this is it.

This is it. I start at SGH tomorrow, 8 sharp.

Months of nail-biting anxiety culminated in a mad rush to JKN on Monday morning in a bid to talk my way out of Sibu. Which I succeeded in doing.

Rusty brain. Unsure. Not completely clueless but near it.

But ready or not, this is it.

Bag’s packed, water bottle’s filled, notebooks and pen in pocket, outfit picked out, pep talk done, words of love and support and encouragement from various people have been received – I’m as ready as I ever will be.

What does it say about me that I’m stressing more about my current wadrobe crisis than my lack of clinical knowledge at this point in time? My work clothes don’t fit right anymore, the fact that I have put on weight is no longer deniable. I HAVE got to lose some weight and firm up. On the bright side, now that I’m settled in Kuching for at least 13 more months, I’m looking into taking up classes at Level Up Fitness, the new gym due to open 1st November. They have Body Combat! Woot!

Tis time to sleep. It’s a 615 am wake up call tomorrow. Good night!

…

i’m ok.

It’s one of those strange nights when nothing seems to be right, but yet I’m not exactly depressed. I just…. am. Earlier tonight, I turned down a friend’s invite for drinks with his work friends, people I didn’t know. :s I just wasn’t in the mood the exchange insipid banalities with strangers who may become hi-bye acquaintances, who may become potentially useful allies. What did I do instead? Well, on the pretext of checking out some promising fashion boutiques, I drove out around 8 pm. I went to two – both of which yielded no impulse purchases. On principle I refuse to buy clothes which look cheap unless they ARE really really cheap but sometimes I fail. After which I drove around Kuching. And drove. And drove. And drove. With no particular destination in mind, I literally drove in circles, from the airport to Green Road to Padungan and back to the airport again. The airport road is made for speeding, I tell you. With so few cars out tonight, the road was mine to do as I please. Clears the mind I think. I used to do this a lot, when I didn’t have to pay for petrol. Driving aimlessly in the car with the radio turned on loud,Pushing the car to its limits when the condition of the road allowed it, driving slowly and mindlessly when it didn’t. The car used to be the only place I would find peace, away from my house, away from everything else that mattered. Just me in the car and nothing else. I can’t do long walks here, it’s far too dangerous, driving shall have to do. Despite the *ouch* factor in the rapidly depleting fuel gauge.

The sudden desire to crash the car into something was inexplicably strong in me tonight. The screeching sound of metal against metal, the smashing of glass, the impact of the crash …… I could almost imagine it. I won’t ever actually do it of course, violent fantasies are one thing, playing them out in real life is another thing altogether. Doesn’t everyone get the urge to smash things once in a while? To hurl some plates across a room and watch them smash to bits against the opposite wall, hear the shattering of the impact and relish in the satisfaction of venting that pent-up frustration and aggression inside you? It’s like that tonight. I want to smash something.

………

I’m itching to munch on something, no, itching isn’t the right word, my stomach is literally growling at me, begging me to eat something, but I can’t. A newly enforced no supper and no meals after 7pm rule forbids me from snacking. The sudden stop to the constant walking I did in Glasgow has had disastrous results on my waistline, giving me a belly that I can’t quite remember ever having before. I don’t need this. It’s taken me years to get to a place where I’m starting to be comfortable with the way I look, I can’t afford to slide now. My self esteem is fragile enough as it is.I will persevere.

……..

It’s sad I know. The house that I grew up in doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels more like a…. a transit station. One of my suitcases is still half unpacked, just lying there as if waiting for the next port of call. Waiting to leave.

….

truth be told, i’m a little bit hurt.

no thumbprint girl.

Exhibit A: My non-existent thumbprints. (Left, right)

I have no thumbprints. No machine in existence is capable of reading them. Though the nice lady at CIMB bank did try her very best this morning. First she tried the right thumb, then the left, then the right again. Unfazed, she insisted on wiping down my thumbs with tissue ( I have sweaty palms you see) and repeating right, left, right yet again. When that failed, she still didn’t give up. I was quite embarrassed at this point because I had been standing at the counter for a looooongggg time. As she rummaged in her drawer, I was completely mystified as she came up with a bottle of *huh??* hand sanitizer???? Apparently she had tried it on a customer with equally stubborn thumbprints and it worked. Alas, this was not to be so in my case. Nevertheless, both of us still came up smiling as she told me to come back the next day with the completed forms and a copy of my birth certificate.

Sigh, my non-existent thumbprints are also why I can’t use the e-kiosks at EPF; the machine can’t read my thumbprints. On the bright side though, if I do commit a crime, the police won’t be able to identify me by my fingerprints.

the perfect white shirt.

Lately, I have become somewhat fixated on the idea of acquiring the perfect classic white shirt. A classic white silk/linen/cotton blend shirt that’s cut just right, loose enough to be unrestrictive and slightly androgynous, but fitted enough so as not to look sloppy.

