Kitties are Cuties

'nuff said.

General Discontent

Doggies on a leash

My Hat

Yay

Gogogogogo Watch!!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1UDTxu6IGWw

Will You Be There by Michael Jackson

Hold me
Like the River Jordan
And I will then say to thee
You are my friend

Carry me
Like you are my brother
Love me like a mother
Will you be there?

Weary
Tell me will you hold me
When wrong, will you scold me
When lost will you find me?

But they told me
A man should be faithful
And walk when not able
And fight till the end
But Im only human

Everyone's taking control of me
Seems that the world's
Got a role for me
I'm so confused
Will you show to me
You'll be there for me
And care enough to bear me

(Lead me)
(Lay your head lowly)
(Softly then boldly)
(Carry me there)

(Hold me)
(Love me and feed me)
(Kiss me and free me)
(I will feel blessed)

(Carry)
(Carry me boldly)
(Lift me up slowly)
(Carry me there)

(Save me)
(Heal me and bathe me)
(Softly you say to me)
(I will be there)

(Lift me)
(Lift me up slowly)
(Carry me boldly)
(Show me you care)

(Hold me)
(Lay your head lowly)
(softly then boldly)
(Carry me there)

(Need me)
(Love me and feed me)
(Kiss me and free me)
(I will feel blessed)

In our darkest hour
In my deepest despair
Will you still care?
Will you be there?
In my trials
And my tribulations
Through our doubts
And frustrations
In my violence
In my turbulence
Through my fear
And my confessions
In my anguish and my pain
Through my joy and my sorrow
In the promise of another tomorrow
I'll never let you part
For youre always in my heart.

A Spoiled Sunday Morning

C'est a cause de toi -.-

et tes betises

(slap)

(Sorry about the accents on the e's and a's, too lazy to find symbol.)

Pleasant Surprise

Jams in the afternoon, moaning, hot weather, the Game of Life + fruits + McD and noodles for the other two + coffee + "copulation" = nice

Accountant --> Police officer = not so nice

Pictionary on the dining table + a lot of laughter = very nice

Brother actually speaks and smiles.

Straight Towards the Sun

and it burst; right before my very eye.

When I was younger I used to love falling down. From the ages of 7 to 12 years, I cycled to primary school every day in my baju kurung or oversized pinafore and I'd whiz pass all the cars and the nasi lemak man at the corner who reported to my parents that I never looked before crossing the road. When they chastised me for it, I went and screamed at him (in all my 7-year-old brazen courage). He must have been amused. Stupid nasi lemak man. Anyway, falling down was a regular, almost daily occurrence. There was something infinitely satisfying about bloodied knees and scraped palms. I also loved scabs, because they were absolutely delicious to peel. The feeling is not unlike how I feel when I've lifted heavier weights or strained my back cutting the hedge and the next day, my muscles ache but it feels so very, very good. When you are young, all you want to do is show off your scars and tell the world that you have been through something significant; you have experienced physical pain and are proud of it. But when you get older, scars are something you want to hide.

Now, I hate falling down. The last time I fell was a few months ago as I was turning the corner while running. I skidded on gravel, lost my balance and stumbled, flailing like a fool. My knees hit the road with a sickening thud, then blood blossomed through my leg. There was a huge hole in my tracksuit where my right knee had taken most of the impact, and I could see tiny stones buried within the bloody mess. My knee must have fallen directly on a rock of some kind because there was, literally, a mini-crater right there. There was dirt all around and embedded within the wound, and blood was running down my leg. It was horrifyingly painful, and absolutely fantastic. Funnily enough, the only thought that was running through my head was "YOU HAVE TO FINISH YOUR LAST 2 KM!" And so I got up, and I did.

The pain is temporary; the pleasure eternal.

Je m'ennuie

Oui

Tuesday Morning Run

Despite the haze and sleepiness, I dragged myself out of bed today at 4.43 a.m. to eat and then went back to sleep until 6.22 a.m. whereupon I did my Subuh prayers. Then off to Gardens to do the designated 15km run (5 small and 5 big rounds). As I was doing my pre-run stretching in the car park, a dog kept trying to sniff my ass. I told it to go away but it did not comply so I just started running (albeit really slowly). Not sure exactly what time I started, probably around 6.48 a.m.

