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i'm writing this after 13 hours of sleeping on sheaths of cloth i hadn't seen or tasted for close to a month. it feels odd to be back. nothing's changed but everything's different.
the job turned out way better than i expected. for starters i am now permanently employed. the boss moves tween sg & mesia a lot and where she goes, i go. perhaps by the end of this year, we'll get to cover vietnam, thailand and the phillipines.
sarawak was just awesome. it's almost like sg cept for the internet (or lack thereof) and everything's just so gainfully laid back. the best part about sarawak nature has got to be its skies. their sunsets are crazy. at 6 you see one fierce, red ball sitting sober in the sky. the fire touches all surrounding clouds, they're all ferocious scarlet. but the best sets are by the beach. you'll see the great ball of fire looking immaculately indomitable. but it can be conquered. it is drowned by the sea, into which its tongues of fever slowly melt, then diffuse into cool, green waters. and then the sky is dark.
as a malay, it might be helpful to note that your true roots lie in sarawak. your ancestors were tattoo-ed, murdering cannibals who invented their own music, culture and language. and food, whoooooo-eeeee don't forget their food. see, a longhouse is a community. it's exactly like an HDB corridor with a number of doors. one corridor = one longhouse. one longhouse hosts an entire family, therefore how long the house gets depends on how many families there are. say one house roofs 48 families and one family gets one door. that longhouse will have 48 doors.
everytime the longhouse receive visitors, every door will offer that person(s) a glass of tuak, which is rice wine (or some other kind of wine but it's wine!). 48 doors equate 48 glasses. of intoxicating home made wine. beerheads would love longhouses. like my host. he's a beerheading longhouse-lover.
unfortunately for this girl, she's ALLERGIC TO TUAK. #@%$#@!%^$#
anyway back on the homefront there are three girls to which i owe a hug + catching up.
mr sticky no longer sits with marlon brando and spongebob squarepants. neither brando nor squarepants make me wait.
what's your inner flower?
[c] s u g a
r d e w
1052 hours
i ate the chocolates. mama found the cigarettes and threw them. so now i'm left with the t-shirt. would anyone be interested? it's yellow, XL and says "clone trooper".
fuck. what a huge waste of nicotine. to think i escaped customs.
2351 hours
i've just been glancing at everyone else's blogs. i don't want to scroll through because there's a dull ache that comes with the knowledge of one month's absence. it's like walking down the neighbourhood you grew up in. i never go back to places i've been. perhaps the proverbial mirrors of my footsteps displease me.
at least five people's changed their layouts. makes me wanna toggle around too but these days i'm starting to keep regular hours. it's only midnight and i'm somnolent. i bought a book in kuching. it was just a normal paperback but it costed me RM35. it's about the vietnam war. i don't know what possessed me. if i thought i was gonna have the time to read between shoots i must've been neurologically lagged. in fact, i've not picked it up again since the first few pages. i liked the editorial better than i liked the author himself. what a joke.
i miss him sometimes. for a minute i was back to this piercingly familiar place, but things only bug you as much as you let them. this is another lesson for father time. i just have one question - how do you feel, never honouring your promises?
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it's been slow. it's another one of those days i feel left behind, outside of earth's hemisphere just watching from a vacuum but never really seeing anything. there are two thousand colours in my head, each hue a different thought and all the colours of the rainbow refuse to suffice. i think too much and in moments like these it's a curse. i wish i had a capsule of chemical, or a plastic bottle of fume to take me away from all this. there are things i am obligated to do but i can't find the strength to start. it's shitty being here again.
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the month away from the PC stripped all self-taught patience with 5 yr old pentium 1s, and replaced it with intolerant impetuosity . the minute i sat down with monitor and keyboard (the wednesday i got home) i very nearly kicked the whole system (and i held VERY similar sentiments a few hours ago). i wouldn't know if it was just me but my system truly does seem MUCH slower than when i left. i know its insides are plenarily rotting away but it can't be THIS bad! if this piece of boxed metal were a child he'd be ravenous to process data. but its behaving like Alzheimer's. this is all very pissifying.
i took the cab home from yan's just now and it felt good paying the cabby with MY money. MY hard-earned money. i don't know how very much longer i'll echo this but i will while i still mean it - i'm actually enjoying my work. yippe-dee-doo-dah-day.
ps - i gained 4 kilos because yan was feeding us all regular breakfast, lunch and dinners. so now i'm obligated to resume skipping breakfasts, forgetting lunch and sucking the cancer sticks to oblivion.
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it's been quite the quiet friday. after a hibernation of half a year alcohol the grizzly rummy bear emerges from his cave and hugs me. i consider it a miracle that my insides weren't screaming too much to get out. they're usually shrieking when the rummy bear's involved.
today was the first time since it happened that i let spill how i really felt (this was before the vodka & bourbon). i know for a fact that the further i dissert the more i shall dwell. which is why it isn't precedent for my lips unless prodded, poked and pricked.
there's this magnet sitting on my aunt's noteboard that says "everything i love is either sinful, illegal or fattening". why do we crave what we can't have? once again father time my mohamad.
rustic armour and stygian knights, they've all departed the roman landscape. this queen sits alone on her throne again.
ps - newest in verses, a queen's choice.
