I have a bone to pick with

generally speaking, the following people:

1. who scorns at what you wear - scorning your clothing, or your supposed lack of sense, acting as if they're the epitome of fashion's creme de la creme when the truth is so far removed from it it's not even funny.
2. who purposely brings you down knowing that their actions will make you question your future one, thereby effectively instilling doubts in yourself of your ability and questioning the wiseness of your actions.
3. who is a complete fake. They'd put out masks to the rest of the world, as if they're this nice people they want people to believe when in front of you they go straight for the kill, without anyone knowing the wiser.
4. who are toady and sycophantic.
5. who undermines and underestimate your ability.
6. who thinks they're it. or who acts like they're it.
7. who lie so well that it becomes truth.
8. who stabs their friends in the back. You want to be a jerk, at least be honorable about it and do it upfront.
9. who are Judas-like.
10. who rants about something that they: a) know nothing about, especially if they act like they're omniscient about it b) misunderstood, especially if it's in response to something that you said, and they rant back at you as if you're so wrong for saying it and as if you have no idea of the consequence of your words or the opposite party's concern in defending their arguments.

I'm going to make a mental note to myself to someday address each of these people fully in this blog - but today I'll be content with ranting about people I described in number 10 in the list above.

You see, there's been a debate on this issue - I'm going to have to be vague here for safety reasons, my own most importantly, but also the person I'm defending so I can't explain in detail what the issue is about - long story made short, it was instigated by a comment made by,...let's call him X.
I argued with X, pointing out the error of his argument, while at the same time acknowledging his right to be in the negative side of the issue, and acknowledging his concern. I ended our debate, saying it was pointless to continue, especially since we so obviously stand at opposite ends of the spectrum and never will see eye to eye on the matter.
Graciously, X agreed, - case closed.

Out of nowhere then, this Y person comes barging in, replying in a long blabbing manner, attacking my behaviour, insinuating that I am ignorant of X's concern, and that I do not understand where he's coming from, that I should try to see his point of view or place myself in his shoes.

Needless to say, I went berserk.

Because had this magnanimous ego possessing ninny actually bothered to take time and carefully read my posts on the issue, he will find, much to his bloody everlasting surprise, that I already did address all the crap he mentioned.

I think the reason why I'm even more pissed at it is because he was adamant, he was certain I was being narrow-minded about it, when I wasn't. To make matters worse, he was quite derogatory in his response to me, which even though the way he posted looked as if he was addressing a whole bunch of people, it was clear he was opposing me personally as he used my words specifically in his post.
GAH.

What. an. arsehole.

don't let me get me

I know that you think I'm doing OK
that the remotest possibility of me having problems
would pale in comparison to everyone else.
I know you think I have things under control
everything's smoothly in line
with only the slightest chance of amiss -
that's only because I make it look so
because I'm the best at pretending
I'm that good at lying
and
no one knows.

You'll only ever see me cry in a blue moon
and you still wouldn't come close to the truth
because I won't let you.
But this is damaging. This is abuse to the maximum
and I'm a hazard to myself
because I'm in desperate need
desperate need of serious help.
And I've too much pride to open up
and let the world know
I feel so alone
I feel this lost
I feel like I've gone and murdered every ounce of
self-control, that I ever had in possession
Are you listening?
I didn't think so.

I've been sweetening my lies with kilos of fallacies
that all you would ever know of me
are shadows
and that's saying something.

Please take me away from myself
I'm all closed up
I need to be bare naked
I need to be cleansed
Please don't leave me here
with no defense from myself
I will die and
not know it
because I'm too good at pretending
I live an illusion of false visions and ideas
and my mask is too thick to scrub out
so take me away
take me away from myself
and don't let me get me
don't let me get me
ever again.

Beauty is painful

There's no going around it. Unless you are one of the few lucky shits who are born perfect - alas that does not include moi, then you are among the normal who have to work to get it.

I had a facial today. One that I should have had like three weeks ago, but due to ladidahs that required my fervent attention - I've had to put my facial aside, with the obviously unwanted consequence being my spots which only sought to get worse by the day. So last night I've had it, and despite those last minute misgivings I made myself go. And let me tell you I went only to be tortured and bled open by the people working on my face.

I should have taken a picture. Then you'd know how painful it was.

You should know that I wasn't always like this, and no, no, that's not me being in denial. It started some five months ago - give or take a little more, where after a visit to my mother's acupuncture doctor, I was convinced I should dispatch with the facials forevermore. Why? Because said acupuncture managed to convey in such a believable way that what was wrong with me, when it comes down to it, was not my face - he said my skin was perfectly fine, but because I have indigestion problems. And so long as that hasn't healed, I can't hope to ever have the perfect face.
So I believed him. And did without my usual pills and night creams and whatnot.

Did it work?

Absolutely NOT!

So as of two months ago, I started visiting my dermatologist again, and had to start over from scratch to fix my face.
Today the lady doing my facial reminded me quite pointedly to come back next week - which I will make a date of in my agenda. I hope four weeks from now, I'll be able to post a happier update on my progress, which, hopefully by any luck won't have the same dire prognosis as my ever lasting stagnant thesis.

CHEERIO!!

UFO?