Reached Gardens, did 5 small rounds mortifyingly slowly. Saw at least 2 other runners who were slightly faster than I was but I kept telling myself, don't try to chase them because normally those who do a mad dash just run one round and then die out, so, not worth wasting your energy. And I was just warming up anyway. After the 4th round I sort of entered 'the zone' so things become relatively easier. Then after 5 small rounds I started on the big one. Up the slope; don't swing your hands, increase your stride, you are an antelope, power in the legs, one foot in front of the other, in in out out in in out out, hey look, you're at the top. Then easy going (the downhill provides more than enough time for recovery). Repeat four times. Easier said than done. I tried to focus on only one round at a time rather than thinking "Oh gosh, there's another 3 to be done". But really, once I'm in 'the zone', everything else doesn't seem to matter and all the other people around me are just little figures in the background. There's just me and my head and my legs; my steady breathing and the rise and fall of my chest. Nothing else.

I could literally see the hazy particulates in the air. Because I was sweating quite a bit I started getting cuts on my face where the wind chafed my skin. Um, anyway, I did 5 big rounds (the last one was a little faster). But I was still feeling great so I did another small round (to make up for the fact that the small rounds are slightly less than 1 km, so that I'd hit the 15km mark). I think I looked a bit insane because I had this really contorted look on my face as I was running the last round (I ran it really, really fast, like I was being chased by a rabid dog). I stopped for about 30 seconds at the gate. Then I was like screw it, just run to the car park okay? So I ran to the carpark. Which is about 500m away from the gate. So I definitely hit the 15km mark (That should suffice for the day).

When I stopped, red in the face and feeling wonderful in all my sweaty glory, a nice-looking lady was getting out of the car next to mine. "Training for something?" she asked. "No, I just love running," I said. "I did too," she said. Then we talked a bit about knees and how not to strain them too much, etc. She was really lovely.

So I'm not really sure how long I took because I spent about 5 minutes talking to the lady, and when I started the engine the clock showed 8.15 a.m. But anyway, today's objective was not about timing. It was about mileage. Although 15 km sort of pales in comparison to the weekly distance covered by some of my other running enthusiasts.

Sigh.. It's never enough, is it? Hard to be content with what I am, and what I have. I mean pushing for more is all very well but then what happens when you push till you get to the edge and there's you, looking down into the abyss, wondering what will befall if you step into the dark chasm?

Hahaha!

This is interesting... Was cleaning out all the old documents in my computer and I found this. I wrote this when I was in Form 3:

The Enemy

Time was always the enemy. Boy grappled to his feet and tried to ignore the spears of pain stabbing up his leg. He limped as fast as he could to the corner of the street, sheltering himself in the crevice of an old building. He could hear angry voices shouting words from the next street, words like “Runt!” and “Thief!”. Boy didn’t know what the words meant but he knew they were meant for him. Words like that followed him everywhere, although he didn’t know why. All he did was reach out to grab some bread, or an apple. He did this because if Boy went more than two days without eating some bread or an apple, he would die. So to avoid that at all costs, he had to steal the bread and the occasional piece of fruit.

Staying perfectly hidden in the shadows, Boy was invisible to the untrained eye. He found that if one stood very, very still, one just blended into the surroundings. He had practiced this several times with the tall guard whom everyone was afraid of, the one they called Jabar. Jabar had a great big device on his wrist which he always looked at and then muttered to himself. “It’s too late,” Boy would hear him mumble. “Time’s running out. We’ll all be bloody killed.”

Boy knew that with the word ‘kill’ came consequences. He’d heard it spoken often enough for it to bring shivers down his frail spine. Every time someone uttered the word, something bad ensued. For example, only two days ago, Boy had seen them drag a little girl-child into the town square. People clamoured and shoved to see what was going on. Then the chants began, first as a whisper and eventually rising to a monotonous chant.

“Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill the witch-child!”

