.: A little taste of obscurity :.

:: Tuesday, December 31, 2002 ::

Which Rock Chick Are You?

I'm Courtney Love, YEAH!!!
In your face, yer shites!

Hey Billy baby, not that Kurt is dead, you can come back to me!

:: Another pointless rambling at 8:07pm ::

self destruction is the answer, baby

Damn, is it the 31st of December already? The same time last year, I decided NOT to make any resolutions so that I won't feel bad this year. Lord knows how many year ends I sat down and listed the things I wanted to achieve in the new year, of course only after I regained balance and breath from laughing so hard at last year's terribly failed achievements. So last year, I wised up, and decided to let 2002 just try to challenge me, whilst I sat back and blew cigarette smoke at it. I mean, what the fuck do I get if by the end of the year if I finally quit smoking? Or got good grades? Or lost weight? Or learnt to speak Swahili? Or enlarged my breasts to one cup bigger? Or wait, chick flick moment: learnt to love myself? Do I get a damn car from my beaming parents? Do I get an honorary plaque in the University for my great achievements? Do I get an eager beaver writer dying to write my autobiography? Do I get a fucking mention at the Oscars? A big fucking NO. If any of you smarty pants out there come and tell me in that stupid high pitched tone "But look, now you've learnt love yourself! Doesn't life seem much more FUN now? Wahey! Let's go for a roll on the grass, blow dandelions and talk to fluffy bunnies!" I'd tell you in my most monotonous tone and emotionless expression that the smell of grass gives me a headache, dandelions give me hayfever and bunnies are only good for bedroom slippers.

"Self improvement is masturbation. Self destruction is the answer." - Tyler Durden, Fight Club.

How will you learn to succeed if you've never failed?
How will you understand pleasure if you've never had pain?
How will you love to be in love if you've never experienced heart break?
How will you know yourself if you've never lost yourself?
How will you appreciate life if you never saw death?
How will you enjoy the finer things in life if you've never been deprived of it?
How will you know what good music is if you've never heard of shit like Britney or Avril or that dumb girl who knows 3 chords and gets to duet with Santana?
How on God's green earth would you die for a mamak stall if you haven't spent a year in Canberra?

I say go destroy yourself. I say let yourself experience pain, heartache, misery, anger, disappointment, loss, tears, drugs, poverty, failure, loneliness, whatever. Only until then can we experience life in on a whole new level. Now, don't go accusing me of spreading useless propaganda, or call me Ms. Know-It-All, or send me Antrax, because that will get you no where, bloody optimists. The reason I'm telling you this, is because, today I had the unfortunate chance to talk to X*

X 12/31/20 2:34 PM SOB SOB
X 12/31/20 2:34 PM su...i dun ve a life..
X 12/31/20 2:34 PM i think my plans 4 2nite just went down de drain..
illusions 12/31/20 2:34 PM why lar?
X 12/31/20 2:34 PM i dun wanna spend another eve at home or being bored..i was alone n bored on christmas eve n christmas day.. :(
X 12/31/20 2:35 PM pls not new yrs.. :(
X 12/31/20 2:35 PM sigh..last time we had so much fun..i had sooo much fun..plans..places 2 go..so many things 2 do..now i m a total loser..i either go out alone or w
my cousin n aunt..
illusions 12/31/20 2:35 PM well ... erm, so did i on christmas eve n christmas day
X 12/31/20 2:35 PM or i dun go out at all..
X 12/31/20 2:36 PM 2nites plans were actually 2 ve dinner(4 of us..me another girl n 2 more guys) but then now de girl cancelled out coz she said she dun wanna spend
her countdown at a mamak n i dun wanna be left alone w 2 guys..i ll die of boredom..
illusions 12/31/20 2:37 PM hmmm call molly lor
X 12/31/20 2:39 PM she ll b spending w leeson..
X 12/31/20 2:39 PM dun wanna disturb them
illusions 12/31/20 2:39 PM oh right. i'm sure u've got other friends
X 12/31/20 2:39 PM i so dun ve a life anymore..i m a total loser..
X 12/31/20 2:40 PM well most of them r bz w their bfs 2nite..n some has plans already..
illusions 12/31/20 2:40 PM go out with your ex then. He's been wanting to get back with you ...

