Hmmm...

Another one dead. This time killed by my own father, when he reversed the vehicle. Was not at home to see him for the last time, but I guess this must be a blessing.. Having seen my little kitty in pieces would be incredibly traumatic.

Of Cats And Fishes...

My friend Adelaine wrote about good and bad karma some days ago. Talking about karma, it has been said that good deeds in our past life would result in a good karma.

Cats and fishes enjoy a cruel twist of fate. Fishes are an unattainable staple food for cats. I wonder what had triggered cats to be so fond of this fishy delicacy? I believe that most of us can understand the lion's inclination towards savannah antelopes, as these herbivores are forever prancing around these meat-eaters waitng to be ravished.

But how did the cat and fish meet? The cat certainly did not meet the fish in an aquarium, while having a leisurely swim! But what exactly is God's (whoever is the creator, in the meantime, god will suffice) intention when he/she established this doomed feline-fish relationship. The cat must be in very, very deep pain as his/her only gastronomic pleasure is so unattainable. These is no way in the world where the cat will jump into running streams and still waters just for a satisfactory dinner. All it can do is lust after it.

Isn't that bad karma for the cat? What has it done in it's past life??

So, what does the cat do? Basically, there is just no other way. So the cat is reduced to do some serious plotting and making devious plans to get what it wants. Wonder why cats purr and rubs themselves on our legs, making us fell good and loved? It's a ploy!!

When we feel good, we will fall into the kitty's little trap. We will willingly supply all the fish that it wants!

The lesson is : Don't blame on our bad karma, there is always an alternative way of getting our way when shitty stuff happens. This is proven true!!! 

Just a little lesson that I learn from my kitties at home. Not scientically proven. Do not use this against me, okay?

*wink wink* Adelaine! 

 

 

Self-immolation And Hunger

This is something I have always wanted to share with you all. It’s taken from Naomi Wolf’s book, The Beauty Myth. This is disturbing but so true! This is about the bulimia and anorexia phenomena and the double standard that women face in terms of reaction from the world. Anyway enjoy (if you can) and ponder:

There is a disease spreading. It taps on the shoulder America’s firstborn sons, its best and brightest. At its touch, they turn away from food. Their bones swell out from receding flesh. Shadows invade their faces. They walk slowly, with the effort of old men. A white spittle forms on their lips. They can swallow only pellets of bread, and a little thin milk. First tens, then hundreds, then thousands, until among the most affluent families, one young son in five is stricken. Many are hospitalized, many die.

The boys of the ghetto die young, and America has lived with that. But these boys are the golden ones to whom the reins of the world are to be lightly tossed: the captain of the Princeton football team, the head of the Berkeley debating club, the editor of the Harvard Crimson. Then a quarter of the Dartmouth rugby team falls ill; then a third of Yale’s secret societies. The heirs, the cream, the fresh delegates to the nation’s forum selectively waste away.

The American disease spreads eastward. It strikes young men at the Sorbonne, in London’s Inns of Court, in the administration of the Hague, in the Bourse, in the universities of Edinburgh and Salamanca. They grow thin and still more thin. They can hardly speak aloud. They lose their libido, and can no longer make an effort to joke or argue. When they run or swim, they look appalling: buttocks collapsed, tailbones protruding, knees knocked together, ribs splayed in a shelf that stretches their papery skin. There is no medical reason.

The disease mutates again. Across America, it becomes apparent that for every well-born living skeleton there are at least three other young men, also bright lights, who do something just as strange. Once they have swallowed their steaks and wine, now they hide away, to thrust their fingers down their throats and spew out all the nourishment in them. They wander back, shaking and pale. Eventually they arrange their lives so that they can spend hours each day hunched over like that, their highly trained minds telescoped around two shameful holes: mouth, toilet; toilet, mouth.

What is happening to our fine young me, in their brush cuts and khaki trousers? It hurts to look at them. At their expense-paid lunches, they hide their medallions of veal under lettuce leaves. Secretly, they purge. They vomit after matriculation banquets and after tailgate parties at the Game. The men’s room in the Oyster Bar reeks with it.

How would America react to the mass self-immolation by hunger of its favourite sons? How would Western Europe absorb the export of such a disease? One would expect an emergency response: crisis task forces convened in congressional hearing rooms, unscheduled alumni meetings, the best experts money can hire, cover stories in news and magazines, blame and counter-blame, bulletins, warnings, symptoms, updates; an epidemic blazoned in boldface red. The sons of privilege are the future; the future is committing suicide.

Of course this is all happening right now, only with a gender difference. The institution that shelter and promote these diseases are hibernating. The public conscience are fast asleep. The world is not coming to an end because the cherished child in five who “chooses” to die slowly is a girl.

