digress & obsess [v2]

we are aware that as single, intelligent and (often) self-sufficient women, that perfection isnt always attainable.

but life, has its underhanded way of throwing us the most arduous curveballs.

we often agree that (some) these curveballs mask themselves in the form of an unholy trinity that is the male species.

quite comparable to chocolate cake and ciggarettes, and other such vices that are bad for you,

but for some god-be-damned reason, just cant seem to stay away from.

- maybe it has been deeply ingrained in our genetic code,

- maybe it was the dreamy nuturing from all the TV soaps and    hollywood movies divulging us into a realm of ‘possibility’ - fairy tales, that is.

it doesnt matter now does it.

the male species have somehow infiltrated into our list of addictions, that we are trying to quit.

all but in vain.

why is it so?

why are we so desperate to cling on to something that is so temporal.

we are women. 

not critters scavenging over a (re-cycled) rump of rotten meat.

______________________________________________________________

ive come to the (not-so-pleasing) revelation that the world is becoming smaller and smaller. 

the six degrees of freedom has in-fact been reduced to a horrifying three. 

there is a high possibility that someone you’ve met is a friend of a friends.

- has it ever crossed your mind that the guy you are fucking is probably someone else’s 3days/weeks/months sloppy seconds?

- hypothetically speaking, doesnt that mean we’re more of less just fucking the same people over and over again?

_______________________________________________________________

not a nice thought init? 

love is not forever, mind you. 
diamonds are.

many a time have i encountered women/(and from my own experiences, with their classic woes of ‘the bastard’ and/or connotations of that sort.

" why hasnt he called back?"

"i cant believe he cheated on me!"

"all he cares about is his PS2, his car, and his group of friends"

"Is it really so easy for him to move on, after ** years of being in a relationship?"

"all he wants is sex".

"i CANT believe he cheated on me AGAIN!"

-_-

well, believe it.

men (i hate to say it) are men.

they’re dirty, they’re rude, they’re nasty. 

they’re men.

they somehow possess an uncanny ability to penetrate you - if not the any of the cavities of your body, then your mind.

not only do these (not so) simpletons fuck. they mind fuck.

they can leave you hollowed out, and craving for more.

or, they can plain -just leave you.

for their never-ending conquest to ’spread the seed’.

plain and simple.  live w it.

chivalry is dead. 

why bother trying to change the natural order of things?  i reckon the only outcome of doing so is getting massively miffed and immensely injured.

stupid!

madonna was once quoted for saying: " the only difference between man and a vibrator is that one can mow the lawn".

doesnt take rocket science to figure out which one that is.

_____________________________________________________________

we all have weaknesses when it comes to men.

as much as we deny,

and try to make up for it by claiming that we’re gay,

it doesnt matter how many shrinks you go to see,

or how many pairs of shoes you can snag at stuartweitzman

or how many bottles of champagne you can finish w your girlfriends,

try as hard as you might -

there will almost always be one fella in your little black book of naughties that has struck a cord. somewhere, somehow.

so, the trick is not to ignore it. or sweep it under the carpet. or wash it down w a glass of champagne alongside your stash of xanax/prozac.

the only thing you can do - plain and simple

is just to admit it.

so just say it.

my name is ________ (insert name) and i have a weakness for men. namely ones that have ________________ (insert physical traits) and ____________ (insert mental/intellectual/emotional traits - if there are any).

**my weaknesses include: tanned skin, wavy/curly hair, big biceps and cheese grate-worthy abs.  oh! lets not forget the to die for bum!

so, tell me,

wots your vice?

tableau: A chic, teak-coloured coffee bar on the telawi sidewalk.

a man (tall, chiselled, aryan)

teetering on the high stool,

his entire upper-body thrust like an unsprung coil into the book he is reading.

he moves his hand, and I read the title: Globalization; and its discontents, stiglitz.

i smile knowingly, the coincidence!

his brow furrows as his eyes gulp down the words (coffee untouched).

every now and then a smile spreads widely over his face;

his head nods with barely suppressed glee;

he lifts his eyes from the book,

staring intently at a point just above the display shelf of sandwiches.

