Open Letter to Nima from Azriel

In another compartment of my life, there is that world of Ben10, High School Musical and Hannah Montana I am missing. Because, in another life outside of school, I am Nima, the young aunt to two very precious kids. The knowledge that there are two idolizing kids putting me high up on a pedestal is such an empowering feeling. It keeps me going.

Attached herewith is a letter--obviously written by my dear and only sister--in the voice of my nephew Ayell, that has brought me much warmth despite the encroaching winter. (Yup, fishcake and curry, winter is hurling here in a hurry!)

Dear Nima,

We received your Halloween Card with much love and thanks. Kakak Myra was soo happy to receive it that she actually kissed the card a few times. I (Ayell) was psyched too and instantly took a pen to sign my autograph on the envelope and when Kakak scolded me I proceeded to bite her hand... That was fun coz I enjoyed being Dracula.. Die die die!!

Anyways, we miss you lots and looking forward to receiving the much promised costumes for next year's Halloween.. and oooh, some candies would be good too!! hehehehe especially Mummy's favorite Resse's Pieces cup and other Hershey's goodies. And knowing Mummy she will surely have her own list of her wants - what else is new? Papa's already given up on trying to change Mummy's shopaholic-ness.. :))

Kakak Myra will be going to HSM the Musical in December with Mummy and seperti biasa I kena tinggal lah... Ben10 is on next weekend but Mummy says that we can't go coz we nak balik kampung.. So kesian me right?.. But no worries, I will terrorize Mummy and Kakak so bad they will regret not taking me to HSM.. Gooo Wildcats!!

Mummy is currently looking for a HSM related costume for Kakak to wear to show and I know exactly the cheerleader uniform that Kakak can wear.. In fact, I can also wear the Wildcats Jersey if I'm allowed to come.. However, Mummy says that it is too expensive in Mothercare for something we'll only wear once and so she's currently looking for some knockoffs.. Well I wish her good luck!!

I think that's about it for now.. You should really check out my pictures at Mummy's Flickr.. I must say I've grown into such a handsome Japanese / Korean boy lookalike being, unlike my Uncle Sir.. hehehe but sometimes Mummy says that i look a lot like Uncle Sir and that my temper is exactly like his too.. that's kinda scary, but i wouldn't mind being smart and articulate like him and you...

Do take care Nima, and remember that we love you lots!! You should really call Mummy soon coz I think she needs to trash out her not so teenage drama life with you.. Surely you don't think you're the only ones with the drama do you? hehehe.

Your Nephew,
Azriel Ben10 Mirza Ultraman Hasmanizar

ps: you should also check out this hangat cum notty pic of Kakak Myra and Aunkie Long 'drinking' during Aunkie Long's birthday lunch... Sheeshhh right? hehehe

 N.B:
Uncle Sir is my brother's moniker among the kids. He has this Hitler-like dream that the kids would snap to his command and salute in respect when greeting him with the nickname. And the thing is, they idolize him so much that they really do hang on to Uncle "Cher's" every word, ie Nima gets beaten every time Uncle "Cher" tells the kids to. Dammit.

Aunkie is aunty in baby talk of the Ismail household. Comel lah sangat sampai rasa nak picit-picit budak-budak ni.

The Hard Business of Hard of Hearing

There is a private joke shared among us in the DH50490 household: we are hard of hearing people because we talk loudly. It runs in the family, this tendency to speak a few decibels louder than the laypersons.

I don't mean to denounce the Ismail family name and set you off running in the opposite direction when you see our clan, but it is not news that we are one loud bunch. Perhaps it was the volume of the TV I grew up with. Maybe I can blame it on the constant babel I had to battle with to be heard.

My days in INTEC as a frequent KTM commuter taught me how to tone down as friends reported back on overhearing inappropriate or mushy conversations I've had on the trains. I am now like a chameleon, ready to adapt to the decibels of my surrounding as is required of me. My voice comes in gradations: Softer among new acquaintances, soft among friends, loud with close/old friends, and comfortably loud with my next-of-kins.

All the same, here I am, a 20 year old female who is still hard of hearing. Maybe it IS because I talk loudly. It makes sense, complete sense when you think of the ear/headphone scenario. People speak louder when they can't hear well. People speak louder when they can't hear themselves. The private joke just may just be a fully acceptable hypothesis.

But could it be. . .

Could it be the possibility that I have accumulated years worth of earwax? Could it be that my earwax has been pushed back, way back, only to be compressed into an odd shape and a rubber-like consistency? Could it be that I am molding; my earwax blackening and thickening, becoming awfully sickening to the eyes that see?