My favourite has got to be the very last picture at the bottom. Some Bottega Venata runway picture the source of which I can’t remember now. Women in men’s wear are so hot; the trick is to not actually wear men’s clothes, the fit is very important. I’m not sure whether I could pull it off though, it seems to call for a long lean silhouette and legs that go on forever. But Rachel Bilson gives me hope, she’s about my height I think (157cm) (correct me if I’m wrong) but yet she always looks so good! The whole shirt tucked into jeans silhouette works well for her. I’m not sure about the pussy bow though, it’s always seemed too school-marmish and prim for my taste.

These are the white shirts that I currently own. The first (left) is a recent buy from Seed (70% off) It has big bat-wing sleeves, little pleats on the shoulders and is super comfy to wear. It’s my default outfit, would wear it everyday if I could but I hate the drudgery of having to iron it every time I want to wear it. Despite my aversion towards ironing, I refuse to wear creased and crumpled clothing. The second (right) is a formal white shirt from Dorothy Perkins (BOGOF from the Glasgow days). The little details make it stand out a bit, the slightly puffed sleeves, the pleats down the front. I figured the neckline was a bit too low for me to safely wear for work so I had to sew a little stud to make it more work-appropriate.

The search for the perfect white shirt continues.

online banking.

I don’t like taking an anonymous number and waiting in line for my turn to be served. I absolutely hate the hassle of driving out, finding a parking space and dealing with counter staff. My one year in Glasgow taught me the joys of online banking and never having to deal with infuriating counter staff at banks. The main reason why online banking hasn’t really caught on in Malaysia is because many people feel insecure carrying out sensitive transactions through the internet. My parents and sisters for one, refuse all attempts to convince them to carry out their banking online.  Despite this, when I came back, I decided to shift all my banking matters and sundry administrative matters online since I anticipate that once I start working, I will have precious little free time none of which I wish to spend waiting in line. I believe that the online banking system is secure enough as long as simple security measures are taken such as always logging out from your account, never clicking on email links etc etc.

Apart from my bank accounts, my Public Mutual accounts and EPF accounts are now online. The procedure for application of an online account are similar for all of the above. First, go to the counter/ATM machine to get an activation code after which you can register online at the respective websites for the online account.

At present, all my affairs are in order. Yet another phone call to Encik Osman this morning produced no news about my posting status. I expect it will be out next week. So I wait.

clipped wings.

There is no purpose whatsoever to this post except that it’s 1.30am and I can’t sleep so pardon me while I ramble on.

Earlier on I was sorting out photos to be developed. I’ve been back for more than 2 months but it’s something I keep procrastinating on doing. I look through a few photos, I stop, and I never get back to it. To psychoanalyze things a bit further, I’m avoiding evoking memories of a life that no longer exists. Glasgow seems such a distant memory now, I don’t want to become one of those sad people who keep talking about how good the past was. It seemed the most logical thing to do to make a clean cut of things. To put these memories away f0rever and avoid remembering a life that truly can no longer exist.

I miss having my life to call my own. I miss being the master of my own time. I miss my room in JBC, all the little things I had to make it home. I miss the detachment that comes with distance, the selfish avoidance of  burdens that shouldn’t be mine to bear. I miss so many things my heart aches to remember them now.

After a long and frustrating application process, I am likely to start work in October. Until then, I am stuck in a strange and uncomfortable place known as limbo. I am wary of putting down too many roots in Kuching because these roots, shallow though they may be, will be wasted effort if I am posted elsewhere. Even now, at this late stage, I am not the master of my own fate. I am still a puppet, waiting for the story to unfold as my masters see fit. In the event that I do get Kuching, stress of a different sort will ensue. Lips that cannot say no to any request,  eyes that cannot refuse to see, ears that cannot refuse to hear. An uphill battle it will be to retain whatever shreds of autonomy that still remains in my hands, to keep my mind intact when opposing forces are tearing me apart.

Forgive me, I’m rambling. The hour is late, and I am tired. Mentally. And emotionally drained.

In 10-15 years time, I aim to become financially independent. To answer to no one but myself. I owe it to myself at least that the rest of  my life will not be led with regret and with bitterness at what could have been. Emotional independence too is what I aim for. No more emotional blackmail, no more misplaced Asian guilt, no more subjecting myself to the whims and insecurities of other people. I want a nice home, nice things, and the financial ability to buy these things for myself. I want to travel. I want to be in a position to help other people. I want a good life. I want to be free.

security blanket.

Lately, I have had to make do with my medium-sized/small handbags because all my larger ones are no longer usable. Plus  I am on a self-enforced bag-shopping ban until Charles and Keith goes on sale again. I feel insecure without a bag large enough to stash ALL the stuff I haul around with me, all useful stuff I must add. Think of it as my version of Linus’s blanky. (Peanuts)

The above is a really blur photo of what I carry (and would carry) in my bag. Here goes, in no particular order.

1.   Purse (of course). I love my current one, it’s red!! A tad troublesome to carry around since it’s so big but I like it.

2.  Handphone. (not in picture) But it normally goes in that little purple pouch I bought from the Sri Petaling pasar malam in Year 1(IMU).