(At this moment, I'm rolling my eyes)

X 12/31/20 2:40 PM yeah but he has dinner till bout 10/11..n then i m supposed 2 jam all de way 2 bintang walk 2 meet him?
illusions 12/31/20 2:42 PM well then it's your choice right?
if you're going to sit there and complain,
what do you want me to say?
go make a few phone calls n see what u can do
or go with your aunt n cousin to bintang walk n then meet up with him there
X 12/31/20 2:44 PM my life sucks..
X 12/31/20 2:44 PM :( i m a total loner n loser
X 12/31/20 2:44 PM i m hopeless yeah??

(And at this moment, I'm refraining myself from saying "Damn, brainiac! That's the smartest conclusion I've heard in a loooong while!")

illusions 12/31/20 2:52 PM hahah no lar ...

*real name withheld to protect the um, innocent

Why must we have the urge to celebrate New Year's by paying the price of your right arm to get into an overcrowded club, sit next to a bunch overly excited people spilling beer all over themselves, count down loudly as if you were competing in the National Counting Competition and then shamelessly showing off your talents that consists of blowing a whistle and saying Happy New Year simultaneously.

Of course, I'm only being a bitch because I have no money to go out and celebrate. Happy now?

:: Another pointless rambling at 4:20pm ::

:: Monday, December 30, 2002 ::

dedicated to derras chong, son of sam chong (and i'm the daughter remember?)

I wondered why I never spent enough time with him. Those snooker games I had with you last week, the time we tried to get those Lord Of The Rings 2 tickets, that sad ass barbeque where you sat in the corner with Jun-Li, that game of Bluff where I knew all your lame tactics, that time when that Sigur Ros video came on and we both started wailing in that high pitched tone and all those little conversations we had ... I wished I understood you better all the time you were here. I didn't realise what an obscure little germ, uh, I mean gem =) you were, instead of concluding that you were a reclusive nerd with army pants.

And I think I miss you, Derras. I made Japanese Fried Rice and added that condiment that was so addictive in commemoration of you. Lord knows I laughed like crazy when those dried fish that tasted like squid started squirming in the heat like it was still alive. Thanks heaps for the food donation weiii ...

the quiet boy who lived in a corner of his own

He was an old acquaintance that I met in hot February
His quirky ways and reclusive stance was quite contrary
Those cold winter days you sat alone
Probably dreaming of Al Capone
Of all those wasted moments in time
I wish I gave your thoughts a dime
For your sake I might just catch Casablanca
Lord knows I'll probably fall asleepa
Remember the rounds of snooker downstairs?
How did we forget entirely of all our cares
As draggy January starts to beckon a new year
I'll think of this quiet obscure guy I met here
Hope your life brings you all things fine
I'll just partake in my music and wine
And when I take a whiff of Japanese Fried Rice
I'll remember how one precious week flies
C'est La Vie my dear precious little gem
Let's hope you'll get yourself a hot femme!

:: Another pointless rambling at 10:21pm ::

:: Sunday, December 29, 2002 ::

this century's powerful ruler

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse than my situation now, the ever cruel Reality had to remind me that there's no such thing as the lowest point. Optimism is a hoax created to keep all you numb-minded people in control because you only turn to hope when things go wrong. Therefore, hope is more powerful that any other thing in this world because it's the only thing that keeps the world moving. The masses place hope in religion, governments, companies, marketers, money, work, school, lotto tickets, hospitals, science, condoms, parents, children, drugs, politicians, soldiers, books, computers, teachers, technology and above all, themselves.

Without hope, we have no consumers.

:: Another pointless rambling at 2:47am ::

:: Sunday, December 22, 2002 ::

good things come to those who wait 3 weeks

After my relentless job pursuit the last 3 weeks, I've finally got a job. Is it anywhere near the big time, mind-blowing, powerful Creative Director position of a world renowned eye-popping revenue generating Advertising agency that solely depends on my creative contribution dream? No. Is it anywhere near my alter ego's dream of becoming an anonymous writer that changes the lives of every single being that reads my pieces? No. Is it anywhere near that recurring nightmare of being slaved for life to comb through Osama bin Laden's beard on weekends and to polish the shoes of a pig rearer right after he trudges through the sty on weekdays? Yes, all too close. This of course coming from the reputed exaggerator that I am.