Boy had made his way to the front of the crowd by moving under many pairs of legs and between sweaty bodies pressed against each other. He had seen the girl-child tied to a wooden stake, her eyes wide with fear. She couldn’t have been older than Boy. He felt sorry for her, but he knew there was nothing he could do. Things like that could not be helped, because Time was always the enemy. No matter how fast you ran, Time was always faster. It was an unbeatable foe, snapping at your heels, relentless and unforgiving. Boy knew a lot about Time because he was always trying to run away from it. Time seemed to drag on very long for him, especially when he was escaping from Jabar and the other guards. They’d point their long-nosed weapons at him and he’d sprint away as fast as he could, as far away from them as remotely possible. He did not want to be ‘killed’. It didn’t look like much fun, especially after they had ‘killed’ the girl-child and left her body lying in the square. Boy had gone up to it after everyone had left. He was curious because he had never seen someone been killed before. He’d poked and prodded the body, but the small girl lay unmoving on the rough pavement. Her eyes were glassy and lifeless, and Boy felt something in his heart twist with pain.

And now, Time was challenging him again. It crawled by, second by excruciating second, as he waited nervously, shielded by shadows and darkness. He heard the scuffling of feet, and he pressed himself back into the wall as if it would swallow him up. If only Time would speed up, walk on by without discovering his hiding place, he might be saved. It was very hard for him to spend Time everyday like this, living in fear of every next step. The footsteps came closer, closer, and closer still, and Boy drew in a quick intake of breath. Please, he prayed, please let me be saved. Give me more Time.

Someone obviously heard his monologue, for the footsteps suddenly receded and he heart a rough voice grunt, “Nope, the kid’s not here. Maybe he escaped along Route 18.” This was followed by more shuffling of footsteps, but this time they were moving away from him. He breathed out in relief. Saved again, by Time. Those must have been the three longest seconds of his life. Boy did not have much of a life, he thought to himself, if his Time was all just about running away from Jabar and his guards. I need to do something with my Time, Boy said to himself. Something good. He waited in the shadows for a while longer, and then slipped off into another alley in search of some more food.

* * *

Sun shone down brightly on his face. He had fallen asleep in a grassy meadow at the edge of town, his small body hidden by long rushes and clumps of greenery. Boy had not managed to find food the evening before, because although Time had saved him, It had also turned dark to that period they called ‘night’. Boy quite liked the night, even though all the food stalls were closed and there was nothing he could salvage. Night time meant security and assurance that nobody would find him, and he could lie in contentment wherever he wished. Boy got to his feet and stretched, taking in his surroundings, expecting to see the familiar back walls of the town houses.

But what Boy saw took his breath away. Instead of the usual roofs and walls stained with dirt, there was a line of tall, shiny, silver buildings. Light glinted off the windows and his eyes hurt when he looked at them. He was fascinated, and lifted his hands to touch them as if they were right in front of him. Taking tentative steps towards the shiny monstrosities, his heart pounded with unconcealed delight.

A sudden jarring call broke into his reverie. “Halt! Who goes there?"

Boy spun around to see who had spoken, but he was alone. He looked around in confusion, and that was when he noticed a long, pole-like gadget with a small box mounted on top of it. The box had a tiny circular piece of glass embedded in it, and the glass was focused on him. He looked at it. It looked back at him.

“Do you have a code number or serial ID, sir?” the box asked.

Boy did not know what code number or serial IDs were so he shook his head.

“What is your name then, sir?” the box enquired, sounding a bit ticked off.

“I’m Boy,” Boy said.

He heard what sounded like a sharp intake of breath. The pole became shorter and shorter and eventually disappeared into the ground. He waited patiently and soon enough, he heard a whirring sound which got louder. A small circle a few feet in front of him suddenly split, like an eye opening. A shiny machine with silver hands, a muscular silver body and toned, silver legs emerged.

The face which belonged to the body looked at Boy and smiled. The face was a man’s face, with silver, steely skin and a perfect set of teeth. “Hello Boy,” the face said, and a cold, steely hand was extended towards him.

* * *

Boy was brought to a room lit with blue lights, something he had never seen before. There were tables lining every wall, and on the tables were boxes with windows in them. The windows showed moving pictures, and sometimes lots of words and numbers that made Boy go dizzy. In the middle of the room was a large, round contraption surrounded by shafts, gears and knobs. The man that had brought Boy down gestured to a small chair and said “Sit.”