Up to one tenth of young American women, up to one fifth of women students in the US are locked into one-woman hunger camps. When they fall, there are no memorial services, no intervention through awareness programs, no formal messages from their schools and the colleges that the society prefers its young women to eat and thrive rather than sicken and die.

The weight-loss cult recruits women form an early age, and eating diseases are the cult’s bequest. Anorexia and bulimia are female maladies: From 90 to 95 percent of anorexics and bulimics are women. America, which has the greatest number of women who have made it into the male sphere, also leads the world with female anorexia.

The medical effects of anorexia include hypothermia, bradycardia (impaired heartbeat), lanugo (growth of body hair), infertility and death. The medical effects of bulimia include dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, epileptic seizure, abnormal heart rhythm and death. Babies and children underfed by weight-conscious mothers are suffering from stunted growth, delayed puberty and failure to thrive.

-Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth

A Different Kind Of Craving

Seriously, I am addicted to salt. It’s no joke! Really, I AM addicted to salt. Salt to me is like sugar to sugar addicts, maple syrup to pancake lovers, cheesecake to the fromage crowd, cola to the fad-crazed adolescent who is into mass commercialism and crappy drink laced with phosphoric acid, espresso to the caffeine-addict (btw, I have a friend who downs around three of these potent blends before bedtime and still manage to sleep like a baby; you know who you are). Me on the other hand have never been able to handle a caffeine fix, my hands would tremble after a latté (can u believe that?!). That would then be followed by heart palpitation, cold sweat, a mild bit of hallucination; general restlessness and whole lot more of really abnormal physical and mental reactions. 
 
I have always wanted to know, just what is the ratio between the sugar addicts and the very few salt addicts out there? Lemme see  (slowly going over friends and their taste preference..), it’s sugar, sugar, sugar, another sugar, sugar again and finally a “sambal” fan. But then again, there is another chilli fan too! Guess that I am not a total weirdo afterall..
 
But then again, why are there not much people who like me, appreciates the wonders of salt? Salt is a wonderful addition to foodstuff. I love soy sauce, I love the savoury taste of cheese, I love potato chips but the best of all, I love salt on my fruits. All salt lovers, please come out and shout it out!!!
 
I especially love salt with pineapples, green Granny Smith apples, oranges, limes, tomatoes (mmm..), guavas, mangoes, cucumber and watermelon (sometimes). Of all mentioned, the best has got to be TOMATOES! Tomatoes go wonderfully with salt. Have you tried it? This is the reason why I love tomato juice. The salty taste of tomato juice is sure to be tantalizing. I savour every bit and drop from the bottle every time I get myself one. I cannot bear the regretful feeling if I miss a single drop. Someone once told me that he can’t understand my love for this juice, it seem like blood to him. And it tasted that way too (or so it seemed to him).
 
My point is: the essence of tomato juice that makes it so freaking wonderful is of course, salt.
 
Advantage: Haha, I don’t get sucked into the crappy dessert thing cuz plainly; I am not in the least bit interested. And I don’t have to go on chocolate binge to keep me on a constant high (so I can’t be bribed). And I can greedily indulge in all main courses, cuz that is where all the salt is.
 
So people, don’t buy me chocolates anymore, okay?
 
Bad….: I am definitely overdosing. Kidney failure is definitely not a risk to be taken lightly.
 
So fellow friends, if you have an even weirder craving and eating preference, please don’t hesitate to speak it out. I don’t want to be the only weirdo over here… hehe

That’s all for today. Maybe I will write something about boozing some other day.

p/s: Tomato fans unite! Check this out! Yummy!!!!!

Friend or stranger??

This is embarassing.

Have you been in a situation where you do not remember the name of a friend even though you try really, really hard to? I met some people during my friend's convocation today and to be honest, I really can't figure out their names.

So, what I did, you wonder??

Haha.. I just ignored her and looked somewhere else. That is so much safer.

Does it mean that she is not a friend? So, what is a friend? I can't seem to be able to categorize her as a friend when I can't even remember her name.

I am surrounded by a few friends who mean the whole world to me. I think that's it.

The question is : What makes a friend a friend?
 
Can it be measured by a time frame? If yes, is there some sort of probation period for a friendship? Do we seive our friends? Are friends a choice or a part of so-called "fate"? What else are the parameters? E.g. less than 10 sms/month=acquaintance, more than 30sms/month=friend?? Absurd!!!!

Hope I find an answer to this and in the mean time, I will try hard to recall her name... Btw, it's WC's friend and I don't think she is called Jennifer... Sorry.

A Little Tribute To A Little Friend

I will start this article with a pinch of irony.

Exactly 2 hours ago, I was writing an article to be published in this blog. It was an optimistic entry (which is quite rare, really), titled “I Am Blessed”. For the past few weeks, I really felt blessed. My steps were springy, my face smiling all the time. I felt so invincible, adequate and generally, blessed. No one seems to be able hurt me; nothing upsets me. No amount of insults (intentional or otherwise) can bring me down. It was a great feeling! As if I was on an eternal high. No less.

