscle dystrophy. Absolutely no respect at all, I say.

*****************

Sometimes I get hunger pangs in the middle of the night. This is especially true if I didn't take dinner earlier. Or even lunch. Sometimes probably breakfast too. But let us not dwell on minor event build-ups. The important thing is that from time to time, as I am furiously typing out that case write up (which always gets done at the very last possible moment) way into the wee hours of the morning or furiously clicking away on Mafia Wars, my tummy will send out an audible noise signaling that it has gone without food for too long and if I don't do anything about it sharpish, it promises to be a pain in the arse. Now why would an empty stomach hurt my butt?

So the other night it happened again. I was just about to pull off a heist on this mafioso's mega casino when I was interrupted by a loud gurgling sound. Without so much of a thought, I shouted towards the bathroom 'Hey, since when did we keep Listerine in the bathroom?' without noticing that my room mate was sound asleep in his bed. Oh.

As someone who has done this many times, I can tell you that going out for a late night supper is akin to making a decision in what career path you choose to take. You go out into the world, all fresh faced - sometimes not, more so when you've been typing out that bloody case write up - ready to take on anything the world throws at you. But the first gust of cold wind that hits your face makes you realise that you haven't actually thought of what to do, or in this case, what to eat. And thus you are left standing by the dimly lit sidewalk, hand clutching wallet as motorists zoom by in search of the next mamak stall for another round of teh tarik.

However, on this particular night my head was crystal clear and I knew exactly what I wanted - spicy anchovy buns and a tin of Boh Teh O' Ais Passionfruit with real honey to wash it all down. Actually, that's a bit of a lie. I didn't know what to have for supper but that was what I ended up with after skimming the shelves in 7-11 for close to half an hour.

And as I slide up to the counter to pay for my purchases, a man in his late 40's walks in. I glance at him and he smiles back. A nice looking fellow, but as I was about to find out, appearances can be cruelly deceiving.

'Adik, bagi sekotak Dunhill 20. Hmm..bagi yang comel sikit la. Ha, yang gambar baby tu'

(Give me a packet of Dunhill 20's. Hmm...give me a cute one, will you? Ha, the one with the baby on it, that one)

I choked on my own spit, trying to suppress a laugh. But as I walked back to my hostel - buns and canned drink in hand - I realised that these are the very smokers who I'll be dealing with in a couple of years. So what can I expect from a chronic chain smoker who thinks that a picture of an aborted foetus is cute? Not much, me thinks.

This begs for a caption. Really, it does.

Say Hello To My Little Friend!!!

2009-07-24T23:40:00.006+08:00

Upon logging onto the internet (or interwebs, as I like to call it) for the first time since last Thursday, I was mildly amused to see my bank account balance - $1,999,046.

And that was only for a week I left my three fruit marts.

The above - without a doubt - does not portray my real financial status. In real life, I am a poorly medical student with only RM15 in my tattered wallet to see me through to the end of the week and dinner tonight is going to cost me RM8 since I am desperate for my interwebs.

So where on earth did I earn close to two million in just a week? In Mafia Wars on Facebook, of course. You might recall that I am an advocate of Facebook and its sometimes nonsensical quizzes but that fandom has just been escalated to newer heights after I was introduced into a Mafia family by Pakcik Hassan. What is an elderly Malay pakcik doing in an Italian organised crime syndicate? The first rule of the Mafia is you do not talk about the Mafia. The second rule is you DO NOT talk about the Mafia.

To it's credit, Mafia Wars is not a fancy looking game. You will be sorely disappointed if you were expecting to see highly detailed character designs in the form of men dressed in suits carrying tommy guns going all trigger happy while on a bank job. There is no blood, no gory executions and most certainly no Hot Coffee mod. In fact, the most you'll be given is an animated revolver being loaded with bullets. Hardly entertaining unless you're in the munitions business.

But even though it is a simple click-click clicking game, the real attraction lies in the decision making process which makes up the whole gaming experience. The player is given health points, energy points and stamina points to spend on doing hit jobs and launching all out attacks on other mafioso. Going all gung-ho on other Mafia families will not only almost ensure you get your arse handed over to you, but you will also lose a lot of money and as any good gangster knows, no money means no tommy gun ammunition.

Plus you will get punched in the face and receive 3 damage

So yes. This is my new obsession at the moment. Anybody who wants to fight the good fight may join my Mafia family and together we shall show the rest who's boss. Capiche?

What's The Meaning Of This?

2009-07-14T11:53:00.000+08:00

Aren't you going to ask me what's my first impression of you after the first time meeting all these years?

"Well, are you going to answer that?" asked my brother. There was an impatient emoticon at the end of the sentence.

"Oh, yes. What was it again?" I typed back, with keyboard markings on my face.

*******************************************************

We had been talking about an incident which had happened earlier that day. He had gone out with a group of old friends from school and amongst them, was a girl whom he used to have a crush on. Have you ever been in that position? What did it feel like? Did you get butterflies in your stomach or was it more of like the sensation one might get had he unknowingly downed a plate of bad rice? Or were you all cool about it, not flinching a bit even when your eyes briefly met in a gaze which seemed to have lasted an eternity?

So they had lunch; a nice lunch at a nice chicken rice shop. Myself, I have some experience in attending these so-called 'small reunions' and I know that at the table, everybody will be talking at the same time and you get kind of lost trying to figure out who's listening to who, never mind what they're all talking about with their mouth full. Your best bet to indulge in some decent conversation would thus be to grab the partner of choice and make a getaway for it to another eatery, but since this is not practical at all, the second best option would be to sit next to the person of interest and make small talk then. Which is what my brother did.

They chatted a bit about what they've been up to the past few years when the girl suddenly popped the question above. "I mean, was she sincerely asking whether I wanted to know or was she merely stirring the bush, get what I mean?" my brother asked. "To be truthful, of course I am a teeny bit curious but shouldn't things like that be discussed in private without us being surrounded by onlookers? What gets me the most is when I texted her a bit later in the afternoon, asking about what she meant, I didn't get a reply. Strange." he continued.

Just because I was born two years earlier does not mean I am wiser in matters such as this. To me, girls are - and will always be - a puzzle wrapped in shrouds of mystery and locked up in a box of enigma.

Any girls out there care to give their two cents? Boys are welcomed too; I don't discriminate.

And The Answer Is....

2009-06-23T21:02:00.004+08:00

Since many of you asked what I'd give in order to achieve happiness, the answer is...

....a quarter of my weekly allowance.

Happiness

2009-06-18T21:49:00.002+08:00

What would you give to achieve it?

A Book With A Face

2009-06-04T21:57:00.001+08:00

These days, everyone is on Facebook. From my old classmates, to the ones I have now and even people who I have no idea who they are yet, want to add me as their friend. All this is flattering (Hey Jams! 3 Qudoos!!!) but frankly, the one thing I'm really waiting for is for Ex-President Bush to come along and invite me to join the cause 'STOP CALLING MUSLIMS TERRORISTS!'.

Note: if anyone reading this is personally acquainted with Ex-President Bush - and no, I don't necessarily mean you Ms Rice - would you kindly pass along the message? Thank you.

Apart from asking friends to join causes (some of them hilarious - Think: Save The World From Stupid People, anyone?) another craze on Facebook seems to be taking all these quizzes devised by other users, some of them whom I suspect may have too much free time on their hands. Name The Footballer and What Is Your Personality Type? are some examples of the more intelligent quizzes while What Date Will Your Wedding Day Be On? and What Type Of Shoe Are You? are rather the exact opposites. Yes, there is a quiz which will tell you what type of shoe you are if you are willing to waste ten minutes of your life answering some questions which have absolutely nothing to do with shoes.

(On that thought, how does one become a pair of shoes? Do you have to have a last name like Choo? Or die first to be later reincarnated as a pair of Manolo Blahnik boots lovingly handmade using the finest alligator leather? No, wait. Do not answer. My mind cannot take this anymore.)

To me, the purpose of a quiz is to dig out some useful information about the person taking it, not such flim flam and flummery made up in the same amount of time it takes me to take a swig out of a milk carton while scratching my belly. In fact, if I wasn't too much of a lazy bum, I would have devised a quiz of my own which would probably ask questions like 'What aspect of Jamil do you find most attractive?' or 'If you ever had Jamil as a friend, will you treat him to some ice cream?' or perhaps even 'Jamil demands some attention. What do you do now?'

.....

I don't think it'd be a rather popular quiz, would it?

postscript: I just became a fan of 'DAMN YOU FACEBOOK, I AM TRYING TO DO HOMEWORK'. And damn you indeed.

Hold My Hand

2009-05-28T20:50:00.003+08:00

When we were small, parents would hold our hands wherever we went. To the shops, across the road and sometimes even to the loo.

As we grew up into toddlers, young children, adolescents and young adults, the hand-holding disappeared bit by bit until one fine day, we suddenly realise that that special clasp of hands - the very one which we yearned for its protectiveness and warmth just not too long ago - is no more.

Isn't it about time that we started holding our parents' hands again?

My Inner Child

2009-05-23T21:22:00.002+08:00

Err.....

Mum likes to tell me how difficult a child I was - if I can ever be called one. To the best of her memory, I was 'the boy who wanted to be an adult before his time' (in fact, she still repeats it now on several occasions).

I was the boy who wanted his own room at an age when others still slept with their parents.

I was the boy who would rather learn to wash the dishes and do the laundry than hire a new maid when the last one got married.

I was the boy who would never smile and have a perpetual frown on his face.

I'm going to have to find a different inner child to get in touch with for my current paediatrics posting.

Who Told You That?

2009-05-20T22:45:00.004+08:00

A little ~~bird~~ squirrel told me that the scholarship is coming in tomorrow.

That squirrel had better be right. My pockets are about as dry as the wit of your average Brit.

Note to self: remember to squirrel away some money before splurging the rest on toys....errr..I meant books. Yes, that's it. Paediatrics text books!

200 Quid For This Squid

2009-05-17T04:01:00.003+08:00

Looking forward to good times

For those of us who have spent all their lives with their feet cemented firmly onto dry land, the offer of going out to sea may sound like an exciting - and dare I say romantic? - idea. And why shouldn't it give off such an impression? Did Captain Jack Sparrow not have the adventure of a lifetime battling some squid-faced chap who pursued him relentlessly across the seven seas? Was Russel Crowe not dashing as the captain of the HMS Surprise (I wonder what kind of surprise) relentlessly pursuing some French ship to 'the far side of the world'? And who hasn't heard of Blackbeard The Pirate? Granted, his head getting chopped off and hung from the Maynard's bowsprit isn't exactly what you'd call romantic, but it sure was exciting, wasn't it?

Actually, the truth could not be any farther than that, and I'm not just talking about some squid-faced dude going after your arse. The truth is, unless you are a merman/mermaid or were born with gills on the front of your chest, going out to sea is a very dizzying experience that will most likely leave you in a state of constant desire to toss your cookies overboard. Plus, you will need to pay a sum of money for all your troubles at the end of the trip.

See the bunting with the string at the back? That's your toilet door for you.

So the next time you are inclined to say 'let's go and catch some squid', do yourself a favour and just catch some from a nearby wet market. Take it from someone who tossed some cookies (and a few slices of bread with kaya too) overboard during his recent trip to sea.

Tell Me That I'm Wrong

2009-05-13T14:33:00.003+08:00

For all of my cockiness and humbuggery, I humbly admit that I am not one of the best diplomats that you will come across during your lifetime. If you send me for negotiation talks to call for a ceasefire in say Sri Lanka, between the 'freedom fighters' and the government, I would probably succeed instead in getting more civilians being kidnapped as hostages or getting shot in the head. Yes, I am that bad.

Also, I am not the kind of person that you would want to meet on a first date. Chances are, I'd offend you at the drop of a hat - never mind the fact that I won't be wearing one to the date in the first place. In fact, I dare say that I have offended or at the very least got on the nerves of one person more than I would have liked it to be.

As a ~~rebellious, angry, emotional teenager with a bone to pick with any form of authority~~ teenager, I would have rather walked the plank into a sea full of sharks - or anchovies, preferably - rather than admit that I was in the wrong. 'What is bloody wrong with 'im? Tis not my fault he dinna git wot I meant! Nae shall I apologise!', I fancy myself barking in a thick Scottish brogue that would have definitely made Sir Sean Connery beam in pride.

Sidenote: do Scots talk like that? Any Scotsmen here to clarify the matter?

But it's true that with age comes wisdom - or at least to those who pray for it. I have slowly seen the folly of my ways and learned that no good comes out of thinking that you're always right. That would explain why I haven't become a politician yet.

So yes. These days I am very much open to asking others what have I done wrong and apologising. I find it settles the problem much quicker without any sticky residue. The only problem is - are people willing to be equally open in telling me what I did wrong?

That Competitive Edge

2009-05-04T16:59:00.004+08:00

As I was driving the car to fetch my dad just now, I turned on the radio because I do not rather fancy driving in silence. Well, that is not particularly true since I actually do like driving in silence - especially when I am alone - because that way, I can give my full attention to what's ahead on the road. Until I doze off in the middle of driving, of course.

Anyway, I turned on the radio and there was this advertisement for a certain brand of junk food on air. Never mind how silly it sounded when the person talking suggested that putting that brand of snack in between two slices of white bread makes for a really good way to relax after a hard day's work. If you ask me, putting snacks in between two slices of white bread makes for a really good way to waste two perfectly eatable slices of white bread which could have instead been smothered with mayonnaise and eaten together with cheese and lettuce. But that's just me.

However, it wasn't the notion that snacks can be made healthier by eating them together with white bread that got me chuckling. It was instead the competition put up by the manufacturer that asked listeners to send in their wackiest shot while eating the said brand of snack.

In my books, this is - without doubt - a winner.

I find this very ticklish mainly for two reasons - (1) I started imagining what kind of facial expressions people would put on to win and (2) I imagined what kind of facial expression I'd put on to win, knowing the fact that I have absolutely no luck whatsoever in competitions.

I swear it's true - when it comes to competitions, my Lady Luck seems to have ditched me in favour of some other guy who's probably better looking, is financially better off and has the build of Hugh Jackman playing the role of Wolverine. Well, I hope that she gets torn apart by his adamantium claws by accident.

If ever I were to have my own competition, I'd make sure all the rules would give me a 101% chance of winning:

1. Only one participant per competition.
2. Said participant must be the owner of this blog.
3. To be eligible for the grand prize, the participant should have written at least one entry in the said blog anytime in between then and now.

And just to be doubly sure, participant must have had a really bad history of losing in previous competitions prior to this one.

What's The Cure For Paranoia? Parano-temol?

2009-04-29T10:52:00.005+08:00

My brother came back yesterday from his day at the office claiming that people are out there to get him.

Like what any ~~concerned brother~~ person bored senseless would do, I decided to entertain him and asked 'What makes you say so?' to which he related the following anecdote:

I was sitting there at my desk, typing out the bloody stupid agreement which seems to be adding pages to itself at random intervals. Anyway, as I sat there typing away, comes this other girl who happens to be doing her attachment at the same place. So she slides up to me and before I could say hi, let out a small wail.

I was so startled that I accidentally deleted the whole document I was typing. 'Good riddance' I said to myself and started to make small talk with Wail Girl.

'Uh-huh' I nodded. 'And where did that conversation lead to?'

So yes, we talked about the usual stuff. Boredom at the office, Facebooking for two hours straight, going down to have lunch and come up only to go through the same thing again. And then, we started talking about families.

'That sounds perfectly normal. You should have talked about the weather too then it'd be a complete cliche'.

Well, she asks about mum and dad, the number of siblings, how many girls in the family...you know the drill. So after she was done asking me questions, I casually asked her back 'So, what do your parents do?' My questioned was returned with a shuddering cold silence.

'My parents have both passed away' she said quietly.

Even more awkward silence. And then I blurted out 'Well, I should really get back to typing this. They need it by today. Yes. Today. I completely forgot how important this stupid document is. So uhh...I guess I'll talk to you later?'

'Bravo, good chap. That was real smooth' I said to my brother, unable to believe how he handled himself.

'Well, what was I supposed to say? Anyway, just goes on to show how people are out there to get me. It's a trap, I say!'

Now if that isn't paranoia, I don't know what is.

Probably this

23 For The First Time

2009-04-19T20:19:00.002+08:00

My sincere thanks to all well wishers, especially fellow bloggers who took the time and effort to post up an entry bearing my name/picture/depiction.

It's nice to be remembered *smile*

I Am No Gym Class Hero

2009-04-12T05:40:00.003+08:00

I am no ardent fan of gyms, there is no hiding that. In fact, I will go so far as to say that I detest gyms. Please excuse me when I say this, but I just do not see the logic in paying good money just to get yourself intimidated by beefier looking men who are probably bench pressing several hundred pounds more than you will ever hope to while looking good at it. Of course muscled men aren't the only natural inhabitants of those dreary dungeons that reek of sweat, testosterone and cheap deodorants but who wants to talk to the fat boys?

**********************************

So I passed a gym the other night. Now, I know how big they can get, but this one was obscenely huge. It stood like a monolith in the middle of other, more sensible buildings. The bright lights and loud, upbeat sounds coming out from that monstrosity of a construction only served as bait to curious visitors who, if carelessly enough wandered into the compounds, would instantly be transformed into mindless slaves to the treadmill.

No, even that is too much drama for my standards but judging from how religiously some people go to the gym to flatten their stomach or try to magically conjure up perfectly sculpted abs from a mound of fat, one (especially yours truly) can't help but wonder whether the returns are really all that worth the effort required of them?