Boy sat. The man disappeared into another room through a side door and Boy could hear snatches of conversation.

“ -without a permit! Experiment 3412, named Boy-”

“That’s impossible! No one has escaped our Confinements before-”

“-better do something! If Head finds out-”

“We’re not going to let that happen! Heck, you’re not going to let that happen. You careless fool! This is all your fault!”

“Why am I being blamed for something that-”

The raised voices continued their argument, and Boy swung his feet which barely reached the floor. He was getting rather bored. He had planned to do something interesting with his Time, and now here he was in an unknown place-

The silver man reentered the room and crouched next to Boy.

“We’re sending you back to Confinement Centre 36. This never happened. You did not meet me, you did not see this room, and you are Boy. That is all you know.”

Boy didn’t know what else to do, so he nodded. The man grasped Boy’s arm and pulled him to his feet towards the circular contraption. “Sit on the metal seat,” he grunted. Boy did as he was told, because the tone in the man’s voice reminded him of Jabar and how people always got “killed” after that.

He sat down and waited patiently. The man’s fingers flew over complicated-looking buttons with numbers and letters on them, and he shifted a few gears. Then he adjusted two knobs with dials on them, dials which looked like bigger versions of the device on Jabar’s wrist.

Finally the man seemed to be done. He looked Boy right in the eye and said, “Remember to remember nothing.” Then he pressed a red button, and a whirring sound started up. It got louder and louder, deafening almost, but the last thing Boy heard was the man’s frantic voice.

“Hell, I set the wrong time frame-”

* * *

Boy opened his eyes. He could hear noises nearby, and his mouth was filled with grit. He stumbled to his feet and looked around. There was debris and paraphernalia littering the place, broken bits of buildings lying around. Something about the air seemed familiar though. He’d been here before.

Then he remembered. The streets. The stalls. Jabar and his guards. He was back home, where Time was constantly on his heels. Boy sighed and decided to look for food. He was rather hungry.

When he reached the bakery, though, he was surprised to find it was empty, and the windows were dusty. It was as if Time had flown by and no one had bothered to wipe the glass. Just as Boy was about to push open the door to see if there was anyone inside, a tinny, mechanical voice sounded before him.

“Detonation system activated. Central Unit does not recognise Code that has just crossed Line B3607. Self-destruction of building will begin in 10 seconds.”

Boy did not know what that meant, so he shrugged and pushed the door to the bakery open. He needed food. Sooner or later it would be night, and night meant nothing to eat. And then it would be day, and day meant running away from Jabar and his guards. After all, Time was always the enemy.

Haze

SUCKS BIG TIME!

Never Ever Stop

The Most Wonderful Thing in the World

Run - v. to go quickly by moving the legs more rapidly than at a walk and in such a manner that for an instant in each step all or both feet are off the ground

This definition is completely inadequate. Running is so much more than just moving your legs. Running involves the heart and the mind, the sweat pouring down your brow and the blisters on your toes, the way your heart beats faster before a race, the mental determination you plant in your brain to wake up while it is still dark, pull on your shoes, and get on the road. Running involves the aching in your legs and the burning in your muscles and how that pushes you forward just a little bit more; how the routes you run become ingrained in your memory so that your body automatically curves when there is a corner, ducks when there is a tree, sidesteps when there is a crack on the pavement, because you know all these things so well, just like the lines on the palm of your hand. Running involves your face burning under the scorching Sun when the weather is hot, and being drenched with rain, droplets flying into your eyes and face, because when you set out the weather was great but look, suddenly it's pouring, but you can't stop, because you already planned how far and long you were going to run that day...

Running is a form of art. The runner becomes the artist; and her movement the work of art. Perhaps it is only in this sense that I am able to create beauty; become a machine with a single-minded purpose. How do I define that feeling, the complete contentment when my legs are moving, my hair is blowing and the wind is cool on my neck, and I can see the slow, steady rise of the Sun? It is something that must be experienced before it is understood. I have said so many times and I say it again: Running is spiritual. I am connecting with my body in ways I cannot even begin to comprehend. I have come to understand myself better, what my body wants and differentiate that from what it really needs. I have come to understand the importance of fuel (less food = worse runs!), and how I wake up at 3 a.m. to eat just so I can have a satisfactory run.