I did not know what had triggered this happiness and incredible sense of self-confidence! Probably it was because life had been generally good to me. I have 4 adorable kittens (which I love to bits!), my friends were great, my family was awesome, school was sh*t but well, I survived.

Talking about happiness, I think mine came from my newfound ability to NOT put any value to my material possessions. Not that I have a lot of expensive stuff.. I mean not much importance is placed on my worldly possessions. I don’t care if I lose my money, I don’t care if someone f**ks up my grades, I definitely won’t care too much if I lose my purse or something. Not when I have things far more important than those.

I do not believe in pouring my affections and love on say, a Nike bag, Deuter backpack, or a necklace, diamonds..

I have great friends (I have always wanted to tell you guys just how great you are), brothers (sarcastic, but funny though not very helpful at times), not-so-cool parents but who are all the time supportive, a great environment to live in (maybe except school) and many more. Life is blessed in a way though it is not perfect. I have learnt to appreciate people and little souls around me and I find a wonderful attachment that I do not sense in an inanimate object. Apart from family, friends and my loved one, I have found an innocent kind of love in my little kittens. They became a pit in which I poured my attention and care into.

Everything was great until someone killed my kitten. It was a hit and run. She took almost half an hour to die. There was nothing I could do to help her ease her pain. She was beyond help. Her body was still warm when I was finally able to bury her. It was the most painful moment of my life.

Suddenly, things do not seem so rosy anymore. She has taken a part of my invincibility away with her, into the depth of her little grave; under the flowering pink trumpet tree.


Little Miss Cat
1st June 2004
till
14th July 2004


I feel a little bit more vulnerable now. But this has taught me to appreciate those around me. Hopefully in due time, I will succeed in coming out with a genuinely optimistic article, not laced even with the tiniest pinch or irony and sarcasm.

The Cavewoman In Me.

Today I have learnt something about myself. Subconsciously, I am a cavewoman. I am not the progressive up and about modern day Miss that I have always thought to be. I am a regressive, ancient cavewoman disguised in modern attire, my secret identity further clouded by the usage of up-to-date, latest gadgets and technologies. Stripped bare of all the above mentioned, I am still the very same cavewoman.

Spring-cleaned my room this morning. In order to accommodate a new queen-sized bed (to replace my now ex single bed) to fit into my tiny room, I had to seriously plan the most efficient space usage to maximize walking space and storage space. Did not plan having to tiptoe around the room. The task was nerve wrecking. Not so easy after all. The strategy? Throw out all unwanted stuff.

The problem was: Everything seemed too important to be thrown away…

If we go all the way back to ancient gender history, women were the collector, while men were the hunters. The men’s job was to hunt for animals in order to put some food on the plate and on the other hand, the women would find the best way to make sure foodstuff would be sufficient for the coming days. This instinct was especially strong especially when bitter winter months approached. They might have even felt desperate urges to store as much as possible. The ancient women might even have invented ways of curing meat, vegetables and grains (not sure, probably true)!

I could imagine cavemen sitting and lying around, bragging about who got the most catches or who killed the biggest mammoth. Probably with a pint of beer in hand, laughing their heads off.

I saw the same ancient traits in me. This is a list of what I found as I rummaged through my stuff:

a) Letters from friends dating back to 1991
b) Part of my high school uniform! I can’t believe it (btw, I am 23)
c) Clothes that I have not worn since 4 years back
d) Clothes that I have never worn before (regretful buys)
e) Phone bills from yonks ago
f) Bits of scrap paper with scribbles on them of a few semesters back
g) “Almost-there” cellophane tape that just don’t belong in any civilized student’s desk
h) Rolls of unused (badly-crumpled!) A1 sized bond paper, which is not fit to be used anymore (to ditch, or not to ditch?)
i) More rolls of useless A1 sized bond paper with much scribbles and sketches which are meaningless now (why did I keep all these rubbish?)
j) Newspaper cuttings of my favourite soccer stars at the time of World Cup 1998 (Gasp! Btw its Paolo Maldini)
k) Collection of stamps started in 1986. Very badly-maintained
l) Leather purses, which were presents from my aunt. I think it was mold I saw growing on them!
m) Empty skincare containers (cleaned, might be useful someday)
n) Shoes
o) Ancient Nancy Drew mystery books
p) Magazines galore
q) Empty special edition Pepsi cans which are just not so special anymore
r) Lecture notes and past assignments. Every one of them. Not in good order though…
s) Trinkets, little beanie babies, McDonald’s furbies etc

The list is just too long. It is too painful to continue writing. Thinking back, how did I manage to live in all this mess? It was indeed a miracle.

Was it the nostalgic or the cavewoman in me?