Now, I can fully appreciate the mantra 'no pain, no gain' and I absolutely understand that you need to break a leg if you want to ace an exam, or dishonestly claim some insurance money from false claims that 'a car ran over me'. But doing 300 bench presses just to acquire the biceps of King Leonidas is pushing it a tad too far. There is a fine line dividing greatness and madness, and this happens to be one of those lines.

Still, I have no beef whatsoever with beefy macho men. By all means, if walking several hundred kilometers on the treadmill is your idea of fun, be my guest and walk several hundred more. Just do not intimidate me at the beach by ripping off your shirts and showing off those fabulously sculpted abs of yours.

Birthday Boy

2009-04-08T11:59:00.005+08:00

I do not know about you, but for as long as I can remember, birthdays among the male species tend to be a rather drab affair. Unlike their counterparts, males will not go out of their way to find a suitable birthday present for his mate, nor will they lose a night's worth of sleep thinking about 'What if I forget to wish him?'. This is of course, an absurdly gross exaggeration which is founded upon some slivers of truth.

Having said that, why on earth am I writing a birthday dedication to a friend who obviously needs to lose his love handles since this is only his 23rd birthday and wedding plans are still far off. There's a reason they're called love handles, dammit.

Anyway. Birthday wishes to the above fellow. Grow up and get a life already.

Update: I was just informed that I happened to be the first guy to wish him by mouth earlier today. Goodness, that sounds so dodgy.

Kitty Kat

2009-04-03T02:15:00.001+08:00

Won't you hold my paw?

Because we all want that reassuring feeling of having someone to fall back on when things get rough.

When It's Time To Box The Balls

2009-03-28T10:35:00.005+08:00

Two mates recently almost got into a boxing match over a ball that decided to visit the face of one chap after leaving the foot of the other. It was yet another classic example of why testosterone and sports make for a very, very bad combination.

I myself was not present at the scene of the would-be-crime, though if I was, imagine the pictures I'd have been able to capture. Ooh...the action! The emotion! The bruised eyes and cracked, bleeding lips! I'd have snapped them all before receiving a bruised eye and a cracked, bleeding lip of my own.

It's difficult when things get to your head while playing these kinds of sports. Bloody hell, it's difficult enough keeping your emotions in check when playing something as timid and docile as chess or even draughts, what more a type of sport which requires you to kick a ball with low rebound characteristics into the goal while trying to avoid hitting the poor goalie in his face or cojones. Frankly speaking, judging from how hard some blokes shoot the ball, I'm surprised that there has yet to come out a ruling about how goalkeepers are obliged to wear helmets and/or chastity belts for the sake of their unborn children.

I absolutely understand that the chap who got his glasses knocked off of him must have been in quite a rage having been acquainted rather personally with the ball without him wishing for it. However, that does not mean I agree to him raising a fist and threatening to wipe out the last of the other fellow's descendants. Wouldn't it have been better and infinitely more graceful to just pick up the specs and leave the grounds? Most people would do that, knock on wood.

But yes, it's always easier said than done and as somebody who did not play in the testosterone-charged game the other day, I suppose I have just about as much right to be commenting on the person's action as a damned Israel troop killing unarmed Palestinians.

Histrionic

2009-03-25T02:01:00.003+08:00

When we least expect it, that is when we are pushed - face first - into our darkest hour.

At times we feel as if we've been given a chance at redemption, only for that feeling to be swiftly dashed by a cruel and cold silence.

But never mind. Hope arises once realisation sets in. And we begin a new day anew.

Summer Is Here!

2009-03-14T16:57:00.004+08:00

Oh wait. I forgot it's always summer here.

On another note, I have always wanted to meet people with names such as Summer, April etc. If you happen to have such a name, do drop me a line.

Of Durians and Fishes

2009-03-10T22:13:00.004+08:00

A friend made the very astute observation of how places in Melaka are often named after natural elements, and he even named a few examples, just to show how observant he was - Ayer Keroh, Durian Tunggal and Alor Gajah (more like Alur Gajah, am I right?)

Needless to say, I was very impressed.

However, I would have been more impressed had he observed the law while sitting behind the wheel as we were on our way to Melaka a couple of days back. Feeling awfully bored by spending the weekend in Tampin doing nothing but think of ways how to cut names off of the list of diabetic patients we were supposed to interview for our study, my trusty brothers in arm - God bless the fools - decided to visit the historical town and end the day by having dinner at that oh-so-fishy open air eatery, Umbai.

Now, like all things that yield best results when done spontaneously e.g. the decision to profess one's love for a member of the opposite gender, the trip was possible only because we did not ponder too long on whether we needed to bring clothes for the night, or whether some of us would get travel sickness or even whether A' Famosa would still be standing when we got there. Alas, like all things that yield best results when done spontaneously, something is bound to go wrong somewhere along the way e.g. the person you just confessed your love to turns out to be a blood relative. In our case, that 'something' was the dinner in Umbai.

So here's a Top Gear© Top Tip: if you're planning to chow down on grilled fish in Umbai, make sure you get there early. Not when people are already heartily enjoying theirs, leaving you only the choice of species of fish which I have never heard of before and squid. Either you arrive early, or you bring your own fish for them to cook. No, I'm not kidding you on this one.

Enough talk. More pictures. Do they not speak a thousand words?

Fun In Gemas

2009-03-06T14:39:00.005+08:00

Mention Gemas and the first thing that comes to mind is trains. Gemas and trains go hand in hand like Oya and Mukah, Pedas and Linggi, Tuaran and Papar....you get the idea.

I have always liked trains and as a boy, I'd be fascinated watching them pull into the station while blowing a lot of hot air and making a lot of noise - kind of like that brat we all know who likes to boast a lot about everything under the sun. The only thing which bugs me till this day is the idea of train spotting. What kind of a sport is train spotting? Who are the players? Who keeps track of the score? And how do you score points anyway? It is all very puzzling to me.

Anyway, when we got the chance to visit Gemas last week, it was a childhood dream come true. Unfortunately, that dream was shattered as soon as it was fulfilled. The reason being? I was told that Gemas was - contrary to the very dear belief I had held all this while - not in Johor but in fact, Negeri Sembilan.

.....

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Still, it was fun shooting photos with the 'old train town' as the backdrop.

News of Today: Medical Students Visit Gemas

It's a beauty, isn't it?

Somebody was an eager beaver

Najmi obviously boarded the wrong train...

...while this guy doesn't really care.

I wonder what these dials do...

Gemas is part of Negeri Sembilan. Never forget that kids!

Which Way To Effective Communication, Sir?

2009-03-03T15:22:00.002+08:00

I sometimes resent the fact that I am no good with people. I envy my other friends who have no problem going up to a total stranger and ask for directions. Some of them are even capable of going up to a total stranger and at the end of the conversation, exchange telephone numbers. It needs no special mention that these friends are guys and are obviously up to no good, but that is something else. The main point is, they are good at talking to people whereas I suck. Completely.

And that is troubling because for the next two weeks, I am required to talk to total strangers who I have never met before in my life and ask them about how many tablespoons of sugar do they take in a day and whether or not they believe that potatoes can make you fat. Not only that, in order to hunt down these strangers, I am required to ask for directions from other strangers. It's a catch-22 situation - there is no way out of it.

Of course the optimist will tell me that this would be a very good chance to overcome my inhibitions and learn how to talk in a civil manner to people who will one day become my patients. For once, I would have agreed with that thought were it not for the fact that some of my friends were greeted by barking, flea-infested dogs rather than scowling, sugar-infested patients. These anecdotes are very much a turn off for me to get in the chummy mood.

However, I guess that I really do not have a choice. Sooner or later, I will have to start opening my mouth and stutter some unintelligent sounds which were actually supposed to come out as 'Do you believe that preparing a diabetic meal is difficult?'. Unless my short term goal is to be the most hated person in the group for not pulling his weight, I'll have to start going through my Communication Skills for Dummies book. Pronto.

Finding And Losing

2009-02-20T01:17:00.002+08:00

One of the reasons why we're so polite to strangers - I'm assuming we all are because we're civilised beings - is because we do not want to end up looking like we were the one raised up in a zoo without any proper training in social behaviour. Surprisingly (or should I say not?), when we've known someone for a substantial period of time, that feeling of having respect and showing some courtesy towards the said person disappears. It's true. Try doing a cohort study on it. Get to know somebody new in your life. Note how you treat the person during the first couple of days/weeks/months and continue this practice for a reasonable amount of time. The outcome of this can be anything from ending up as husband-and-wife to staying merely as acquaintances, but the important thing is to note how you behave towards that person.

Do you still stop yourself short of saying 'Yes, your bum does look big in that outfit'

Are you starting to roll your eyes whenever it's their turn to talk?

Do you find yourself starting to act like a self righteous bastard with the person?

I'm not saying that I don't do it - I do. Especially the bastard bit, although I wouldn't really call myself self righteous. Ask my parents. They are sure to tell you of countless occasions where they took heart with what I said. Ask my friends. I'm sure there have been comments in the past which they have never really forgiven me for it. Ask anyone who knows me - you'll get the same kind of answer.

As cliched as it may sound - don't take people for granted. Unless you happen to be a baboon with inept social skills (which I am sure you are not), always remember that the people you meet in life may not necessarily always be there for you. And when that day comes, will they leave with fond memories or otherwise?

Note to self: why so serious?

Calling All Dinner Attendees!

2009-02-18T13:59:00.007+08:00

An official photographer I am not, what more a professional photo editor. All apologies.

Having said that, support your local shooters with some ~~smiles~~ cash!

p.s. for more pictures of said dinner, please head over here. Modest Awe is always modest

My Friend The Shooter

2009-02-09T14:22:00.003+08:00

Although I have mentioned Awe several times in my writings - and even invited him to be a guest writer once - I have yet to put up pictures worthy of embarrassing him. Call it polite manners or just sheer laziness on my part, the truth is that I am not giving him the due credit that he deserves.

So, in conjunction with 'Celebrate-Your-Buddy-Who-Persuaded-You-To-Take-Up-An-Expensive-Hobby' Day, here are pictures of the culprit, my very own friend Awe.

p.s. Considering the outstanding amount of *cough*manliness*cough* in the post this time around, it is well advised that readers head over to Yusoff's blog after this to rid themselves of any facial or bodily hair that they might have grown in the process of admiring Awe's manly physique. Thank you.

As you can see, the camera is permanently glued to his dominant eye

Sharing the spotlight with a...fuse box?

Awe is known to have the strength of 300 ~~Persians~~ SPARTANS

A photographer in captivity does not stop shooting

Awe is not amused by your lame composition

'Having a big camera adds colour to your personality' says Awe

Sharing Is Caring. Or Is It?

2009-02-08T18:27:00.000+08:00

Depending on what the item is, sharing can either be a good or bad thing. Examples of good sharing are sharing an ice-cream, sharing a funny anecdote and sharing an umbrella in the rain. Examples of good sharing that are less glamorous include sharing the responsibility of changing the baby's diaper or splitting the bill at dinner. And then there is bad sharing - sharing an email joke that is not funny and sharing a laugh together with a friend while everyone else in the cinema is crying their eyes out during the scene where the heroine dies in the arms of the hero, are both typical examples of bad things to share.

However, the two examples provided above are nothing compared to this other example of bad sharing - sharing with others the same problem over and over again till they've grown sick of it.

Let's clear something up first: there's nothing wrong with sharing your problems with others. In fact, it's good because now you've got a friend (because you wouldn't share your problems with an enemy) to feel just as depressed as you are about another friend who called you all sorts of names and accused you of being a member of the extremist left wing party. However, when the same problem is re-told over and over again with no new details to it, isn't it time to move on to new things or at the very least, new problems?

Your former schoolmate now hates you. Get on with it.

Your former classmate doesn't remember you. Get on with it.

Your former love dumped you. Get on with it.

See what happens when you don't let go?

Even after two centuries, Grimm's fairy tales have withstood the test of time and people all over the world still enjoy them up to this day. I doubt your stories - or mine, for that matter - are able of achieving the same degree of success.

So get on with it.

Clapping With One Hand

2009-01-22T19:36:00.004+08:00

Parents are capable of giving a bloody lot of good advice that their children wouldn't believe it. Come to think of it, children never do believe their parents until it's too late and something bad has happened because it is what children do and what parents complain about to other parents, but that is for another day.

Anyway, parents - God bless them - are a silo of wisdom. In fact, I will go so far as to say my own parents are the Fort Knox of sound and sensible advice. So the next time you are in search of some advice worth its weight in gold, feel free to make an appointment with either my Mum or Dad during consultation hours. Make sure to bring your own pen and paper.

***********************

Just the other day out popped another gem in the form of 'Never be a love beggar'. At first I misheard it as 'Never be a beggar lover' or probably 'Never be a bagel lover' which prompted me to raise an eyebrow and mutter 'Say what?'. That of course, invited a disapproving look from my parents. But after being repeated for a second time - or was it a third? - only did it dawn upon me what was it that they were trying to say.

Jangan jadi pengemis cinta. Kalau orang taknak kita sekali, kita taknak dia sepuluh kali.

Let us imagine for a while, instances where this advice can be applied to good measure:

1) Phantom of the Opera

2) The Little Mermaid

3) The Hunchback of Notre Dame

4) Memey and Norman Hakim (Well, this probably doesn't fit in but I couldn't help it)

5) You who are reading this

Any questions?

The VC Does Hospital Ampang

2009-01-15T11:04:00.005+08:00

It never occurred to me how big the big shots in my university are. It's only at times when I see how other people treat them do I realise that 'This bloke's famous!'

The Vice Chancellor came over to our hospital yesterday to ~~play Santa Claus~~ visit those less fortunate than ourselves and hand out some tokens of sympathy. Apart from that, he also presented the hospital director with a surgical mask, a pair of gloves and a syringe - which were meant to be of symbolic meaning i.e. there's supposed to be boxes and boxes of the said items given to the hospital as a token of appreciation for having our students in your hospital but the people in charge of sending them will be coming around later. In the meantime, care to try on the surgical mask?

This is what happens when two boys have a blank moment - they are drained of all colour

"It's just like the movies! Albeit not as interesting"

"It's THIS small!"

"Dude...never use that hand gesture on another dude"

What plans does Mon have for that plastic bottle?

Oh, that's what.

Anuar does not like to tarnish his image by being in the company of poor conversationalists

Perhaps she's just too tired. Perhaps it's the long winded speech which no one cared to listen to

I take back my words. There is someone who paid attention, it seems

I Like To Move It, Move It

2009-01-11T23:09:00.007+08:00

Maxis Speedmaster Challenge. Re-write the Magna Carta under 5 minutes!

Living in denial. Shake your head until it comes off.

Illegal racing - you're doing it right

Panning. Pan sold separately

postscript: I've noticed that ever since getting that DSLR, my ability to write has been severely blunted. Perhaps a picture is indeed worth a thousand words.

Sour Grapes

2009-01-05T23:04:00.002+08:00

Norman dan Abby bersama semula

If newspaper article titles sound too good to be true, then it's usually because they are. I yearn for the day where newspapers report that 'Sammy Vellu to (finally!) do away with tolls', but then in the most obscure part of the two page-long article, it will say '...when he's retired from politics'. It's not going to happen I tell you. In the case of the newly-vorced (as opposed to newly-weds), turns out that what it meant was that the two could possibly appear together in the serial drama Gerak Khas - which is an awfully different thing altogether, isn't it?

What got me to thinking wasn't exactly whether or not the once-Malaysia's-heartthrob-now-turned-baldie would play Cops and Robbers with his ex-wife on the small screen, but rather what would happen between the two when they meet on the set.

Abby: So...how are things between you and that woman?

Norman: There is nothing between us and I DID NOT HAVE AN AFFAIR WITH HER! *stomps off set*

Yusof Haslam: *groan*

Now I know enough about divorces to know that seldom do the couple get along well - sincerely, if I may add - with each other after getting separated. Of course in public, the two will talk courteously and smile politely, but try taking away the public eye and you'll end up with two children who'll squabble about the most trivial things. (Come to think of it, even married couples behave like children who'll squabble about the most trivial things, but that's a different story)

And it doesn't even necessarily have to be people who used to be married and lived together under the same roof. Even for 'puppy love' types, there are those who magically assume the persona of Anne Robinson after breaking up. Funnily enough, they are exactly the same people who you once thought to be extremely demure, pleasant and charming.

Ahh...when love turns sour.

Happiness is...

2008-12-31T11:04:00.003+08:00

Happiness is....

A drink shared

Watching stars under a really dark sky

Highlighting the important people in your life

(in this case, Elvis and the Angkasawan)

And pretending you already have a fisheye lens

(does this picture look familiar Awe?)

The Quickie

2008-12-29T20:42:00.004+08:00

Discard what I said in the earlier post about 'What goes around, comes around'. Obviously, in the insanely infectious world of memes, you get screwed either way. But this is not to say I'm mad at the person who tagged me. A little kick start is good once in a while, no?

Do you think you're hot?
Actually, yes. Which is exactly why I need a bath now

Upload favourite pictures of yourself. Why do you like these pictures?

Because nobody knows I'm the one in the middle!

Oh...shoot.

When was the last time you ate pizza?

Err...is this supposed to be a Brain Age moment?

The last song you listened to?
Vertigo by U2

What are you doing right besides this?
I was spending some quality time with my PSP. The poor thing needs some loving see?

What name would you prefer besides yours?
Nur Adrina Lina *laugh*

Who are the next people you will tag?
Seriously, I would not want to put others through the same ordeal

Who is number 1?
What number 1?