UFO anyone?

the trouble with me

is that I'm an excellent procrastinator. If it was a job, I'll be filthy rich without even trying.
Consequently - I still haven't made any progress with my thesis, surprise surprise. So I've been stumbling upon
websites on top of websites for some desperately needed motivation.

Today, I came across this excellent, excellent site which gave me exactly what I sought for.
The postings are truly refreshing - and woke me up from the slumber I've put myself into for the last couple of months. Here's the tips they gave:

(DISCLAIMER: here's the page where I got the following from)

(1) Work With The Compass, Not The Clock

Delay your gratification but keep your eye closely on your objectives. Most importantly, don’t compare with your peers. It’s easy to get frustrated if you’re constantly watching how long your pal take to graduate, generate his first $10,000 or move up the corporate ladder as compared to what you’re doing.

Spend more time instead evaluating if you on the right track in the beginning. For example, are you’re embarking on the right course of study? Is your marketing strategy effective for your business in the first place? Do you like what you’re doing in your job? Once you’re clear of the direction you’re heading, you’ll be less focused on the urgency to perform “up to speed”. Remember. You work with the compass. Let others work with the clock.

(2) See How Far You’ve Gone, Not How Far You Have To Go

Staying motivated throughout this seemingly long route to success can be quite a challenge. Especially if you’re working on it alone. Instead of counting down the number of years you’ve to go before graduation, the amount of dollars to reach $10,000 or the days to the next promotion, take a moment to flag down the milestones you’ve accomplished thus far. Celebrate each one of them with a nice pat on the back and top it up with a nice reward. Don’t forget to practice the art of daily motivation too. As you continue to do so, you’ll find that you’re still counting.

But this time, you’re counting your blessings. Not what you’re missing.

(3) Don’t Doubt Your Beliefs Or Believe in Your Doubts

At times, you may be tempted to judge if you should have taken this route instead of that seemingly quick and easy path. Don’t. Because although you may able to find a lot of quick and easy schemes, it’s very unlikely you’ll find one that sustains. By doubting that you can achieve success working a particular slow but impeccable plan, your resultant actions can ruin the efforts that you’ve put in so far.

Take for example, liquidating a well designed index funds portfolio to invest in riskier instruments or giving up a course of study just because you’re not performing well in the first year. At the end of the day, those who succeed are the ones who persist, never once doubting their beliefs in the process.

-

Now I've got to make myself focus.

Bittersweet the Lie

The word is that I'm hurt, and that 'tis a perfunctory job
that I am attracted to catastrophes,half-truths and empty lies.
The word is that you're interested and so curious to know
but mellow saddened features you put on won't make me show.
Such is the sentiments typical of one on the verge of desperateness
with ever lingering silence and tunnel vision for company.
I can do this for hours at a time and many more
and so can guarantee you would not last long in my shoes.
Sweet, it's not a wonder why I'm like this. why I can't breathe.
and I bet, I bet you think you know why.
but Sweet, please don't be so sure.
you just might be proven wrong, and
I'd hate to see you cry.

Borrowed Time

I was sitting there waiting for the sands to fall
while the clock beside me ticks by
You could say that I was running from the rain and storm
but we both know better, we both know it's a lie
I was waiting there with the greatest of hopes on the edge
just slightly short of falling into
nothing and everything
nothing yet everything

and I'm living through this now on borrowed time
God only knows if I'll make it through without you
nothing is ever as it was to me before
and I'm still not able to make sense of
anything.. yeah

You were more than just a memory
If I could, believe me I would have erased you
but things are always easier said than done
and so
I stood by on the weakened ledge
about to fall away, silently hoping that
you'll be there again to catch me
yet I know that I cannot afford
to appease empty wishes such as these

and I'm living through this now on borrowed time
God only knows if I'll make it through without you
nothing is ever as it was to me and I
cannot see what's right in front of me
I'm covered neck-deep in quicksand
while your face floats by I live on through
borrowed time

Remiss thoughts

it's a distance that no one would admit to creating
in maintenance of each separate holding and
in persistent effort to hang on to hidden interests
the pillars are that which surrounds unprosaic
a few tete-a-tetes to ease the stiffness in the air
a somewhat unconvincing gesture to ease and lay bare
all that is pounding non-stop at our heads
and I am nowhere near to understanding
nor do I seek to release the truth out of you
I just thought you would be considerate and knowing
mayhap expectations are not akin to rightful wanting
so while reading the signs and keeping up with the time
running as the currents try to pull me back into the
unsteady waters
unclear weather that
the captain is left clueless to navigate
and the ship is heading for a sinking, unknown though
perhaps not uncared for.

to kill or live with it

the mangy maniac spits and splutters
a braggadocio of a fart
creepy crawling tangling weaving
silly webs of confused brainstorming
thunder boils and seeps silently in
stirring anger wrath included
curses sworn with pleasure thrown
the mangy maniac in blisfull unaware
is ignorant, empty bottled, full of crock
that the want to rise and stuff whole dock
only so mangy maniac opens eyes and unlocks
only to find the want in nothing but in mock

Wherever life takes me vs. My take on life

I believe this is a common question among all of us. One that each and every human being ponders about once in a while, if not all the time. It relates to something which I've mentioned briefly before in my previous blogs: why we exist on earth.

