August 31, 2007
irrelevant
I was blog-surfing and stumbled upon this.
It is a call for us to destabilise the binaries of Self/Other (oh, Sharon will be so proud of me *beams*) in our own country. And I quote from Haris Ibrahim:
“If you proclaim yourself as anak Bangsa Malaysia in cyberspace, have the courage and conviction to do the same on paper.
SEX : IRRELEVANT
RELIGION : IRRELEVANT
RACE : BANGSA MALAYSIA ”
It’s a beautiful idea. Because hasn’t anyone wondered why we have to fill out things like our race and religion on official documents, such as trying to apply for a bank account, or a job interview, or our SPM exam slips that are to be pasted on our tables, even? Even as a 17 year-old I was angered by this essentialist gesture.
Because it really is irrelevant.
I went for a job interview a few days ago and was annoyed when the interviewer asked what languages I spoke, and why I did not speak Chinese. I steeled myself. “I am Malaysian. Peranakan, to be exact.” (and proud of my heritage, damn you) And she wrote it down.
My God. I think that was sort of the clincher in me deciding that no matter how much they offered, I wouldn’t take the damn job. Call it stupidity, or pride, or arrogance, but I do not need to be reduced to an ethnic group.
From now on, I will fill the sex and religion columns as ‘irrelevant’ and my race as ‘bangsa Malaysia’. I urge you to do the same.
***
So much for my Merdeka sleep-in plans.
Ended up going to my auntie’s house in Sunway to watch all of the 2-minute firework display and eating all the confectioneries in sight and reach, and then going for mamak with the father and brother, who paid because he won RM10 off my dad in a bet at the expense of my poor clueless mother 😛
August 30, 2007
happy…?
I’m always rambling about something-or-other, so I’ve noticed. Then again, I have added a disclaimer warning blog-hoppers of the perpetual verbal diarrhoea.
So anyway it’s Merdeka Eve, and I hear fireworks going off in the distance. I sit here in my old comfy pajamas; Elmo, Bert and Ernie on the front (yes, a cozy threesome indeed), a throwback to my halcyon days of youth (and because its terribly comfortable, who cares if I look about 5), listening to my Mushy Love Songs playlist (Jewel’s ‘You Were Meant For Me’ currently playing) and being an all-round grumpy puss.
What a way to usher in my country’s 50th year of independence? No mad drinking binge, or skimpy outfit donned, or having my body and about a gajillion others squished in a crowded space where anyone and everyone is susceptible to sexual harassment, or even a mamak session with friends to watch the fireworks on a wide screen TV?
Because honestly. I don’t feel it.
I’m sorry if I’ve offended anyone by saying this, but it all seems like such a farce, to participate in such pomp and pageantry when my heart is simply not in it. For two simple reasons:
1. I am lonely.
2. I am disappointed.
The first is because my gang’s dispersed—Jo’s gone across the causeway to see her boyfriend, Sush’s MIA, who knows where Mun Teng is, Dennis is probably busy, Josh is in Manila, Esther, Abby, Manda, Chien and Liss are still in Australia, and I’m feeling the need for the comfort in the presence of people I know and love. Family? Is busy watching TV, and I hate lying on those stupid park-bench faux-couches and watching the Idiot Box. I don’t even need to go into how much I miss Tim.
The second reason lies in the fact that I have been pondering over the big hoo-hah about the 50th Independence Day celebrations. Yes, I know it’s a Big Deal, and I appreciate the fact that the nation’s forefathers and all strived to liberate this land from the clutches of colonialism…at surface level.
I mean not to be one of those pessimistic, cynical souls ranting and raving and being ungrateful, but taking a slice of this moment in time, I really do feel regret.
Regret because while this may sound oh-so mean, I think we are too willing to celebrate mediocrity.
We are a nation obsessed to the point of it being mad with breaking records of a physical kind; prioritising the needs of one ethnic group over another; covering up deep gashes in society with cheap and temporary fillers (so, ahem, when it pours, leaks happen). We are too quick to shoot anyone down, who dares verbalise anything bad about the rulers, government, state religion or special rights of some of the ‘indigenous peoples’. More so if the voices of dissent belong to a certain fairer-skinned ethnic group.