Say something about number 2
It comes after number 1

Introduce number 3
It's not a tree

How about number four?
'For' the love of God, can we stop here?

Yes you may
Thank goodness for that

Looking Up

2008-12-28T12:57:00.002+08:00

Up...

And away....!

Tag Me

2008-12-14T08:57:00.002+08:00

Memes/Questionnaires/Tags are a cheap way to fill up an empty blog. And they're also a cheap way to trick your friends into filling up theirs. I like to think memes are the Maggi (more like Megi, am I right?) of blogs but since I've been tagged by a close friend and the fact that I've grown tired reading about complications in pregnancies, might as well respond right?

Flowers or chocolates?
Oh come on. Can't we start with something that's not glaringly obvious?

Pepsi or Coke?
Generally Pepsi. But on days when I need my sugar rush, I'll go for a Coke.

Pop or Rock?
Rock definitely. But then again, I listen to all kinds of music. Yes, even sickly sweet sugary pop tunes and Chopin.

Relationship or one night stands?
Relationships. One night stands usually end up dismally. Plus you never remember what happened the night before.

Love or money?
That's a tough one because I've always thought that I can use money to buy the things that I love.

Oh. We're talking about the kind of love given by somebody else is it?

Movies or music?
Music. Period. But I'd go to the movies too if someone took me

Country or city?
Suburbs?

Sunny days or rainy days?
Rainy days. They make for cozy snuggle ups under the blanket. Plus, the mood is great for feeling melancholic without a reason. But I'd definitely want the sun to shine if I'll be shooting photos outside (DSLR, where art thou?)

Friends or family?
Family first with close friends coming in at a close second.

Have you ever:

Smoked?
No. Didn't - and still don't - see the need for it

Broken someone's heart?
I would like to think that I haven't but feel free to correct me

Had your heart broken?
Hahaha

Wish you were a prince/princess?
Have you ever seen how Prince Charles looks like? Do you want to be like him? Me neither.

Liked someone who was already taken?
Yes? My fault really. Was totally ignorant about the said parties' (implying that it happened more than once) relationship. Yup. Classical Jamil-ism.

Shaved your head?
I came close once. It was a form of punishment from my mum cause I was rude to her hahaha.

Been in love?
Who hasn't?

Used chopsticks?
I have, and it's one of those experiences in life which you hope to bury deep at the back of your mind and pray to never remember them again.

Sang in the mirror to yourself?
Yes.

....

Now that I think of it, I shouldn't have been particularly honest about that one

Favourites:

Candy
I looked up the meaning of candy in a dictionary and it said "a sweet concoction made with sugar or syrup combined with fruits, chocolate or nuts". If that's the case, can I name myself as my own favourite candy? Well, I am a sweet mixture made with sugar and combined with a nut!

Song
According to iTunes, the song I'm currently listening to the most is Gelombang Cinta by Butterfingers

Scent
There was this one perfume once given to me as a gift which I really liked. Smelled of fresh water. Does fresh water even have a scent?

Musical instrument
I used to play the organ and was -believe it or not - only six months away from completing the whole course, which is close to seven years. I didn't complete it. It goes without saying that I do regret it, but it was unavoidable. Nowadays, I'm teaching myself to play the guitar. I heard that girls are attracted to guys who play the guitar but I suspect that it's a lie because the only people who listen to me play are my housemates

Movie
I'm not exactly a movie watcher, but I have to say that I really like Shrek. It's a thong! - timeless.

Actor/Actress
Is this based on looks or acting skills? Keanu Reeves in the first Matrix

Junk food
Super Ring. I could eat ten packets and still want more (the whole idea behind junk food, isn't it?)

Animal
Can I have a panda for my next birthday please? But on a more realistic front, I like baby animals. It's kind of the same with people too, but that's another story.

Is there anything you wish you could change about yourself?
How about a more deadpan look on my face? Other than that, I wish I could be more charming when dealing with people I'm meeting for the first time.

Do you think you're attractive?
I know I am.

You have to choose a fairytale as your life. What would you choose?
Mmm...House?

Do you play any sports?
I'll let my twisted knee answer that one

I don't think I'll be tagging anyone else because like they say, 'What goes around, comes around'.

When I Grow Up, I Want To Be....

2008-12-10T00:14:00.003+08:00

There have been times in the past where the medical course got a bit too much for me (bloody hell, it still does, doesn't it?) and it is during these so-called 'instances' that I start to question my sanity and soundness of mind on the day I decided to take up medicine.

This is not, however, to say that I regret choosing medicine as my pursuit in life; far from it in fact. It's just that I can't help but wonder if I weren't doing medicine, what is it that I'd be doing instead?

And like only a true bloke would do, I drew up a list of things I'd do in life had I not ~~completely chained myself to medicine and threw away the key~~ taken up medicine. Mind you, some of them were thought of after having just sat for my first and second professional exams, so that should tell you something about the emotional state I was in after answering those bleeding exam questions:

1. Burger seller
2. Newspaper/Tabloid columnist
3. Video games reviewer
4. Video games repair specialist
5. Rock star

But looking back, I realised something: even though I'm now a full-time medical student, I'm also a little bit of everything on that list; well probably except for the burger seller perhaps. Columnist? I'm writing in this blog, am I not (albeit not on a weekly or fortnightly basis). Video games reviewer? Always doing that with my gaming friends. Repair specialist? I've brought back my PSP back from the dead on more than one occasion in the past. Rock star? Always have been one, and always will be.

All thanks to the wonders of photoshop

My only regret is that I can't be Rambo due to err...physical constraints. Unlike some of us.

Now in DVD format!

Postscript: I promised my bored buddy Awe to post up a picture of the smiling moon (more like the smiling constellation, am I right?)

Credits to Hudzaifah's Canon 400D. And Hudzaifah too, of course

Horribly Horrifying

2008-11-26T20:35:00.004+08:00

Humans are fascinated by horror. Indeed they are thrilled by terror, they marvel at the macabre and they flirt furiously with fear. That is why horror films continue to do well at the cinemas regardless of the cheap scares used over and over again by simple-minded directors (cue for creaking door sound effect and distant howl)

An article I read said that "many people are fascinated by evil and horror, so long as they’re not personally involved". That has a ring of truth to it, and from my personal experience it is exceptionally true when the type of horror is that of getting an earful from your specialist for not knowing your patient's case.

Why exactly are people attracted to frightening things I don't know. It is even more perplexing when someone you know to be a bona fide scaredy cat suddenly turns to you one day and says 'Let's go watch that new horror movie Quarantine. I heard it's scary'. Could it be because the said friend secretly wants to scream out loud and cover his eyes for no reason yet doesn't want to be seen doing it without an excuse?

Now that's a genuinely scary thought.

Myself, I am afraid of cockroaches. The reason being is because they have long bodies, even longer legs that are hairy and they can fly. My idea of a fate worse than death itself is when a flying cockroach ends up landing on my nose, or worse still, in my mouth. It is hard to think of a more spine-shivering thought than that.

I just hope that none of the readers out there will take advantage of me having known my weak point...

Decisions, Decisions

2008-10-30T00:22:00.003+08:00

People make bad decisions. All the time. And although I haven't gone to the extent of actually carrying out a survey to ask the number of times the average person makes bad decisions, I'm quite confident that the findings of the said survey can be summarised as x > 1 whereby x is the number of bad decisions made resulting in a serious desire to bury one's head underground.

Some of the bad decisions that we make are irreversible; like the time you asked the most popular girl in school to be your girlfriend and she bluntly turned you down, citing 'I'm not interested in boys who are shorter than me' as a reason. Or how about the time you thought that it'd be a good laugh to make fun of your friend in front of other friends, only to realise that he now no longer wants to talk to you. Sure you can pretend that it never happened - 'Oh, her? Nah...I never was interested in her anyway. She walks funny' or 'Ali? Ali who? I never had a friend by the name of Ali who I unknowingly hurt his feelings before' - but let's be honest with ourselves. The truth is that they live on forever deep in the darkest chamber of our hearts, right?

Some bad decisions carry with them slightly more bearable consequences. These usually come in the form of items (e.g. DSLRs) bought at an impulse with money which should have been invested in more fruitful activities such as endless late night suppers at the local mamak stall just to use the free internet service provided there.

And finally, you have bad decisions which you can simply put behind you and look forward to the future. These are the bad decisions which most of us make most of the time, and yet funnily enough, they are also the ones which we can never seem to let go of. I suppose it's because they make people nostalgic and are oh, what's the phrase again - 'of sentimental value'?

The thing is, there really is nothing to be nostalgic of. If there is anything that I've learnt from reading cheap self-help parodies, it's that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Which is why we recycle the same fashion trends over and over again.

So yes. Don't mull on the past. Look to the future. Just beware of being too optimistic (a bad decision I made once)

Ball Kicking and its Benefits

2008-10-16T20:12:00.002+08:00

Short entries that chronicle my life don't make for an enjoyable reading experience. I know that for a fact because I also started having nightmares after reading back the previous couple of posts. Even more worrying is that I have received emails from several concerned mums who reported that since the past few days, their children have been talking about how they 'never want to go online again' and 'that awful blog'.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

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It has always been said that due to the enormous range of topics to cover, apart from reading, medical students do not have time for other worldly activities such as exercise. In fact, I remember a prominent ophthalmologist saying that the only exercise back during her student days was walking back and forth from the hospital.

But that's all in the past now and with the advent of digital SLRs, the iPhone and Kopi Jantan, medical students are expected to not only become bookworms, but healthy bookworms. It is because of that very reason that I took up playing indoor football which is funnily enough called futsal.

Futsal is a godsend for city folks who have neither the time nor the perfectly mowed fields to play proper football on. Futsal is played on an artificial piece of turf about the size of a basketball court with its perimeter covered by a net. It's said that the net is to keep the ball from going places as a result of disastrous ball kicking skills, but I suspect that its real purpose is to keep unruly opponent benchwarmers from stepping in and stirring up a fuss during a match.

Now, I've been playing the sport long enough to tell you that the amount of stamina required is no less than that required from playing football on the field. In fact, from my careful observations (and also from the exhaustive hours put into the game), I can say with confidence that futsal is a much, much more physically challenging game. This is because a lot of energy is used up to perform skills and stunts that are a requisite for the game, for example: running, dribbling the ball and shouting taunts at your opponents who have just missed an easy shot. It goes without saying that that latter takes up most of the energy expenditure.

Futsal is great in the sense that you can play it at any time under any weather condition. This is something that medical students are extremely grateful for since they're too tired to play in the afternoon after a whacked out day at the hospital, so they usually arrange for late night games (particularly in the range of 11 p.m. to 1 a.m.) so that they can continue to feel whacked out during tomorrow's ward rounds.

Yes, futsal is one of Man's better innovations I have to admit that. But in the end, it is also the same innovation that gave me a twisted knee a couple of weeks back -.-"

I Want To Scream

2008-10-12T09:33:00.005+08:00

I have just finished my clinical exams. I could write a lengthy post about how I feel post-assessment but since people keep harping on and on about how 'a picture paints a thousand words', I'll just let the picture above tell my tale.

postscript: pardon my current obsession with explosions and all things macabre. I'm not turning into one of those goth kids you so commonly see all over the place these days, rest assured.

Turmoil

2008-10-11T01:28:00.003+08:00

Apart from stories with bad cliffhangers and the contestants from a certain local fantasy academy, one of the things which I despise most in life is the ominous feeling that accompanies exams (which so happens to be just around the corner). The sinking feeling of not being able to finish covering all the necessary chapters sickens me to the stomach, but then again, that could also be attributed to the bad eating habits that come along with the package.

But lamentations will remain at that - mere lamentations. Unless I do something about it. Sharpish.

Scenic view of my emotions at present

Escapism

2008-10-09T09:44:00.003+08:00

Since my DSLR dreams seem rather distant at the moment (that, combined with the fact that I have exams next week), I've decided to wash down all the pain and bitterness with a spot of Photoshop.

Photoshop - creating self comforting delusions for pitiful DSLR would-be-owners since last Thursday. Oh, and a catalyst for bad grammar too.

What my dreams initially appeared to be

What they have morphed into

I Want A DSLR (Gosh, That Was Direct)

2008-09-26T02:57:00.003+08:00

My good-for-something friend Zaheer said "How come you're jumping from one interest to another? Is the PSP not good enough for you already?" when I told him about my plans for jumping on the DSLR bandwagon.

Now, Zaheer himself owns a Nikon D40 which has up to this day, faithfully captured more than 15,000 shots of various occasions including debate competitions, english getaways and those awkward moments when I am found with nothing on save for a towel. And I must say that the images produced are extremely pleasant on the eyes or extremely embarrassing, depending on which picture it is that we're talking about.

Actually, it's already been some time since I fancied a DSLR but like any other underpaid undergraduate, money has always been a stumping factor. Sure, there's my scholarship but as mum prefers to remind me constantly, that money can be put to better use. I would like to think that my Macbook is an example of that money being put to better use.

Note: just in case you're reading this mum and get the willies, I can assure you that I have in fact been using this laptop in the continuous process of pursuing knowledge. Two case write ups, multiple seminar presentations and even more medical journals have been typed out, prepared and read thoroughly using the MacBook. Of course, several (and I cannot put enough emphasis on this word) photos have been digitally manipulated whilst listening to what some might call 'music that corrupts a generation' using that very same MacBook. Do not think of it as a misuse, rather a form of multitasking (well, it did come with Photoshop!). And another thing, this entry was written using this MacBook, so there you have it. Final proof, if proof be needed, that this laptop is being put to good use.

But back to the issue of DSLRs.

So yes, I am thinking of getting myself one. It would be nice if I could snatch one in time for Raya so that I can click away silly and then delete half of the pictures due to underexposure - if the term exists.

Alas, that remains a very distant possibility considering how little left I have my bank account. Next scholarship perhaps?

Postscript: Just in case I don't get to wish the readers on the day itself, Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri, Maaf Zahir Batin dari saya Jamil Aiman, penulis blog tidak seberapa ini yang juga tidak dikemaskini sekerap yang saya - atau mungkin anda juga - harapkan.

Have a great Raya everyone *smile*

Gruesomely Growing Up

2008-08-19T23:40:00.004+08:00

All I want to do is write a bloody entry to post up. So write already!

The 'think tank' up there in my cranial vault seems to have stopped working these past few weeks. I suspect it all boils down to the lethal combination of studies, mindless entertainment on the telly and late, late nights filled with useless musings and perhaps one cup of coffee too many. What I really need to kick start my brain back into Edgar Allen Poe mode is some time off the real world and a plunge into the twilight zone.

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I've always thought of myself as never having to grow up, and with a face that makes me look like a fifth former for life, that thought seemed pretty much possible. That was until I lived pass yet another birthday. Now, I find myself not only growing up, but also growing older and probably more *ehem*mature*ehem* too. Actually, discard that last part. I don't feel like I'm growing any more mature compared to when I was in Standard 3, but I do feel like I'm trudging drearily along the path to adulthood, and what a dreary path it is.

Responsibilities are slowly increasing in number and size. In fact, I suspect that by the end of this year, I might have to start thinking about how to go about filling in my own tax forms, never mind the fact that I'm still two-and-a-half years away from graduating. My obligations as a son are no longer limited to 'sweep the floors, hang out the laundry and don't forget to throw out the garbage', rather they now encompass more serious and adult-ly stuff such as 'come back home and visit your parents' or 'try advising your younger brother about his attitude' or even 'don't you have any nice friends to introduce to your sister?'. That last one was a bluff, but you get the idea.

And that's just my duties as a son. What about my other obligations as a friend, a student and a possible future electoral candidate for a by-pass election in which if I win, will see me catapulted into Parliament and open up my chances to become the next Prime Minister of Malaysia? (which isn't exactly a future that I am keen on pursuing)

It sometimes get depressing, and leads me to dramatise my life, most notably in the forms of having trouble sleeping, a declining achievement in academics and a sudden caffeine habit, which is not too dramatic, frankly speaking. In fact, I'm sure that if ever my life were to be turned into a Hollywood film, it'd achieve about the same degree of success as that horrible Britney Spears movie, Crossroads.

So, what to do? Just grow out of it I guess.

Am I Paid For This?

2008-08-03T20:43:00.002+08:00

So it's finally back to the 'wake up early, spend whole day at hospital, came back home to sleep' routine *sweats*

I'll be starting my surgical posting starting tomorrow. Personally, I would have liked to stay a bit longer in medicine but hey, why call them rotations if you're going to be staying in one department only, right?

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I had a lazy afternoon's discussion with my friend today. It revolved around our sad financial status and the even sadder rise in living costs. After some advanced and really complicated mathematics (involving the multiplication of 15 with 7), we figured out that roughly we spend around RM100 each week. And that is a lot for a couple of people who have yet to earn their own money.

Can you imagine that? One hundred bleeding ringgit per week just for meals twice a day, a weekly mobile phone top up of ten ringgit and the occasional indulgence in sweet corn ice-cream. Things sure are a lot more expensive than what they used to be back then.

I still remember back when I was in Standard 3, I would save some of my daily pocket money (which was just one ringgit, mind you) to 'feed' my piggy bank, which wasn't a pig at all, rather a monkey with a top hat and cymbals. I was very diligent (not to mention prudent) when it came to saving at that time, and guess how much I had saved by the end of the year - only 50 ringgit. Compare that to now. Today, the same amount can only see me through to Wednesday! (assuming I hadn't used it all up by Tuesday that is.)