Well, I did spend an ungodly RM190 for a two-hour visit (plus waiting time) to the ENT specialist this afternoon and came home with a few "rubber erasers", a throbbing ear from all the probing and picking, free from hard-of-hearing, and a broad smile. So what did you think it was?

On a side note, this is a bona fide advice from the ENT to both me and you: never ever ever ever ever x33 try to clean your ears with a cotton bud. The evil invention pushes earwax further into the ear canal. You don't want to be a victim of an ENT's probing, trust me. It hurts more than a swine flu screening test up your nose (which I will not elaborate further). Throw away those cotton buds, this is your license to run free and be wild.

Be a slob. Just be a slob. It's the best gift you can give to your ears.

5' Thoughts About 6' Under

There is something about deaths that just silence me. News of so many of them just seem to creep up on you all at once that it begs you to think you must have crossed that minefield of time. Unrelated deaths of three, four or five people just seem to breeze by you one day at a time, overwhelming you with the reality of it all. 

The reality is that people die, every single day, every single minute. With every sneeze that you take, you escape death, but death preys on some other person, at another place in the world. 

This academic quarter I received heavy news of the passing of both my late grandfather's brothers, Aki Chu and Aki Dea; my grandmother's sister-in-law, Wan Dea; an Uncle Julian (an aunt's uncle who died of cancer), and the tragic death of a first year Malaysian from Pennsylvania State University.

The last and most recent (May 25, to be exact), gripped me senseless particularly because he passed away from a drowning incident while camping at a National Park in Tennessee. All my life, I have been indignant about having to produce permission letters from parents before a field trip, and scoffed at unfortunate events chaperons pull out of thin air to scare us schoolkids at campgrounds. Evidently, shit happens and I un-rest my case.

And old age? Old age strikes. It strikes us in the face, hard. Last summer I had "that" conversation with my aunt, Tam, who out of the blue adviced that I be strong and understand that my loved ones are aged and time will take its toll. She ranted on and on about having to let go, especially since I am studying thousands of miles across the seas from home.

Considering the weakling that I am and  the close call we had last year, naturally I burst into tears. Secretly, and away from her eyes of course (I looked out the window throughout the uncomfortable 15 minute car drive). I was disgruntled and upset that she chose to give me such a peptalk at an occassion I am most happy--driving to a bazar ramadhan. To me, these things should be unspoken of. I will pretend to be strong when the time comes, because I know I will have to.

Perhaps it is unkind for me to confess that the deaths I mentioned did not particularly break my heart. Instead, the corporeality that it could be my grandmother(s) devastates me. And this is why the home bells are ringing. I do not regret for a second that I booked the next flight home once I received the ultimate rejection. 

In a month's time, I will be home. I will be home for Nenek, whom has been ill for so long now. And Wan, I will be home to take you to the grocery store, to drive you around (with the exception of the city centre and Bangsar due to obvious reasons for a girly manual car driver like me), to demand good food and fatten myself up, to tumbuk-tumbuk your legs, and to literally sleep under your ketiak at night. 

I will be home. Unless home means the eternal hereafter, I will be home, I promise.

Eulogy for the Double Eyes

By twist of fate, my life has become intertwined with many individuals who carry the acronym double I. A minutia of my life you couldn't be bothered with, perhaps; but one that brings me a sense of awe over the lucent coincidence that takes form in many lives (namely mine). I take the liberty of coining my own affectionate term for these five people I am sharing/have shared paths with: double eye.


Each double eye, to me, is important and certainly unique in their own right. Notwithstanding my use of eulogy in the title, they are all, alive and healthy, I hope. To say this is a curt tribute to them would not be apt, since two I do not know well enough to be given the privilege to trespass their lives. Instead, let this be my way of reaching out and saying hello to each of them, wherever they are, whatever they're doing.

Meet double eye #1, mother of mine. It is in fact, from reading my mom's recent letter that I am reminded of the especial double eyes I know in my life. On the subject of my mother, I rejoice her re-entry into the world of writing, her re-route to the passage of powerful words and her re-assertion of her two cents upfront. Although I was fed with animated accounts of her adventurous days serving in the media force, I could never truly feel pride of having had a journalist for a mother because my image of her were tainted with a crumbling, depressed one.

I reckon it is my gain on perspective and maturity, and increasing interest in a field that once belonged to her that I now see a side of my mother that merits reverence if not admiration. Yes, now the wheels are turning for me and for her both; her gears moving backward, and mine, forward. Now I see there is a long journey ahead of me until I can dream of becoming half as good a writer as she. Her comments are cogent, her passages, succinct, and her flair certainly apparent. Now, now I am appreciative of her and the inevitable attraction to words that she has borne me with; though again, I can only try.