We push important issues under the carpet in a childish gesture, as if it could solve all our problems. We create and modify laws, statues, policies, national icons/symbols on a whim. We eye each other with suspicion and act all buddy-buddy and muhibbah when in fact we are secretly backstabbing and badmouthing each other.
We pretend, basically, that everything is fine and dandy. But is it really? I think we are more racist now than ever before, to be honest. It breaks my heart, because I remember things were not like this when I was younger. Reading stories in today’s special edition of The Sun, with people of the older generation recalling a time when comments weren’t racist, history wasn’t rewritten at the drop of a hat, and food could be shared by all, I remembered my own childhood, where some of my best friends were Muslim girls.
I didn’t always view people by their racial categories, you know. A friend was a friend, simple as that. I think in a way the adults spoilt it for me, by pointing out that I shouldn’t mix too much with one group of people because I might get lured into their religion or way of life. This is something that I always think back on with much sadness and regret, and pity, for the ones who did not understand the concept of faith, that one’s faith could be so easily swayed or challenged that one should avoid other’s beliefs entirely.
My house is the only house in my entire row that is flying the Malaysian flag this Merdeka. Even then, it wasn’t because we bought it or anything; my dad went to go pay the cukai pintu (literally, door tax) and got it for free, and told my brother and I to put it up because it was there.
My uncle, upon seeing the flag out there as he came in over the weekend, asked me who put it up and why. As a former government servant, I was surprised to hear this from him, but perhaps, it’s not so surprising after all. He told me that many are avoiding flying the Jalur Gemilang because of their grievances with the current government, and that I should take the flag down because by flying it, it shows I’m supporting them in office.
I balked at this, and was quick to defend my actions.
I told him, my only uncle, almost 35 years my senior, that just because I fly the national flag it does not mean that I am a supporter of the government, nor am I an opposition sympathiser. I fly the flag not as a person with one political ideology, or a critically-thinking Communications student, or a female, or a Chinese. I fly the flag as a Malaysian, who loves my country, who wants things to be better, who wants a real paradigm shift, and not some whisper of a promise that will soon too be swept under the rug.
I just find it sad that this mentality exists, that a single gesture can be interpreted so narrow-mindedly. Perhaps I am contradicting myself, in my critique of pomp and pageantry, but this is one thing to me, that says “I am Malaysian, I love my country, please let things be better soon because this is my home”. Have a peek at this article by truly one of the country’s visionaries, Raja Petra Kamarudin. In this article, he made a call for ‘Civil Disobedience’, and some suggestions on how we as Malaysians can show our support, peacefully, to the Agong and remind our government that this country is ours. Seriously. Click, and have a read and a think.
I am honestly not trying to propagate any one view on this blog, so please realise that these thoughts are my own, and penned at a time when I am extremely tired. Physically, mentally, spiritually. So do forgive me if they are not entirely coherent or viable, I am not one of those overly intellectual and deep, ponderous bloggers because I am given to flights of fancy and fluff. So this is my stab in the dark, if you like.
What I do want to say is though, albeit wistfully, Happy Merdeka. Because all those negotiations, the agreement to guided independence, the suffering some had to go through for that, that all has to be remembered. But we should not forget those in our country who are still fighting for fundamental rights, for women and children’s rights, for the rights to speak up and be heard.
This is my personal tribute to those who are still fighting the Good Fight for the benefit of us all. I do not need to name you, you know who you are.
This is for us who want to make a difference and are trying in our own ways, because even changing a mindset, or the way we react to another person, the way we reach out in kindness and understanding, this all helps.
This is for our parents and teachers, for telling us what we need to know, and things we didn’t, but are helpful in its own way.
This is for everyone we take for granted. The kakaks who keep our toilets clean, the ‘boss’ at the mamak who brings us our teh tariks, the taxi drivers, the clerks, the rubber tappers, the farmers, the fishermen…this is their Malaysia too.