Of course, this is going to be an endless debate and I'm probably never going to be satisfied with whatever answer is given to me, but I thought to lay down what has occurred to my mind on the subject for the sake of satisfying my hunger to type. (that's another story to be saved for another time)

On to the ideas then. First, about how we came to be.

Darwin.

He is of the opinion that everything in life undergoes a process called 'evolution', where every living being on this planet today, exists because they have survived the 'battle of the fittest'. I happen to disagree completely on his idea of evolution, because I don't think it makes a whit of sense. If indeed we are modern species that come from monkeys, my question is: why would they still exist if the modern ones are supposedly the ones who have survived?

In addition, my brain cannot give in to the idea that somewhere, some point in time, there was a 'big bang' that started the whole life cycle.

A friend of mine once said that this is all a circle, but I said to him: OK, so it's a circle. But if we liken that to drawing a circle on a piece of paper, one first has to press the tip of the pen/pencil on the paper, then draw the circle. The circle, I said, do not simply appear out of thin air from simple wanting or extraordinary desire that magically sprung the circle to life. This is why I believe that there has to be something big out there that started all this. And my tiny and limited capacity of brain could only settle with one answer: that there is a God out there.

The next question, is about why we are here.

Some say God put us here to worship Him, some say that we are all only players in a chess game, some of us born as bishops, kings, others only mere pawns, with God out there playing referee or watch, and some say this is a footie match where the outcome has been decided and all that we do have been arranged before and we only go with what has been foretold.

On that point though, it strikes me how true Darwin's notion on 'survival of the fittest' is.

Everyday, every moment, we battle to survive. For those working in offices, its either a matter of working yourself to death with the load being dumped on you, or quitting, or if you happen to be one of the lucky ones who is employed in a field that suits your interests, you simply enjoy it as it goes. But if we turn the pages carefully, it's a deeper and bigger battle than that. We battle, when we go to the shops, finding the items that we want and debating with ourselves on the importance of that item to our continuous functioning for the rest of the week or to have momentary satisfaction of either possessing that item or simple satisfaction of impulsive cravings. We battle, when we wake up, between hitting the 'snooze' button on our alarm clocks and rising up and shine to greet the day. We battle, when we fight with our friends, between having all our concerns pushed forward and their thoughts pushed back either because we think it's slightly or untrue or happens to be the very thing we don't want and don't need to hear, and being wiser and understanding for our own sake. We battle, when we are born lowly and have to strenuously strive to reach up to the stars. And even if we may think, or like to think that those born with a silver-spoon out their mouth don't battle for a single thing in life, they too battle, with how to deal with all the attention they have and find what it is they want out of life. Because at the end of the day, they will find that money is not enough.

Relating this with the title of this blog: wherever life takes me vs. my take on life, is it true then, that we are only puppets whose strings are in the hands of God? Do we not get a say in what to do or what to have or want? Having seen the battles that we face, and keeping in mind that we are, after all, endowed with brains which has to be of value somewhat, it looks like it's a balanced battle between the two options where none will come out as the winner save for a few occasions where one happens to overtake the other.

I think it's true that we are all given choices in life. That life is what you make of it, that you are what you make of yourself, that everything you see, hear, feel, are direct results of your choices. At the same time however, I also think it's true that where you have tried, and where you have thought over the things that you're battling with at the current time, you see a dead-end and can only act upon the only plausible conclusion you can find. And that, is where there isn't a choice to choose, where you no longer have a part in deciding what you want, where wherever you end up is no longer exploratory. So, wherever life takes me vs. my take on life? I guess we'll have to see.

And this is what I've come to settle with.

Jeremiad

The following is an earlier post of mine in my other blog in myspace, which I am determined to overcome this year! Amen.

Life is about choices. right? or at least, that's how I've always viewed it. Between sinful offerings and daiphanous thinkings, and not to forget impulsive cravings, the Big Guy sure did make the world a difficult place to live in.
am I complaining?
you could say that. or, you can choose a more preferable alternative (to me anyways), and say that I'm being critical and thoughtful.
I, however, will choose neither excuse, silly, pitiful and unjust as they are, and go with the simple truth: I, down to my small and insignificant toes, am lost and am looking in every angle possibly viewed through 360 degrees rotation to justify my present state, which is sad, lazy, and oh, very, very, ugly.
I've got what looks like a large pile of quixotic wantings, unwavering from their limbo since I've deigned to keep myself like this.
yes, I know I shouldn't. yes, I know it's bordering shameless. yes, I don't need to be told that I need to get my huge butt off my bed and rise and shine to greet the day instead of lazying about abed.
but my knowing all of this doesn't make it any easier for me to do just that: getting up.

now, even though I've just described this in a way that I'm sure is visual to you, rest assured what I mean to say is not so much visual than being hypothetic.
I need to get up, as in, get my thoughts composed, emotions controlled, and to quit lollying about like some waddling dolphins in the arctics.
I've been doing a lot of thinking, and have arrived at a somewhat palpable conclusion that I simply enjoy being in this state.
I don't mean that I'm thrilled with the fact that I can't graduate in four years as is the normal length of time of studying for law students (undergraduates) in my country, hell no. if anything, the thought positively itches me, and makes me want to wail, pathetic as it may sound.
no, I hate it.
on the other hand however, my life, which, even if I do not yet have it sorted out completely, had, invisible latitude and longitude lines drawn on it, marking the main things I would like to achieve in what probably is going to be a short life.
does it mean I'm sorted out then?
no. because those lines, had, as of a couple of weeks ago, been tarnished by close-to-snide comments, and lucid doubts, upon my goals. so I've gone back many a step, retreated, and question those temporary decisions of mine.

around here then, the subject of this particular blog should be cleared well up. I am, pondering what seems to be imponderables, dwellings on 'mights' and 'probably nots', and am drawing to a close to biting off quite a bit more than I can chew.
"easy does it," people always say.

as you should already gather by now, I've got more than a couple of things to say to that.