Double eye #2 not only shares a very similar name as my mother, but also the prowess in prose. It is by sheer coincidence that I chanced upon this young lad's blog, and certainly even better fortune that I have gotten fairly acquainted with him. Perpetually writing captivating stories, insightful verses, and amusing anecdotes that never fails to bring a smile to my face, he is truly something else. A thousand miles between us, we are connected only by the miracles of the blogosphere and facebook; yet my instinct tells me he has a beautiful persona inside out. I may or may not get to know this friend much better; but what is sure is that his cleverly-spun stories will be something I'll hold on to for as long as he continues to pen and touch the lives of many others.

One of my closest friends happens to be double eye #3. Living in a boarding school does this to you: it takes you fresh and naive, lends you time to meet talented individuals from all walks of life (and learn something from each and everyone of them), and leaves you with a canon of friends, but only a handful of good friends you want to keep for life. Rest assured--as attested by the four years out of high school that our friendship has prevailed and in fact strengthened to the point of no return--that she is definitely for keeps. She has been one of my partners in crime (read: gossiping), my keeper of secrets and my safe choice for a day out, and always will be.

Double eye #4 is technically a triple I, but the notion of sets in mathematics would bring you to my logic that Idazureen Ismas Ismail belongs in the subset of double eyes. Ida is a girl whom I've seen blossomed so much over the past years. She is caring, sweet, and bright, a down-to-earth girl who is always there, like a tattoo on your arm. I say tattoo because sometimes you just forget that it is there, but it's always faithfully there, leaping to your attention when there is a need. And that is Ida for although we do not keep in touch as often as we ought to, she is one I'd turn to for some things personal, and vice versa. I wish you happiness every step along the way, love.

I sadly express here that there seems to be an unwanted hiatus (as friction may be too harsh a term) on my friendship with double eye #5. Or at least, that is how it feels on my part. As I thread on this (apparently) unsteady grounds of the 3 year friendship we have built, I accord some of our meaningful conversations to his being a good listener and possessing mature opinions. And I thank him for that. A brother to me in many ways, I am optimistic that he will come around. Eventually.

Who knows how many more double eyes I'll come across in the near future? Perhaps none, leaving me with these five to cherish, perhaps more than a dozen. For me, it is a haunting need and satisfying effort to take a step back and ponder about the different people you meet and see how their presence touches your life. Celebrate life and all it's glory in fate, kismet and coincidences we should.

The Forgotten -lah

Lah. It's an integral component of my life as a Malaysian. It is my identity as a Malaysian. I say it, I hear it, I overhear it, I write it. To make a long story short, my language and experiences are rich with lah, lah.

Okaylah. Shit lah. Tahilah. Fucklah. "Rajinlah you". "Cutelah you". Adoilah. Sweetlah. Cannot stand it lah. "Whatlah you!". "Why lah?". Alah. Besoklah. Tak mau lah. Busuklah. Bodohlah. Good lah. Baiklah. Takutlah. Love you lah. "Can lah?". Pak Lah. Masalah.

These are uttered effortlessly, every passing day. By the by, you know what I forget?

Alhamdulillah.

Sometimes I need reminders like this.

p/s: With a very sheepish face (imagine shyness to the power of 10), I formally welcome the Ahmats to this blog. Sister tells me she found this through an interested friend who googled her name, and showed her. Brother insists that the senior googled himself and asked "You dah baca blog adik?". Adoilah. Malu lah like this. Please read sparingly. Segan-segan datang sebulan sekali only, okay? Haha. Muahs!

Show Nima Some Love

Requited love: When it comes knocking on my door, I will carry the sunshine in my pocket. All through life, 28, 47, 60 and all. Or till the day I am six feet under.

Requited love: They should come in droves like my unsuspecting bundle of joy. A child's unconditional love, you see. Why can't we love like that?

It's high time you both blow your aunt some kisses, loves.

p/s: From way up there, you and I, you and I.



p/p/s: This song belongs in my "overplayed" playlist. Think it'll make into yours? Yes, I'm sleep-ingrid Michaelson for a week now=)

AIA for My Rainy Days

There are a thousand and one things I have to say about you. Alas, it's disparaging how my every attempt at trying to document our lives together just fails miserably. The time line blurs and the recollections come outpouring on top of one another, impairing my ability to write as coherently as I can. But there is so much this Kid has to say, for her own sake, for her own peace of mind. I'll now pen as my heart speaks, and as my brain reminisces.

Five; that's when my life began revolving around you. I picked up after your stuff, searched for Archie comics for you to read upon our meals, and answered your phone calls. Not too long after, Kaklong embarked to the US, and it was just you and me, always. Do you remember how I would run to the door once I heard the sound of your motorcycle turning at the corner of Pesiaran Bruas? I would be there, with the door wide open, before you could shout for Bibik or break the glass like you once did.