I can hear his mind whirring, purring with satisfaction.

yes, yes, yes. by the end of his chapter I am in love with him.

just before he leaves

, he passes my table.

quickly i reach up to touch his elbow (I cannot reach his shoulder).

"watching you read that book made me happy," I tell him.

he grins broadly. when he speaks I can tell he’s french.

he says, "it is brilliant!"

I tell him, I know.

____________________________________________________________

tableau: the cramped, claustrophobic restrooms at a Chinese restaurant, somewhere in Taman Megah.

as I come out from the stall,

a woman is at the sink, hastily dabbing her eyes.

she is trussed up in a parody of a cheongsam, all green, gold and gruesomely garish.

"没事吧?" I ask. are you all right? 

she sniffs, peering swollenly at her reflection.

"哭啊. 哭啊!" I’m crying. I’m crying.

she is defensive, coiled like a spring, daring me to respond.

I squeak a sympathetic noise, which emerges like a gurgle.

"为什么哭?" I ask why she’s crying.

she glances sidelong at me; I fumble for an expression.

"好闷. 做工好闷." so depressed. my work is so depressing.

she washes her hands, launches herself savagely at the taps.

my heart goes out to her,

but my skill of the chinese language fails me.

all I manage to blurt is,

"可不可回家?" can you go home?

she stares almost pitifully at me, about to leave.

"没钱," she says simply. no money. exeunt.

I am left with my reflection, mocking me with its ridiculous look of pained sympathy, quite helpless.

when I finally leave the bathroom, she is outside, elbow deep in a wasteland of dirty dishes.

I touch her shoulder as I walk past,

but I say nothing,

because I can’t tell her I know.

the thing about love:

is that it poses an eternal quandry of the difference between the Who and the Wot.

Wot is love?

is it the love of something or someone?

do we love someone for the absolute singularity of wot that someone is? or do we love the qualities?

do we love the someone ("i love you because you are ‘YOU’")

or something ABOUT someone ("i love you because you of your temperament, your HOT-ness, your intellect, or perhaps because you are HUNG like a HORSE" etc.) ?

but once we try to answer that, we run into intractable problems of being.  because the question is, in fact,

- is it possible to love someone, as opposed to merely the characteristics of that one?

- wot does it mean to love someone, as opposed to loving something about someone?

the question of Being - lies at the core of so much of philosophy/intuition/religion/ethics: not Being for itself, but Being for others.

for love. consequences. implications.

its why relationships are so contained unto themselves: 

why in discussing a relationship w an Other (not involved in it),

conveyance seems insurmountable.

no story will do total justice to the inside being of a relationship: better, surely, to say nothing, or risk, inevitable prevarication, thus

presenting your listener w a perjurious alembic.

silence, then.

the sort of silence ive snagged on so very, many times; whilst on the verge of articulating some infinitely convoluted thought-process, and end up shrugging - " NO.  never mind ".

truth exists, true representation DOES NOT, and CANNOT.

and because it has always already begun,

because it exists inherently within any act, any experience, any memory thereof;

representation has no end.

of course, we cannot be infinitely silent. indeed so.

i have more faith in language as a bearer of "meaningful meaning",  than that.

it’s why making connections shake me to my core.

why are friend’s or lover’s understanding means so much.

and, why love means even more.

its writing that speaks my mind,

its art that conveys emotions sans language, formlessly - why these things bring me so much jubilation.

its that in spite of the unutterable futility of representation and the inevitability of meaning attenuation, in spite of all the insurmountable odds in the way of someone understanding, that someone can,  and does.

or so we hope. 

and therefore we need to believe.

nadia-azahari-ooi

emresenyuva & sam coleman

mohd taib shabbir a.k.a mutu sami

sam coleman

Nurnadia Erina Noorazman a.k.a EYIN!