Beauty is only skin deep- according to the ugly people?

'Beauty is only skin deep' - everyone is familiar with that phrase. But I remember this character in this movie (I don't remember the bloody title but will get back to this asap) say: "that's just something ugly people say."
and I remember laughing after hearing it.

Does this mean I don't believe in the phrase?
Well, in simple words - my answer would have to be yes.
But, realistically speaking, I would say no.
Confused? So am I.

So OK, lets break this down.

BEAUTY IS ONLY SKIN DEEP - "What you don't see is hidden under the skin and it may be more important than physical beauty. The proverb has been traced back to 'A Wife' (c.1613) by Thomas Overbury (1581-1613)." From the "Random House Dictionary of Popular Proverbs and Sayings" by Gregory Y. Titelman (Random House, New York, 1996).

I would say that the above quote, is idealistic. It holds truth, certainly. I believe a typical illustration would be the 'dumb blonde bombshell', or ___________(please insert your preferred phrase), where you have an unbelievably gorgeous specimen of homo sapiens, but a closer look (i.e. once you actually get down to having a conversation- or attempt to have a meager one, to say the least) reveals them to be shallow/stupid/arrogant/lives in cloud 9/etc - or all of those traits altogether.

I've experienced this firsthand, as I'm sure many of us do.

Don't you just hate it when people seem to enamored by this supposed enigma, when you know that the inside is nothing but a rotten egg? But honestly, what can you do? You either choose to suck it up, or wallow in your misery. If you have self-consciousness issues like me, then you too wallow in your misery. Why?
Because even though we'd love nothing else but the truth to come out, though there's nothing more we could want other than what that person is really, really, like on the inside to be seen by people who can see nothing but good because they only portray that side of them to certain people (me, you, people they feel threatened by, competed by, or whatever). Makes me sick.
And, since we're the only ones who know it, what good would saying anything do? Exactly.

I figure to just let it happen, because nobody would believe me anyway. They'd either think I'm making the shit up, or intentionally trying to make that person look bad, and then I'm the one they'd assume to be crap.
So instead of ending up with this notion - I let the bitches slay me alive.

I have a couple of friends who are pretty outspoken and doesn't let anybody bring them down - I've wished countless times that I had their guts. No matter what I seem to achieve, sometimes it's just that difficult for me to stand up for myself.

Back to being ugly.

Seriously and personally speaking, I truly go for 'beauty is only skin deep', because to me its the heart that really matters. Which is why I heartily detest the mass media for brainwashing women into thinking otherwise.
They convolute us into thinking that beauty equals skinny, thin women - and that anything bordering curvy is fat, hideous and ugly. Same goes for height - it's cool to be tall. Sucks to be short.
When the fuck will people realize that it's HEALTH that counts?

Nothing, nothing I say, will ever erase our human nature tendencies of looking to the neighbour's grass, which will always be greener, despite the nourishment and TLC we lay unto our own. It's a moot point.
Caucasians do their best to get tanned skin in the summer- and thrust themselves into tanning boothes in the winter, never mind it makes them look ghastly and off-putting. Asian women, specifically dark skinned ones believe that unless they're white, then they're not beautiful and not worth a glance from men - thanks to Pond's and Clinique and a host of other beauty products which advertise so on TV and every conceivable surface worthy of advertisement.
It's stupid.

I wish I live in a world where idealistic notions are not just that, notions - but forms the concrete foundation of society. Think of how many people would be happier with who they are instead of who they think they should be, what they should have, what they should do.

But then again, I don't live in that world. So realistically speaking - 'beauty is skin deep' will forever more remain to be fanciful notions. When people go for interviews - when people look for gf/bf - when people simply go out for crying out loud - it's the outer physique that gets the impression first and foremost.

New Year! ...aaand my resolutions.

So! Another year has come and gone. Every year I feel that new year comes faster than the last, - I feel like I haven’t had enough yet of 2007, all the things that I wanted to do hasn’t gotten done, and I’m at an anti-climax point, where after the two ‘bangs’ (for want of a better word) I had last year, instead of moving forward with astonishing certainty, I fell back, stumbled mightily along the way, and got stuck. Am still stuck as a matter of fact.

I wrote this on my songbook* yesterday:

Monday 31st December 2007

Today is the last of 2007- and I have resolved to put myself together in 2008. I must get back on my feet. I have to find out the dates for new term registration. I don’t want to be late like last year. (I think we’ve had enough of the nasty administrator dragon lady hmm?) Definitely must make arrangements with my thesis tutor-who I haven’t met in two months now, who probably thinks I’ve given up with my current theme and went with another title since I failed to meet up with him after a month, as was scheduled. *dry cackle*

I need to get those chapters done!!