Yes, you were a monster then--giving Wan, Bibik, Mama a hard time--but nonetheless a monster I loved and feared at the same time. I still don't comprehend why that one day you left home as Abang Boy and returned as Abang; but the latter is a term that rolls comfortably on my tongue now. Yes, Abang, Abang. Just saying it makes my heart skip a beat; out of warmth, out of reverence, out of fear.

I would sometimes get the door and hide behind it, pretending to surprise you, but you would always know. After my sekolah agama, or whenever you came back home from your lepak sessions at Plaza, you'd pick me up, twirl me in the air, and hang me upside down. When you put me on your shoulders, I would scream, shout and implore that you let me down; pretending to be disgusted that you act so childishly for your age. Then we would go about with our little game of me stepping on your feet, and walking around Wan's living room.

Which brother creates silly rhymes like "Aaadik kecik, adik hidung besar, jaaangan jadi abang kurang ajar"? Nobody, nobody but you. And tell me, whose brother sportingly dances to the "Handal Yakin Shieldtox" jig with his baby sister like you? Wacky, loony times indeed, but those are what I will hold on to for eternity. You promised to dukung me until I turned 14, remember? I do; because every time I came back home from KYS my first year, I would claim them and you'd grimace and comment that I had grown heavier and you tak larat anymore.

When it comes to being a first class tyrant of a brother, you win uncontested. For years, I have been applying calamine lotion, Clean & Clear pimple gel, Clearasil (whatever ointment of the month/year it was) onto your face and your back. For years, I have helped you on our mutual fight with blackheads by popping them for you. For years, I have walked on your back. For years, I have ironed your clothes and searched for your missing items (because I do them faster than Bibik, anyways). For years, I have let you share and not to mention lose/break my favorite hairbrushes (like the Sailormoon one we both agreed was the best hairbrush ever created, grrr!).

As adulthood pounces on me, I graduated to the position of your full-fledged PA. I run errands for you as I go out on my dates. I write the addresses on the Raya greeting cards you send to people. In fact, I pick those cards for you, don't I? I manage your duit raya give-outs for you. I drive WNC5414 and buy food for you. I call Perodua Servis and get the car serviced too. I relieve you off the task of driving Mama and Wan around. I am your official personal shopper. I make your dentist appointments for you. I accompany you on your speedy, "I-come-here-for-only-one-thing" shopping trips. What would you do without me, kan?

Alongside these years came the heartache, though. For years, I have cried liters of tears as you throw your temper tantrums. For years, I battled with your ke-panas-baran-an and lived in constant paranoia that you would play Brother Extraordinaire one moment and Incredible Hulk the other. For years, I have gotten very frustrated and angry at you at separate occasions and times. For years, I thought I would hate you forever after an episode with you; but I never do.

I never do because for all those years I bawled, you were ready to wipe my tears at different times. When I was at wits end about my college applications, it was you who noticed, and you I cried to. You encouraged me to do things I wanted, and told me not to please others. It secretly pleases me when you pull that frivolous protective brother act if I tell you about the stupid people who gets to me (like that dimwit "No Pok No Pok" Vietnamese salesperson at Times Square). You curse and bellow, and threaten to seek my vendetta for me, but we all know you're just acting poyo. But it truly boosts my morale, knowing I've got you behind my back.

You are popular and cool (yikes, although it hurts me to admit this out in the open, haha) and I feel belittled that I am your complete opposite. But you never cared. You're never ashamed of who I am, of the fact that I am your little sister. And this is why I see how your heart is pure despite all the pain you sometimes bring to all of us. You don't pretend. You are just the way you are (except maybe hiding your smoking, which bewilders me since we are well aware of that since you were in high school, anyways, haha).

If we talk about the materialistic joys in life, there is no dispute that you have indeed been my generous benefactor. My services never go unrewarded as I reap interests and riba' on top of my hard-earned gaji (haha)! All that aside, just the time you put in to drive me places, the places you take us for dinners, the countless times you picked me up from KL Sentral/INTEC/OU/Midvalley/LRT stations here and there, are enough to tell me that you care. Now, what would I do without you, kan?

As I write this, I am missing your antics at home; especially the way you bring Wan's house to laughter as you exit with your infamous "Death to Pak Lah!" salutation. Your entertaining speeches on why and how the goverment is a joke, why I shouldn't vote for BN, and your cunning imitations of Pak Lah dozing off to lala-land are sorely missed and appreciated. All the little patches of things I know about the world is because of you. Thank you.

Although I roll my eyes and incessantly tell you to grow up, how can I not laugh at your crazy ideas like eloping to Golok so that you can escape from the big, hoo haa wedding because you say you can't afford it? How can I not be tickled by your preposterous dream of serving steak and tapai on your wedding day? Or that eating good food to you is "nikmat gila, Adik, like kahwin empat"?