Farid Matzin a.k.a alid

James Martin

Gigi Tse Yi Kit a.k.a super116/gg

Alan Khaw

Bryant Yoon Seul-ki a.k.a sexy korean

(clockwise-starting from the top left: )leslie, cherie, woon, ningwa, foong a.k.a mad-ass-CNY-groupie

Loh Ming Yaw a.k.a yawwy/so-hai

Chay Winstanley a.k.a long babi

Azlin Aziz a.k.a aneh-lin

to all the people, to all the familiar faces that have contributed some colour to the drama in my life.

you may be far in distance.

but rest assured close, in heart and mind.

im feeling so dreamy.

It’s amazing how powerful dreams can be. Those hazy, intangible imaginings that spring forth from the depths of our minds can arrest even our waking moments. Causing us to long and yearn for yet another taste, but alas, it is a process we cannot forcibly control.

i hate to admit it but ive been Promiscuous!

Promiscuity is the practice of making relatively casual and indiscriminate choices.

I dont understand why Promiscuity is discouraged by conservative modern day religions.

is being Promiscuous really that bad?

after all, we are all blessed with the gift of **finitude and God-given free will.

ouch!

My head is suddenly stricken w a sharp, splitting migraine.

Must be all the internal conversations that i am having w the left side of my brain.

its raining,

and somehow im finding amusement in watching droplets beat the window pane.

how melifluous and slight they are!

….then i ponder:

being forced to lead a mundane life is one thing.

thats bad enough.

choosing to lead a mundane life;

………………………

you might as well shoot yourself and hope that God will grant you another life. one more interesting than the one you left behind.

suddenly i’ve self-plummeted into a realm of introspective thoughts.

one which provides an escapism of sorts from the mundane, so casually termed as ‘daily life’.

I feel so Promiscuous. im my thoughts i mean.

im going to exercise my God-given free will for once, and introspect the evening away

__________________________________________________________

From the first drag of a morning ciggarette, to the weeping sinner prostrate at the stern foot of Christ;

From banal bar chatter to fervent Philosophical discourse;

From the sensual gyrations at clubs electric blue with decadence to the immaculately whirling forms of Ballet dancers;

From the quick-grab lunch, to intricate banquets and social gatherings;

From the one-night stand to the reverential gazes of old lovers at the sunset of their lives;

Everyday, is a face-to-face w our finitude**

_________________________________________________________

Every event: a filling of our time, somehow; every second, a choice.

The human condition is this: that we have this choice -

God-given free will.

But it is not our choices that measure our humanity.

No.

it is coming to terms with the understanding of why we have choice in the first place.

And so, increasingly, Im coming to comprehend that humanity;

true humanity

is realising this inescapable infinite finitude**.

And living w it, or more Promiscuously, just living.

____________________________________________________________

**Finitude:

We must be born w an intuition of mortality.

Before we know the words for it,

Before we know that there are words,

Out we come! bloodied and squalling with the knowledge that for all points of the compass, there is only one direction.

And time is its only measure.

___________________________________________________________

alas, thy Promiscuity shalt now end here.  this contagion must be put to rest,

lest some mother-fucker come steal my thoughts. 

She was wearing a look of disdain on her face.

her forhead, knotted into a deep frown, her eyes lit up in an indignant glow. 

she pursed her lips; there was a slight sneer at the corner of her mouth.

finally, she spoke.

"i told you not to play w fire.

you should have known better than to pick up that glowing splint.

now, you only have painful scars and gaping wounds to show for all the mistakes you’ve made.  why are you always so obstinate. you should have listened to me.

now, your ignorance, and your naiveity has cost you everything

all you know how to do is lie that pool of blood of yours,

in the corner of the room where nobody knows you, and nobody cares.

stupid girl, when are you ever going to learn that

enough. IS enough?

and NEVER to play w fire? "

HA HA.

