It sickens me that I know myself so well.
It sickens me that I keep finding out more.
It sickens me when I see other people so clearly.
It sickens me when I figure out how to work it.
It sickens me when I don’t.
It sickens me that I’m so fucking insane.
It sickens me that I’m so fucking sane.
It sickens me to think about my mistakes.
It sickens me when I can’t.
It sickens me that I just don’t know.
It sickens me that I don’t really care.
I’m just sick of it.
It never ceases to amaze me, how things fit together.
If the thought of impending health hazards like EOS have managed to do anything to me, it's been to amaze me that everything about our bodies work in tandem to accomplish the most basic of functions, as far as we're concerned anyway. It's all so spectacularly meticulous, so precise. God must have been one smart dude.
It's fascinating to learn how people work as well. You get a few odd ones who go postal (look muf, i used ur word) on psych models once in a while. Still, while I'd hate to define people by any concrete means, people aren't just faceless enigmas that you strike conversation with for the mere sake of socialising. Evere person is the way they are because of some life changing event, or some pattern of environment. And the deeper you dig, the more you find... usually. Sometimes you just end up with a whole lot of muck you'd have much rather left unearthed... or worse, shitloads of gravel.
And then there's the idea that if you don't get what you think you want, right here and now, things will never work out.
How can you ever tell what you really want most when you've never sampled the rest of the menu?
Perhaps sometimes you want it to get a little sticky instead of playing it too safe?
Musing, waiting for the coffee to wear off..
1. It's better to be underestimated than overestimated. With the latter, you get found out eventually and by the time people have figured you out, they've also figured out how to get around you. With the former, people don't have so much of a guard up and it's easier for you to see through it.
2. I have a bottle of mineral water branded 'Sparkletts'. If I had a vocal group in the 60's, I'd call it the Sparkletts.
3. American Idol #Some insane number or the other just ended with Jordin getting the majority of 72 million votes. Why do more American's care about a 17 year old getting a recording contract than leaving a numbskull in the most powerful chair in the world? But then again, on another note, I can't imagine winning American Idol at the age of 17. Gosh.
4. I'm going to have this gaping hole in me for a while when Snuffles is gone. Sniffle.
Lo, fear not- this post will NOT be a whimsical reflection upon the impossibility of planning for the future. WHo says you can't decide what to do about life? I have!
Plan A
Get married to Dan after I've gone down the list. I'm currently still on A (though I may have gone backwards to the end of the alphabet with a few skips and over-zealous jumps along the way). Since D is not too far down nor is it a top priority, it should take about 5-10 years at least. I've promised him that our kids will learn at least ONE Indian art form but my conditions are that
- they engage in some form of redundancy or the other on a regular basis. If it doesn't come naturally what with the mixed genes and all, I might have to take some measures to ensure the continuity of my species and increase the number of eratic midget blankists in the world. They WILL learn how to turn their brains off. Perhaps the noble art mushroom breeding.
-Of course, they'll need to like green, enjoy books, eat lots of cake and veggies and watch the news after the SImpsons.
I've been given leeway to pu**ywhip and use him to domestic advantage and even to keep my hair as short as I want (the latter might still prove to be a problem I reckon though). Doesn't sound like such a bad deal eh?
Plan B
If Danen doesn't work out and it turns out I still have all the money I don't spend on sending my henchwomen to Hawaii for the bet they are so sure I'l lose (the realisation of plan A- refer above), I shall consider this one.
Mufeedha and I will buy a house in Spain, and live there with ou two pet squirrels: Piggy Moo (mine) and Moochy (hers). We'll hit on younger men and dance into the sunset. I'm liking the sound of Ipanema too though. Oh well, there's always room for a little flexibility.
Plan C
I graduate with a degree in medicine. (I know, I know, how boring can one get?)
I lose my license by leaving my keys somewhere in the operation theatre - somewhere not too fatal. It'll only get discovered as the patient walks through an airport. They'll find me, lock me up and throw away the keys.( Little would they know I could manage that without any help.) I'll drive them all insane by singing the Club Chocolate song since I;ve only ever heard it from Mahes and I don't really know how it goes. anyway Someone will be driven to breaking point and will let me go and I'll go dancing into the sunset too.
I won't get ahead of myself just right now. I"ll see how these three work out for me, or even if I come up with other fool proof plans, I won't blog about them just in case they work for other people who end up happier than me and I really can't have that.
back and forth.
yin & yang
black & white
why? why not?
here?
as if half the world weren't enough as it is
well it isn't really
will sit on it, till someone cracks.
I take the bus back to penang quite often. This means, that I go back home quite often, about once a month or so. Since I'm sure a few eyebrows will be raised at that last sentence, let me say that 1. My mom doens't see why i shouldn't come back- it's just a few hundred km or so away.
2. I would lose what little left of my sanity there is if I didn't since IMU is just too self contained for me- since no one else seems really up for doing anything else outside, I might as well go back home on a regular basis.
Anyway, for all the repugnance people exhibit towards puduraya and it's filthy alleys, macabre characters, uninhibited disregard for global warming pollution and rats the size of elephants (perhaps that allegory was a tad over-expressive) I personally have no qualms whatsoever about getting to or leaving from the place.
For me, it's simply a matter of buying a ticket, jumping on a bus and submitting to the sandman for a couple of hours and then looking forward to my mother's nagging about not being able to call because of a dead phone battery (each and every time I reach Ipoh). It beats having to take a flight- in the end I spend about the same amount of time reaching from point A (vista) to point B (home) anyway.
The part I enjoy most about my monthly bus rides though, although it is too much of me to expect the same such luck every trip, is meeting interesting people. Since I take the evening buses there really is nothing to do once you've gone half the journey and night has taken away any hope of being able to see. When I'm lucky, two hour conversations on life, the universe and everything materialise. Being in the dark, I don't really remember seeing much of their faces- they were just voices appearing out of the dark as I faced the seat in front of me. The people I remember best so far have been an old lady teacher, an elderly chinese mutinational businessman and a young malay freelance photographer. On the few occassions i've had broken down buses and found myself stranded on the north-south i've found people to help colour the journey even more as well.
Of course, there was also this indian software guy who insisted on lecturing me on celibacy for 3 hours before trying to get my number. Go figure.
I doubt I'll ever meet any of them ever again.
It's always nice to meet new people. Maybe it's just me but sometimes talking to someone who doesn't already think they know you reminds you of who you think you are. And you're reminded that there are people out there who have it so much better or worse than you do.
My dad's been trying to get me to fly air asia at least instead. I don't feel like giving up my bus rides yet for hot chicks in nifty red uniforms just yet.
In almost every possible way, I am my mother.
People come up to me at random to ask if I really am who I just could be.
I look like her, sound like her, walk like her.
I'm not her, but I'm rather glad it seems I am.
Growing up, I wanted to be my mother. Now I see she's not just a superhero with a far better fashion sense than the people at marvel, but a person who managed to convince me that things would always be alright because she was that good at it.
Am I going to end up doing the same things, making the same mistakes and revelling in the same right choices?
It's a little unnerving at times.
I love my mom.
I couldn't find glue, so I mad her her card with ribbons and thread. (Yep, if ever you get something from me made with a needle and thread I really do love you that much.)
Thought she might miss ugly hand made cards.
Happy Mother's Day :)