I freak out when you taunt slow waiters with your "Oh, terima kasih. Susah-susaaaah aja, ingatkan dah taknak datang dah" or when you pick up fights with irritating security guards like that one in front of Wendy's at PJ One with your "Aku bagi kau tangan kang, macha"; but these are things that make you Abang. I would give anything to make you less impatient, but nothing to trade you for a completely different brother. Can anyone ever top you, an uncle who trains his precious anak-buahs to call him "Sir" and tabik to his attention? Priceless lah. You spoil us all, you really do.


I can stay this way forever, just being that Kid in your eyes. But one day, I know I would have to let go. And until that dreaded day comes, I am contented with just freezing those moments when you tossed me up in the air; when I never doubted, not even for a second, that you would catch me before I fall. Just like AIA the insurance, you are my Amirul Imran Ahmat for my rainy days.

Happy birthday, Abongs!

My Mom, Not Yours

Some things we cannot escape from. One that's catching up with me is the recognition of a big part of you in myself. The way we beat around the bush, our talkative ways, our overwhelmingly rapid speech and our kalut traits; we are more alike than I have ever realized. It took me about 19 years to see that I am this extrovert girl, speaking more than I should (though not all the time a good idea), because of you Ma.

Despite the shortcomings it may bring, I am still proud to have been bred as assertive as I am now. There are so many things I could never have done and accomplished had I not been able to speak and write as I do now. The books you taught me to read and love, the places in old Kuala Lumpur you made me see, the independence you gave me to roam about with public transportation (long before anybody else's parents gave in); for all those I thank you for.

Your penchant for winning competitions and knack for writing stellar slogans amaze me like no other. I am truly happy that you are getting back in the game of speaking out to the public and writing letters that matter, and will support you in any way that I can. Though I grumble at your requests for Obama newspapers/memorabilia, there's a huge part of me that admires your worldly concerns and the fact that you are not like anybody's mother.

Abang, Kaklong and I may have had our fair share of emotional fights and tongue lashes with you, (and God will burn us in hell for that); but I do want to assure you that we never once truly, really, deeply meant all the words we've uttered. Abang throws his tantrums because he cares, Kaklong and I sometimes take a step back because we are void, empty children. We tease because we are playing with this game called "ego and love", yet we get frustrated because we just want you to move on and be happy. We may cringe at your actions, but we are just concerned. It may have been the circumstances we live in that make you you, and us, your children, us; but we are still family and we love you despite all the showdowns the family has seen.

It may sound very disturbing to some that we are never a family of I love you-s. "Take care"-s, "Keep safe"-s and embarrassed "Love, Nj"-s or "Love, Ma"-s in greeting cards are the closest we'll get to uttering those three words. And this is the closest to an I love you I will ever say, Ma. Because my mom, she's just not yours (yes, yours, readers), and that makes her special.

Happy birthday, Ma.
(January 15, 2009)


Your "Princess" signs off now,
Nj/Adik/Nima

Pray for Nenek

Hi. If you happen to read this, do pray for my nenek, my dad's mother. My sister just told me that she's warded in UH, PJ on December 16th, Malaysian morning time. My brother and my sister visited her during lunch hours, and she was in pretty bad shape. But then, in the evening she took Yaya and Ayiel to visit nenek again and she looks a lot better.

I know I should accept whatever happens, and nenek is already 85+, but all the same, I can't be there. I haven't gotten through my dad, and I know he doesn't plan on telling me, that's why he didn't even text me. In April-May this year, none of my family members contacted me for a long time, because they were hiding something from me. It wasn't until Midwest Games (May 24-26) that they suddenly called me, and slow-talked me to tell me what happened.

What did they expect me to do? Laugh? Of course I'll cry. What with not knowing something as crucial as that, and me worrying about why they didn't contact me, and not telling me when I texted/called them?? Alhamdulillah that things worked out then, but what if it was the opposite? What if it was bad news? Would my grandmother (wan, not nenek) be adamant that I didn't know until I came back for the summer (which she didn't even know of, since my going back was a surprise)? Would they only give in when it's too late??

Aaargh, I don't understand why they must keep things from me. I'm turning 20 next year, I have every right to know. If I find out things last minute, the more lah I'll fret and worry and cry tersedu-sedu because I feel guilty I didn't know. Don't they know that???? I mean, I knowlah they don't want to me to worry because I'm all alone here in Chicago, but to me, I'd rather know and not be shocked by bad news all of a sudden, when it's too late.

Anyways, yes, please pray that she gets well soon, or Allah will bless her in any case. I don't know why she's warded, she's mainly healthy. I'm guessing it's just sakit tua. Thank you all.