HAHA. HAHAHAHA.

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!

no, wait.

AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA.

HEH. HEH.

ok.

check it out!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-TSWaKWiAhY

BOBBY LEE IS THE BOMB.

most of my weekend was spent at the smelly’s,

naked under the covers, munching on honeystars, and watching HEROES.

i fucking love HEROES.  this kick-ass-hit has finally surpassed my previous undying favouritism for SATC.

my favourite character?

Hiro Nakamura.

he’s a full-time office clerk/part-time comic book junkie from tokyo who escapes his mundane life by teleporting himself to new york.

his powers?

the ability to bend time and space.

"li-y-ke star trek!" *holds up peace sign*.

his mission?

"save the cheerleader. and save the world!"

hes awesome.

this dude is seriously funny man. especially when he attempts to speak broken english. and the way his round face cringes up into an ever rounder cha-siew-PAO when he "con-cen-tray-tes".

he’s adorably cute.  he’s geeky. 

and now that he’s finally found his beloved katana, he fucking rocks. even more. 

*************************************************************

you know,

this is how every damn weekend should be.

im finally starting to appreciate weekends *in*, as the stress of the semester is starting to pile up on me again.

the frown lines are slowly returning to mar to my holiday-smooth forehead

my beloved tan is rapidly fading, and my arse is continuing on its inevitable downward slide.

my head can barely get around the list of "no mores"

that are piling up,

as i unwillingly drag myself back into the realm we mundane people know as *reality*:

no more lounging in the sun, no more alcohol, and foreign substances, no more hardcore-clubbing, no more going out at wee-hours in the morning, no more sleeping in, no more sleeping the whole afternoon away, no more sleeping just-because-i-want-to, no more sleeping till the weekend.

O_o

*screams*.

*****************************************************************

fuck that man.

ok anyway,

before my drama-mama takes over and makes me lose the plot,

i shall recap my weekend ever so rapidly:

spent friday with indontoddy,kellytheelf andyvonnethepixie over at 1u,

(window) shopping, having drinks at chilli’s and catching the movie: turistas.

**i also spotted the cutest lilac dress over at warehouse with a plunging neckline. damn! the dress looked awesome on me. too bad, it also cost 600plus bucks.

:(

:( :(

ok! moving on,

At chillis, the waiter sat us at the smoking section (obviously), and later on told us she needed to look at our ID’s when we were abt to light up! me, being the absent minded idiot that i am, left my wallet and ID in my car, whilst toddy was required to show his passport because he was a foreigner.

since when did they enforce such a fucked up policy?

well, they can go fuck themselves for all i care.

cheri&kelly all for the "chillis-gofuckyourselves" campaign.

only a few weeks back, i was sitting at the exact same booth with divashaun drinking alco and smoking my lungs out. no questions asked.

>=(

OK. NEXT.

the low budget movie turistas,

was unexpectedly quite good.

besides the fact that half its content showcased an ample display of tits and ass, big biceps and hard abs a-plenty.

check out Josh Duhamel for instance, who serves mostly as pleasing eye-candy throughout the show. hes HOT.  he’s gallant. he save girls!

^_^

check it out.  its all about organ-harvesting in brazil.

********************************************************

friday night ended w trip to williams. and a bitching session over a humongous plate a spaghetti and meatballs.

***********************************************************

its been quite some time since i had such a low-key weekend.

most of my weekends have been spent going out into the

wee-hours of the morning,

drinking,

gambling

and getting lost in the endless crowds of the kl clubbing scene.

i reckon my lungs. (and liver) deserve a good rest.

i know i should be reading up on documents, design and print right now.

but my mind is lingering off far-far-away, but close to heart.

im exhausted from the long day, being stuck in the bloody beef of the beef that is traffic jams.

it hit me the moment i got home, wriggled out of the clothes and snuck under the comfort of my bed cover.

it really has been a long day.

more distressingly, im in one of my moods again, making this evening more difficult to get by. 