Finally a skanky, nerdy Asian dude gives me a call. He said that yes, there's a job vacancy at get this: Sandwich Presse. I reluctantly said yes, after surveying my lack of luck in getting a job here. It's not just any Sandwich joint, it's a sandwich joint at the food court in the mall. This is what Su-Yin's been reduced to. My conversation revolves mainly around sandwiches and old people.

Me: Hi there, may I help you?
Old lady: Oooo, I'd like some chicken and avocado with a bit of cheese on a white roll please ...
Me: Would you like some butter?
Old lady: Hmmmmmmmm ... uhhhhhhh
Me: (clutching on to butter knife) I wonder if this butter knife can paralyze me if I stab hard enough into my spine?
Old lady: Yeah, maybe just a little bit. No, maybe not. No, no, no, wait, I think I'll have some. Yes, some butter will be good.
Me: (giving a "would like to discuss it with your husband and close friends first before taking this life-changing decision?" look)

And then I make the damn sandwich. I see a twisted future filled with listless, redundant, mundane days making sandwiches and pathetic jokes that go something like "Hah! Guess what happened today? In comes this customer right, and orders a, get this: Cheese, avocado and asparagus sandwich ... with no salt! What a weirdo! ahahahahh LOSER!". My nights will be brimming with nightmares of getting locked in the freezer room at the back where I find out that the salami and ham are actually NOT made of animal meat when the manager appears from the shadows, clutching a blood-stained cleaver, gives a twisted laugh and says "Would you like some butter?".

:: Another pointless rambling at 12:23am ::

:: Friday, December 20, 2002 ::

wahhh big girl already

And so I've graduated. The ceremony was a typical boring formal shite held at the Australian Parliament House. Like all of my friends, we were unknowingly forced into making the day a memorable one. The dressing up, the excessive photograph-taking sessions, and money spent enough to feed an entire village in Botswana, just because "aiyah, it's a once in a lifetime thing. So I tried very hard to wake myself up at 6:30am, washed my hair in a daze, wearily slipped myself into my Thai outfit and had a smoke to jolt myself to consciousness. And then I got a call from Choon whilst I was stabbing my right eye with my eye shadow applicator, to tell me that I was late. Then I panicked and tried to rush myself, only to get annoyed at my hair for not staying in place. I finally got it to look decent and slipped on my high heels, relieved that I could make it to the cab without a 2 hour lecture from Choon about how if it wasn't for my 10 minute delay, we would've been able to arrive the Parliament and take an extra 500 pictures. But that moment of relief was cut short when I realized that high heels and tight skirts do not make me aerodynamic nor does it propel me into light speed. I thank God that Choon was in a good mood, probably because his hair looked good.

So we arrived, got our gowns and mortar boards and the picture frenzy began. Sadly, I'm not blessed with the gift of photogenic poses and my smiles resemble that of a poverty-striken bum in dire need of a few bucks for a toothbrush and toothpaste. Out of 16538 pictures we took, I probably only looked good in 3 pictures. And that was because I was standing against the sun.

And then we scrambled into the hall for the ceremony. The little orchestra played Strangling Hyena in Dminor and the ceremony started. My name was called after the other kids whose last names started with As and Bs, and all of a sudden I felt nervous. I thought I was going to trip and fall, and hey, half of it became a reality. After receiving my degree I smiled, and then I thought it was going to be perfect which was when my heel got caught in the carpet and I tripped forward. At least I didn't fall onto the ground, rip my skirt and then roll off the podium. Lord knows how traumatic that would've been. Not for me, but for them.

Yes, it was a good day I suppose.

:: Another pointless rambling at 2:16am ::

:: Tuesday, December 10, 2002 ::

balls of dough and holes in the middle

I love doughnuts. Not in a way I'd dress in boots over my trousers, pin gold badges over my shirt, wear reflective sunglasses and stop slightly speeding cars for a RM20 bribe. Also not in a way that I paint my skin yellow, shave my head but remaining two strands of hair, work in a nuclear power plant and marry a woman named Marge. I just love doughnuts (or 'donuts' you arrogant English language-changing Americans). Sugared doughnuts, iced doughnuts, cream filled doughnuts, spaghetti and doughnuts, cream of doughnut soup, doughnut and corspe special, basically yeah, I love doughnuts.