Ada Kelakarnya Di Sebalik Randomness

On top of the random changes I made (yes, I changed my sidebar titles again, as you can see), I was also playing around with the Blog Readability widget I randomly found on some random person's blog. Sorry, because I was randomly meandering through cyberspace, randomly hopping from one blog to another, I can't even cite which webpage I took it from. Sorry mister/miss random blogger, and thank you, you've made one random visitor's day!

Urm, all randomness aside now, I tried out the calculator and randomly copy-pasted different people's blogs. From my blogroll list, it seemed to give me very random results. Suffice to say that some of you won't be too pleased with the results I got, and I must say I disagreed with some of its calculations (ceh, semangat setiakawan ini boleh tahan). Jangan marah tau that I took the liberty of doing so, al-maklumlah I've got time and play on my hands now, peace ya'll *in ghetto style*=P But...when I plugged in Dr. M's, Anwar Ibrahim's and KJ's urls, I think the results would make many happy and in fact throw people into long fits of merry laughter like it did me.

Let pictures do the talking, shall we?

Case #1

Case #2

Lo and behold!

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Case #3

*Rolling on the floor laughing* My brother--who'd perpetually bitch about KJ and the tingkat empat boys at home--will find this most hilarious. To think that the poor fellow was educated at UWC Singapore, Oxford and then UCL, with an impressive concentration in PPE, mind you. Bazir duit mak bapak (or rakyat, in some sense since his dad was the Malaysian High Commissioner to the UK) kerana Dr. M and Anwar Ibrahim didn't travel far and wide to learn and nonetheless managed to produce a "genius-level" blog.

But then again, we're talking about a man who called himself monkey (in reference to his saying bloggers are monkeys). Hm, mungkin ada kebenaran di sebalik segala kerandoman blog widget ini. Whatever it is, if any of you people are insane and would like to meet this very the "hencem", bollywood hero-like mat cemerlang, you'd wanna know that he hangs out at Chef&Brew at Plaza Damansara. Euw. My brother now refuses to dine there because he saw the man sitting with a laptop, calmly sipping coffee while probably plotting his next strategy to loot the nation.

p/s: Click here if you randomly want to see if this works randomly or not.

Jolly Good Dream

One good thing that came out of my easy-come-easy-go-teary-state now is that I had a jolly good dream last night. I should probably put all this blogging on hiatus since final exams are looming even faster than I can say jeronimo. . . But this dream was so weird, and subconsciously presented everything I want/need/desire that I feel the need to document this as something significant in my life. Of course, now as I speak, half of my recollection of that dream has gone kaput. Why oh why can't beautiful dreams stay vivid in one's mind so that one can bring it up and smile to oneself and just let everyone else think one is crazy?

Let's see, so I know the dream involved my sister, my brother, Myra (5 year old apple of my eye), myself and my dad. Hmm, it seems like us three siblings and Myra took a flight to somewhere I didn't quite know initially. The plane went through a series of airpockets, and you could say it was one bloody rocky plane-ride that got me grunting and twitching in my sleep. The destination?? Just to the northside of Chicago, or more specifically, Skokie since in that dream we headed to Aunt Enson's (the Malaysian Student's Department's education attache) home! Yes, even in that dream I was laughing like a headless chicken since we could have just taken the CTA trains or driven. It was a bloody one hour trip away from my the southside, for pete's sake! Heh, but if it was realistic, the next part, which is the crunch, ladies and gentlemen, would never have come about.

From Aunt Enson's house, we magically transported ourselves into an airplane, and once again, made our way through the clouds. This ride saw to a crash landing; imagine how pissing scared I was, crying and ducking on my brother's lap. Selfish aunt, I don't even know if I remembered Yaya should have been first priority. Hehe. Anyways, well, it was a highly unlikely miracle that we landed safely despite the "crash" landing! I lost all sense looking at the clear white snow everywhere and anywhere at the place we landed. Walking for a few minutes brought us to, get this, the city of Kathmandu! Hold your horses, that's not the most bizarre part just yet. We stumbled upon some Shepa dude (heeeh, I'm making an assumption here, since they're the only kaum ethnic I know in Kathmandu from reading Geography back in the lower secondary years=P) and he took us to a huge treehouse.

Boy-oh-boy, it was my dad's house (because, well, in this dream, he was in that house). Is this friggin cool or what? There's an almost zero probability that one has a dad who owns an effing big treehouse in Nepal of all places! I forgot the details of the tree house (I keep smiling to myself as I type tree house now), but I do remember that we had to climb two flights of stairs before coming to a one-floor living space that had a living room, bedroom and cozy dining room. Macam that Disney movie Meet the Robinson's (or was it the Robinson's family or something) who made an awesome tree house at some jungle on an island they got stranded at. Surreal, and downright crazy now that I think about it. Underneath all that, I think what made me happy in that dream was just the amount of time we spent together, all five of us, in that dream of a house. Yaya, of course, was so happy since it was a treehouse. Which 5 year old doesn't get excited at the fct that she's LIVING on a trehouse?