For the country, and my fellow Malaysians, I have one wish.
It’s a quote Tim reminded me of almost a year ago, a tender wish born out of love. I quoted it in my article on youthmalaysia.com, found here. For those tho are too lazy to even click on the link, the quote in question is by Reinhold Niebuhr, “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
I don’t need to be stuck in bad traffic or a surging mass of sweaty human bodies screaming to remember that I am Malaysian and proud of it. I will do it silently, with dignity, and great hope.
I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.
August 28, 2007
so it is.
The lunar eclipse in Pisces has been doing weird things to everyone. Like, really weird. All my technological apparatuses have decided to poop themselves, my hormones have been all over the place, and I have been swinging between melancholia and a sense of peace and tranquility within myself as I have come to realise a very important thing.
I got to meet up with Jo and Sushers last night (missing Mun Teng, boo) for three solid hours of talk, drinks (the non-alcoholic kind) and Melur SS19’s giant roti tisu.
And I really do mean giant ok. It’s the bomb, it is massive and spans three of those stainless steel plates, and is only RM3.50. Not bad for sharing, and always heaps fun when you attract the bug-eyed glances from other patrons!
Anyway we were as usual gossiping about everything and anything under the sun, and I couldn’t help but think to myself, ‘My God, I love these women‘; them and the ones not present there last night. And I only want what’s best for my nearest and dearest, my support group, my sunshine and strengths. And I marveled at the lack of envy I feel for any single one of them, because I know they are wonderful people who deserve everything good that comes their way 🙂
It’s such a nice feeling, taking a step back to have some critical distance (ahem, I sound like a journal article) and see things from this angle. Everybody has their own battles to fight, and wounds to tend to, and in our own ways we are all doing it at the same time, albeit differently.
It’s comforting to know that my girlfriends are happy, and well on their way to securing jobs of futures that will allow them to live comfortably. It also brought to light the fact that I will most probably never be part of the corporate world most of them are about to enter in to; but honestly, it’s fine by me. I listened to annual income totals in pound sterling, talk of branded bags and trips overseas and for most of the part, it whooshed right over my head because the only part I can honestly say I envy are the overseas travel 😛
I suppose I’d be lying also if I said I didn’t want to be rich, because let’s face it, who doesn’t want to be rich? I reckon I’d be happiest if I were debt- and guilt-free, doing the things I wanted to do, comfortable enough to get by and not have to pinch pennies or borrow money from relatives. So it’s ok if I’m not part of the rat race, because I’ll be comfortable in my own little burrow, dreaming of unicorns and lemondrops, and conversing with angels 🙂
Just sharing thoughts.
Speaking of angels, a beautiful thing happened today.
My classmate Jin came down and sat next to me in the Womens’ Studies lecture, and one way or another his deck of beautiful Angel Oracle Cards came out his bag. And he told me, ‘You can have these….to look at till the end of the lecture.’ Because of the gap in-between words, I jokingly said to him, ‘Aw, I thought you were gonna say I could have them!’
To which he suddenly said, ‘If you want them, you can have them!’ because he said he felt a sudden urge to give them to me 😀 Needless to say I was absolutely stunned, and then extremely elated (I kept saying ‘thank you’ about a million times over) because when I saw them the thought had crossed my mind of how beautiful they were, and how purple (eeps! My colour!) and there were 44 of them (eeps again! My number!). And now, they’re mine! Thank you, Jin! *hearts*
Oh, I so wish I could show you guys how beautiful the illustrations on the cards are, because they really are gorgeous. Expect me to bring my Angel cards with me everytime I go out anywhere now, because I can’t put them down 😀 I will give readings too, as long as you don’t clog up my cards with toxic energy ok 🙂 As I told a friend who was similarly smitten with her deck of Goddess cards, ‘It’s like you just found out you have a penis and now can’t stop touching it and put it down!’
😀
But I am really crass and terrible that way, so I apologise if I’ve offended any delicate sensitivities.