My favourite part of running is being alone. I agree there is a certain sense of togetherness when running in a group: the beauty of sharing this wonderful, amazing ability to run and let go and be free with other people. But for me, the ultimate perfection of running is achieved only when I am with no other company but myself, and God. This is why sometimes I am so caught up in my own little running bubble that I forget to greet other runners, or lift a hand to wave. Perhaps a semi-conscious half-smile may suffice? I have noticed a tendency that I have while running: Observe other runners and weigh whether or not they are 'real' runners. Criteria taken into account: Running gear, style of arm movements, the way their feet hit the ground, and their pace. I know this is rather cruel and mean of me but it just seems to be automatic. A slight nod to acknowledge that the other runner has passed the test. Perhaps I myself am being subjected to the same scrutiny, who knows?

I think only runners understand the mixture of love for running and yet that sense of dread and 'what ifs' that sometimes lurk beneath the surface. And often there are days when you wake up and just think "Ugh" but there is this underlying force that somehow pushes you out of bed, just like always, to run, and run, and run. For me, missing a run is a huge deal. The guilt starts, and then the disappointment, and then I start banging things around the house and cursing at anything that has the bad luck to cross my path. And there are days when I am running and everything just seems to go wrong: Not fast enough, not long enough, stupid rain, stupid haze, stupid motorcycle, stupid wind, stupid people blocking the road, stupid everything! But then come those sweet, rare days where everything is absolutely perfect. It is for days like these that I endure all the aches and pains of running, and continue to do so still.

I absolutely hate running on the treadmill. I find it so monotonous, the static view and the gaze staring fixedly ahead. And beside me on either sides, a whole row of other people doing the same thing; like robots. And always the black belt, moving, moving. And the constant checking to see how far I have run. It defeats the freedom I seek while running. It becomes a chore.

I do not know why I am writing this post at this exact moment. I normally write about running only after I have completed a nice run, not necessarily long, or even fast, but one where I felt completely comfortable and happy with myself, not disappointed that I did not run a certain distance, or angry because of some stupid car who honked at me for no apparent reason (a lot of gatal fellows around). I mean, I did not even run this morning because one look out the window told me I would do more damage than good to my body: The haze is obliterating everything from sight and it is absolutely frustrating and completely unfair. But I felt the sudden need to share with you this thing in my life that I discovered 5 years ago and have loved ever since.

Thank you, Allah, for giving me legs so I can run. I pray that I will never, ever stop.

Afterthought: You know when you have five pairs of Nike Frees that you definitely have an obsession with running. Or perhaps with Nike. But hey! I bought a pair of Reeboks the other day. Learning how to expand my horizons! :P

The word 'jogging'

does not exist in my vocabulary :)

Good Morning

She flowed past me in

a slow, gentle

silver pulse

and i saw the glittering

stars on her

perfectly shaped

scales.

and She was not

slimy

(as everyone thinks)

but

smooth like

how i feel when i

press my cheek against

a cold glass window;

this is what my

fingertips felt as

i touched her

body.

0912

190609

Tea for Three

So yesterday, Sara, Wei Yun and I had afternoon tea right after lunch at Winter Warmers. I've never exactly frequented the place as it initially looked too frilly for my liking. However I have decided that I shall change my mind. I suppose it is rather nice (although that may have been more due to the wonderful company than anything else). So WY and Sara ordered tea for two and me a fruit salad because I'm such a noob. We chose Darjeeling tea because Sara's mum drinks Darjeeling tea and Wei Yun ordered a Midnight Kiss because she was feeling... frisky. Contrary to our original plans, we WERE on the ground floor at 3 o'clock, luckily for Wei Yun no unintended falling apart of concealed secret occurred (inside joke!) As we were chatting Sara kept getting distracted by the potato bake:

In fact she studied the picture for a whopping 20 mins or more and kept saying "I waaant". Oh, and I forgot to mention that I went to a TEA HOUSE for AFTERNOON TEA and I ordered a COFFEE (Less water, please. Or you can add an extra shot, Mr. Waiter who looks like an uncle). But I suppose WY and Sara are so used to my nonsensicalities (yay new word I created) anyway.