Pray tell, what is the cause of this perverted fetish?. As with the source of all psychological problems, my parents are to blame. During my plastic Lion-O sword weilding, Superman cape wearing, Barbie doll hair over-brushing days as a kid (yeah, I know, about 4 years ago ... or less) my parents never allowed me to have doughnuts. My Dad and I would walk pass a small bakery in a mall, and I'd point at a batch of sugared doughnuts, eyes gleaming like that of an innocent fawn named Bambi and my Dad would throw me a look that said "What the fuck, doughnuts? Only useless, garbage-rummaging, Ding Dang toy collecting, retarded children eat doughnuts! Not my daughter!" ... or my mother would hold my hand as we walked into a bakery to get baguettes and croissants, and I'd ask for a doughnut, and she's go "Doughnut? What for? They're just balls of dough, with a hole in a middle!". Yeah, and what are baguettes? Balls of caviar? Chunks of salmon? Bread filled with filet mignon covered in a light diane sauce?

And pray tell, what caused the initial desire for doughnuts? I remember watching a cartoon, and there was this scene which I vividly remember till this day, (yeah, 4 years later ... or less) of an army of ants dunking a doughnut into a cup of coffee. And they were singing. And dunking. And the doughnut looked good. And then I wanted a doughnut so bad. But I never got it. Until I was old enough to go out to the mall on my own, where I'd buy myself a doughnut and wolf it down, licking off every single grain of sugar from my lips before I got home. Like it was a big sin.

"What, you're 17 and you smoke, drink, skip school, "lose" your report cards and you're having sex with your boyfriend? Eh ... okay then, you're still my baby girl. WHAT? You had a doughnut?? You irresponsible, ungrateful, disrespectful thing that came out of my womb! Be gone with you!"

Today, I just had a chocolate covered doughnut. Yet, I felt a slight twinge of guilt. Damn. I hope the doughnut digests.

:: Another pointless rambling at 1:12am ::

:: Monday, December 09, 2002 ::

shoot me now

Some summer this is. If the blistering sun is not trying to make you into dinner, the moody rain will drive you to the brink of suicide. So, either way, you die in Canberra's summer. For all I care, the entire Australia and it's annoying Government can get itself engulfed in a huge bush fire.

So this is what I'm reduced to. Being the jobless bum that I am now, my days are spent staring attentively at the television. It's so bad that I find myself watching the television shopping network channel. If that's not bad enough, I am actually interested in getting the Total Gym™ 2000. And if THAT still doesn't take the cake, I actually found myself giggling to one of Chuck Norris' "jokes" as he said something about the Total Gym™.

Shoot me. Shoot me now.

:: Another pointless rambling at 4:00pm ::

:: Tuesday, December 03, 2002 ::

would you like some special soy sauce for one dollar fifty?

In a perfect world custom-tailored for me, my resumes would astound all employers and overwhelm them with an uncontrollable desire to fire half their staff and hire me. And children will sing "Across The Universe" and old people will dance to Chemical Brothers as I partake in an effortless job which pays me shitloads of cash everyday. It took me a whole damn week to realize that things don't work out that way.

In our imperfect mass manufactured world, my resumes are but pieces of scrap paper that is not even good enough to wrap packets of Nasi Lemak bungkus. Not everyone wants to even take a glimpse at my resume let alone take it. Those that do take my resume (just because they don't want to make me feel bad in their presence), probably chuck it into the big waste bin so that my resume resides amongst styrofoam cups that once had a serving of latte and leaflets warning of the dangers of AIDS. So here I am, broke, without a job, waiting for THAT phone call which will inevitably change my life forever and bring with it redundant monotonous days of work. But the phone doesn't ring. Except for the occasional calls from Candy telling me her current coordinates as she flies from Sydney to Melbourne to Kuala Lumpur to Hong Kong.

In this grossly distorted world, I have a Bachelor of Communications (Advertising & Marketing) yet I can't even get a job at a cafe. I can't even get a job wrapping Sushi and recommending Australians some "special" soy sauce to go with it. I can't even get a job stuttering random simple English words at a Chinese BBQ restaurant as I usher customers in.

Then again in my dream world, I wouldn't have to work. Also, in my dream world, the backstreet boys are brutally murdered by a blind sniper with no arms.

:: Another pointless rambling at 3:41am ::