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i want to hurl myself back into work so that all the trivialities of too sorry an existence might cramp down, feel wholly disposable and infinitely fuck off. because none of us needs this. all the absurd advertences of MY world can go ride up someone else's ass.
i just remembered that my trip back up this time might not be sponsored. where is all my money going to?!!
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the nights are colder now i find, because all the digital faces i know have vanished. everybody's busy, everybody says. perhaps it's just the absence of one that's sensitizing me to the absence of all the others.
i suppose i've had my fill of familiar and new faces for the day. i was wishing the night would last. they were all the people i know i'd definitely miss the next few weeks. the down of always travelling is never being home where everyone is. all the dinners, all the partying, all the shishas... but mostly all the sitting down and just chilling, talking. that was one group of friends i can see myself still seated with 5, 10 years from now. and the irony is, it's just the beginning with 3 of the 5.
i'm mostly highly aware of the things i'm writing, but right now my head is clouded and my heart is tired. i doubt the sense i'm not making. goodnight.
alanis
morissette
under rug swept
track 7
alicia
keys
songs in A minor
track 14
2130 hours
i was getting complacent. it always slips my mind that work, whatever work, is a bitchfest. and i just tasted my own blood that trickled down my back from the stab wound i received.
the lessons are coming, that much i know. it's painfully slow but when they hit, i am supposing they'll spin my head right round right round like a record baby.
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wednesday july 10th 2019 hours
my system threatened to crash on me. twice in a row while restarting it requested for a boot disc. WHAT IN HELL ARE BOOT DISCS?! actually i know what they are i've just never bothered with them. perhaps i should start bothering.
no. too much effort.
i need that new system very VERY soon. i hadn't realised it but the quantity of my latest mp3s warrant their demands to be moved to a CD-R and the technology for that is farthest from me right now. help me help me someone.
i set off the morrow for a weekend of world music, grin-inducers and some more days of work.
ME: BE
ALIVE when i get back.
PC: bite me.
ME: (on hands and knees) pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaassssssssssssssse!!!!!!!!!!
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coming home has become one of the love-hate affairs of my life (the others of which include a select few individuals, namely myself and the rest of my personalities). you start with the ravenous anticipation (and here your PC, mp3s, cable, mom's cooking and friends are jumbles of pebbles on your beach of excitement). in the plane you will the pilot to take off! take off dammit! (but this is mostly becos of the "take-off cheap thrill" syndrome, which many others are inflicted with and you cannot be solely blamed for).
on touchdown, due to budget restrictions you are forced to drag your 17-kilo load off the baggage conveyor so that you may drag your 17-kilo load to a bus that will carry your nervous little ass over the causeway. you're so dizzy with anticipation that every signboard on the road you see says "Singapura 1 KM". that's when every 2 minutes will leave you sore wondering whether your (short-)sight has grown so disgusting you can't see the goddamn causeway. this carries on for 40 minutes.
becos motherland is so lovingly cautious you are once again forced to drag your 17-kilo load off the bus and onto your shoulders. see now, your backpack (which is nearly as tall as you are) was chicken feet when it was propped up on a bed where you can sit your confident little bum, strap on and then stand up. but when it's sprawled on the floor, amidst the 6pm human jam and road-air, it truly is all you can do to keep from crying as you strap it on squatting on the fucken dusty floor, and then watch as your cute little knees threaten to buckle trying to stand up. amidst the 6pm human jam and road-air.
you don't know why but god still loves you. so you trot up to motherland immigration where the digital signs manage to confuse your (round about) 60-kilo body weight for about two full minutes walking left, then right, then left, then right again wondering where the fucken counter is.
so then you go check into motherland and the friendly singh at immigration friend-li-ly remarks that your backpack looks like it's heavier than you are, which is really only 6 inches away from the truth.
see now here is the moment of revelation. the night before you spent an hour awake in bed contemplating all the different kinds of shite-holes you can dig yourself into if the boys in blue at motherland immigration decide they don't like the way you're stumbling around and demand to decipher your piss. becos god knows (and yan too) how idiotic grin inducers can make you. so you spent extra time dolling yourself up trying not to look like a grin-inducer-user.
all to naught really, since a bunch of blonde ah-bengs fascinate the boys so much more than a punty little girl struggling with her larger-than-life backpack. not that you're complaining, hell no.
so now with your back and shoulders threatening to kamikaze, you walk around for another ten minutes sweaty, sticky, stumbling and stared at. a lot. trying to look for the fucken taxi-stand. which is, and you're guessing, all the way at the other side. which leaves you wondering HOW in hell your boss managed to walk right into the last time you came home.
once again
trying not to scream, you keep walking. and once again god loves you. becos
you walk right into the same bus, which presents you with two options.
a) quit complicating matters for yourself looking for convenience (albeit an
extra half hour)
b) break your back not quitting
being the weak chicken shite that you are, you opt for A. and then the rest of it really isn't very much left telling.
welcome home.