All the blurry details in between, we moved to a different location, where my dad promised to build us another treehouse. So, we traveled to where it was (by foot, by car, by plane, beats me!), and this second house was Ya Allah even more amazing than before! It was located at this terraced hill, which looked like, you know, steps. The house was right in the middle, at the bottom. Imagine an amphitheatre, and the big ring in the middle was where the house was.

The three of us got so excited that we beat Myra at being so childish and jumpy and all that hullabaloo. But the most awesome feature of this house was that some big ass waterfall actually cascaded down to our doorsteps! It was like living at the foot of Niagara Falls or something. Yes, I'm not talking about those teeny tiny waterfalls at Ulu Yam or Kuala Pilah, this was the big mother-nature gift. Hahaha! We had so much fun running away from the crashing water, and it was amazing that my normal paranoid self did not get all tensed up about how it may destroy the house, how we might be drowned, etc.

My interpretation on all this muse? I definitely yearn for those times when I was smaller and my dad would take the three of us on a holiday, either to Cherating or Langkawi. The last time my dad took me on one was when I was nine. We went to the East Coast--Kuala Terengganu and Kota Bharu--and I probably had the best time of my life just having him all to myself. Things went downhill soon after and I never got another holiday with him. It would be weird too, to go on a family holiday now, since we're all adults, my brother, sister and I. My sister has her own family, and my dad also got remarried. Heh, it would never be the same again, I guess.

But yeah, I'm guessing Sigmund Freud was dead accurate when he posited that dreams are a manifestation of one's repressed desires. However, I assure you that my "repressed desires" have nothing to do with the incestual desire Freud believes every person innately have. Heh, apparently he thinks that every little boy goes through an Oedipus Complex whereby he becomes fixated at mommy's titties and yearns for mommy sexually. Meanwhile, the girl would harbor the same sentiments towards the father; sadly mistaken that daddy is her love of her life Hm. I don't buy any of that, astaga.

But again, I told you I have a deprived childhood, and it's all coming back to me now. . .

Wheee! Can I be young and six, and do cartwheels and play tag all day long, and get to spend more time with my father before I have to grow up and grow boobies and can drive on my own that I don't need him to take me places anymore? Hehe. Stay tuned.

Why I Shop For Marisa Ahmat

1. Because she's the only one who can understand the love-hate relationship I have with my mother.
2. Because she sees my family's mistakes and, like me, doesn't want that to happen to us.
3. Because I can complain about my complicated family without having to pause and think about how she must be judging me that instant.
4. Because she taught me almost everything I need to know about this crazy life.
5. Because she just understands, no kidding.
6. Because her ideologies have become mine.
7. Because when I was a kid, she'd buy me stuff, belanja me eat and take me around.
8. Because she's my best shopping companion.
9. Because what's in her closet is mine. Hoho, and that means an endless supply of beautiful Mini-Kurungs and fancy kebaya-s for events, cool handbags to show off in front of friends, and different accessories to don every time. Sadly my feet are a size bigger.
   
10. Because she's going to be my wedding planner. She just has to.
11. Because if I die before she does, I know she's one person who won't lie about missing and remembering me forever.
12. Because she boosts my self-esteem by telling me I'm the smartest kid in my family.
13. Because she gave me two cute kids to love and who love me back.
14. Because she'd always send me parcels (I love receiving something in the mail).
15. Because she never misses my birthday.
16. Because she writes me long emails and comments on my Facebook pictures without fail.
17. Because she gives me sound advice, that somehow, just somehow, sounds better coming from her.
18. Because of the one million times just hearing from her lifts me up.
19. Because we're family.
20. Because she's my kaklong, and I'm her adik, and she's got no choice but to stick with me for life.
21. Because of instances like this:

"Yuhuu!!

Sorry for the late late reply!! I've been swamped at work and by the time I get back home, tgk PC pun dah tak selera.. apatah lagi nak turn it ON and go online.. at work I only have time to quickly update my status before my psycho of a boss sneak up on me.. tiba tiba je ada kat belakang I.. hehe freak!!

anyways, here's my 2 cents on the whole Shahrul thingy.. albeit a lil bit late:

1) On Long Distance Relationship

Well what can I say, it sucks.. BIG TIME!! I mean, it's hard enough having a normal relationship, let alone a long distance one.. like I said before, it takes a lot to make a long distance relationship work.. Lots of patience, understanding, effort, strength and etc...