At the alarming rate of rising prices, I wonder what'll it be like when I finally finish my undergraduate studies and start work. Probably I'll be declared a bankrupt before my first paycheck arrives.

Touch, Touch Me Do

2008-07-29T09:30:00.003+08:00

As I was surfing the net rather aimlessly yesterday (one of the Devil's favourite pastimes), I happened to come across this rather interesting bit of scientific news - haptic technology.

What exactly is haptic technology then? Well, Wikipedia says that it refers to "technology which interfaces the user via the sense of touch by applying forces, vibration and/or motions to the user". A definition as dry as British wit. I think what it's trying to say is that haptic technology is when you interact with an interface, that interface will interact back by stimulating your peripheral nerves responsible for detecting touch, vibration and motion. Golly, that's just as bad a description given by old Wiki there.

Perhaps it'd be easier to give an example. Say you touch a button on a touchscreen (because that's what buttons on touchscreens are for). Normally, you'd only feel the smooth, flat qualities of the glass surface. However, when haptics are integrated into the screen, you would feel as if you were touching a real button, and not that smooth, flat glass screen. It's like feeling something that isn't there. Somehow, unrequited love comes to mind.

Imagine the possibilities of such a thing. You already have virtual reality - go ahead and throw in some haptic technology and not only can you see things which aren't actually there, now you are even able to feel them. This sounds disturbingly similar to what a person with migraine might feel when having their aura.

Medicine happens to be one of the fields to have embraced haptics (not much surprise there). howstuffworks.com says here that 'medical students can now perfect delicate surgical techniques on the computer, feeling what it's like to suture blood vessels in an anastomosis or inject BOTOX into the muscle tissue of a virtual face'. Wonderful! Now if only we can persuade people to go for haptic enhanced face-lifting procedures.

I think for the time being, I'll just settle for this haptic-enabled phone from Samsung *smile*

A Real Birthday Wish

2008-07-23T16:27:00.004+08:00

Now that I can finally take a breather, let's see what I've been up to these past couple of weeks. But oh, to make it more fun, I won't tell you exactly what they are. Instead, I'll just give you 4 cloudy statements shrouded in a dense swirl of mystery (otherwise known as clues) to help you out. Ready for them? Here you go:

These past couple of weeks, I've been.....

Going to the hospital
Going to the hospital
Going to the hospital
Going to the hospital to take my clinical examination

You might have guessed by now that I was pretty much busy going to the hospital. But enough about that. I promised my dad that I'd write him a proper birthday entry when I was done with my exams. So, here I am trying to fulfill that promise.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!!!

I know I'm the worst. But don't worry, I'll make it up by treating the birthday boy *stifles a giggle* to a grand dinner with the rest of the family members. What else can you get the man who has everything?

Birthday Wish

2008-07-21T14:09:00.003+08:00

Just a quick...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!!!

Many happy returns of the day :)

p.s. I'll put up a proper post when I'm done with my exams. Promise!

Photobooth

2008-07-15T20:43:00.002+08:00

Remember this picture?

Well, it now has some new additions to the family! I'm sure you can certainly guess what that means :P

Three Jedi Knights in their free time

I'd make a great cast for King Kong:The Movie...

...or even Mona Lisa Smile, perhaps.

Attack of the ~~Killer~~ Ugly Aliens

Thanks to mumsy for 'chipping in'. And just so you know Ma, I really am using this Macbook for studying! Apart from listening to music too :P

True Tones

2008-07-02T21:54:00.001+08:00

Judging from how long it took me to update this blog, you can certainly bet your bottom dollar (or your bottom only, whatever tickles your fancy) that I have not really had the luxury of being able to sit down and compose even a simple entry. I can immediately think up of several hundred excuses but the two that stand out by far are 1) I just haven't had the time considering how much of my life is taken up by that soul-sucking entity called 'The Hospital' and 2) gaining access to the Net over there is about as easy as breaking into Alcatraz. Or my dad's wardrobe. And just to get a certain point across, it's rather pointless spending a couple of hours at the mamak restaurant which has wifi access when you don't even have a laptop.

So as you can see, my absence is very much excusable. Still, you can never keep a good blogger down (think pycnogenol).

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Here's a thought - why doesn't someone design a short message system that not only sends text messages, but also includes the emotional tone of that message the way the sender intended it to be? I know - brilliant isn't it?

The short messaging system was indeed a blessing to those who wanted to be constantly in touch with their friends but were too poor to be going out every other day just for the sake of meeting them (read: yours truly). In fact, it is such a godsend that I dare say it's the next best thing after sliced bread, and perhaps credit cards too. However, like all other things man-made, the SMS has its share of flaws, the most obvious being the inability to convey the true tone of a text message the way the sender intended it.

Here's a little test to see how good you are at identifying the real way a message was intended to be read. Try to guess in what manner were these sentences written in e.g. humourous, melancholic, excited. Give yourself a point for each correct answer. No peeking now.

1. Emm..takde apa2 la...

2. Yes, I do suppose that can happen

3. Apa dia tu?

4. I'm sorry but I think you've got the wrong person

5. ...

Well, have you written down your answers yet? Compare them with mine.

1. Sarcastic

2. Sarcastic

3. Sarcastic

4. Sarcastic

5. Sarcastic

Baffled? Well, what did you expect with those sentences coming from me?

SMS etiquette doesn't help either, which is not surprising really considering they were made up by teenagers. Sure, you may say that 'Hmm...' tells you the person is thinking his answer over or a message with only three dots in it tells you that the other party is no longer interested in conversation (personally, I think that if he's already lost interest, he'd have stopped texting you altogether). However, given the complicated nature of human beings plus the distinct disadvantage of not being able to look at their facial expressions while texting, the true nature of these messages are very open to misinterpretation.

I commonly find myself on the receiving end of things when this happens. As you should already know by now, I indulge in sarcasm and irony and that goes for when I'm texting too. On more than one occasion have I found myself having to explain an earlier message just because the other party did not catch its intended meaning. It is a situation I call 'a Hamlet' due to it's tragic nature. The worst part is that sometimes, these are people who have been texting me long enough to (I assume) know how I tick. In these cases, it's a 'Hamlet read by a hippie'.

But in all due-ness, I have my fair share of misunderstandings too. And I have this really bad habit of pushing it when the other person won't tell me what they really mean. Then I start assuming what they meant by saying such and such and then they get angry because I got it wrong again which goes on to show how insensitive a person I am and then I try to defend myself by saying that I'm actually sensitive and that I'll cry watching Korean soaps and then they get even angrier, saying that I'm now making fun of the situation which also means I'm making fun of them and then we argue and argue and forget what exactly was it that we were discussing about in the first place.

So you see, a short message system which conveys the real tone of a message would help prevent countless arguments from ever taking place. If a husband can read his wife's text message - 'Please don't put the milk carton back in the fridge if it's already empty' as such and not 'Is it so hard to lift your bum to throw it in the bin?', then the world would be such a happier place.

That is Politically Correct, Correct, Correct

2008-05-20T11:52:00.003+08:00

A classical bedtime story, re-written to comply with the modern standards of 'civilised behaviour'. Taken off from this site.

There once was a young person named Little Red Riding Hood who lived on the edge of a large forest full of endangered owls and rare plants that would probably provide a cure for cancer if only someone took the time to study them.

Red Riding Hood lived with a nurture giver whom she sometimes referred to as "mother", although she didn't mean to imply by this term that she would have thought less of the person if a close biological link did not in fact exist.

Nor did she intend to denigrate the equal value of nontraditional households, although she was sorry if this was the impression conveyed.

One day her mother asked her to take a basket of organically grown fruit and mineral water to her grandmother's house.

"But mother, won't this be stealing work from the unionized people who have struggled for years to earn the right to carry all packages between various people in the woods?"

Red Riding Hood's mother assured her that she had called the union boss and gotten a special compassionate mission exemption form.

"But mother, aren't you oppressing me by ordering me to do this?"

Red Riding Hood's mother pointed out that it was impossible for womyn to oppress each other, since all womyn were equally oppressed until all womyn were free.

"But mother, then shouldn't you have my brother carry the basket, since he's an oppressor, and should learn what it's like to be oppressed?"

And Red Riding Hood's mother explained that her brother was attending a special rally for animal rights, and besides, this wasn't stereotypical womyn's work, but an empowering deed that would help engender a feeling of community.

"But won't I be oppressing Grandma, by implying that she's sick and hence unable to independently further her own selfhood?"

But Red Riding Hood's mother explained that her grandmother wasn't actually sick or incapacitated or mentally handicapped in any way, although that was not to imply that any of these conditions were inferior to what some people called "health".

Thus Red Riding Hood felt that she could get behind the idea of delivering the basket to her grandmother, and so she set off.

Many people believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place, but Red Riding Hood knew that this was an irrational fear based on cultural paradigms instilled by a patriarchal society that regarded the natural world as an exploitable resource, and hence believed that natural predators were in fact intolerable competitors.

Other people avoided the woods for fear of thieves and deviants, but Red Riding Hood felt that in a truly classless society all marginalized peoples would be able to "come out" of the woods and be accepted as valid lifestyle role models.

On her way to Grandma's house, Red Riding Hood passed a woodchopper, and wandered off the path, in order to examine some flowers.

She was startled to find herself standing before a Wolf, who asked her what was in her basket.

Red Riding Hood's teacher had warned her never to talk to strangers, but she was confident in taking control of her own budding sexuality, and chose to dialogue with the Wolf.

She replied, "I am taking my Grandmother some healthful snacks in a gesture of solidarity."

The Wolf said, "You know, my dear, it isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone."

Red Riding Hood said, "I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop an alternative and yet entirely valid worldview. Now, if you'll excuse me, I would prefer to be on my way."

Red Riding Hood returned to the main path, and proceeded towards her Grandmother's house.

But because his status outside society had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, the Wolf knew of a quicker route to Grandma's house.

He burst into the house and ate Grandma, a course of action affirmative of his nature as a predator.

Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist gender role notions, he put on Grandma's nightclothes, crawled under the bedclothes, and awaited developments.

Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said,

"Grandma, I have brought you some cruelty free snacks to salute you in your role of wise and nurturing matriarch."

The Wolf said softly "Come closer, child, so that I might see you."

Red Riding Hood said, "Goddess! Grandma, what big eyes you have!"

"You forget that I am optically challenged."

"And Grandma, what an enormous, what a fine nose you have."

"Naturally, I could have had it fixed to help my acting career, but I didn't give in to such societal pressures, my child."

"And Grandma, what very big, sharp teeth you have!"

The Wolf could not take any more of these specist slurs, and, in a reaction appropriate for his accustomed milieu, he leaped out of bed, grabbed Little Red Riding Hood, and opened his jaws so wide that she could see her poor Grandmother cowering in his belly.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Red Riding Hood bravely shouted. "You must request my permission before proceeding to a new level of intimacy!"

The Wolf was so startled by this statement that he loosened his grasp on her. At the same time, the woodchopper burst into the cottage, brandishing an ax.

"Hands off!" cried the woodchopper.

"And what do you think you're doing?" cried Little Red Riding Hood. "If I let you help me now, I would be expressing a lack of confidence in my own abilities, which would lead to poor self esteem and lower achievement scores on college entrance exams."

"Last chance, sister! Get your hands off that endangered species! This is an FBI sting!" screamed the woodchopper, and when Little Red Riding Hood nonetheless made a sudden motion, he sliced off her head.

"Thank goodness you got here in time", said the Wolf. "The brat and her grandmother lured me in here. I thought I was a goner."

"No, I think I'm the real victim here", said the woodchopper. "I've been dealing with my anger ever since I saw her picking those protected flowers earlier. And now I'm going to have such a trauma. Do you have any aspirin?"

"Sure", said the Wolf.

"Thanks."

"I feel your pain", said the Wolf, and he patted the woodchopper on his firm, well padded back, gave a little belch, and said "Do you have any Maalox?"

I think that's about as offense-free you can get in a children's bedtime story. Hopefully, it didn't touch on the nerves of anyone who read it.

The Idiot In The Iron Mask

2008-05-07T02:31:00.002+08:00

"We are" typed out my friend, presumably while jumping up and down, "going to have a masquerade ball in July. Isn't that exciting?"

I stared at the sentence while pondering over what reaction might I get if I typed back "OMG, thatz so d bomb! U totally rawks!" to show how terribly excited I was. Most probably, I'd get a virtual door slammed in my face. And that is just being polite.

But in all honesty, a masquerade ball does sound exciting, and yes, I do confess that I am attracted to the idea. I've always been interested in occasions where you are permitted to not be yourself (another good example would be during Parliamentary sessions).

The idea of wearing a costume together with a mask sounds medievally romantic, wouldn't you agree? In fact, if memory serves me well, I think Meat Loaf - which let no one tell you otherwise, is not a cool name - used the whole idea as a theme for his video clip of "It's all coming back to me now". People say it's a powerfully passionate love ballad, but making a wild guess based on only the title, I think it's about a man who's sobering up from last night's drunkfest.

But I digress.

Putting on a mask means not having to reveal your true identity to others, which in my opinion, is a good thing on such an event. During occasions such as this where you are required to put your best foot forward, not having to show your face kind of helps, I suppose. Just think of the possible wonders worked by an elegant mask on the resident nerd - he'd finally have a fighting chance in his unholy quest to chat up some of the most beautiful lady students on the campus. Not only that, he may even get a response.

Bear in mind though, that this miralce will only work if the mask was truly a magnificient piece of work testimony to the genius of refined human hands of the highest order. Those with toucan beaks won't do. Lion manes will also have to go. Any mask which results in the wearer fairly resembling Andrew Lloyd Webber is an absolute no-no. Gold tint is a nice touch and plume coming from an endangered species of bird rakes in top accolades. You'll be so attractive to others that even representatives from PETA will come down ~~swooping~~ swooning upon you.

However, at the end of the day, no mask how beautiful it may be is substitute for a genuinely charming personality. Sure you can pluck off the feathers of every single Po'o-uli you can get your hands on (which might not be that many, mind you) to lord over every other masquerader, but still if you have the personality of a toad and the social finese of a charging rhino, all that effort will have gone to waste. Not a single mask can mask the mannerism of Conan the Barbarian.

Having said that, I am still very excited over the idea that one of my friends will be going to a masquerade ball and I would very much like to attend it too. Any seats left?

Yes. You're So Correct, Aren't You?

2008-05-01T03:18:00.003+08:00

"Sarcasm isn't funny; it's actually quite damaging", someone said to me. At that time, I shrugged off the comment as merely being a by-product of lost sleep and late nights filled with unhealthy snacking. I can say with 80% confidence that people are prone to turn silly - and possibly ugly, too - when they are deprived of their beauty sleep.

However, now that I have tons of free time on my hands, I've been thinking about it. Could it be remotely possible that I've somehow managed to offend someone with my sarcasm? I mean...I'm not all that sarcastic. Plus, I don't make sarcastic remarks all the time - perhaps only every other time.

I tried talking about this 'problem' of mine with a friend who's more matured than me (read: older, and I mean that in a nice way). She said that we have to reflect upon what others say. Sometimes there's truth in them and at other times, it's just bollocks i.e. grossly exaggerated.

Note: My friend did not use the term bollocks. I just inserted it there to grossly exaggerate the conversation I had with her.

So, I was then asked whether I felt if that comment was truthful or just a way of getting back at me for making witty remarks which some sorry people just aren't capable of appreciating. I replied that I thought that the person actually meant it. Then, my friend proceeded to tell me that she thought sarcasm was a part of my character - how I create rapport with others.

.....

Hold on a minute.

That's as if to say that my way of becoming friendly with others is to take jabs at their fragile emotions which just might crack if I prod at it a wee bit too hard. Sheesh.

But I think it's quite true actually, and I'll tell you why. I'm honestly rather careful with my cynical remarks, meaning to say that I don't throw them around carelessly in the same manner that Hilary and Obama are throwing accusations about each other. I will only proceed to employ sarcasm upon another being if I feel that I am comfortable enough with the person and that the person is also comfortable enough with me, or at the very least, intelligent enough to discern when I am being sarcastic and when I am serious. So if you are offended by what I've said, the possibilities are either:

1. What I said was truly insensitive
2. You're just being overly sensitive (like any participant of Akademi Fantasia), or
3. You don't know me that well yet

To put the blame on myself, I'd of course say that 99% of the time, the reason is #1 (and never once #2). But how about #3? Have you ever considered that possibility? Well, have you?

I don't know. What would you, dear readers, think about me? Am I too sarcastic to the point of being offensive?

The Thing Underneath My Nose

2008-04-25T09:48:00.003+08:00

It seems that in the course of Research Methodology and juggling other stuff over the past 3 weeks, my facial features have undergone some drastic changes. Changes which my eyes could not believe when I first realised them. Changes which will have people either gasping in delight or horror, depending on their individual definition of 'masculinity'.

I've grown some man-whiskers.

Bloody purists will probably scowl and raise an eyebrow at the term 'man-whiskers', saying instead that the correct term for facial hair arranged neatly in a row underneath the upper lip would be 'moustache'. However, I insist that what I have grown without even knowing it are man-whiskers. This is because they resemble something to what Awal Ashaari has on his face, rather than those coarse, unkept and wild-looking strands of hair which Frank Zappa copyrighted after his death.

Frankly (!) speaking, it's a bit too much. People can say whatever they want about man-whiskers (it's a sign of manliness, virility and a darn good excuse to sign up for the Royal Police Force, for example) but for me, I feel as if there's an unwelcome visitor underneath my nose who has a habit of tickling the corner of my lip. Think of it as having a furry squirrel hanging from your nose and continuously moving its tail about. Not so pleasant, I can assure you.