2315 hours
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What
obscure band are you?
exactly what the doctor
ordered.
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wednesday july 24th 1340 hours
i feel completely invisible. minute. dispensable. i feel trivial. and i shouldnt be made to feel like this. who the fuck are you to make me feel like this?
1841 hours
My bumper sticker
reads:
Yes, you.
Take the quiz.
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we played
the ouija the night before we left. as a rule of thumb, i never ask questions
pertaining to the future, because i do not want to know.
http://www.prairieghosts.com/ouija.html
http://skepdic.com/ouija.html
some skeptics believe the ouija is merely a platform through which our subconscious energy flows, and it is that form of "psychicism" that generates the answers. for example, you ask the entity to spell out your name and it spells it perfectly. you, of course already know your name. the same skeptics believe your subcon provides the energy to move the coin (or whatever it is you use) toward the individual alphabets, and in sequence.
if that were so, i have virtually no point of rebuttal, since all my questions were directed at present situations. and the answers were more or less, if i were to examine it psychologically, things i already knew (whether i was aware of it or otherwise).
but how much energy can an individual, on his own, possess? each of us tried playing alone. when it was me, a few seconds after the repeated summons the coin virtually ran to the edge of the paper (we had to improvise). you can feel it moving, beneath your finger. you move along with it. if i was really moving it through power of mind alone, then i should be able to move most light material by mind, and touch. correct?
i've never experimented. and even if i wanted to (which is beginning to tempt me), i wouldn't know where to begin. if it really is just overwhelming chi that's generated, then the chanting is the catalyst. what the hell do i chant in the experiment? move, coin, move?
hmm.
0054 hours
result: nada.
perhaps it was the minimal conviction. i am inclined to believe in the supernatural, but i don't underestimate the power of suggestion. this shall be slated in my books, for further experimentation.
What
Obscure Animal are you?
explains my
tsunami of friends.
Intuition. Insight. Emotions. Feelings.
Take the quiz.
What
Spooky Being are You?
sssss hell yea. that's just completely sexy.
1344 hours
earlier lecture on poetry. love poems. first page. unrequited love. or at least that's what i make of them. it seems they always love most when love is in the process of being or is already lost. why should there be the extra effort when evrything is fine?- they think this way, i s`pose. then fumble upon the tumble. - darlasue; 2002-07-23 - 10:52 a.m.
becos he's most of what's occupying my mind these days. and i want it to stop.
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it was a reconvergence of the merry-makers last friday. good, as always. it was times like those when i bid my next project far, far away.
finally met up with didi again and she was under seige - PMS. all claws and hisses. most of the day was silence because i was biting my tongue and holding back my hands. but her hormones moved back into a balance of sorts towards the end as we were sitting down just talking. i knew she was trying to make up. so i let her.
venturing into the neighbour's again today. i'm sick of it, but going with half the merry-makers is the single chocolate malt in a bag of bitter pills.
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i'm seated here and i am aware that my physical body works its own ass off to keep me here. yet also simultaneously i can't feel a thing inside me. it's another one of those days of isolation, where everyone zips past doing their own things and i'm on the pavement watching them disappear and moving on. and i'm just here.
between the weekend my impulsive heart went into overdrive and i wrote to someone too far away from me i shouldn't even be thinking about. and now my restlessness is taking its own private slack from my practical head. i know why i did it. i also know i shouldn't have done it. why do these things only hit you in the days after? i never learn my lesson.
pleasantries hit you when you least expect them, like last friday. i still don't know why it happened, or why it was me it happened to. but i figure everyone gets their break. it could be something there, but if there is i'm not feeling it yet. and frankly i don't know if i'll feel it anytime soon. i can't feel a connection. he does not dilate my pupils. but i love it on his bike because it's on the road going at 120 when you feel completely emancipated and plenarily grounded all at the same time.
we're all planning to head to samui late august. i don't know if i can make it but i'm praying hard i can. and if i still can't i'll beg on my knees. and if that don't work i'll just read about it from sha's blog and weep in the cold hotel room. i'll hate my job then.
2115 hours
there is a carnival of freaks parked on the field at my place and they speak in tongues that irritate me. there is a female so boldly arrogant she needs to be put in her place, because she gives me attitude i do not deserve. i do not respect her for her sarcasm because she hasn't been woman enough to tell me why she's pissing on my shoes. don't you want to deal with me?
tuesday july 30th
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wednesday july 31st 2051 hours
i set a new record for myself two fridays ago, when i got completely wasted in our minuscule, aesthetically dull hotel room. i don't know about other whiskeys, but the one i had was like venomous honey. you keep lapping at it cos it tastes so good. then 5 glasses later you stumble to the bathroom, stick your face in the bowl and regurgitate the entire day's dining.
i woke 3 hours later still very high, my swaying head massaging my throat. off i went again to prostrate to the toilet bowl god. and this repeated itself four more times, until there was absolutely nothing else to regurgitate except my own bile, which made me hurl some more.
i had way more grip when i was gracing bumsville.
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