I have decided to throw out all clutter from my life. Chucked all except the Maldini newspaper cuttings, some letters, some lecture notes, most of my shoes, beanie babies and my hopeless-looking stamp collection. I believe that my room would never ever reach Zen status, but at least it is now ALMOST minimalist. And I’m only 30% cavewoman.

I do not know for sure when the familiar tinge of regret would come to haunt me. I will try my very best to ignore it for the time being. A revolution is taking place here!

xxx,
roachz

Are we leading through example?

Hi, folks. I am rambling again. Just wanna jot down a few thoughts for the day. It’s 6.30 am now, just woke up, can’t sleep, it’s a freaking Saturday (why can’t I sleep?)! I am supposed to.. I am entitled to slumber and to laze! Well, I figure that I can use this as a time to write. Not a bad decision at all.

Voila! Le plat du jour:

I think our police squad can use a few pointers here.

a) Be more polite. I mean verbally and sub-consciously. Start by addressing us as Mr or Ms or whatever it is that you yourself want to be addressed as when flagged down by the police.

b) Stop your annoying snigger. No one is a convict before being proved as one. Do you feel superior to the rest of the population who are entirely (or so you think) at your mercy?

c) For Christ’s sake, stop hinting for bribes. We are already a poor lot who are facing other forms of oppression at the workplace, school, college, university, home, post office, other governmental department offices, on the road et cetera. Some of our policemen are righteous, but alas not many. Keep up!

d) Work out! You tummies are getting bigger by the day!

Hmm.. I think this is sufficient for the day. You wanna add more comments? Do so!

Teachers and lecturers can take a few pointers from here too! Well, I am not generalizing the whole industry here. This is just based on my personal experiences:

a) Look at your students as a whole. Not as separate entities that consist of different races and religions. That is just so plain unprofessional.

b) Don’t ramble about students not setting up a good example by being late to classes when you yourselves are not exactly the most punctual people on earth. Be fair. It is not fair for people who are always ahead of the time (e.g. moi-même)

c) Again, be polite. You don’t want anybody to call you be the name of “cow” or “piggy”, don’t you? If so, please refrain hard when you have the urge to do so to others. You have already done so. You are forgiven for this time, but not when you repeat this mistake again.

d) What is it with that ego? Is this what being an architect is all about? We have many other more important people around us, and doctors don’t walk around with their pretty noses held up high (It would be plain tragic to us all if doctors have their heads stuck in their pretty behinds)

Just fed up at how thinks work. Just wanna make the world around me a better place.

Love,
XXX

Self-censorship?

This is a question that I have always wanted to ask. How do you live your lives? How open are you with yourself? How open are you with your friends? How open are you with strangers? How much does your friends know about you? Damn, how much does your family EVEN know about you? Do you know yourself? Do I know myself? And finally the most crucial unanswered question is, how important is it to be transparent?

I have always kept my life to myself. I do not parade the course of my daily life to people around me. People normally see the “finished” me. No one has seen me pluck my brows. They just look like they have been naturally well shaped all the time. No one have to know if I do shave my legs once in a while. And no, I do not underarm hair. Ever. Or so I project to the people around me…I can’t stand anybody enter my room without any permission at all. People who finally enter were not supposed to roam around my stuff. Even if they did, I would be in a state of agitation, ready to strike if it turns out that the person has the guts to misuse my “forced hospitality”. No one touches my drawers and desk. No, I will make sure that they don’t. I can’t bear to let good-willed friends or family members help lug my stuff when shifting homes. Even my boyfriend is not allowed to go through my stuff, even when equipped with good intentions. Just being over-protective? If yes, what of?

Serious case of censorship, I must say!

Am I claustrophobic or is it a form of fear towards the vast wilderness that is the real world? Am I eternally stuck in the insides of my imagined 2 mile radius personal territory marked by an unseen barrier that divides me with the people outside of my again imagined territory? Is this a form of alienation? Am I paranoid?

This is definitely the idea of the Feminine Mystique working too well. Our feminist sisters are probably turning in their graves by now hearing this. God, they have fought so hard…

I do not think this is a great way to live. By 35, I might have to start myself on Valium… and Prozac. Frequent internal outbursts are definitely a no. Might cause the increase of blood pressure and a premature development of heart seizure or stroke. It is not worth it. Definitely.

And then this question struck me, “I do not skeletons to hide, who and what am I hiding from?”.

What next? A crossover? To be as I am or let it all hang out? How is the journey going to be?

Will it be easy to attempt to let my guard down? Will this cost me a trip to the nudist camp?! God! That would be too much for me to take!

Hope that these questions of mine will be answered soon. It all depends on me now!

My first post!

Welcome to my page! Hope you enjoy reading my outbursts, thoughts, feelings, comments, generally, ramblings about my daily life and daily encounter with the shitty and not-so-shitty things. Feel free to write your comments on various topics. I will be glad.

Thanks!