Today was fun, in uni. I got to make a ‘hello I am me!’ sorta speech to an uber-crowded cafeteria during peak lunch time as part of the Film Noir ball showcase to get people to vote me for Miss Monash (‘because it’s my final semester and I’d like to go out with a bang!’); Ethan and Tasha also sang a beautiful version of ‘We Could Be In Love’ (Tash, babe, you have the voice of an angel *quibbles*) and the Performing Arts Club did a little skit which most of us ran from because, forgive me, the girl was too shrill and our eardrums were vibrating a little too violently for comfort.
We also took a little break from a terribly tedious TV studies tutorial, and heh, made part of an actual commercial or promotional video to be used for Monash Sunway’s official launch Monday next. I like doing weird stuff like this, please stop judging me. I always feel compelled to volunteer when the class is dead silent and everybody has blank looks in their eyes.
Just quick scribbles today. I want to go play with my new cards, and have dinner, and indulge myself—because I’m worth it 🙂
August 25, 2007
i’m going for phantom!
My boyfriend is the bestest boyfriend in the whole wide world.
Because he knew how much I’ve always wanted to see Phantom of the Opera, only my most favourite musical of all time.
Because he’s been planning on surprising me since March.
Because he borrowed his mum’s credit card to buy the tickets online.
Because he got us really good seats (so he says, and I believe him).
Because my heart is beating faster at the thought of being there to finally see the magic come alive on-stage.
Because he loves me.
HUZZAH!
Amanda, you suck for making me ask him if we wanted to go watch it with you and have the secret split open. But it’s ok because I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you and love you still because I’M GOING FOR PHANTOM!
:D:D:D
August 24, 2007
new phone/a talk which could possibly change my life forever
Yes, first of all. I have a new phone.
My Pad’s been giving me problems aplenty for the past year, routinely shutting itself down. The final straw came when the speaker went bust (most likely because of me sweaty hands short-circuiting its innards, arr) yesterday and the day before. So I traded the Pad in, along with Tim’s old Panasonic phone. Both fetched me only RM150 because the Pad’s spoiled, and Panasonic doesn’t have phone service centres in Malaysia.
I’m really quite all right with paying more if someone explains to me why. Justification makes me happy, I don’t like being left dangling. I need closure, yes, even from my handphone sellers.
So now I am the proud owner of the new Nokia 2760, in the metallic red/pink colour 😀 I only paid RM370 for it, which made me mighty happy. Yes, it’s original okayy.
Er. I also bought myself a 100GB external hard disk yesterday because of the eclipse (whatever will I think of next as a reason to shop, tsk) jamming up my technological gadgetry and stuff, so I need to back all my stuff up; on top of that I’m running out of space to store my mighty large music collection. I paid RM230 🙂
Which brings it to RM600 spent in 2 days, yeeps -_-”
I shall have to subsist on plain rice and/or fruit and/or toilet paper for the next two months to ensure I still have enough money to pay for my ticket back to Melbourne. I’m thinking of setting up a Fly Melody to Melbourne fund. Chip in with loose change, anyone? Using coins at the toll plazas are just so passe these days, everyone uses the Touch N’ Go (except me). So chuck me your loose change and I’ll be a happy little kitten 😀
***
Handed in the last of my three assignments due this week, on time. Yes, you can all hate me ok, I don’t freaking care because I like my clean record of always being in time (save for last year’s Authorship paper, even then I was early for my extension date!).
While I was checking the technicalities of it with my lecturer, we ended up having a rather nice little chat in which she provided me with a clear(er) perspective of what I should/could do in the coming months, told in her low, comforting, dulcet tones.
She told me to follow my heart.
Yes, I know there are some of you huffing outrageously at this statement because it has been precisely what you have said, and I love you all for it (all.of.you). But sometimes it takes a bit of reiteration to really make it click and stay, no? And besides, third time’s the charm 😉
She was lovely about it, so lovely in fact, I wanted to cry. Because I think she gets me, she’s seen how intent I’ve been on matching last semester’s results, and how worried I am over the weeks and months to come. Also, because it’s the Assunta connection, you know? *wiggles eyebrows*
Haha I’m full of bullshit. But moving on.