———————————————————————————————————————————-

and I stopped writing after jotting the last of the exclamation marks down.

Why?

To tell you the truth, I’ve been extremely lazy to write, for over two months now. Yes, I’ve a gazillion of things to do, and yes, I know I’m supposed to get a move on with it, but my brain just seemed to swerve into lazy fogs as of much late, and despite my being aware of the danger I was in for not going to meet the thesis submission deadline, my progress to this day have remained brilliantly stagnant. I hate it.

Which is why, I think, I couldn’t even manage to finish writing that last entry into my songbook.

I did however, manage to write a full entry the day before that (December 30th 2007), where I ranted on (again) about my lazy-self into the pink pages (yes, the book is pink. sue me).

A worthy extract are the following:

…New year is looming in my despondent wake, I just realized that I never made any resolutions last year and this is- no other word for it- BIZARRE- as I always make a point to make a list of my new year’s resolutions. It’s bigger than simple ‘tradition’ for me, because it keeps me on my feet, on track, and keeps me set on those I’ve pinpointed to achieve. But I didn’t make one last year. Perhaps it’s one of the main reasons why my goal to graduate by the end of the year has not been met. Much to my everlasting disappointment and regret. So I’ve decided to make another list this year!

Ok. My New Year’s Resolutions for 2008 are:

1. Graduate, with a minimum GPA of 3.00 (hopefully by end of February, Amen)
2. Be a sparkling awesome coach for this team I’m coaching, that we win every bloody thing there is to win (despite penalties and all that may come to halt our way. Amen!)
3. Get a wonderful, comfortable, job that I can be content with. That means lovely salary, lovely boss, lovely work environment, just lovely lovely. Thank you. Amen.
4. Lose weight! This particular resolution has been a popular one in my past resolutions, that keeps appearing every year, for one reason and one reason only: I have never managed to stay true to it. Fuck.
   So I want to really put myself into it this year, I want to be 45/46kg by June! (I am presently 50kg. yikes.)
5. Have a spot free face, smooth as a baby’s butt, hopefully by end of January (coz this is already in progress)
6. Have that bulletin and profile CD finished! (um, CD by end of January and bulletin published by early March I think.)
7. Write a book! Or at least have the complete plot laid out smoothly-by August.
8. Buy myself a new laptop from own money: which I hope to achieve by the end of the year (December-er, postively assuming I’ve graduated, got that lovely job, and saved affluently). I want a light one that I can carry easily without burden everywhere I go. (I’m using acer right now, it’s the medium sized one, which my brother says isn’t that heavy but I am vertically challenged (read: short) so anything bordering not light is heavy for me. Go figure.
9. Excel in my work!
10. Learnt off Juz’Amma by heart: target is by December.
11. Pay off my fast debts-by April.
12. …*******

—————————————————————————————————————-

So there you have it! My goals for this year. Of course, I’d probably add on to the list if I ever think of anything else I should/need to do. Like finish reading that book on finding the perfect work.

Just so you know, I’ve made an effort to change all those bad habits of mine. (procrastinating,being a lazy bum,stalling till very, very, very late,and etc etc)

Yesterday I surfed the internet for some very worthy findings. And here’s what I got:

How to change your life:

Focus on changing your actions, not your circumstances!
Accept and plan for your weaknesses, instead of toughing it out.
Periodically review your results to fine-tune/re-think your approach if needed.
Life is every moment. It’s now, now, now, and now. Do not make the mistake of putting anything else ‘first’. Work on what you actually want to do.

To stop being it, start seeing it.
Forgive. Accept. Move on! Make it happen.
Achieve BALANCE.
If you’re not the lead dog, the scene never changes!
Don’t sacrifice opportunity for security-Luck is the meeting of preparation and opportunity.

Level the workload, resize the job and reset expectations.

Ask yourself: Do I like what I did this year? Do I want to do more of it next year? Do others think I did well?

There are no problems. Only solutions.
Make appointments with yourself.
Stop hating her with every fiber of my being because anger is bad for my health and happiness and I got everything I ever wanted regardless of her efforts and it’s no tlike I can’t sympathize with why she did/does the things she did/does.

———————————————————————————————————————————-

With all of those in mind, I hope I’ll finally really be able to truly shine- in the purest meaning of the word, lol.

Cheerio for now!

Amaryllis Faye.

*songbook= I write songs and poems, have been since 6th grade, which I’ve started to compile in thick books (looks like one of those diary-journals) since 2000. I’m on my 9th one right now.

This is going to be the weirdest entry - for now

I haven't got anything interesting to say right now actually. And no, I haven't got spare time either. But if I don't type, soon I'll be knocking myself out silly with my bare hands out of increasing agitation and the infinitesimal patience I'm quick running out of. So I guess that puts this into codswallop - but that word has already been used as a title for another post - hence the title of this particular post.