3.   Hand sanitiser. I’ve started carrying this around because I’ve become a tad paranoid about hygiene lately. ESPECIALLY after the incident at KKJM (disgusting toilet without soap)

4.   Tissues. But of course. Guys never carry tissue, I suppose their excuse is that invariably a girl they’re out with will always have a pack on hand.

5.   Wet wipes. I found this immensely useful when I was traveling for a quick wipe-down when water was scarce. Normally I won’t bring them though.

6.   Notebook and pen. At the moment, it’s a very thin exercise book but normally it would be one of those teeny ones. You never know when you’ll need to jot something down.

7.   Reusable bag. I’m trying to cut down my use of plastic bags and this cute bag I got from a boutique is small enough to carry around.

8.   Small red pouch which would normally contain: compact powder, compact mirror, lip gloss, blusher, Elizabeth Arden Green Tea Spray(optional), small tub of hand cream, extra bobby pins.

9.   Bottle of water (not in picture). Wateeerrrrrr! It’s important to always keep hydrated.

10. Others: Cardigan/wrap, umbrella. When the occasion calls for it.

What’s your security blanket?

Bodoh. dan Merbahaya.

Stupid people are dangerous.  Stupid people who don’t realise they are stupid are even more so.

For some background on this incident, please refer here. The video of the incident can be found on YouTube, let’s just say there’s NO EXCUSE for the behaviour of these uncivilized lowlifes. I am sick and appalled and ashamed that such an atrocity happened in my beloved country. I appeal to all Malaysians to NOT let this matter just fade away.

*Note: I watched the video. When asked what the cow-head symbolized and why they brought it along, the Action Committee Chair Muhyiddin Manaf averted the question by spouting some gibberish about it being the contribution of certain individuals who were angry with Khalid Ibrahim. He said “ini merupakan…. individu-individu…. yang merosakkan bangsa kita”.. it was unclear whether he meant the individuals who brought the cow head, or the state government. He also asserted that it was the state government “yang mengajar mereka biadap” and forced their hand.

Good grief, with brains like that, one wonders how this man rose to such a powerful position in our government. Oh yeah, he leads the keris-waving battle cry for Ketuanan Melayu. That’s why. Bodoh-nye orang ini.

Some choice excerpts from the press statement:

“……They are not getting off scot-free. They felt victimised……”

“……There was no intention on their part to cause racial divide. They, the organisers, who are sitting left and right of me, didn’t even know that somebody was going to bring the head of the cow during that demonstration …..”

Well, even if you “didn’t know” someone was going to bring the head of a cow, why didn’t you stop them from parading it around? As the organisers and the persons responsible for the protest, they SHOULD BE held accountable.

“…..the residents only wanted their voices to be heard but it was unfortunate that “the publicity they received was negative because it was linked with racial and religious sentiments.”…….”

In that case, every time I feel victimised or want my voice to be heard I should parade animal parts around the state government assembly? Or around the hospital where I will eventually work?

“…He tried to play down the cow-head incident by pointing out that there were previous incidents where a pig-head was used……”

I fail to see the relevance of this statement. “An eye for an eye” is it? No respectable Malaysian would condone such disgraceful acts of hooliganism, no matter what race of Malaysian is responsible for it.

“……The Umno vice-president warned irresponsible parties not to provoke racial sentiments because it goes against the concept of 1 Malaysia.…”

Goodbye Mr Home Minister. By bowing down to unreasonable gangsters and hooligans, you have effectively lost the respect and support of the many intelligent and clear-headed Malaysians out there. For goodness sake, grow a spine and take a firm stand Mr Prime Minister, show that the government is serious about punishing acts of hooliganism and doing away with double standards. And while you’re at that, get rid of stupid and spineless people in your cabinet. Show that your beloved 1Malaysia slogan is more than just empty words designed to lure Malaysians into a false sense of security and optimism.

Just this past Merdeka Week, NTV7 (or was it 8TV?) ran a heartwarming feature on a special street in Melaka (Harmony Street, I think) where a Chinese butcher selling pork and a Chinese coffee shop selling all manner of non-halal delicacies coexisted peaceably with a mosque that was situated opposite them. The ulama of the mosque had no quarrel with such non-halal activities taking place outside his mosque because he said that the proprietors and patrons took every care to show respect for the Muslims who congregated to pray there. Similarly, the Chinese proprietors when interviewed said that they were very conscious of Muslim sensitivities towards pork and therefore took every possible measure to ensure that their products did not offend (contaminate?) the Muslims in the area. The feature, meant to exemplify the spirit of “racial harmony” in Malaysia, made me think that perhaps among us ordinary Malaysians, tolerance and peaceful co-existence are not just “feel-good” words tossed about by our beloved government. These people obviously did not need the glammed up branding of 1Malaysia to practise the spirit of racial harmony and religious tolerance. Indeed, I believe most ordinary Malaysians are like that. It is only through the actions of certain factions within our society (eg. the cow-head protestors) who seem determined to maintain the status quo and keep the lines between the races firmly entrenched.

*Updated: The next day, the Home Minister appeared to do a complete about face and ordered the cops to charge those involved in the cow-head protest. Methinks someone should learn to think before they open their mouth, since doing so only further emphasizes their stupidity.