She told me it’s ok to do what I want to do, because I’d be doing myself and those around me a great injustice if I feel a sense of responsibility only to them and not to myself—the great downfall of being the eldest child. In a way, it’s comforting to know that I’m not alone in going through the feelings of being unprepared to face the working world, and that I can be a writer and a dreamer and work with children 🙂
I know that I know all this already, deep inside, but there’s something to be said about hearing one’s choices affirmed and validated by someone else, especially someone who one reveres.
And best of all, hearing about Tim, she did not judge me. I like people who do not judge (or at least make surface statements that make it appear as though they are judging) or those who keep it to themselves, because I don’t like judging others. She was also actually very encouraging, telling me that there are heaps more opportunities in Australia lest I decide to relocate there, though it will of course come with a whole new set of difficulties.
But the talk was also good, because it made me think. You don’t necessarily have to have everything mapped out and planned and at your fingertips, though kudos to you if you do. Life’s too short to be picked apart and analysed, and mapping out your future too far ahead. And as cliche as it sounds, I guess we really do too often forget to live in the moment.
So, sod making money, and screw trying to make everybody else happy. I want to write, so write I shall, and I shall look for opportunities that will enable me to do this and impact my readers (hey look, I’m doing it now!) and hopefully, get paid for it.
Love will find a way, and a love for a form of expression, of a calling, of a gift, even more so.
I am happy now.
***
By the way, I have decided that there are three things I hate very very much (I am happy to make this public knowledge so that people will stop annoying me by saying these things; or if I know you know I have mentioned these things but you still do it anyway, I can take it as you just trying to annoy me):
- Being forced to play cards. I. HATE. PLAYING. CARDS. (don’t ask me why, I also dunno)
- Being told to learn another language, especially Mandarin. What the fuck, I like la! I don’t question why you can’t speak Swahili or Hindi, so why do you question my decision to not learn Chinese? And don’t give me bullcrap about China’s market opening, I know it’s opening la for goodness’ sake. But if I don’t want to learn, does it impact you? No. So shush.
- Driving. Period.
August 22, 2007
the emo post
Yeah, yeah, shaddap.
I know it’s really cliche and shit but long distance relationships really suck balls ok, even that’s a bloody understatement.
I miss Tim a whole lot. I get comfort at night from rotating my pillow and cuddling up to it imagining I’m snuggled up on his chest the way I used to always fall asleep.
In my mind we’re back together after a long day at work/uni, the dishes are all done and the washing’s out; our imaginary future puppy is asleep at the foot of our bed and we have the weekend to look forward to; of scanning catalogues and making shopping lists and going out and buying stuff, me being all “No, no, we have a budget” and him sweet talking me into allowing the budget to stretch across a few luxury items like some yummy chocolates or a better brand of coffee…of chilling out in front of the TV watching documentaries (because we are geeks like that) and eating every half-hour…*sigh*
I’ve done this every night for the past 7 months.
He told me of a song that reminded him of us, and watching the YouTube vid I obviously burst into tears—by the way, the world suddenly makes sense again, I have been cantankerous as all fuck because my period came! I forgot it was even due. Biological tickings aside, this one has to be watched/listened to by anyone in a long distance relationship.
Thirsty Merc – Someday, Someday.
The lead singer’s facial and mad hair remind me of Tim. Manly scruffy men, oh yum. Though clearly from my previous post I also have a thing for the clean-shaven, goody-goody….though I prefer the scruffy, suffering, passionate artist 🙂 I’m a romantic, so shoot me.
But oh gosh, the lyrics. My fave part?
“I know you gotta go to university and I’m just trying to make some cash to follow my dreams.
But please don’t say we’re too busy to give each other the time and support we need
I know we gotta work our jobs and make some money to get by in this expensive world.
Don’t let that overtake the fact that before all that, you were still my girl.”
Another LDR song has to be that Plain White T’s song Hey There Delilah, introduced to me by Jo and now playing on all local radio stations.
I’ve put on my Ranty Pants now, so brace yerselves.