Most importantly, it takes both sides to make it work.. To be fair, he might be dealing with some stuffs with his studies and what not, but he must be pulling his weight into the relationship too.. I mean like, you can't be making all the phone calls, the emails, initiating the YMs semua kan.. at least he must make some effort too.. at least some emails bertanyakan khabar.. and the short phone calls just to hear your voice and etc..

I mean, I know first hand about what it's like to be with someone yg pendiam, so of course we shouldn't expect that person to be a chatterbox like us kan.. but in my case, what made it work was that somehow I knew he missed me as much as I missed him and that even if it was only once a week that we get to talk to each other, it was enough for me.. so you know, he might not have much to tell you about his mundane life as a med student, as compared to you.. dahle he's there at the bleakest place on earth, so maybe you might wanna let it go abt him not having much to talk about... heheh

So from here you might wanna evaluate your relationship and see if he's making as much effort into this as you are.. if it seems like he's not, then maybe it could be for a million different reasons, and at the end of the day, only you can decide whether its worth keeping or not...

2) On Drifting / Growing Apart

I guess the distance can be a factor.. Plus the fact that he's busy with his studies and etc.. And also, people change... I don't know what his problem is not replying to your calls/ emails/ yms like that, but it's not nice lah... i know I would be pissed off..

and if he's saying like you've changed and you're getting sexier pun, it's prolly cause he's changed a bit too.. maybe he's the one who decided he can't take all that sexiness? or maybe he's just feeling insecure cause you're growing up to be a swan and he's so far away from you that he can't protect you or claim you as his girl ... u knowlah, all that shit.. tak paham la me sometimes.. one of the things i like abt abg man (despite all his flaws that just gets to me) is the fact that he doesn't try to change me.. tak kisah la, pakai shorts ke, sleeveless ke, apa ke.. tatau la whether he's just indifferent aka tak cakna, or he's totally OK with it..

hmm, guess you would need to have a long talk with him on the matter.. try to reassure him that it's still you underneath all the cool clothes you're wearing... hehehe or maybe, just maybe, you started to grow more boobs and having curves, that's why he thinks you are getting sexier? hahahah

3) So What To Do?

i wish I had the answer to that.. unlike other people, I'm not gonna say: break up with him? (although i know Mama will prolly be soo happy about it and say "dah agak dah" you'd breakup with him).. but i think if things doesn't change after you guys have tried to iron things out, then maybe it's best if you just let it be..

i guess what i'm saying is, instead of breaking up with him (you don't want to look back 6 years from now and regret about breaking up with this dr yang berjaya, or maybe even think that he was the one that got away...).. i guess you could be selfish, and let it die a natural death.. meanwhile, you can explore your options with other guys or whatever la..

of course, you're too young to get married and tied down.. but you're not too young to have a steady relationship if it's good for you.. and besides, how old is too young to have a steady boyfriend? and how old is too old to be even still dating and unmarried? you know what i mean? some people just start early, and some people are late bloomers.. but it's better than not having started at all...

i mean, if by you having a steady relationship is obviously affecting your life in a bad way ( bad grades, etc etc) of course i would be against it myself.. but hey, if papa can be open abt his kids dating, so why can't everyone else do the same? hehehe

if anything, our mom and aunts not a good example to go by lah.. ingat tak haritu when you tanya i pasal resipi and etc? and when tam got on the phone dia mcm sort of implied that why bother learning how to cook? nanti dah jadi career woman and get paid high enough, u can get someone to do the cooking... boleh? even mama pun masa u tanya tanya wan resipi b4 u balik sana dulu, she said like takyah masak selalu sangat and etc..

scary la these folks.. which i think is one of their biggest misconception.. i think no matter how successful a woman is, she should be good in the kitchen too, so that she can provide for her kids and husband.. i mean, no matter you CEO ke, apa ke, you still have to hormat your hubby and what not kan? i think you know what i mean... and i hope you've seen enuff to know well enough that we should never become like them.. uhuhu...

so there.. i dunno if it helps, but i guess you'll just have to play it by ear... if it all points that there is nothing left for you in the relationship, then by all means, you shd end it... if you've found someone else who's better, then walk away... but if he's come to his senses and wants you back and if you are willing to give it another shot, then do.. it's really up to you and like you mentioned, don't let anybody influence u...

hahah if they say women are hard to understand, then men are just as bad... huhuhu...

okla, too long already... do take care sis!! love you and once again, thanks for the handbag yg i bakal dapat... heheh muahs!!"

For all of the above, she deserves any amount of Coach hobos, Corelle livingware, Marc Jacobs watches, Victoria's Secret body mists that she fancies, don't you reckon?