Now I want to trim it off, but Dad won't tell me where he has hidden his Man-Whiskers-Ridding Tool, otherwise commonly known as scissors. I think they may stay with me for a while.

My Trip To Egypt : Part 3

2008-03-30T19:53:00.005+08:00

So I went to visit my dad's friend who works as Pegawai Attache Pelajar (whatever that is) over in Cairo. What a far cry from all the other houses I've been to so far his place turned out to be - it was massive! Spacious! Luxurious! It had Pharaoh written all over it! (am I starting to sound like a Brit yet?). My logic cannot even begin to comprehend how such a beautiful home could exist amidst all the dust, rubble and uncompleted buildings.

My house doesn't look half as neat as that.

Ah..no wonder his house is so magnificent. It's in a Swiss Tower. Fancy that - A Swiss Tower in Egypt.

After spending the night in the 'Ramses Hilton' - which happens to be a real hotel in Cairo - the next morning, my 3 friends and I headed off to the Malaysian Hall, or Arma as it is called here, to meet up with our female classmates. According to an agreement made beforehand, we were supposed to go to Asfour (a crystal factory) together. However, you can imagine our manly surprise and dismay when we arrived at Arma only to discover that the girls had left without us. What kind of agreement is that? We felt like Palestinians betrayed by another of Israel's so-called peace treaties.

But to give them credit, at least the girls gave us the mobile phone number of a male student who could take us around Cairo so that we wouldn't feel all lost and left behind. Charming indeed.

Malaysian Hall @ Arma

While waiting for our guide to arrive, we dropped by the warden's house who happened to be a nenek saudara to one of the boys in our group. Although I had never met these people before, I instantly felt at home with their graceful invitation to stay for tea and even lunch.

Rasa macam Salam Perantauan pula

Splendidly, our guide arrived just as we were about to have lunch. Helmi was his name, and he was a 3rd year medical student at Cairo University. He was very polite, soft spoken and well mannered; and his face reminded me of Azizan Nin (I am commenting on this out of pure observation, not because of any personal interest towards the boy, lest some lecherous friend who wants to go back home just to eat nasi campur Bistro gets some strange ideas).

Since it was already 2 o' clock and our train back to Alexandria was in 5 hours time, Helmi decided that it was best we took the taxi around. Over here in Egypt, the taxis don't use meters and the fare has to be agreed beforehand - a consumer's worst nightmare, you could say. We hurriedly flagged down one of 'em battered cars and made our way to Asfour to buy some crystals for members of the fairer sex (read: mums and sisters)

A squirrel? A rabbit? I have no idea.

What was initially thought to be a 30 minute affair turned out to take one hour and a half just because of the ~~bloody stupid system~~ amount of customers they had that day. We then rushed back to the Al-Azhar mosque for Asar prayers. An interesting note: it is the only mosque in the world to have twin domes on a single minaret. People usually come here to learn about Islam by listening to the pious Syeikhs who can be found all over the grounds.

Have you spotted the twin peaks yet?

Having snapped several shots together, our little group crossed the street to the other side to pay a visit to Saidina Hussein's Mosque. It is named as such because in it, it houses the tomb of Saidina Hussein. This tomb is said to hold the head of Rasulullah's (PBUH) grandson after he was killed in the Battle of Karballah. This mosque is also said to house The Prophet's hair, sword and several other items which are sealed off in a room adjacent to Saidina Hussein's tomb. I don't know if it was just me, but the mosque smelled extremely fragrant from the moment I stepped into it. Subhanallah.

We spent several minutes offering prayers at the mosque and then made our way to Khan-Khalili which was situated just beside Saidina Hussein's Mosque. Khan-Khalili is the place to go if you're shopping for souveniers. It also happens to be the place to go if you have a lot of money and are in the mood to get cheated by fraudulent traders. I tell you, the second the sellers identify you as a tourist, the prices will instantly go up from 5 pounds to 30 pounds. There's so much cheating going on here that even President Bush would probably blush a bright red.

Imagine having to wade through this for several hundred metres

My male instincts told me these would look better on women than men, but polite behaviour dictates that I keep my opinions to myself.

Having bought several tshirts and memorabilia for friends and family back home, we decided that it was high time we headed back to the train station to catch our 7 o' clock ride back to Alexandria. Before departing, we took a photo together with our guide and newly found friend.

That'z Azizan Nin in the middle

So all in all, it was a nice end to a horrible beginning. We ended up achieving more than what we had originally set out to do i.e. buy crystals at Asfour. I suppose there's always a silver lining to every cloud.

Update: I've just received a full-length explanation from one of the girls concerning the messed up plans. Turns out that it was a case of miscommunication. Don't you just hate it when that happens?

My Trip To Egypt: Part 2

2008-03-26T05:50:00.003+08:00

I never knew that the weather here in Alexandria could remind me so much about a certain teacher I had in Form 4 - they share the common trait of blowing hot and cold at the same time. Is it any wonder then that they both have made me ill?

My throat is sore, it is plugged with mucus and swallowing is fast becoming a tiresome (not to mention painful) chore to do. On the bright side, I now sound like Michael Buble...if he were ever to sing with a pillow over his head.

*********************

So far, I've been going out every afternoon after class exploring the strange land that is Egypt and I am proud to say that I have covered pretty much both shopping areas near the Faculty of Medicine (Manshiya) and my hostel (El Ibrahimiyyah). It's actually quite fun looking at all the shoes, bags and jubah on display, save for the over zealous shop attendants who can be annoying and scary at the same time. One of them even hugged my friend and I just so that I'd buy something from his shop! Needless to say, I didn't. But perhaps things would have been different if it was a she.

Afterthought: Of course it would be different. I'd most probably be locked up in an underground prison somewhere below the Sphinx by now if that had happened.

My list of accomplishments also includes the limited ability to order food and know beforehand what it looks like, in contradiction to other tourists in foreign places who simply point to fancy names on a menu and end up being surprised by what's served in front of them later on. Among the local food which I have sampled are makaronah (macaroni), aruz bi lahmah (rice with beef), kashari (macaroni with rice and something like noodles), bashamil (a local version of lasagne) and sandawish (come on, you can figure out this one)

Other than that, I have also been frequenting the many juice bars found in abundance here. Mind you, this is not your normal overpriced-yet-watered-down jus epal we're talking about. Over here, they take a couple of apples, blend the whole thing till it goes into a semi solid, semi liquid state and then serve it right in your face. Local custom dictates that it is polite manners to chug the whole thing down and wipe the froth left on your facial hair with your right sleeve while letting out a grateful sigh of satisfaction. Of course, I just made that up, but it's certainly what a few customers do.

Blended apples aren't the only fruit juice they serve - there's burtu'al (orange), muuz (banana), faraulah (strawberry - my personal favourite so far), 'asab (sugar cane) and a whole lot more of others. Experimenting is currently ongoing to find out the most delicious fruit juice.

That's all I suppose. You may stop drooling now and go buy some apples to blend yourself.

My Trip To Egypt: Part 1

2008-03-23T05:23:00.002+08:00

As I'm writing this, it's getting a bit chilly outside and the sound of blaring horns coming from passing cars is getting a tad bit unbearable. My housemates are studying inside their rooms - about the abdomen and the physiology of the gastrointestinal system, I suppose. Tomorrow, I'll be following them to class again for another round of lectures given in a rather peculiar tone of English. Not that that's a bad thing, no. It's just, well, peculiar.

As you might already guess by now, I'm merrily typing this away on my gracious host's laptop in his rented apartment in Alexandria where I'll be stuck for the next two weeks. And by the looks of it, it's going to be a very long fortnight. I mean honestly, who comes to Alexandria to study medicine? This was supposed to be a holiday!

Still, it might be a little too early to be hollering about the injustice of it all. Who knows? I might end up liking lectures given in a peculiar tone of English after all before going back (though if I really did like it, it'd have been a long time ago considering some of the lecturers back at home are from Alexandria anyway)

So that's that. A brief description of my trip to Egypt so far. Yeah, it's empty and useless and contains about as much information as a roll of toilet paper, I know. But I promise to write something more interesting in the next update - which I have no idea when that'll be.

Postscript: Ayah, tak jumpa la carpet.Minyak atar dah beli dah la tapi.

A Belated Birthday WIsh

2008-03-19T19:25:00.004+08:00

I will forever remember after this to never deliberately (!) wish someone's birthday two days after the actual celebration. The reason being? They will force you to cook up an entry about it as a way of making it up. Anyway, to the person who this entry is dedicated to; Happy Birthday!

P.s. To the afore mentioned person, you now officially owe me a comment in my comment box. The failure to leave one entitles me to also demand a blog entry from you - assuming you still keep one :P

Something Not Related to Parasitology

2008-03-16T18:52:00.005+08:00

Unknown to most of the readers here, I've been doing some research in my free time concerning the IT literacy rate among Malaysians, and I've come up with a very interesting conclusion: Mamaks have one of the highest IT literacy rates in this country. Don't believe me? Where do you think I'm posting this entry from?

Maybe I should hang out at mamak stalls a lot more after this.

p.s. To Mum and Dad, this blog (and the picture too) was done using a Macbook. Isn't that lovely? Can I have one now?

An Equally (If Not Any Better) Sorry Post

2008-03-07T15:27:00.003+08:00

In less than twenty four hours, we will be ushering in the 12th edition of the Malaysian General Elections...

...which frankly my dear, I don't give a dram. I'm more concerned about my final exams next week. And looking at the amount of reading that I still need to cover, I think I should be more than just merely 'concerned'. I should be 'freaking out'.

***************************

We'll be going for an overseas trip after the exams are done. Personally, I look at it as one big step forward into adulthood. At least now I won't be so ashamed to face my other friends who are studying abroad. I tell you, it's going to be an absolutely fantastic, totally Mediterranean, partly sponsored trip to mystically romantic Alexandria to......listen to some more medical lectures. Bummer. On a brighter note, we'll have the weekends to ourselves, so I plan to make the most of it and get Lost in Translation. You know, just like that Sophia Coppola-directed film of the same name. And judging from how good I am in my Arabic just as Britney Spears is at being a mother, I definitely see myself getting lost. Literally. Let's just hope that I happen to bump into Lawrence of Arabia if I do lose my way.

Got to go. Books are a calling; like any envious young wife.

That reminds me: Sarah, enough with the teasing already! Hand out the wedding cards, will you?

Which One's The Real Doctor Now?

2008-02-01T18:08:00.000+08:00

Mention the word 'witchdoctor' and most of us will probably get mental images of a dark brown leathery skinned, long-bearded middle aged man with wisps of long white hair flowing about his face incessantly and wearing a necklace made out of fish bones. That picture might have been applicable if you were still living in, say, the 16th century, but witchdoctors nowadays are an awfully modern lot who look like every other avergae Joe, so much so that they blend right in with the crowd. In fact, most of the time, you'd have a pretty tough time differentiating a modern witchdoctor from one of those fruit-sellers you see at night markets.

The reason why I am talking about witchdoctors is because I had the splendid honour of coming across one at Friday prayers today. I kid you not, dear readers. I was standing right next to a real, living, breathing witchdoctor at 1.17 p.m. today. And the best part of it all? He was holding a demonstration of his wares.

Apparently the witchdoctor had with him a plant so mysterious that he would only call it by the name 'Pokok Mati Hidup Semula'. The name already drew a few brave speculations as to what it could do among my bedazzled friends, but I was more interested in what the witchdoctor had to say.

"Hah, abang mari mari mari..pokok mati hidup semula ni mujarab untuk semua jenis penyakit. Siapa-siapa yang ada gout, darah tinggi, kolestrol semua boleh sembuh lepas minum air yang dah direbus dengan pokok ni. Tak ada ubat yang boleh hilangkan semua penyakit kecuali pokok mati hidup semula. Abang pegi la kat doktor untuk rawat gout abang, dia akan cucuk abang dan kenakan bayaran RM60. Lepas tu, dia akan kata abang tak boleh dah makan udang, ketam, kacang tanah. Tidak dengan ubat ni. Abang amalkan minum dua gelas sehari, InsyaAllah dengan kuasa Allah, abang akan sembuh. Kalau ada yang tak percaya, boleh cuba minum segelas sekarang dan InsyaAllah dengan izin Tuhan, abang memang akan rasa kelainan dia lepas habis sembahyang Jumaat".

I couldn't believe my ears! Finally, a cure-all that will save mankind bucketfuls of money on medication that needs to be taken more times in a day than you would pass wind! Doctors can at last chuck their diagnostic tools out of the window and retire for good! And while they're at it, why not burn down hospitals and build theme parks in their place? Thank goodness for the witchdoctor and his Back-From-The-Dead Plant!

Needless to say, I was outraged by all the bull this witchdoctor was continuously churning out of his wretched mouth. My friends, having come round to their senses, also shared my sentiments. In our minds, we were all toying with individual ideas of how best to give him an honest-to-God butt busting.

But that's still not the best part. Oh, definitely not. One of my friends went up to him and asked "Ubat ni boleh sembuhkan penyakit Type I diabetes tak, bang?".

To which he asked back, "Type I tu apa?"

Sisterhood As I See It

2008-01-21T14:52:00.000+08:00

If you were to ever listen to what my friends have to say about me, then they would get you to believe at the drop of a hat that I am a person with many needs and wants. Quite on the contrary, I am actually a boy with simple needs. Of course I have been ranting continuously about how it would be nice to be the owner of an iPhone and perhaps also the brand spanking new Macbook Air, but for the most of it, it's just hot air blowing. Perhaps when I get my first pay, then it'll be a different story.

No, I'm just kidding. The truth is, all I've ever really wanted is an elder sister. Yes, that's right. A sister who is older than me.

Sometimes it gets kind of boring being the eldest, and I'm not just talking about how you're expected to be a good role model, how you're always held accountable for your actions (and those of your siblings too) and how your parents so depend on you to advise your brothers and sisters when it comes to boy-girl relationships. Bossing around your siblings just because you can as the eldest also loses its fun once in a while - but only just.

So during these periods of self-loathing, I always imagine what it would be like if I had an elder sister. Would I still be this responsible? Would I still maintain my integrity because I am looked up to by the younger ones? Would I still be this poor? (stupid scholarship).

The honest answer is: I don't know. Though I do suspect that most probably I'll be a tad bit naughtier and perhaps have some of my work cut out for me when it comes to buying the latest toys. In fact, that is one of the reasons why I want an elder sister - so that she can buy me stuff.

I may be wrong in saying that God gave us elder sisters so that we need not wait that long in saving up our money (if we ever get it!) just to buy a Playstation 3, but from what I have personally witnessed and know, most elder sisters do just that i.e. offer to buy the poor brother what he wants. Just about a month ago, a really close friend who always spreads false lies about me in my comment box was treated to a Nikon D40 by his eldest sister. Imagine that! I'd be lucky enough to have someone treat me to the empty box or even the manual.

But elder sisters are good not only just for shifting responsibilities and buying stuff; I romantically imagine they would also be THE person to refer to when it comes to questions about girls. You can't go wrong when asking your own sister how come girls are so complicated and difficult to understand...or can you? Well, if I ever get an elder sister, I'm going to grill out of her the answer to that question and many more.

But like so many of my other dreams - to be smart without studying, be the first Malaysian to get shot into outer space or even just be seated next to an attractive stranger on public transport - the fantasy of having an elder sister will just remain at that. I suppose it's a bit too late to ask my mum for one and I certainly don't believe in all that kakak angkat nonsense. The only acceptable situation to tell other people that you have a kakak angkat is when you can specifically mention what it is that your sister is lifting in the first place.

"Eh, saya ada kakak angkat karung simen".

The Woes of Jaypee, eyh?

2008-01-15T13:07:00.000+08:00

It goes without saying that there's a lot of frustration going about in the world today. In fact, there is hardly a day that passes by without one waking up only to feel depressed by it all and then pull up the blanket again. For the most of it, these frustrations can be broadly categorised into two: those that make you want to bang your head against the wall, and those that make you want to bang your head against the wall some more. I have had the greatest pleasure of experiencing a frustration of the second category for some time now.

Ever since our second semester started, oh say, about four months ago, I have been living off the sympathy of my parents and friends all due to the fact that my stupid scholarship has not arrived yet.

For an overworked(!) and underpaid student like myself, nothing spells out 'food' and 'basic necessities' so much as 'scholarship'. So you can imagine the state of living I have been in for the past four months without monetary aid from the government. Some friends have been quick to point out an alleged similarity to a malnourished caveman.

And it's not as if the students haven't done any complaining. About two weeks ago, a student rep asked the Deputy Dean of Student Affairs for her help in inquiring about the state of our scholarship. When the involved government body was contacted, the best answer they could give was "We have not yet decided on the amount. Please inquire again in a few days time". I imagined the department was probably full of little men in black suits and bowler hats spinning about red tape as if it were the last thing to do on earth.

I know it's no use complaining against bureaucracy. Half of the time your complaints get shoved down a garbage chute, if not your throat. And for the rest of it, you may very well go to prison for 'spreading false lies about the ineffectiveness of the government'. But what do they expect me to eat whilst waiting for their undecided amount of money - grass?

Starstruck

2007-12-22T03:23:00.000+08:00

Something interesting I read in The Star today:

"Doctors have always used a tribal vocabulary to communicate between themselves, but now their secret lingo is been enriched by the electronic media and urban slang.
Paul Keeley, a consultant in the department of palliative medicine at Glasgow Royal Infirmary in Scotland wrote to the weekly British Medical Journal a sample of new words that British doctors use among themselves.