So.

kljf ;ksj;n; i tkjwrnt kehtaskfnakfn kaj las lkamskljijiouhwe;k jnsm smdbvlweuhfenfjksdnfkjshfiuweh iqwejrp9387572yv 4yv 8732y4 v87 fjsnsndndskjfhs;ldj nlsd ml!LOIU(*&$&^*& jksdfjkhsdkjfnsfn /.,/.sdlgjw eoiu4ot9 vwijklwjklwejglwij ;w9oow4u oijglkwje!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! kljewklj1KJL!J!J*((&(*&*(&(*&$(*&@(&!($&!(*$&!*(&$!(*$&(!*$&(*!&

Now. If you've ever read Japanese manga comic books, you'll know that the above random inserts are usually used to identify swear and cusswords used by a particular character in the story.
To your question "why not use the actual words themselves?"
Well, the books are generally sensored once translated into my language (what with it being very popular and all with children) - especially if you buy them legally from the bookstore here. So they'd need to replace the actual words with said random symbols. Although I personally think it kills off all the fun out of reading it in its natural state.

Take Lasse Gjertsen for example.
His famous "Lasse Vs. Technology" videos on youtube, provides an exemplary portrait of the message I'm trying to convey. Do check it out if you haven't seen it already - it's hilarious and made my day.
I won't tell you the details of that video, but in vague terms: it's where we say 'FUCK IT' and blasts out all the anger into its proper place and time - with perhaps unwanted consequences which wouldn't be thinkable under the said place and time. Inconvenient yes, but at least all that shit has been vented out.

As to why I had to resort to using symbols to convey my message- I just don't think the words existing in the english language presently is adequate enough to depict my meaning.

I feel so much better now.

Malaysia UNtruly Asia

This isn't a new subject I'm soon ranting about, but those sneaky neighbours are getting completely out of hand.
A couple of weeks past I've learned that they have, yet again, snatched and claimed one of Indonesia's priceless heritage as theirs. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about the "Rasa Sayangeeee" Song.

That song, is of the Island of Moluccas origin. One of the most easiest ways to distinguish a Moluccan, is by the way they say 'eeee' at the end of every sentence. That is not, I believe, a trait of Melayu people, whose distinguishable sound is : 'pe-laaah', 'aaah', and the scrunched up 'can' . (How I wish I could emulate them to give you a vivid picture. Sadly, but thank God for it, theirs is one of the few accents I haven't been able to imitate.)

The reason why we Indonesians are so pissed, is because this last is the most recent of their never ending attempts to steal other people's culture. Let's not forget the lost Sipadan and Ligitan Islands, whose geographical lines have always existed inside Indonesia's territory, but due to Indonesia's people own stupidity of not looking after what is theirs, it's bloody well gone now. And OK, for this one I can admit the fault is somewhat ours, albeit reluctantly.

But what about the rest of their inhumane and degrading treatment to us?
How, most recently a Karate expert from Indonesia was randomly attacked by a group of Malaysian officers without even given a clear reason why he was attacked, and when he only reasonably tried to fight back, he got pounded even worse.
How, the Indonesian workers who clean their homes and make their houses are rarely paid well, are often treated with hot-tempered hands, subjected to vicious cruelty nothing short of having boiling water thrown carefree at you, discrimination and undeserved scorn.

How, they refuse to call us by our proper name: 'Indonesia' and insultingly say 'Indon'.
How, when I went there a couple of months ago, at the airport I was stopped and got badgered by arrogant dicks who looked their noses down on me only because I happen to wear a headscarf and look like I might be Indonesian.
How, they claim our Batik and Dayak patterns when for God's sake, those two go hand-in-hand with the area it comes from, that when people go to Jawa, they see Batik. When people go to Kalimantan (Borneo), they see Dayak people, Dayak patterns, Dayak shields. But just because you happen to own a part, an insignificant part at that, of our island, you dare to claim what is rightfully ours. And you bloody well know it.
How, they think we're stupid and look at us like we're the dirt who had the nerve to lay grace upon their spic and span bedpan. And because of it, think they exist, live and breathe on a higher level than us and that every Indonesian who go there must be a servant. No, we can't be smart people. No, we can't be intellectuals. Surely, surely we can only be dicks.
And to think they were actually educated by Indonesians before.

So people, those are some of the reasons why Malaysia, is UNtruly Asia. Because all they can do, honestly, is claim bits and pieces of everybody else's culture.

Of course, I realize that I may be generalizing here and stretching the application of this particular entry a bit far, so let this be a disclaimer: this entry applies and applies only to those who act like what has been mentioned in this entry from start to finish. Anybody else who feel it's untrue, well, then it doesn't apply to you.