I hate the distance. I hate the time difference and the international calling costs. I hate not having him here with me to expertly maneuver the terrible traffic, and make me laugh, and always know what to do when the shit hits the fan. I hate smug mushy couples who canoodle and cuddle and coo around me, I feel like whipping out a gun and wrapping a bandanna around my head and going berserk. I hate the fact that I hate not being able to be happy for others, because my heart is so broken that I just can’t—I’m too jealous.
Above all, I hate the fact that this may have to go on for another year or two while I get my work experience and save up enough money to be able to go back to Australia and while he finishes his degree so we can finally move on with our lives together.
Damn depressing ok 😦
Especially since we both want nothing more than to come home to each other at the end of the day and just be….because last summer was possibly the most perfect time of both our lives. It was such a sweet taste of what life together could be like, and we were both craving more. I know it’s not always going to be sunshine and roses, but we stuck it out through hell and high waters; there’s got to be something to be said about an emotional perseverance of that sort!
I miss waking up to his smile. I miss the impetuous hugs and kisses, the way he’d look at me and I’d feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. I miss the really really daft moments we had, and the couply things we’d do like to grocery shopping, or delegate things in the bathroom to clean; him with his bandanna and board shorts, and me with my Ah Lian hair and pink rubber gloves.
*wail*
I’m sorry. Am Perioding. Not that I’m trying to make excuses for plain bad behaviour, but it has been scientifically proven that a woman’s hormones go wonky at this time of the month.
*scuffs shoes on ground and looks morose*
By the way I completely don’t want to work ok. Like, not at all. I want to be a housewife. Fuck this degree, I want to stay home and watch bad daytime television and compulsively clean everything and occasionally write pretty poems for fancy and do charity or social work and not have to worry about money or taxes or climbing that fucking corporate ladder (fuck corporations! Yaaaaaaaggghhhhh!).
I am a disgrace to all quasi-feminists and full-blown feminists out there and again, this deeply distresses me. I’m sorry, world. I’m sorry I got born.
*wallows in festering pit of self-pity*
***
By the way! Have been shortlisted for *snigger* wait for it, MISS MONASH. I think I’m representing the Arts faculty (bloody hell Rachel, I know you’re reading, this should so be you ok because you’re hot! The whole faculty thinks it, woman!), and will have to, wait for it again, campaign.
I have decided (with the added kookiness of Tems and Tasha) that if I am to perform on the night itself I shall read a deep dark poem critiquing capitalism and patriarchy and slit my wrists and have fake blood gush out and proceed to pass out on-stage. Or ok, maybe not, but something as equally as dramatic.
Even for those not intending on going for the ball, you can still vote for me in the weeks following up to it 😀
So make sure you do ok, because I am not only incredibly modest and intelligent, I am also in a Long Distance Relationship and thus deserving of all your pity votes.
And oh, also ’cause like I described myself in the interview (my God, yes, there was an interview to be shortlisted as Miss Monash!), I am totally not shy, ergo, not above asking for all Monashians to vote for me, me, me.
Also ’cause I want to have more stories to tell my grandchildren so I can be like my kooky Grandma 😀
And c’mon la, it’s my final semester. And I wanna win just cos it’ll be fun. Not because I want to wear a sash and crown and cry while I give my acceptance speech detailing how this is the happiest moment of my entire life, sob sob.
Anyone want to volunteer to be on my campaign committee?:D
Dammit this was supposed to be an Emo Post.
*scrawls on dark eyeliner and adopts apathetic expression*
“Stop my breathing and slit my throat…I must be emo” – Adam & Andrew
August 19, 2007
musical interlude
I just streamed the video of one of my fave songs of the moment–Peter, Bjorn & John’s Young Folks featuring Victoria Bergsman. It’s extremely addictive and trippy; and brings back fab memories because I first heard it in Melbourne after I ripped it off James’ Ministry of Sound Chillout Sessions CD, and again when I went for Twilight Actiongirl at The Loft on my first outing with the uni classmates *heart*, a repeat event which seems highly unlikely due to various reasons :(.
Love love love.