They include:

# Disco biscuits: The clubbers' drug ecstasy. As in: "The man in cubicle three looks like he's taken one too many disco biscuits.''

# Hasselhoff: Term for any patient who shows up in the emergency room with an injury for which there is a bizarre explanation. Source: Baywatch actor David Hasselhoff, who hit his head on a chandelier while shaving. The broken glass severed four tendons and and an artery in his right arm.

# Agnostication: A substitute for prognostication. Term used to the describe the usually vain attempt to answer the question: "How long have I got, doc?''

# Blamestorming: Apportioning of blame after the wrong leg or kidney is removed or some other particularly egregious foul-up happens.

# 404 moment: The point in a doctor's ward round when medical records cannot be located. Comes from internet error message, "404 - document not found.''

# Testiculation: Description of a gesture typically used by hospital consultant "when holding forth on subject on which he or she has little knowledge". Gesture is of an upturned hand with outstretched fingers pointed upwards, clutching an invisible pair of testicles.

Other slang used by doctors, according to past letters to the BMJ, include UBI (for "Unexplained Beer Injury''), PAFO ("Pissed And Fell Over'') and Code Brown, or a faecal incontinence emergency.

CTD means "Circling The Drain'', GPO signifies "Good for Parts Only'' and "Rule of Five'' means that if more than five of the patient's orifices are obscured by tubing, he has no chance.

A patient who is "giving the O-sign'' is very sick, lying with his mouth open. This is followed by the "Q-sign'' - when the tongue hangs out of the mouth - when the patient becomes terminal.

As for genetic quirks or inbreeding, FLK means "Funny Looking Kid'' and NFN signifies "Normal For Norfolk,'' a rural English county.

General practitioners may use LOBNH ("Lights On But Nobody Home'') or the impressively bogus Oligoneuronal to mean someone who is thick.

But they also have a somewhat poetic option: "Pumpkin positive'' refers to the idea that a person's brain is so tiny that a penlight shone into their mouth will make their empty head gleam like a Halloween pumpkin."

I'm barely halfway through memorising real, academically-inclined medical acronyms and now they're imposing new ones on me? Just great.

Postscript: Stardust is brilliant. Not exactly up to the mark of the book, but impressive nevertheless. Plus, Claire Danes is simply superb as The Star (excuse me while I snort stupidly at this bad pun). You just have to love her every time she glows *smile*

Phew. Such big words from a small-time movie watcher.

www.stupidcupid.com

2007-11-20T08:53:00.000+08:00

Ever the ingenious creature, Man has always sought out creative solutions to the daily problems that his fellow humans face. For example, fire was discovered when the fish just didn't taste that good eaten raw anymore. Wheels were invented when walking started to get tiresome. And of course, the mother of all inventions - the television - was created to pass the time until the next big thing happens.

Out of all these charming ideas, one has always confused me - matchmaking sites.

"Why don't you go on and register an account to see for yourself what's it all about?" suggested an acquaintance on mine when I asked him the question. It was one of those rare days when I was still reeling over from last night's reading, and my head was not in it's accustomed place. So I said "Why not?"

This friend of mine suggested a site which he knows of (by what means I have no idea). "Quite popular with the singles of our own ASEAN neighbours. Who knows, you might snare yourself a lovely Filipino island girl!" he quipped with a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Err...Let's put away any far-fetched ideas for the time being, shall we?" was my pathetic reply.

I then proceeded to give my email account for the registration process. "Browse millions of singles and meet the love of your life!" the advert next to it joyously claimed. I was beginning to have doubts. Any printed material which claims to help you find the love of your life without having to lift your sorry bottom deserves to be looked upon with a raised eyebrow.

Anyway, the page refreshed soon enough and I was brought to the particulars page. I think it's called as such since the questions were so particular in nature. They ranged from "Describe yourself in your own words" to asking about my height, body type and whether or not I wanted to have children. "Goodness", I thought to myself. "Mum would most certainly disagree to inquisitions of this kind". But I trudged on ahead.

After that, I was asked to upload a photo. Not wanting to expose too much of myself, I kindly declined the offer and skipped on to the next step. "Tell your friends about (name censored due to professional reasons) and let them help you look for love!". Well, I most certainly did not want those friends to know about my involvement in this. I am being made fun of by them given as it is, and I certainly do not need them to laugh at me more than they already do. So I skipped that too.

And I was done! As expected, there was no real sense of accomplishment; just the kind of feeling one gets after having downed a half liter glass of water without taking a breath in between gulps, which is not that pleasant to begin with.

"So what now?" I asked my friend.

"Well....you wait".

"And then what?"

"Urm....you wait some more. Wait until someone is interested enough in you to leave a message or something like that".

"Well, how's that going to help me find 'the love of my life'?"

"I don't know. I suppose it just needs to be taken as an article of faith".

Well, I am happy to report that it's been two weeks into this little psychosocial experiment of mine and I have received only one hit.

I deleted my account yesterday.

Playing The Love Doctor

2007-11-06T09:24:00.000+08:00

In the past 24 hours, two people - a gentleman and a lady - have personally confided in me about their recent break-ups. For someone who doesn't interact a lot with other living beings, that is big news. Now, I don't know what the 'divorce rate' is actually like out there in the real world, but in my humble little universe, two cases in a day sounds like an awfully big number.

"She was two-timing...No, wait. Scratch that. She was three-timing me behind my back", said the broken-hearted gentleman when I inquired the reason for his break-up. "He asked me to do things which I am ashamed to tell you about", said the distraught lady. "Don't worry. There are lots of better people out there. You just have to wait for the right one", said clueless me.

Both of them seemed genuinely sad that their respective relationships were over and I suppose they had every right to feel that way. I mean who wouldn't feel glum after seeing what they have worked on for two or three years come crashing down to a rubble?

What makes it the more painful for them both is that they never saw it coming. "She was so decent in front of me - never wanted to go to the movies...never allowed me to hold her hand...never would let me send her back to college. And yet, she does all that with her 'gigolos'. What kind of a girl is that?" expressed angrily the gentlemen.

"I thought he was a nice guy who would lead me to the right path. But then one day, he said that he did not want me to wear the hijab after getting married" wept the lady.

Ah..people. Just when you think you know them, they go and do something totally unexpected.

To the mentioned friends: take heart in that at least you found out about their follies before being permanently tied to them. Take consolation in the fact that there are other, better people out there who are just waiting to be introduced to you.

One last departing word....why on earth did you both choose me to listen to your problems? I have no experience in this kind of thing whatsoever!

Selamat Hari Raya!

2007-10-18T07:48:00.000+08:00

Somehow, I get the feeling that this year's raya went absolutely wrong for me. Something like Michael Jackson's nose perhaps, or even like the time I decided to trust my friend to pick out a hairstyle for me. Both were terribly ghastly - especially my hairstyle - but they're nothing compared to the way I felt this raya.

What is so wrong about this year's celebration, you ask?

Well unlike the rayas in the past couple of years, I actually found myself having fun this time around. And that is upsetting. I mean, aren't kids the only ones meant to enjoy raya? Adults are supposed to only pretend having fun while sneakily trying to take another cookie from the jar whilst making it look oh-so-casual. Now I feel like I'm six years old again!

But really, I absolutely had fun this year. Maybe it was due to the recently announced exam results. Perhaps it was the congratulations I received from mum following that. Heck, it could even be due to Dr Sheikh Muszaphar Shukor being the first ever Malaysian to blast off into space last week (does anyone else here knows that the bloke has a page to himself on Wikipedia?)

Then again, perhaps my happiness this year stemmed simply from the fact that I was surrounded by family.

Anyway, before I get too syrupry for anybody's nerves, I think I'll post up some raya pictures to rival those of drroza, mynn and sarah. Mind you, these shots were carefully set up to look as candid as possible. Do not be fooled into thinking that some of the pictures look as if the subjects were caught off guard - they were just simply acting to look as such.

One of the main themes for Raya pictures this year was the 'Yakuza look'. I think I fairly resemble Ken Takakura with this pose.

I told my cousin to tone down his degree of handsome-ness so that I wouldn't look half as bad. I don't think he listened.

What is Raya without family snapshots?

As you might have gathered by now, we adorned green threads on the first day of Raya.

How come my dad gets to take pictures with my celebrity-looking cousin and her husband?

This is the front door, but where's the rest of the house?

I just absolutely love my cousin's smile. It has "Yeah, right" written all over it.

This is my grandmother on a wheelchair. Sometimes, she let's us take it for a spin

My cousin's youngest child. That's right - saya dah jadi Pak Sedara!

There are lots more pictures but of course, they are all either 1) too personal 2) too hideous and 3) too embarrassing to be published here. Besides, blogger seems to be acting up these past few days, allowing me only to upload TWO pictures a time. What's the meaning of that?

I really had fun this Raya, and that's just all too well considering the fact that it's back to hitting the books this coming Monday *groan*

Another Birthday

2007-09-16T19:10:00.000+08:00

Everybody seems to be wanting a piece of birthday cake to call their own lately, and my sister is no exception. I have a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with today being her birthday and all.

Happy Birthday sis! Shall we take a stroll down memory lane then? Back to the days when your baby fat was all the rage amongst the family members?

My sister used to get compliments for having rosy cheeks. She still does...when she's angry.
I don't suppose this makes her a clown, does it?

Are they posing as football hooligans?

Looks at the stubby limbs!

Of course my sister looks nothing like that now; though my brother swears that she still has folds of 'baby fat' around the tummy area. Nevertheless, she's still the one sister we all know and love and that is why I dedicate this entry - and the embarrassing pictures too - to her. Happy Birthday again!

A Premature Ending

2007-09-08T20:24:00.000+08:00

I think I might've broken the tension from the previous entry a bit too much - so much so that I can't find the words to continue the story! But here are some pictures of my brother playing the role of an juvenile charged with murder, and I must say he does look the part. Perhaps he even practised killing cockroaches just to really get into that murderous psyche. No, I'm just kidding. He's as sweet as a freshly baked apple pie, my brother he is.

Note: The quality of these photos would most probably make mynn scream out "Digital blasphemy!", hunt me down and hang me from a cherry tree. But hey, that's the kind of photo quality you get when your digital camera doesn't have the acronym EOS in its name. Or is it just my sad state of photographic flair? No, wait. I'm pretty sure it's because of how useless the camera is when the ISO goes above 200 and the digital zoom is maxed. Oh well!

I think this is the 'emo look' that's all the rage amongst youngsters nowadays.

Why's his face like that? Is it the spotlight? Or is it perhaps the limelight? *ehem*

My brother swearing (or pretending to) tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I'm sure most parents would like that to be implemented in the household.

This was the policeman who arrested my brother. Doesn't he look like a Tamil hero?

Remember me telling you about the pretty counsel?

Let me tell you; this lady is TALL.

The gentleman with the wispy moustache is of Javanese origin while the lady is French. My dad loved both of them. He must have a liking for foreigners.

This is not the kind of look you would want to see on the face of a family member

The above pictures were taken during the final scene of the mock trial. In this scene, the accused pleas for his release, cries out at the injustice he's been done, and finally - before hanging himself in his cell - laughs hysterically while sobbing "Emran...where are you...I'm coming to get you..."

No wonder a friend of my brother told him the next day that he (the friend) had 'disturbing dreams' that night.

p.s. What a letdown! The camera's battery went dead! *sigh* Guess I'll upload more pictures at the faculty on Monday then (I'm at a cybercafe, by the way)

Update: I've posted more pictures with captions to boot. I hope that'll suffice for those who had hoped for more elaboration on my brother's performance. Talk about taking the easy way out.

Driven: What Must I Do?

2007-09-02T09:51:00.001+08:00

Warning: Rather lengthy post ahead without pictures. Read at the risk of falling asleep.

***********************

There is a great sense of accomplishment when one has successfully managed to pull off an incredible feat, say, scaling Mount Everest with neither the aid of an oxygen tank nor a Nepalese shepard. However, the feeling that comes from watching one's kin accomplish that very feat is something totally different. It's overwhelming, not like the one in my previous entry, mind you. And that was the very feeling which overcame me seeing my brother a few nights ago.

Of course, he did not just come back from scaling Mount Everest with neither the aid of an oxygen tank nor a Nepalese shepard. But still, his spine-tingling performance in the annual AIKOL Mock Trial was something the whole family could be proud of.

Titled "Driven: What Would You Do?", the mock trial was about a secondary school student - played by my brother - charged with the murder of his schoolmate. I've never been to a mock trial before, so I wasn't aware that the whole affair was going to stretch close to three hours. But my, wasn't it an enjoyable three hours. It was like watching a live movie. I now understand why there were so many courtroom dramas during the 90's - the human drama ever-so-elegantly laced into the legal proceedings are just so engaging.

The show started off with a gimmick where my brother was pushed and kicked down the stairs leading to the stage by a group of boys who then proceeded to challenge the audience to 'come and save this loser'. And though it was merely acting, I did not dare go up to my brother and offer him a plaster, for fear of being pushed and kicked down the stairs like him.

After that, we were introduced to the setting for this year's trial. The story goes that the accused (my brother) was a long-term bully victim, with the aggresors being none other than three of his classmates, one of which was a girl. Ah, splendid. That brought back some personal memories. Anyway, one morning, the bullies had gone too far and the accused snapped there and then, driving a rusty army knife into the back of one of them and injuring the other two. And thus, the brother was tried in court, being represented by two pretty ladies. Hey, that's not fair, is it?

My parents had already told me that the crew had been practising for three months, and from my observations, all their hard work was reflected in every facial expression and gesture that they made. They were all really convincing, from the 40 plus, still single Judge right down to the non-stop smiling bailiff, who happened to be a VIP's daughter. (Note to self: I thought bailiffs were supposed to be gruffy men with hair slicked back using pomade and handlebar moustaches?)

There was a live band to add flavour to the night, and they did a spectacular job accompanying the witnesses as they made their way across the stage to, where else, but the witness stand. And the witnesses themselves were a plethora of identities with their individual eccentricities. Among the more memorable ones were: the two surviving victims of the assault, a Javanese doctor who's face reminded me of V, and a French doctor who's accent halfway through made her sound like a Middle Eastern professor instead. I think the production crew has a soft heart for doctors. Of course, both prosecution and counsel were convincing too. But the night definitely belonged to my brother, the accused.

The live action was, from time to time, interlaced with video footage, where little by little we get to know the victim and his nightmarish history. I don't mean to blow my own trumpet - or rather, my brother's trumpet - but the he definitely can act, that boy. In fact, I think he did a better job than some actors in a locally produced, 'supposedly medical' drama.
Oooh! That's satire for you. And though I can't prove it, I think my mum cried at the sight of my brother getting bullied. I know a few other girls in the audience did.

Because I'm in the mood for it, I think I'll break up the tension here and continue more of the story (and add pictures) later on. Right now, I've a birthday party to attend. That of the youngest sibling. Happy Birthday Ihsan!

Social Suffocation

2007-08-26T13:41:00.000+08:00

About a month ago, we received a new batch of First Year students, which almost certainly added colour to the once drab Faculty. Where there was only lonely corridors before, now there are students bustling about on almost every floor. Previously, we used to joke around with the staff; now we poke fun at the juniors. Before, we needn't tussle for favourite spots in the library. Now...we just find other seats.

As expected from any self-respecting senior, my friends embraced this scene as a distraction from the boring text books that we endure every other day. And who wouldn't? Even yours truly welcomed the new students, albeit with arms not so wide open.

And that is the very thing which has been bugging me ever since the First Years came in. You see, there is this one student who happens to be a wee bit too 'friendly'. I am by no means an irrational person (even though Mum will staunchly disagree to that statement) but this kid here is just...well, to put it nicely - overwhelming. The sensation that I get when the said person is in close vicinity is similar to what one might feel when drowning.

And though I am sorely tempted to point my finger at the person's existence as the sole cause of this uneasiness, it would be more honourable for me to put the blame on my unkeen-ness to open myself to others, especially if they're younger than me. I like to preserve some personal space about me, if you don't mind.

Come to think of it, I don't have that many friends outside of my age group. Those who are 'leap students' don't count.

Looking back at the things he does, they're not that bad at all. Sure, I feel nauceaous when he comes up to make small talk. Of course, I quickly look for any nearby hiding spots whenever he slides beside me while I'm reading the papers at the library. And hey, I feel as if all my facial muscles are going into a spasm every time he flashes that priceless smile of his. It's just that I would appreciate it if he wasn't too eager to be friends and space out the encounters over a longer period of time, say oh, another hundred years or so?

Of course, I can't tell him all this; he'd be crestfallen. Which is why I'm lamenting pathetically in my blog. At least here, people will read about it and thank me for the update.

Postscript: To whoever it may concern, I have never thought of myself as a 'blogging wizard'. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore might fit the label better. Thanks for the compliment anyway *smile*

Untying The Knot

2007-07-23T15:59:00.000+08:00

Being stuck in a small and confined space such as in the family vehicle is a definite health hazard. Consider all the possible risks you face when sitting in the 'oh-so-luxurious' cabin of a saloon:

1) You may crash

2) You may get deep vein thrombosis (especially on long haul journeys)

3) You may die of carbon monoxide poisoning

But that is nothing compared to the one, scariest possibility of all which is, you may end up having a big discussion with your parents about a particular topic - marriage.

Note: I suppose you could call this post something of a 'continuation' to Sarah's latest entry here, where she tells about her experience sharing secrets - secrets that she would never have thought of spilling before - with her mother; and coming out of the experience feeling more mature.