We waited for quite a while for the tea for two (three) to arrive. While waiting, I started peeling the plastic off the menu:

To Wei Yun's delight, I also started flapping my arms:

My sad little fruit salad came first. They put whipping cream on top with a cherry and some weird ass sauce which Sara said tasted like thousand island but was in fact purple with spots in it:

I like making things messy so I put the cherry into the dressing. I was also planning to mash everything else into a pulp but decided against it. Apparently the peaches were fizzy. You really wonder what they put into these things.

The fruit salad sucked but of course I had my back up apples and pears in my gym bag which I carry around with me everywhere (both the apples and pears and the gym bag). So I was munching away. I realised that almost all pictures of me include me having something in my mouth. A big something:

This is an acquired skill, I assure you.

Then Wei Yun's Midnight Kiss arrived. Sara in complete ecstasy:

(She only stopped momentarily from looking at the cheese bake to do this)

The tea for two was quite disappointing though. One look at the biscuits and WY and Sara exclaimed "FROM PACKET WAN!!" Me: "Weeeell, they MAY have baked it"... to which both of them adamantly replied "NO, FROM PACKET WAN!!".... Ok, I wouldn't know. All the pictures of the tea for two set are quite sad so I won't bother posting them here. The cakes were left half unfinished anyway. My favourite pic of the day:

Sara looking at her milk and smiling before she poured it.

I think Sara was probably secretly delighted that the tea sucked because then she could order her potato bake. I suppose I have to post a picture of the infamous potato bake:

I think it was about then that I pointed out the way the oranges were cut looked like a hand with a middle finger.

.... although this is not clearly visible.

Me enjoying my coffee:

(this was my second cup because one just wasn't enough).

Ok then after I finished my coffee and my back up apples and pears I had nothing to do with my hands so I started putting together the unused packets of brown sugar, white sugar and creamer and unconsciously arranged them until WY pointed out they looked like the Parkroyal sign (subliminal psychodynamic activation anyone? :P):

Look at Wei Yun's thumb it's so cute.

Anyway, after tea, coffee, and potato bake were finished, we were all stuffed. I also felt like buying something. This seems to be a constant state I am in. So I bought a set of two teacups and two saucers which cost a whopping RM119.90. I do not know what is wrong with me. It means that one cup costs RM30. And the damn saucer costs RM30 too. WY kept reiterating that "it's for the happiness of your mother's heart". At least it was really pretty which is why I went "Oooooh" in the first place:

Then the stupid guy took about a gazillion years to find the damn box and it wasn't even the right one. He couldn't fit the cups into the box properly and tried to force the stupid lid shut until I stopped him, turned the cups the other way, and closed the box. The lid fit perfectly. His exact words: "Oh, wise choice". Gee, thanks Mr. Genius Waiter who looks like a Chinese uncle!

So overall it was an excellent, excellent afternoon and I had so much fun. Right before we left we took some shots (where both WY and I took turns looking horrible so we had to retake the shot about 5 times):

But hey, here we are, and damn right we look good.

and 15 km

in 74 minutes by 8.09 a.m. isn't bad either =)

Coffee with Sara

is the best way to spend one's morning <3

Casino Royale, Graduation 2009

Saturday night, graduation was held at the Grand Ballroom in Parkroyal. Jas, Sara and Wei Yun came over early because my parents booked a room there. About an hour later as we were getting ready, Darren arrived with a flower (for me! :P Yay thanks Darren) and looking great in a David Cook-inspired outfit. Then we went down to the lobby to practise a bit of singing and of all people, I bumped into Rafael and Mabel - turns out it was their wedding the next day. Talk about coincidences!

Anyway... Went down and took some pictures which I shall post below. And then we went in and started to eat, I must say it was a really good buffet because they had tons and tons of salmon with nothing on it yet! So I took tons of that and about half the leaves in the salad bowl.

Darren and I were the second group to perform. I must say I wasn't really as frightened as I thought I would be. Mr. Darren refused to use the pick (:P) but he was still awesome anyway. If anyone has the video I shall upload it but for the moment I don't know whether anyone taped it.