Just thought I’d share 🙂 And woots! In case you hadn’t noticed, my first YouTube upload to this blog! *looks proud of self*
The lyrics also make me think of Tim, in a good way 🙂 So if he happens to read this (highly doubtful as he is currently superstressed over his assignment)…this is for you babe, I love you *:)
August 17, 2007
at crossroads
I know, I know, damn cliche. But fuggit la, I really cannot make up my mind; and the purpose of a blog is supposed to be a ‘web log’ of sorts with regards to one’s emotions, etc.
I’m finishing my studies in 11 weeks and I cannot decide if I want to continue studying, or to work. And if I study, what should I pursue? And if I work, what kind of job do I really want?
Because really, I know I’ve been going on and on about how I want to get out and work and pay off my mountain of loans, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m really going out to work for the wrong reasons. And subsequently, the ultimate purpose of work is to earn money; is there ever a wrong reason to want to earn money aside from wanting to assassinate someone?!
Don’t answer that; it was a rhetorical question.
Ugh, ugh, ugh.
I went to the IDP Education Australia expo this arvo in SS15 and it made me feel…strange. Like I really wanted to continue studying (because I’m good at it, argh), so I’d have an excuse to move up the food chain and hopefully rake in more dosh, as well as put off my entrance into the Big Bad Working World for another 1-2 years..because seriously, when you think of it, I’ll be out to work at age 22. And from my pampered (sort-of) middle-class urban princess point of view, it’s pretty damn early. I’ll have the rest of my life to work, darn it!
Plus, getting the looks of admiration and encouragement from the people I spoke to (especially at RMIT, who seem really enthusiastic about me—-call me naive, but it could be more than just the idea of more money talking though some may debate it’s the only thing worth talking about) made me think, ‘hey, maybe continuing with academia isn’t such a bad idea…’ since after all, it is what my parents want me to do! (everybody happy) Plus if I apply and get considered for scholarships…
But….(and there’s always a but) I think the folks mean me continuing study here in Malaysia. And therein lies the dilemma, because if I had the opportunity to further my studies here, would I still want to do it?
I don’t want to do anything for the wrong reasons 
Follow my heart, I’ve been told.
My heart (and mind; those pesky entities) keep shouting contradictory messages. Like how since I can, I should continue studying, but then again how I have plenty of time to do that, and with the luxury of my own money; how I really need to get the burden of debt off my shoulders in order to really live, because I need to break free of this financial dependency; that no, no, I should work not for the money but for personal satisfaction, and work with kids…ARGH.
Things aren’t so simple after all, hey. I’ve been driving myself insane applying for both jobs and making inquiries into scholarship options; applying at education fairs are awesome because they waive the application fee. So either way it could be a Really Good Thing…or maybe I’m completely jumping the gun.
Raah. I don’t know why I’m stressing out so much over these things so early. Perhaps I have plenty of time to decide (by the way, I forgot to even consider taking time off uni—because perhaps that isn’t an option; my Aries bits are insisting that I remain active and not sit on my ass being unproductive) .
I can think of something I really, really want to do though—travel. I’d love to go back to Nepal and teach English to the underprivileged kids in the mountain regions, but I think even for that you need teaching experience…though, gasp, I’ve just found it. It! Aaaaaah!
6 months. Perfect. Ok, this is amazing. I am going to ask my Dad (as he’s one of the partners-of-sorts) with this organization…I’m so overwhelmed I want to cry 😀
Ok am happy again. *does mad jig around handbag*
By the way I got a really really cool t-shirt with puffy sleeves and an image of Lady Godiva (or someone of that sort) on the front for RM10 🙂 Huzzah.
/Edit: Grandmother (the Matriarch and therefore, Big Boss) has shot down idea of volunteering. ‘Are you crazy?’ she screeched. ‘You are a young girl; if you are a man it’s different!’
Oh ya hor. Never thought of these things before -_-” Some more being alone in a foreign country with no internet…sigh sigh. And I’ll miss Tim too much. Bwaa.