Congratulations Sarah! It's good to know that at least some of us are growing up.

Of course, this wasn't the first time that I have talked about the matter. Indeed, I am no stranger when it comes to talking about marriage. But then again, past discussions with my parents have only touched on general features of the family institution such as why a mum's blood pressure automatically increases after her children grow up into their teenage years, or why parents are allowed to force their children to eat vegetables, and how parents have the power to override any logical and sane argument given by their offspring simply by saying 'Because I say so'.

However, this time around the discussion was more sober and serious. And that gave me goosebumps.

I cannot remember most of what was is that my parents were talking about; partly because of my current efforts in trying to eradicate the ghastly scene from any recollective memory, and partly due to my inattentiveness to what they had to say on the subject. But from what little I can gather, the gist of it was that they intended to , in the future, introduce me to several 'nice girls'.

'Nice girls'? What's that supposed to mean? Now, I am pretty sure of myself when I say that I meet nice girls all the time - and some nasty ones too, on really unlucky occasions. Given that situation, why would I need my parents to introduce me to some more nice girls? That is like having another slice of pie when you still have half a slice on your plate. That is being greedy.

Still, my parents were adamant about the idea. In fact, they wanted me to go and meet 'the family'. When I almost doubled over from choking on my own saliva, my mum asked me what was wrong with the idea. And then before I could retort with a useless answer, she further asked me was it because I already had someone else (without her knowing) that I didn't want to go and meet other 'nice girls'.

Well to be really honest, I am not all that adverse to the idea of meeting charming young ladies, or even their parents for that matter. I mean, if I find myself facing a question which I cannot answer (Jamil nak settle down mana lepas kahwin?), I can always feign rabies, or perhaps sudden death. But the thing which bothers me the most is, how would they look at me after that? How would they perceive my parents then? I am enough a source of embarrassment to myself, what more my parents. And the last thing that I need is for people to be throwing queer looks at them while I froth myself silly on the floor.

And then my mum said the unthinkable.

"Don't worry. We'll do all the talking"

Postscript: My parents will most surely be ticked off after reading this. So before I receive a harsh lecture and a good wallop to the rear, I'd like to take the opportunity to wish Happy Belated Birthday to Pycnogenol. The present'll have to wait until after that wallop arrives, I'm afraid.

Filling In The Blanks

2007-07-06T11:33:00.000+08:00

You know things are at a standstill when you need someone to come along and slap a meme on your forehead before you can actually come up with a sorry excuse of an entry. Thanks dyanna!

Anyway, I'm supposed to fill in the blanks for a number of phrases. This exercise really brings back some (un)happy memories of my schoolboy days when we still had exam questions set in a similar manner.

Well, let's go shall we?

1. A person is only as good as the person next to him.

2. Friendship is always about having someone to lean on - especially during those sessions of afternoon lectures.

3. To love is to open yourself to cruel rejections from the object of desire.

4. Money makes me start to tremble with the thoughts of all the possible things I can buy.

5. I miss good conversations.

6. My way of saying I care is by putting my hand on the person's shoulder and quickly retracting it before both of us become uncomfortable.

7. I try to spread love and happiness by not saying anything more than needed.

8. Pick the flowers when you're sure nobody is in sight.

9. To love someone is to be prepared for a world of annoyance at that person's bad habits. And withstand it nevertheless.

10. Beauty is that one creation of God: women.

11. When I was thirteen, what I remember the most was that I didn't wear the usual green school pants - I wore muddy green khakis.

12. When I was twenty one, I remember still being 21 *sob*

13. I am most happy when I know I am in the company of wonderful people.

14. Nothing makes me happier than making a person smile or laugh.

15. If I can change one thing, I will change my bank account with Bill Gate's.

16. If smiles were currency then I'd smile my way to an iPhone.

17. Wouldn't it be nice if we could forgive and forget? Especially the forget bit.

18. If you want to look intelligent then you have to nod and smile solemnly at the correct moments.

19. Money is not everything but it sure as anything can buy you that iPhone.

20. The most touching moments I have experienced is during clinical skill lab sessions. Don't have much of a choice do I?

21. I smile when toddlers look at me. It's a natural reaction.

22. When I am happy, I do not irritate other people.

23. If only I don't have to study medicine, then I might have worked as a video game reviewer.

24. The best thing I did yesterday was finish my video presentation for the new First Years.

25. If I ever write a book, I will give it this title,"Cogito, Ergo Doleo"

26. One thing I must do before I die is live.

27. Doing this meme, I feel relieved as I have bid my time until the next entry.

Hopefully, the next entry will be a bit more serious. Sure *rolls eyes*

Dayang

2007-06-15T20:45:00.000+08:00

Don't really have the words to express myself at the moment.

Resounding Responses

2007-05-18T14:43:00.000+08:00

I was casually browsing through my bulletin board in Friendster just now when a particular topic happened to grab my attention.

It was titled "Why guys don't pick up the phone or reply messages". A tatty little voice at the back of my head instantly told me that this was posted by some clueless girl who doesn't know that the boy she's chasing after is just not interested in her. Alas, the bulletin was posted by a boy whose face I did not care to give a second look. Still, I clicked the title and braced myself for the worst.

Imagine my mild amusement to find out that it was actually a survey, rather than a 1500 word long essay with a central theme of adoloscent heartache. In the survey, quite a number of respondents had already left their opinions on why guys don't answer the phone. A few example answers are - and I am not making these up:

1. Silent mode + off vibrate = Tak Perasan

2. sbb dia tengah bz with another gal

3. tgn pth sbb xcdent..due² tgn..kaki plak kene simen lagi parah

4. Kijer banyak...due date dah dekat

5. mati kut!

Actually, if boys were to be honest with themselves, they would tell you that half of the time all those excuses given - on why the phone was left ringing for half an hour, or those 29 messages left unanswered - are really lies. And that goes especially for number 5.

The real reason why girls are almost always left feeling disappointed when hoping for a reply from boys is that because boys - bless them - are just plain lazy to do so.

I myself have been guilty of neglecting my phone quite a number of times in the past. It is because of the simple reason that my phone is a clamshell, making it a tiresome chore to flip the darn thing open everytime a message comes in. In fact, during certain circumstances (such as sleep, or in the midst of an intense gaming session), the amount of effort needed to slide my thumb under the top cover and flip it is so great, that it is equatable to making crop circles or perhaps even conquering Mount Everest. So much so that I just give up on whoever it is that just sent me that text message.

So girls, I am telling you this: do not take heart if your calls go unanswered, or your messages unreplied. He may be in the middle of something important, such as receiving the Nobel Peace Prize or discovering a new species of Venus flytrap. But most of the time, it is because he's just a plain sloth.

Concerning Housework

2007-05-12T09:48:00.000+08:00

You may have noticed, while watching The Naked Chef playing fast and loose with egg flippers and colanders and the rules of English syntax during that series they filmed in his own home, how everything inside was clean and orderly. The kitchen counters polished, the cushions fluffed, the aluminium fairly trembled from a hard good brush. Not only was the place spick, but it would take a hard judge not to affirm that it was span as well. Looking at that house, the heart grows heavy. How pristine! What a joy to live there! What works I could achieve! Do not be deceived, dear readers. There is a reason for such cleanliness: the Naked Chef is evil.

Not only that, but he also makes a lot of money, that he can afford someone to come around every day with a canvas bag of steel wool brushes and soft cloths and other cleaning utensils, and make it all look shiny. In fact, that would be a good tip to achieving a clean home yourself: hire someone to do it for you.

Of course, this is only applicable if you're a male. Now, I don't want to sound sexist - I never want to sound sexist, especially when I am saying something sexist - but men and women have different relationships with housework. I'm not saying that women enjoy doing housework anymore than men enjoy driving around in circles when they're lost rather than stop for directions, but unlike men, women see a need for housework. Even left alone and to her own devices, a woman is more likely to rinse out the glass before having another drink. I have been told that women, whether living alone or together in a group, own such items as sugar bowls and saucers. What's more; they actually use them.

This is just not the way of your typical man. The typical man is one of nature's greatest pragmatists. Just take a look at the careers of the philosophers and rational skeptics, and I think you will find that they all learnt their trade during their bachelor years, asking "If a floor is mopped and nobody comes in to see it, has it really been mopped at all?".

Note: These arguments were used when my mum instructed me to clean out my room today. They however, found scant favour with her. Unfortunately, mums are made out of sterner stuff.

The Discerning Bachelor

2007-05-06T23:44:00.000+08:00

You might wonder what I've been up to so far during this holiday. The answer is quite simple actually - I've been watching television. In fact, a bit too much for my own good I suspect. Watching too much television is never a good thing for your mental health, especially more so when you have nothing to sober you up - an anatomy textbook, for example.

But even worse than watching the telly for hours at end is watching those absolutely horrible programmes so sneakingly labeled as 'reality shows'. I remember a couple of years back, I sat down through 50 of the most depressing minutes I ever hope to witness on television.

Was it the evening news? It was not. Was it the first half of a Bundesliga match? No it was not. And neither was it the second half.

It was a show so bad, it had me pinching myself just to make sure it was really happening and not just an awful manifestation brought about by my dreadful imagination combined with eating a cheese sandwich too close to bedtime.

It was a show unsurpassed in my memory for plumbing the terrible shallows which the human heart is capable of. It was The Bachelor.

The Bachelor is - or rather, was - another addition to the already large family of reality TV programmes. But unlike such flimflam and flummery such as Survivor and Big Brother and The Apprentice, the reality in this show is all too painfully evident.

The bachelor of the title is a good, wholesome American by the name of Alex who is allegedly quite a catch. And if you happen to believe the producers, he's more than just a catch - he's the whole sardine run. In a brief biographical sketch, we are told that Alex is handsome, that Alex is rich and that Alex used to swim a lot when he was in university. We are also told by his optimistic mum that Alex is unmarried because he 'hasn't found the right girl yet'. Aww. Poor Alex.

But no, lucky Alex! For he's about to meet the right girl! More than twenty women from all around the States have been mysteriously sourced by the producers - through classified advertisements and cards left in telephone booths, I would assume - and they are going to spend the next several weeks vying for the honour of marrying Alex.

Does this sound perverse to you yet? Does it sound like an inversion of all that marriage is supposed to represent?

We are then introduced one by one to the participants. Why, I wondered, are they doing it?

These women wanted to marry, the same way they once wanted Malibu Barbie for Christmas and that was that. They all spoke the language of love. "I believe in true romance," said one contestant. "I believe in love at first sight," said another. "I believe that there is a soul mate out there for everyone,". None of them demonstrated the ability to hear to what they were saying.

Needless to say, The Bachelor was appalling to watch. In the (supposedly) climax of the first episode, Alex speaks briefly to all 20 plus women, then evicts 10 of which he finds least appealing. They stand facing him in a semi circle of frozen grins, like waxed beauty queens.

I was frozen with pure fear of what might come next. I never did find out.

Fast forward to the present, and the producers have done it again with - no prizes for guessing - The Bacholerette, which is even more awful as it now rhymes with Laundromatte.

Oh, the humanity.

Camera On The High Lands

2007-04-29T23:38:00.000+08:00

What can I say about Cameron Highlands except for that it is indeed, a very cool place.

We had the best of luck this time around - there weren't as many people as we thought there'd be, giving us the leisure of strolling about and snapping pictures without a care. Which is exactly what we did during our two day stay.....

......which was actually supposed to be a three day stay, but since the beloved family vehicle took an awfully long time to complete the mandatory check up, we had to sacrifice a day of fun. But never mind! The fact that we got there is good enough.

We departed from home around 4 in the morning and arrived at Tanah Rata around four hours later. Thankfully, the journey up the spiralling road was uneventful and no plastic bags had to be deployed. Upon arrival, we stopped at one of the more famous eateries for a quick breakfast before checking in at The Heritage.

I wonder how come we never see houses designed like this in Kuala Lumpur

Honest, I didn't intend to show off my superhuman strength whilst pushing down the door knob of our unit.

The Highlanders have a quirky taste for lamps posing as double helix strands of DNA.

Since we had already lost a day, dad decided to make the most of our short stay and immediately brought us out for a spot of sight-seeing. Of course, the sights in Cameron Highlands hardly ever change - I mean, what type of changes can you expect to see in the Tudor styled resorts? But that didn't stop us from enjoying ourselves.

The first place that we went to was one of the many strawberry farms, it's name which I now forget. Strawberries are usually associated with Cameron Highlands because that is one of the only two places in Malaysia where you can find them, the other being Cold Storage. To be quite honest, I've always found Cameronian strawberries to be - how do I put this nicely? - unsweet.
Still, it's always a nice treat to be able to sample something not commonly found down here.

Fortunately, this bug was not on one of the strawberries that I sampled.

After having done in a packet of strawberries with cream and a medium sized cup of vanilla ice cream served with strawberry syrup, we moved on to our next destination - Ye Ole Smokehouse. The Smokehouse is actually a restaurant and a hotel, but we weren't there neither to dine nor to take a quick nap; we were there for pictures.

There it is, right there - the Smokehouse minus the smoke

They even have a London telephone booth!

Flowers were in bloom almost everywhere, and that was a good enough excuse to whip out the camera and go all trigger happy. Luckily, my parents brought along their camera too, if not there wouldn't have been any pictures with human subjects in them.

I was just in time to catch this bee doing..whatever it is that bees do.

One place where I would most certainly recommend going to would be MARDI. The place houses an impressive collection of flowers in all sorts of colours, and from the looks of it, I'd say that the people over there have done a pretty good job in maintaining them flowers. Well done! Oh, did I mention that they also have several types of fruit? One of them is the strawberry.

I'm guessing this is the...main building?

I caught this VW van outside of the MARDI compounds. I was half hoping for a glimpse of hippiness, or at least a glimpse of John Lennon.

All in all, it was a very fruitful (pardon the pun) day. The times I weren't taking pictures were the times I was eating. Yes, I did a lot of eating. So much so that by the time dinner came, I just had to pass. My only regret on this trip was that it lasted such a short while. Maybe I'll egg my parents to go back there for another visit in the short future.

After many botched attempts, I finally managed to capture a decent silhouette. The tree could've been more attractive.

Postscript: I know this is nothing spectacular, compared to the likes of Sofi, Mynn and even Puan Mama Sarah.

Break v. Break

2007-04-25T11:23:00.000+08:00

Relationships are a bit like the Mafia, or even a Perodua Kancil: difficult to get in and even more awkward to get out. There is no good way to leave somebody, and there is certainly no good way to be left.

The most sobering piece of news is that most of us - if not all - behave rather poorly during break ups.You could say that break ups bring out the worst in us, and this is certainly true even more so when we are being left. When we are being left, we go through the recognisable stages of grief:

The Stages of Grief

1. Denial
2. Relief
3. Anger
4. Plans for revenge
5. Saying "No, I'm okay. Really. It's for the best".
6. Late night weeping and telephone calls
7. Pleading
8. Stalking
9. Acceptance
10. More anger
11. Acceptance again

It is always a good thing to seek emotional support from friends when you have been left. But break ups are like the first six weeks of pregnancy - do not tell people about it until you are reasonably sure that it will last. Most break ups unfold through a cycle of temporary reconciliations, and the patience of even the best of friends may wear down. Too often we squander our emotional capital seeking solace through these temporary break ups and by the time the final split happens, our friends are already sick to death hearing about it. Ideally, the bank balance of emotional support should be placed in a 32 day notice account.

Most of us are bad at breaking up with people. This is actually a good thing. Imagine what kind of a monster would be good at breaking up with people.

We are bad at breaking up with people because we are cowardly. We are also afraid of looking like a bad person. So, when initiating break ups, we end up saying and doing things we never intended, which not only causes the break up to become protracted and convoluted, but generally ends up making us look like a bad person.

Sad to say, the only sure fire way to guarantee a trouble-free break up is if you are not actually there when it happens. If you are, then you are sure to ad lib something that wasn't in the script. This should not happen. When breaking up, be sure to stick to the script.

postscript: This post was written in the light of the recent (read: around one month earlier) events revolving around a couple of my classmates. I am not connected to this entry in any way. At all.

post postscript: On a lighter - and more serious - note, I'm off to Cameron Highlands for a three day break. This should not be confused with the 'break' I've been talking about earlier on in the entry. Anyway, the excursion should be a good excuse to be snapping away like mad, and I'm sure Mynn would nod in silent agreement with me *smile*

A Pleasant Surprise

2007-04-19T14:29:00.000+08:00

As you may well know, today is my birthday. Nothing really surprising, since there's bound to be someone somewhere out there in the world, celebrating their birthday no matter what time of year it is; it just so happens that today is my day.

Nothing unusual happened when I woke up this morning. Every little item in the room was still as unbearably boring as the night before - except for something in particular. Something that made me rub my eyes a few more times just to make sure that I wasn't still asleep when I first laid my eyes on it.

"Could it be...?" I asked myself. Wanting to be assured that it was the real deal, I carefully made my way to the other side, all the while holding my breath, in fear of that I might accidentally sneeze -or worse, belch - and scare the funny looking object sitting quietly at the corner of my bed.

The rectangular shaped item still hadn't made a move, so I took it as an invitation to come closer. And come closer I did, until I was looking right down upon it.

By this time, I was already blue in the face from holding my breath too long. And I did the unimaginable - I let out a heavy sigh. I tell you, the unidentified object jostled about! I hastily retreated from where I was crouching before, lest I wanted to present myself as a threat to the poor thing. After what had seemed like an eternity passed by, I finally plucked up the courage to approach it again.