Another post from John which seriously cracked me up

John's blog on myspace

June 21, 2007 - Thursday

Slut Payday Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities Paris Hilton is going to be paid a million dollars for her first interview after jail. In other words, Paris Hilton is going to be paid more money than most human beings will earn in their lifetimes, as payment for being sent to jail. A commodity is a strange thing, and to understand what you're looking at when you look at or hold a commodity in your hand requires a specialized critique into the nature of market economies. A commodity is more than the sum of it's parts. Let's look at a wallet as an example. The wallet is made of black leather. There's also some plastic in it to hold pictures, maybe some thread to stitch it together, and maybe a small metallic money clip. A square foot of leather, a square foot of clear plastic, and a gram and a half of aluminum, as raw materials, might cost you a dollar. When you go to the store to buy a wallet, you end up paying say fifteen dollars for it. The fourteen dollars between the cost of the raw materials and the price you, as the consumer, end up paying for the wallet are where a commodity takes on some very peculiar qualities. There was labor that was necessary to tan the leather, to assemble the wallet, to market the wallet, to put in on the shelf at the store. There is more labor necessary to stock the shelves, to store it in a warehouse before it is purchased, to ring it up at the register, etc. Then there is an amount of profit that the individuals with the vested capital need to render the wallet in order to ensure their continued existence. The raw material that goes into the wallet can be marked up, but only so far. The labor necessary to put the end commodity in your back pocket can be marked up far more so, hence you end up paying fifteen dollars for a one dollar wallet. Paris Hilton is a human being who is a raw material that can be added to a commodity in order to increase it's price. She does not work to add that value, her existence is the labor, so she's not labor, she's raw material. For example, you can add Paris Hilton to a television show or a magazine article, and the show or article or whatever the case may be becomes more economically viable, by the amount of money that was given to Paris as compensation for showing up at a nightclub, or lending her image to a perfume or an album, but also by the markup that's placed on the act of compensating Paris. Further complicating the peculiarities of the life of Paris Hilton, she became a raw material in the first place by being named after a commodity, by being pretty, and by seeming to have not a care in the world that runs deeper than the surface of it. In other words, she's a raw material that acts as a reminder of a complicated sequence of social relationships that inspire a weird mixture of awe, envy, and depression. In other words, she is the perfect image of what it means to be an American today. People ask me why I hate her so much. The answer is that I don't. It's not her fault. She's a dumb slut. What I hate is a society that makes Paris Hilton possible.

Fashion is Stupid - by John

John is one of my favourite bloggers in myspace. The guy has amazing insight on so many issues, and recently he wrote on something that has been a bug to me since I can ever remember: Fashion. Here's what he had to say about it, and I agree!

October 10, 2007 - Wednesday

Fashion is Stupid Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping Last night, I was watching America's Next Top Model with Jen, and I was distracted from really getting into it because I was trying to think my way to the heart of what it is that bothered me about the show. Every time I watch the show, which is pretty often, since my wife loves it, I get this uneasy feeling that's pretty close to anger. Obviously, fashion is another word for mindless conformity, but that much is obvious on the surface level. What I've realized is that I don't think the fashion world should even exist. These are women who look nothing like any woman you're ever going to encounter in everyday life, though granted, beautifully so. They are wearing clothes no normal human being would ever wear. In fact I've done some math. There might be 100,000 people in the world who have enough money to wear clothing like the clothes these women model. If half of those people are women, we're down to 50,000. Let's use a nice round number and say there are three hundred million people living in America, where the show airs. That comes out to one person out of every six thousand that can even afford to spend $15,000 on a dress, whether or not they'd be inclined to. And that's in the wealthiest country in the world. Then you have to wonder, out of that select group, how many of them are the right height and weight for these outfits? If one out of five of them are, and that's generous, we're now talking about one person out of every thirty thousand. So high fashion is clothing for 1 out of 30,000. That kind of shoots down the idea that these people are trying to sell clothing. Target and Wal Mart make ten thousand times more money from clothing sales than Versace does. So what the hell are they selling? Or maybe a better question is, what the hell are they doing? What IS the fashion world all about? I think it's about commodifying an unattainable image that's attractive to people specifically because it's not attainable. It's an escape from the drudgery of being normal and living a normal life. I think most women flip through these silly magazines for the same reason people buy lottery tickets. It's an excuse to have a fantasy. So now I know why the show makes me angry. It's because it's a show that glorifies a brutal and worthless industry. An industry that puts children in third world countries to work and makes its money by convincing normal people that they're too poor, too short, and too fat. It's an impressive con, I'll give them that.

"porn novel fan"

I read historical romance novels.

That may or may not come to surprise you, an answer which I don’t doubt would entirely depend on how long you have come to know me. I daresay if you haven’t known me well, you’d have no idea. This is because I don’t look the type who reads ‘those books’. Or so I’ve been told. I must admit it’s not exactly something I relish in sharing aloud, knowing what people expect and think me to be.

I’m a “porn-novel fan” said one. This is a common comment uttered by some people upon learning that *gasp* I read what is considered 'sinful', in my culture at least. Supposedly. A comment that never fails to have me cringing and wincing in pain upon hearing. Because it's simply not true.
As a matter of fact, I think it's actually insulting to the writer. Not that they're listening but I am a fan, and as you well know, fans are usually nutters.

Truthfully, the book isn’t about porn at all. Yes, in one scene or two or perhaps three, depending on the writer writing the book, you do occasionally come across those scenes. It’s inevitable. In fact, I’d be downright lying if I said a romance novel, any romance novel, would be good without at least one sex scene. Or as the term is generally preferred in those novels: ‘making love’. I mean, come on. You have a hunk and the ubiquitous babe, they fall in love, but they resist the love until before the very end, in the middle of which they or she, as it is usually, gets broken-hearted, and they fight, and get stormy and things become too heated and whaddaya know, they're doing it right there on that page. You have two, I have two. It's not that difficult to put together, doh.