August 15, 2007
of dreamers
I just sent this email to a close friend of mine, and I thought I’d share it with you. It’s an excerpt taken from a chapter of the thoughts and reflections of my favourite author. Just a reminder to keep hope alive, in the spirit of the previous post 🙂
***
“A rose dreamed day and night about bees, but no bee ever landed on her petals.
The flower, however, continued to dream. During the long nights, she imagined a heaven full of bees, which flew down to bestow fond kisses upon her. By doing this, she was able to last until the next day, when she opened again to the light of the sun.
One night, the moon, who knew of the rose’s loneliness, asked: “Aren’t you tired of waiting?”
“Possibly, but I have to keep trying.”
“Why?”
“Because if I don’t remain open, I will simply fade away.”
At times, when loneliness seems to crush all beauty, the only way to resist is to remain open.”
– Paulo Coelho, (2007), “Remaining Open to Love”, Like The Flowing River: Thoughts and Reflections, Harper Collins Publishers, London, p.222
***
Ahem. Pardon the Harvard referencing, I am currently doing much research into my major project for my Consuming Otherness: Gender and Global Culture unit.
On that note, which may be a bit jarring considering my posts lately have been in a very touchy-feely-emo-emo mood, I’m looking for potential interviewees for my project. I can’t (and won’t) expressly say what it’s about (PLAGIARISM! *guards skeleton of research project jealously*), but basically I’m looking to interview people (guys and girls alike) in the Klang Valley who grew up reading Archie Comics.
Heh, yes, laugh all you want, but I swear my paper will have a serious dimension *mysterioso grins*. It’s a 3000-word paper ok, and I’m doing it at third year level, so it’s bound to be something serious. Anyway, I’m almost always serious *deadpans*.
***
Tiptoeing
arrogant, I
am a Moving
piEce of your imagination.
(I love postmodern poetry)
August 14, 2007
when did we stop believing?
Almost all of us grew up, as my good friend Esther puts it, ‘with unicorns and fairytales’. We so firmly believed in the triumph of good over evil, magic dust that made dreams come true, and of course, in the Happily Ever After.
We sighed as children over images of handsome princes swooping in to save the damsel in distress just in the nick of time, while she swooned and sighed and looked at him with luminous big eyes that spoke of her undying gratitude for him. We cheered on as the underdog in any given situation trumped up the big bad bully and were told time and time again of the power of believing in ourselves.
Then, we grew up.
I forget exactly when I stopped believing with all my heart.
It might have been somewhere in between my confiding to my father that I wanted to save the world (or something to that effect), or when I realized bad things happen to good people.
I think I must have been distraught (because things like injustice always distress me) because my father would have definitely said something like “life’s not fair, my dear” to which my response probably would have been a few disappointed tears trickling down my (then) chubby cheeks.
It just seemed so contradictory, to be told one thing as a child, and to have the rules completely reversed as we attain a certain age.
As young ‘uns, we were oft told that ‘the world was our oyster’. We could achieve anything, all we needed to do was believe and persevere; that nothing bad would ever happen to us if we played by the rules.
It’s sad how the mighty have fallen. I may have attained the age of adulthood, and am allegedly ‘older and wiser’ and all those clichéd things, but here’s a secret: I still believe. I really do.
I believe that every person has a good heart, I believe in the indomitable strength of the human spirit; that good does eventually win out over evil (albeit not in the same life time; hence, one must also possess the virtue of patience); that true love happens.
It’s just a lot harder, believing, as an adult. You are laughed at, and looked down on for your naïveté and pitifully called a dreamer. True, there will be instances when your beliefs may be tempered, but personally I feel that there’s no reason to stop wanting things to be different.
Look around you—look at the wonderful, amazing people devoted to NGOs and social work, think of all those people out there doing unpaid work to help others. In fact, don’t look too far—look at your own mothers or grandparents who have done so much.
Maybe I am a dreamer. But there’s also a part of me that’s a realist that knows that shit does happen to good people. But I reckon the day we stop believing, both in ourselves and the people around us, is the day we have ceased to hope. And without hope, what else is there to live for?
unchained melody 