This time, I was sure it was what I thought it to be.

Hardly able to contain my happiness, I promptly - and rather clumsily - jumped up and down on my bed. I had finally received what I wanted all this while - a camera! I then proceeded to rush out of my room in search of my parents. Oh, the joy!

Mum and Dad, thank you so much for getting me the camera!

These two pictures are a tribute to Mynn

*sigh* If only that was what really happened. I could've written a script about the morning's event worthy of a Hollywood production team with Steven Spielberg at the helm, or M. Night Shyamalan for that matter. He seems to be interested in all that is suspenseful and mysterious.

Unfortunately, I bought the camera 3 months ago using my own money, which would explain why I've been short on cash ever since. I think my mum noticed this, and I'm willing to bet my bottom dollar that she even knows that I bought the camera. But I know that she knows, so I suppose you could call us even.

(Mum: Aiman, it's not funny. Duit tu boleh simpan dalam ASB untuk masa depan. Ni buat beli kamera. Cuba sayang duit tu sikit)

No, that was not an actual quote from my beloved mum. But I wouldn't be surprised if she says something along those lines later on when she reads this entry.

So, if the camera is not the pleasant surprise (as mentioned in the title earlier), then what is?

Actually, the most pleasant surprise of all on my 21st birthday is that I don't feel like it at all. Call it self denial, but the thing is that I still feel as if I'm 20. Not a single snide remark has managed to get the fact to sink in. Not even all those bad 'Dah boleh mengundi!" jokes. I do wonder why.

And that, my friend, is the pleasant surprise on my birthday :)

Assuming The Role Of...

2007-03-28T17:03:00.000+08:00

...a student bound to sit for his final exams next week is what I'm supposed to be doing right now. However, circumstances would have it that I've grown quite sick of reading my medical books, and that I need some medication; which would be to read blogs instead.
And while I'm at it, why not kill two birds with one stone and put up a post of my own?

********************************************

I'm sure a number of readers here already know what cosplay is. But for those who don't have an inkling of a clue, cosplay is actually...well, basically it's a dressing up game played by both children and adults alike, only that they don't dress up as doctors, firefighters or even housewives anymore. Instead, they dress up as characters from mangas, animes or even video games.

The thing which makes cosplay more interesting than your usual dressing up game is the fact that not only do you have to dress up as your favourite character, you also have to imitate all his traits (e.g. the eccentricites of Kakashi Sensei from Naruto). In other words, you have to become the character himself. Quite a bright prospect for those of us who are born with naturally boring lives.

I doubt using even Brylcreem will help you achieve that kind of hair

Such is its growing popularity that competitions are being held all over the globe (mainly in the US and Japan, of course) with participants trying to look as convincing as possible. Some of the more popular choices would be characters from Naruto, Deathnote and the Final Fantasy series - with results varying from really, really good to absolute bollocks.

This is an example of a good cosplay of Naruto

While this is supposed to be Sailor Moon. What the...?

With that in mind, I thought I'd have a go at it. Just to see whether I'd fall into the 'really, really good' group, or the'absolute bollocks' bunch. I chose a fairly simple character - Jack from the manga title Märchen Awakes Romance @ M.A.R. Jack happens to be a farmboy, and we all know that imitating a farmboy is the easiest thing after, well, being a farmboy.

Everybody, meet Jack the farmboy

Now, meet Hiyoshi the farmboy

Do take your time to evaluate my cosplay. And don't forget to give feedback :)

High Ho, Here I Go!

2007-03-21T15:48:00.000+08:00

So, it's that time of year again - the final examinations. Mind you, this time around, the examinations are a bit special since it's going to be my first professional exam. Just the mere mention of that word is enough to give me goosebumps.

Anyway, please do pray for me. I really do want to continue studying medicine, and it seems that the only way to do that would be by achieving good results in this exam. So, with all your prayers (plus some effort on my part too) I'm hoping that I'll be able to make it into 3rd year.

With that, I'll see the lot of you later in April, sometime around my birthday *wink*

p.s. Having said that, I will try to drop by and leave comments whenever I can. Be on the lookout for me, alright?

Scarborough Fair

2007-03-11T17:22:00.000+08:00

Sometimes, musical notes are more effective in portraying feelings rather than words. Like now.

The Tagg-ed and the Tagg-er

2007-03-01T16:33:00.000+08:00

Ah, it seems that I've been tagged by Puan Mama Sarah. Now I feel like an item on a shelf nearing its due date.

Anyway, according to Puan Mama Sarah....."People who are tagged should write a blog post of 6 weird things about them as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says 'you are tagged' in their comments and tell them to read your blog."

This sounds so awfully hard, since I'm not that weird to begin with. Eccentric, yes perhaps, but weird? Never mind. I'll just try my best to sound as weird as possible for Puan Mama Sarah. Here's at you!

1. A blanket is a must have for me when I'm going to sleep. Of course, I can go to Slumberland without a blanky, but then I'd wake up in the middle of the night feeling as if something's missing - which is the case really. Funnily enough, I don't use it to cover myself. More often than not, I end up hugging the blanket and rubbing my feet against it. This would be one of the things I normally do until I doze off.

2. I am very much capable of deleting a perfectly sound and sensible entry which has reached its third paragraph just because....(drumroll).........I've run out of words to describe what happened next. God knows how many times I've done that i.e. burying 'healthy' entries. I'm such a cruel person.

3. I have a systematic way of eating my drumsticks. Each and every time I get my hands on a drumstick, I'll finish the thing in exactly the same manner - leaving the outer layer of muscles aside, finish off the smooth layer inside, and then come back to the outer layer. Sounds weird? It is.

4. While we're on the subject of food, I also have this habit of 'melurutkan jari' whilst I eat. My intention is only to clear my fingers of any extra rice before I take the next mouthful, however, dad does not think it's entertaining, and used to scold me endlessly when I was small. Well dad, you'll be relieved to know that I'm still doing it now.

5. People say that I 'have a way with words' and because of that gift, I sound like a government official. "Skema' kata mereka. I don't know.

6. I have bouts of coffee craving - which is to say that I can go on for weeks without coffee, but when my craving kicks in, I can go on for weeks WITH coffee. Having said that, I have more romantic ideas about tea, rather than coffee.

And here's one more, just for kicks.

7. I write my text messages in full, with the correct grammar. You can ask my mom if you don't believe me. Surprisingly, my messages rarely reach the second page unless it's about something awfully important.

So there you are Puan Mama Sarah. I've opened up my little chest of secrets and so, you know practically all of my eccentricities. Now I'm going to have to create new peculiar behaviours, just in case you're going to tag me again sometime in the not-so-near future :P

A Secret Recipe To A Happy Household

2007-02-18T09:11:00.000+08:00

Sooner or later, comes a time in the life of a mother when she feels like throwing her apron and spatula out of the window, hoping to never see them again for the remainder of the afternoon. And when that happens, the rest of the household knows what that means - we eat out.

Of course, in my household, that happens on a regular basis and we eat out every other time of the day (read: breakfast, lunch, dinner and also supper. Yes, we do have supper in my house; which usually comes in the form of a very, very late dinner). Anyway, yesterday we had a rather rare treat while eating out.

Since "someone" did not get "someone else" an anniversary present *cough*cough*, dad decided to take mom, and the rest of us out to lunch at one of the more posh eateries to make up for it. It certainly was an unusual change from the usual 'nasi campur' we usually have. In fact, such was my doubt that I initially suspected dad was going to ask us to go Dutch after everyone was full and content. I know, me and my thoughts.

I suggested that we go to Hartz Chicken Buffet at Berjaya Times Square since we could all pig out (hey, it's the year of the Boar, remember?) and grunt our way to a full stomach. But my parents thought the idea of eating like pigs was a bit gross and decided to have a more civilised and mannerly lunch at Secret Recipe.

Ah, yes. Secret Recipe. From what I can conclude, it is one of those bistros where fanciful couples come, sit down, order a slice of cake and stay for two or three hours. The most amazing thing about the whole experience is that they still aren't able to finish a single slice of tiramisu, even after those two or three hours. What a waste!

But I digress.

So my family and I waltzed in (trooped in was more like it) and took our respective seats at the eating table. A waitress swiftly came out of nowhere with a gleam in her eyes, and five menus in her hand. I'll spare you the details of us making that poor girl take down our orders, but after fifteen minutes, here are what we asked for:

Caramel Cheese Cake being done in by my mom

I had Grilled BBQ Chicken

Ice Blended Moccha with Caramel waiting to be slurped

Chicken Cordon Bleu (how do you pronounce that last word?)

Cheese Macaroni served with Prawns

Presenting, the mother of all meals - Irish Lamb Stew

We spent more than an hour enjoying our a' ala carte meals. I expected it from the beginning since you would naturally try to make the best out of the rare experience eating at such a fine place. Besides, eating with kids...... *sheesh* Had it been our usual 'nasi campur', lunch would have been over in less than half an hour.

If I could lick the plate, I would have. Just goes on to show how much I appreciate my meals

But we were full and content, and had smiles on our faces - which is always a good sign. Mom asked for the bill and it came to this:

That's close to what I'd spend on my meals for close to a month.

I think this has been a successful operation on the part of dad since mom's present would cost at least twice more than this. Just kidding mom.

Update: Look here! Dad did buy a present for mom! (though I have a sneaking suspiscion that it's an old present which has always been hidden somewhere between his pile of clothes, just waiting to be discovered). Anyway, good for you dad!

My mom asked whether this was just a trick and inside the wrapping were dry biscuits. The cheek!
P.s. Darn my shaky hands

Help needed - Urgent!

2007-01-21T07:07:00.000+08:00

So, so sorry for the long silence (I seem to say that every time I reappear after a long absence). I've been busy (Who isn't?). The thing is, I've had a lot of reading to do (So do iFos and Ayumi, but they seem to be okay).

Anyway, I've finally zoomed in on a camera which fulfills most of my wishes (plus, it's also within my financial means. Well, not quite, but that's another story). So, I'd be in deep gratitude if any of the other bloggers could give some comments to my potential 'wife' (as Mynn affectionately calls his DSLR).

Presenting to you, the Casio Exilim EX Z60 (clap clap)

Oh, by the way, here are the specs (Just in case)

Exilim Z60 Zoom Features:

6-Megapixel effective CCD imager, 3x optical zoom w/auto macro

Stylish, durable and light-weight aluminum body

Large 2.5-inch TFT color LCD, twice as bright as EX-S500

Anti Shake provides higher sensitivity, faster shutter speed prevents image blurring to hand or subject movement

High-speed start-up enables shooting approximately 1.4 seconds after power up.

Release time lag of only 0.002 seconds after the shutter is pressed.

Rapid Flash, 3 high speed flash photos in one second

Continuous shutter function enables photos to be taken in 0.9 seconds intervals.

33 "BEST SHOT" scene modes set the camera for easy to difficult situations.

Attach up to 30-second audio memos to still images at capture or later.

Record voice-only audio, approx. 25 minutes on internal memory.

MPEG-4, VGA(640×480 pixels), 30 frames/second high quality movies

Movie Best Shot, Past Movie, Short Movie and in-camera movie editing.

9-point autofocus system with selectable AF modes: Multi or Spot AF.

ISO sensitivity from 50 to 400, ISO 800 with Anti Shake.

Built-in flash with Red Eye Reduction and Flash-assist function.

USB data transfer to PC or Mac computers.

Super-Life battery enables up to 180 shots on a single charge.

Li-ion rechargeable battery and charger included.

8.3 Megabytes of internal memory and SD card slot for memory expansion.

ExifPrint, PRINT Image Matching III, USB Direct-Print, and PictBridge compatible.

I'm really hoping for some feedback as this seems my only viable option (the other one I had my eye on was the Canon Digital Ixus 60 a.k.a SD60, but it was a bit pricey at RM1300. Mom scowled when she heard the price).

p.s. If you're wondering why on earth did I include brackets after each sentence, it's just simply because I've nothing better to do (A pathetic excuse, I know. Oh shoot. I've done it again)

Just A Short Note

2006-12-28T15:10:00.000+08:00

Goodness, how long has it been since my last visit here? Look at the dusty floor! Look at the all the dirty stains on the curtains! Oh dear, there seems to be a string of cobwebs hanging over the doorway! Can you believe that somebody even had the nerve to walk around in mud covered boots?!

(Oh dear. Re-reading that first paragraph, I see that I rashly allowed myself to be carried away by the occasion and now I have already used up my entire stock of exclamation marks for 2006. Oh, folly. Now what will I do when the new year celebration comes round? I may have to pop over to the offices of the nearest glossy women's magazine and borrow some of their exclamation marks. They seem to have an inexhaustible supply.)

This calls for some major spring cleaning, and sharpish.

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"God grant us," said Robert Burns "the strength to see ourselves as others see us". Well, he didn't really use those precise words, but they certainly were to that effect. It was a well acknowledged fact that Robert Burns recited his poems in a thick Scottish brogue, so it was frequently hard to really make out what he was trying to say.

On the whole, I do agree that it would be a nice change to see ourselves as others see us, but perhaps not all of the time. That would be too depressing. I would never be able to go out in public again (Of course, I rarely do go out in public nowadays, but it would still be depressing). If ever given that I am to see myself as others do, then I hope that it happens in a short, quick burst some time when I am in the kitchen - or the bathroom - alone, far away from civilisation so that I may cope with the mortification and lick my wounds in peace and private. I would not, for instance, wish for it to happen in front of a camera crew, a presenter with a sharp tongue and a vast viewing audience.

I suppose this is where the golden adage "Ignorance is bliss" is most relevant.

An Uncommon Dialogue

2006-11-24T12:28:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I feel so shallow in the company of female colleagues. Really, I do. I acknowledge that women - God bless their fickle charm - are one step ahead of men. But the experience I had a few nights' back left me feeling stumped, confounded and shallow, of course.

"Every woman is a goddess", an acquaintance typed out to me in Yahoo! Messenger the other day. I imagine had it been that we were facing each other in a real life conversation, she'd have given me the haughty look that goddesses have. At the back of my mind, however, I think it might have resembled more of the haughty look that llamas have, but I let it pass.

"But if every woman is a goddess," I typed out slowly so that I could understand, "then what exactly does it mean to be a goddess? Doesn't it just mean being like every other woman? Surely the word 'goddess' then has no special meaning? If every woman is a goddess, why not just go on calling yourselves women?"

"You are applying masculine thought proccesses to a phenomenal experience" said the goddess. I didn't know how phenomenal I was finding the experience, but I plugged on ahead nevertheless.

"So surely, there must be room for improvement in this world of goddessness?" I persisted, feeling a headache coming on. "Are there different levels of goddess? Like, are there normal goddesses, and then someone like you, who is an advanced goddess?"

I imagine she would have given a little toss of her head whilst typing out "Clearly, you do not understand non-rational wisdom".

Now that is the type of person with whom you do not want to have a conversation.
If Neale Donald Walsch had written Conversations with A Goddess, he would have probably sold about four copies (and the movie copyrights would have probably ended up with Prof A. Razak Mohaideen).

Now do you understand why I feel so shallow when I'm around girls?

Of Jocks And Nerds

2006-11-14T14:21:00.000+08:00

I have been feeling quite uneasy for past two weeks or so, and I don't think that the exams have anything to do with it. Well, the exams might have something to do with it, but for the most part, I daresay that my feelings of queasiness stems from something much, much darker. I constantly find myself waking up in the middle of the night (not due to frequency, mind you) only to discover my palms sweating and my heart beating ever-slightly-a-bit-more-rapid than usual.

The reason behind my state of near paranoia is this -

For those who don't know about it yet, Canis Canem Edit (or, Bully, as it is known in Northern America) is about a 15 year old lad by the name of Jimmy Hopkins and his (mis)adventures in a new boarding school i.e. Bullworth Academy. The game follows Jimmy as he juggles between studies, friends, social companions (read: girls), factions in the school (the nerds, jocks, preppies, greasers) and of course, bullies - all on a daily basis.

Everybody, meet Jimmy Hopkins

Now, you might be asking "Why the big fuss over a game?" The reason, dear readers, is because this particular game somewhat brings back memories of my past. Memories which are not so pleasant, at best.

I am ashamed to admit it, but during my growing up years, I used to be the target of bullies. I don't know why, but bigger and nastier boys always saw it fit - and entertaining, I suspect - to humiliate me in public. Must be because of my timid and docile nature back then.

Fortunately, I didn't have to go through this.

Though I can't really say that the experience scarred me for life, it most certainly left a bitter taste lingering in my mouth. Something like eating a bitter gourd, I suppose. Nobody wants to have to go through the same experience twice, especially eating a bitter gourd.

Faces which are just asking for it. I think I most resemble the one in the middle - minus the goofy looking glasses.

Looking back, I wish I had the courage to stand up to those bullies. I wish I could have looked at them in the eye and tell them to stop disturbing me. It would have given me some self confidence and a sense of achievement (something which I sorely need, with the Royal Debate around the corner). But never mind. That's all in the past, and now, I'm content enough with ignoring those who I don't like. Still...it'd be nice to throw back a few punches for shows. Just kidding.

Giving 'im the ol' one-two

p.s. I do not, in any way, suggest using violence as a way to get back at those bullies with brains about the size of walnuts. You wouldn't be any better than them if you resorted to that method. Instead, do all your punching in the game. At least nobody gets hurt; save the nerds and jocks, perhaps.

Where I'm Heading To

2006-11-12T16:45:00.000+08:00

Yes, I see a very bright future in the two weeks of coming holidays.