After everything, everyone adjourned to Syaf's house for the after party. And me? I went back to my room, curled up in my bed with Before I Forget by Andre Brink, a snack, and a very fluffy pillow.

:)

Short Update

Yesterday I ran from my house in Greenlane to Jesselton, did 5 rounds of the square and one small loop, and then to Youth Park where luckily my dad had just finished his daily hike and was chatting to some people - I wanted a lift back! Was too lazy to run back - I hate traffic. Overall quite a nice run, before I started I was feeling really lazy and sluggish and like "Gahhh I will just run tomorrow" but I'm glad I stuck with it. After the first few kms everything sort of settles down.

At night went shopping at Gurney for Father's Day stuff since I thought it was this Sunday - silly me.

Now just about to leave for Gurney. Outing!

Later!

Wednesday Morning

Sunrise this morning was so beautiful that I wanted to cry. I called the maid out to look at it because I needed to share it with somebody. I was smiling throughout the whole period I was running. Passers-by thought me insane, but I couldn't help it. How did He think of such a thing? How could such beauty be created? It was splashes of orange and blue; streaks of salmon pink. Everything was painted golden. My eyes were fixed on the sky and I was chasing something unknown. It appears to me I've been doing that for the past few months now. And everything could fall apart. The vessel is barely stitched together; the soul devoid. Daily motions are ritualistic movements. The forehead pressed to the ground, and the eyes cry. Everyday, again and again. The same hand dances, slow and laboriously, and yet furiously unstoppable - what is the underlying mental force? No one's going to understand this. No one can, if they are mere observers. It is only when one is living the nightmare that one can truly comprehend how real it is.

She questions and the answers are curt. Replies become unnecessary and somewhat redundant when the driving forces are anger and confusion.

W h a t
h a v e
w e
d o n e
t o
o u r s e l v e s

Stagnancy

Am currently reading Howards End by E. M. Forster. He is strangely poetic, detached and yet extremely insightful in a way I cannot seem to describe adequately:

"...Margaret had often wondered at the disturbance that takes place in the world's waters when Love, who seems so tiny a pebble, slips in. Whom does Love concern beyond the beloved and the lover? Yet his impact deluges a hundred shores. No doubt that the disturbance is really the spirit of the generations, welcoming the new generations, and chafing against the ultimate Fate, who holds all the seas in the palm of her hand. But Love cannot understand this. He cannot comprehend another's infinity; he is conscious only of his own - flying sunbeam, falling rose, pebble that asks for one quiet plunge below the fretting interplay of space and time. He knows that he will survive at the end of things, and be gathered by Fate as a jewel from the slime, and be handed with admiration round the assembly of the gods. 'Men did produce this,' they will say, and, saying, they will give men immortality..."


Daily Life:
Just got back from this major shopping spree in KL. I bought two white jackets, one pair of pink shoes, 2 pairs of socks, one pair of jeans, a prom dress no. 2, a huge bag of coffee beans, an electric pepper grinder, two pairs of shorts, two books, two pairs of gloves, after coffee mints, and possibly some other things which I have already forgotten about. The socks, shorts and gloves are exactly the same design but merely a different colour. I am like that. Terrible, and deadly when shopping. This must stop. Why does everyone think I deserve all this when I don't?

Anger

I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM SO MUCH

I'm on a roll

Wow, three posts in one day - Understandable and forgivable considering the severe restricting conditions of shutting-myself-up-in-hidey-hole before and during exams. I find there is absolutely nothing to do at the moment; I am so used to coming home and burying my mushroom nose in a text book or staring for hours at the computer screen doing past exam papers. Now it's just listless boredom. I even bought Gray's Anatomy (No, not the silly TV series where doctors fall in love with other doctors and sleep with other doctors' partners). I mean the actual, original textbook "Gray's Anatomy" which actually has something to do with the inner mechanisms and functioning of the human body. I haven't started it yet as that shall be a task for another day (Indulgence? :P). Oh how I do love to sink my teeth into something intellectual.