So I hope you’d understand why I disagree with anybody who says I’m reading ‘porn’ because it’s something on another universe altogether, never mind genre. I prefer calling it like it is: historical romance. Having read that many books on that particular field, I think I have enough credit stored in me for you to count my words and myself for that matter, trustworthy. I’ve read porn. ‘Erotica’, as is the more vulgar and sensual term for it. And boy, it is not the same with historical romance.

Why am I such an avid reader of historical romance, you may ask.

A number of reasons.

But the numero uno reason in my list, is because it makes me happy and gives me hope. Because those novels, as unreal and idealistic in sense and every way imaginable as they are, are what forms the very basic of my soul. It’s where I run to when I’m sad, it’s the one place I know I will find refuge, it’s my so-called ‘haven’. Albeit a temporary one, much to my ever present dismay at finding myself yet again at an end of another wonderful, wonderful book.

I guess a lot of people would call me gullible. Foolish. Idiotic. Unbelievable. Unreasonable. Irrational. Incredibly unreasonably unrealistic.

But that’s me.

I grew up, reading fairy tales and playing Barbie. Watching Care Bears and Disney’s Little Mermaid. Reading quirky Japanese manga. And to my joy in my middle salad days, historical romance.

So I’ve come to want that in my life. I want what I read in those books to happen to me. Without bloodshed, preferably, but otherwise I want it all. Because it’s all good.

Don’t think that I haven’t told myself off enough for living in puffy clouds and having cotton candy dreams, I’ve been there, done that. But I simply wouldn’t give it up. I just can’t. My fervent belief in the one Almighty, instead of downtrodding the idea as most people would believe ought to happen, only instills more hope in me. The more people shake me the stronger my hold on it. The more people try to force me to have relationships the more adamant I become in resisting unless I know that the chemistry is there. The more I try to not kid myself, the thirstier I become for it.

Obviously the world wide web is not a place where one can easily dispatch and lay bare all that is making one’s head pound like the ever swinging pendulum once touched. So I can’t, much as I’d like to, open one and everything here. But I can give illustrations, however vague they might later appear to be.

A couple of months ago, I managed to achieve an amazing achievement, one that I never dreamed of, but weirdly enough, did come true. As a result of that achievement, I became quite well-known, at least to law students in Indonesia.

It is truly striking to have people look up to you and think of you as someone ‘cool’ or ‘outstanding’. I still feel awkward about it. When others in campus pass me by and glance at me in a particular way, I’d feel weird. Because to me, what they see or what they think they see, isn’t me.

I’m not a genius. And God knows I’m not super or maddeningly smart. Often I’d feel strongly insignificant and low around people, because I honestly never know how to place myself.

What I do know of myself however, is that when I want to achieve something, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, so long as it’s within my power to do and it doesn’t involve me in anything illegitimate or wrongful. I’m a perfectionist, and because of it I can’t rest until I know I’ve done it right.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I face an awful lot of challenges and obstacles. Whenever one falls down, hundreds more sprout at me. It’s never-ending. Then there’s the many complicated situation in my life which is not perfect, even if some people might think it is. One such situation, I had recently confided in one of my best friends, and she was astounded at the weight of it, that she was quiet for a good number of minutes.

I’m not trying to put more emphasis or ‘dressing’ on this, I’m telling it like it is.

And it’s exactly all of this, that drives me into that one passion I have that seemingly is never satisfied no matter how many of them I try to put my hands on: historical romance novels.

Is it wrong? Perhaps, possibly, probably.

But I know it won’t stop.

the TruTh

I'm going to abandon all pretense right now
and tell you what you want to hear
whether in the end you'll regret my insincerity
has no bearing on the present place and time.
If you feel the slightest hesitation
now would be a pretty good time to speak
or keep your doubts at peace
for without your belief in the matter
worthless is my sacrifice.
The ghosts of the past do not come to haunt
though many of us would reason so
only for the human ineptitude to accept
what lies beyond all reasonable boundaries
and the hopefulness of the future though vague
may be the only thing certain
if we only dare to reach
and say hell to all that we fear.
You're not hollow in your vanity
though I once were among who disagree
you're just a little pretentious and much too fanciful
to not let your colossal ego get the better out of you.
I'd prefer to name it weakeness but I've a penchant for truth
that more than meets my thirst for subtlety
and beatific smiles
so I've deigned myself to cover
not the untruth, and never to conceal
just not to reveal
anymore than I need to reveal
just not to tell
anymore than I need to tell.

listen

Tell me again of that story about a boy
although I won't promise to listen
you provide too much of a distraction.
You can blame it on my stupidity
or reckless abandon of my senses
I prefer to call it foolish romance.
I've been wondering whether you've been noticing
but it's not like anywhere you stand
would be of benefit to me anymore than
my own ears have been to me,
because I haven't been listening.

come again (with) your last sentence
I caught something about a past
I hope it wasn't mine by any chance
though a second glance at your face tells me otherwise.
I don't suppose you'd care to repeat
just that one last thought
but it's not like any way I stand
would be of use to me anymore than
my simple self have been lately
because I haven't been listening.

and they say I had it coming
that the rules of the game we play was written somewhere
and I've broken a couple of serious ones, and that I'm sure to pay.
but I'm not hearing any of this
I'm not having any of it
unless the rules are down on concrete stone
I won't be listening.