today seems different.

for one, im not stressing over cellulite.

who would have thought?

for a quite awhile now, ive been programmed to assume that there was no problem significant enough to surpass dreaded cellulite.

stupid!

fat cells and water retention seem to be knocked down to the bottom of my list of freak-out worries today.

there is something stuck at the back of my boggled-jumbled mind that is bothering the shit out of me.

ive been tossing and turning in bed for the past 2 hours or so, attempting to make up for much needed shut-eye.

all but in vain.  so much so, ive stolen and swallowed a couple of pills from my mom’s make-me-go-to-sleep stash in the kitchen.

its been half an hour, and contrary to wot it says on the bottle; "instant effect", it still HAS YET to KICK in.  bloddy bollocks.

im majorly trippin’.

have’nt felt like that in awhile, not since i last smoked up at least.

and yet again, as i continue to sweep my demons under the carpet, they have come back to bite me in the arse.

confessions are spilling out of my mouth like word vomit.

my mind is on some rampant back-tracking mode, displaying all the nasty things ive done/been through in the past.

there are many.

most of the images im forced to see, are terribly graphic,

some even lucid, as if i was forcibly chucked right back to that very moment in time to swallow it up all over again.

theres this empty, hollow feeling in my chest. 

like an empty void, that i was deceived into believing was filled.

my breathing is erratic, my fingers are fidgeting to scratch and rip up something, and beads of cold sweat are forming on my forehead.

"why the hell did i ever do that?"

"why did i say wot i said?"

"how the fuck did i land myself knee-deep in shit?"

"why cant i let go?"

"why is it ever so difficult to say au reviour?"

so as i sit here, wallowing in my discontent and twirling my hair bimbo-style,

ive come to realise how many blind mistakes ive made in the past.

and how i know that i should have been smarter. and not played dumb.

i should have thought about consequences, i shouldnt have been so selfish, and so naive.

i shouldnt have been. period.

one by one, these mistakes are bitting me hard in the arse.

mistakes that have cost me alot. some of which im still paying compounded interest for.

tis’ sucks, yo.

i need to head to the beach soon, for some avid sun therapy.

right now, all i want and need is a cosmopolitan, a spliff and a cozy hammock to nurse my poor swollen bleeding head back to health.

volunteers to hammock w me, are most welcome

******************************

** to all the people ive hurt and gotten hurt from in the past,

"il see you when i see you".

ive simply just got to rest tonight.

my new years resolution came 2 months 2 late. O_o

thou shalt stop commiting sins;

namely blowing money faster than the life-span k-fed’s singing career.

you see, i have a problem.

and BIG one.

and i need help.  maybe therapy, hypnosis. maybe another hobby.

i suffer from a spawn of an affliction known as the "hyper-excessive-compulsive- shopping-disorder".

experts have characterised this disorder as being somewhat centered around:

- individuals who lose almost all of their physical and mental self control, when left stranded in a shopping mall

necessary precautions to be taken:

(NEVER leave an individual suffering from this affliction ALONE, unsupervised and UNRESTRAINED, in the presence of shops, namely designer shoes, handbags, and pretty/shiny/chic and/or/ as clothing)

- common syptoms experienced by these individuals include a short term memory loss

(normally between the times when a HOT piece of clothing/bag/pairofshoes is spotted to the moment the card is swiped/cash payed)

-individuals also tend to hyperventilate and experience strange emotional highs/lows soon after, when they regain their SENSES, and realise the items they have just purchased are almost ALWAYS NON REFUNDABLE.

necessary precautions to be taken:

(consolation in the from of alcohol, is NOT recommended, but nicotine and a bit of dark chocolate should do the trick…if all should fail do it the ol’skool way and say: "if you aint got no money take your broke ass home!" or something of that sort)

*****************

the chain of events which then morphed into a downward spiral started off like this:

********************** 

trouble from down under:

yes, taken in a literal sense.  i woke up one morning to an uncalled for, annoying itchy-scratchy experience down under.

being the drama-mama that i am, i quickly rang the smelly and told him about my inconvenient, unglamourous dilemma.

being the kind, considerate smelly that he is, he came straight over, and offered to take me to the nearest gynae in the area.

so there i was seated at the gynae’s table, being questioned to-fro, back-forth about my sexual history, eating habits, (of lord forbid!) weight and being enlightened about STD’s, and safe sex and on and on.

that wasnt the worst part

the doctor (who was a SHE btw) said she needed to examine me down under. O_o

uh.oh.

after an unnerving 10 mins of probing me w a intrusive cold metal object, she concluded that i had a yeast infection.

say wot?

being the inquisite person that i am, i asked her wot had caused it.

too much sex? too much wearing skanky underwear? not showering enough?

she replied curtly: "the exact opposite, love.  you’re in fact, TOO CLEAN".

the way she sounded made me feel like a sterilised specimen.

well i never!

if i ever knew upkeeping my personal hygiene would in fact cause me to get some nasty itchy-scratchys, i wouldnt shower for a week!

well, i left her room, feeling utterly violated, confused and dumbfounded,

the gynae had one thing left to say after all the fucking probing., "well, girl, you’ve got a nice vagina! il give you that".

O_o

oh god.

the smelly was also curious.

"so, so…howdidit go?"

"apparently im too hygienic la…must be all your faut.  YOU’RE the SMELLY!"

"oh."

smelly paid the bill, maybe so that id stop ranting about my unsettling experience at the doc’s.

*********************

fast forward 24 hours later, and well, i was in need of some serious shopping therapy.

after lunch-ing with sya & co., i hauled my ass over the midvalley to look at some pretty shiny things.

i got side tracked *somehow*, and "pretty shiny things" ended up being :

-a whole brand spanking new range of biotherm face and body products

(i bought so much stuff, they gave me so much free shit, and a huge new white tote to lug all the shit in it -_-)

- i managed to potter over to kookai, and again entered and left the store a new member

- then, right in front of me, stood more pretty, shiny colours, in the form of M.A.C.

that stupid mook of a salesgirl somehow succeeded in convincing me that my looks were only salvageable with the new range of dunno-wot-the-fuck volume-crap mascara, eyeliners, foundation and nonsense.

needless to say, i got conned once more. bitch -_-

i suddenly panicked as i realised howmuch ive spent, not counting the debt i had yet to repay for the mini-fortune i blew in bangkok.!

oh fuck!

it suddenly dawned upon me, there were rows and rows and rows of more shops to conquer, and no DAMAGE CONTROL SQUAD.

"oh fuck, i need to get out of here, before, i lose it again, and ring smelly, and wail, and complain, and insist he come and get me".

i said to myself.

so off i tottered carrying to heavy shopping bags of nonsensical, but HOT, pretty shiny things. 

but alas, on the way up…to the car park, i spotted the cutest most adorable turquoise floaty top staring at me, in the sonny san boutique.

"no. no more. i cant. i love you, but i cant". i said

"yes, love, you can". she whispered

"NO, I CANT, i need lunch money for next week". i retaliated, frowning.

"oh yes you can, you can live out of your parent’s fridge…or better still, NOT EAT!" she reasoned

"shut up". i sweated

"you could stand to lose a few pounds…yknow.."

"SHUT UP!"

"just buy me, bitch! you know you want to"

-_-

so i did. i spent my last 200RM on a bloddy floaty top.  in my defense, it did look damn good. -_-

i practically ran up the escalator, togging my bags of "pretty shiny things",

with just enough spare cash to pay for parking

to get the hell out of there.

***************

so, here i am, sitting at my computer RMxxxx poorer, and smoking to console thyself.

tis’ been a long day. i guess the therapy wasnt THAT bad.

thou shalt not shop. no more. no more, man.

well, till next month at least ;P