Well, today was a lovely day, except the morning part because considering the fact I had slept at 2.00 a.m. so I woke up at 6.30 to pray but then fell back asleep again, and rewoke up at around 10, which is ridiculous, because that means half the day is basically gone. It's so much nicer to wake up at a proper, healthy 6 a.m. to 6.30 a.m. because you just get so much more done (i.e. breakfast, run, shower, coffee, morning tea) instead of just lying with your face stuffed into a pillow. Since I missed my run, I skipped 2500 times (heh) to my parents' consternation as they were having lunch in the next room and I was grunting and swearing half the time (Me skipping is rather intense, and my mother hates the fact that I exercise anyway since she thinks my bones are going to break and I am on the verge of collapse, which I am not, since I don't allow myself to be. This is an extremely long expletive).

So after skipping I had a huge lunch and then I got ready to go out with Lovely Lady Jasryn. Plans to visit Straits Settlements went down the drain and we had an excellent time in Gurney instead. I bought a dress which I shouldn't have, as I am sure I will find something nicer and end up buying that too. I deserve to rot in hell for my indulgences. I am lucky Jasryn was with me otherwise I would have bought 4 earring pairs instead of only 2. I am a sucker for nice shop keepers because I can never say no if they're nice. This cost me about 200 bucks today. Did I tell you I deserve to rot in hell for my indulgences?

Anyway apart from buying dresses and earrings we went to Winter Warmers which is Jasryn's fave tea parlour and I ordered an Americano and told them to put less water and an extra shot but it ended up tasting like instant coffee that was particularly insipid anyway so I ended up not finishing it. Had my customary organic apple (I always have an apple in my hand or mouth) which costs about 5 bucks per apple so every bite was literally, what, 50 cents? Hah. I really should start saving. But the word doesn't seem to exist in my vocabulary. Especially when it comes to sexy running shoes. I suppose all the grades and achievements etc. make up for my spending??? For photos of my day, please adjourn to Facebook as Jasryn has kindly posted them there.

I am not used to writing such long posts, perhaps I shall stop here before I kill everyone with my banality. Ciao. Hopefully I will have an orgasmic run tomorrow and then I can tell you all about it. But since there's haze I doubt I will be able to have the full connect-with-nature experience that I get off and on. That happens the most when there is no wind and I can see the sun rising as I run from my gate (because the first part of the road is directed towards East) so there is explosion of red and pink in the horizon. I'm rambling on again. Ciao.

Defeat

By the way, slept at 2.00 a.m. yesterday. Today is an extremely sad day for me. Nadal lost. Even though he really deserves to win. First person to win 5 years in a row, no? Shattered.

But he is worldly wise:

"I know (I am going to lose) one day or the other. Since I know it will happen, I am not worried about it. That's life, the sport and the difficulty of tennis."

Hearing him say that makes me feel a lot better.

"You need a defeat to give value to your victories. I have to accept my defeat as I accepted my victories: with calm. This is not a tragedy, losing here in Paris. It had to happen one day, and this is an excellent season for me."

And this is why I respect him as a player and as a person. Never blaming others (fundamental attribution error? He constantly assumes they are dispositional...) Always trying and striving harder. He obviously didn't play well yesterday, how I wish he'd just held on for a little bit longer, so he could celebrate his birthday with a victory..

When asked during the post-match press conference "What are your preparations for Wimbledon?" He curtly replied "Right now the only preparation I'm going to have is in the swimming pool of my house. Give me 3 days to think about my preparations for Wimbledon!"

:)

After watching the presser I felt a whole lot more relieved; he seems alright. The stupid crowd yesterday was horrible though, they never really liked him: Cheering for Soderling the whole time. Bloody people always support the underdog. Ugh.

Anyway... I think Rafa deserves a rest and to spend his birthday with his family in Mallorca (which he hasn't done for 4 years on account of being at Roland Garros every year still in the tournament)... So perhaps in a way this is a blessing in disguise (Let's bloody hope it is!)

VAMOS RAFA!

I have been tagged

Since Jasryn tagged me, I shall please the wonderful lady :D

Picture of me looking down:
Picture of me with my mouth open:

Picture of me hugging someone:

Picture of me and my muscles:
(okay maybe only my muscles)
Picture of me looking lost:
Picture of me looking like an ape:
Picture of me looking disgusted:

Picture of me kissing someone:
Picture of me humping a turtle:

I tag everyone who is bored and has nothing to do :D