Third Draft of Nothing

Lack of updates because... I have nothing much to say lately.

I've barely had enough time to compose my thoughts - life's been too much illicit fun, the sort that the now-more-reticent me doesn't quite want to go into detail about here.

Let me sort things out a little, and find more time for silent contemplation and get in the mood for writing again, before resuming normal programming for this blog.


Guilty As Charged

Best picture ever - major photobomb by the two idiots to the left HAHA.

Fun Saturday night. Too much fun actually.

Now I'll sit at home and repent, because I'm feeling slightly guilty for being nowhere near a good girl at all. That was outrageous behaviour, even by my rather liberal standards. Not good. Not good at all.

*sober silence*

Update: Went out on Sunday night again and got smashed despite what I said earlier on. Mustn't blog it to jinx it anymore. HAHA. Spent a whole night trippin' out with the boys, and ended it with a trip to McD's for some late-night supper.

Highlight of the night - the white boy soberly ordering food for us while Syari and I were sword-fighting behind him with a pair of straws each, in place of light-sabers hehehehe. Poor angmoh had this -_-" expression the whole way, very much like a very embarrassed father of two extremely rowdy brats.

And then the cherry on the cake for that night of utter silliness: Syari had the bright idea of taking handfuls and handfuls of creamer and stuffing all that in my hand-bag to bring home... I was still removing sachets of the stuff in my office on Monday morning. HAHAHAH stupid random shit, I like!

Anyway, the pictures from Saturday night get worse and worse as more and more photographers present at the event begin to upload their shots. This one one of the most teruk ones...

Turned around to find the guys posing a hand over my backside to take very salah pictures

Moral of the story: Do NOT turn your back to a whole bunch of drunk trigger-happy event photographers.


Today, and not for the first time, I denounce the things those of my culture seem perpetually burdened with. I refuse to labour under those expectations, refuse to pursue the things I've been told I should be striving for, refuse to be conservative or traditional or "normal".

And this is why you and I will never be able to see eye to eye. I reject a slow spiritual death, reject the stifling of my creativity, reject being made to feel like I am not to be too much of myself and conform instead to the standards of acceptability.

I will not be that much-loved bird slowly wasting away in a little cage of your construction. I will not have my happiness taken away from me in the name of doing what is "proper".

You are free, of course, to disagree with my approach to life, just as long as you do not hinder me from living the way I see fit.

Happiness tastes a lot like freedom to me.



If anyone wants to know, it hurts like fuck. Not sharp raw flesh-pain I revel in sometimes because it can be a sensation just barely differentiated from orgasmic pleasure, but bone-numbing pressure and aching fatigue in my face and my jaw and my head and each and every one of my joints.

My infected throat seems to have led to an infected sinus, and the recurrent fever seems to confirm that. I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, between tossing and turning restlessly in bed, unable to sleep from the alternate heat of fever and the bitingly sharp chills afflicting me.

I'm depressed and annoyed at myself for being this unproductive, and even more so for missing out on chances to socialise, and missing my fizfit class put me in a blue funk that lasted a whole day. Strange as that sounds, I've begun to look forward to each and every of my classes.

I've just gathered enough information over the course of the past two days to come up with something good for my project, but I'm lethargic and dizzy and in so much pain the mother has taken to attempting to stuff pills and Chinese remedies down my throat at every opportunity. So much so that at one point I had to drag myself out of near unconsciousness to yell at her that I was merely ill, and not dying yet.

Realised the worst part of being sick is how weakened and emotional I suddenly feel. It's quite an effort normally to maintain myself at some semblance of normalcy in regards to my mood-swings, but when I am ill, I can't find the energy to just hold up. I feel very small, and very, very vulnerable, at times like this. Almost makes me wish I weren't single, but wanting a partner just to whine to and manja up to in times like this would insult the whole concept and sanctity of a relationship.

I do miss you though, on rare occasions like this. I wonder how it is you could love me and accept me so appreciatively as you did; nay, you reveled in each and every of my multitude of flaws. I've never had anyone look at me the way you did and it does make me want to be a better person than I already am; for aren't we all beautifully imperfect diamonds, fissures, cracks and impurities in it reflecting rainbows lights and giving rosy tints or cornflower blue hues? The trick is to strive to not be so damaged as not to be of some value.

But I digress. Just a couple of minutes of the thought of you flitting across my mind and I ramble on and on about all that? Heh. I should really get some rest now. Guess there's no point even considering going to any of the events that will be happening over this weekend.

On a related note, I think I shall really stay away from them nicotine sticks from now on to avoid any re-occurrences of illness, just to stay on the safe side.


Emotion Sickness

Post title is only half relevant because I am sick, but not in an emotionally screwed way. Just got it from some Silverchair song. Been listening to a lot of music from the 90s and the early 2000s at work. Familiar sounds, with more relevance to my life than when I was just a kid back then.

Anyway, I'm lazy (and still ill) today so I'll just do everything in point-form here:

  • Getting sick is a pain in the arse. Waking up with throat feeling like someone went at it with a Brillo pad while you were asleep sucks. Croaking for half a day after doesn't improve disposition.
  • Suffering that as well as fever, chills, joint pain, severe migraines, and nausea makes it doubly (triply? quadruply?) shitty.
  • Slimer took up residency in my throat for a full day. Kept coughing from time to time, and when I did I'd be horking up solid chunks of phlegm. It's a bit gross to have to run for the toilet to spit that out midway through talking to someone. Even more so to have to swallow...
  • Not a fan of taking antibiotics, but Klacid (Clarithromycin) is da shit. Now the sore, swollen throat's fixed. Only problem now is I'm suffering chronic nasal drip that nothing short of a tampon shoved up nostril will staunch.
  • Which brings us to the issue of video-conferencing, which seems to be shaping up as an integral part of my job at the moment. Hoarse throat aside, how to video-conference when this is the look I've been sporting lately?

  • Why not remove tissue from nose for the duration of video conference, you ask? Because I'd be doing this every five seconds anyway:

  • Post chatting with a work contact, and finally feeling like I'm getting something moving along with one of the projects I'm handling, I let out a whoop of joy. Just for that to cause a major coughing fit that culminated in me rolling around on the sofa grabbing my chest. Wonderful. Now being sick means I cannot be verbally happy about anything anymore.

OK, rant over, I'll just go lie down on the sofa 'cause I'm feeling dizzy again and my eyeballs feel like they're swimming in two pools of warm, sticky gunk.


Come Down Here

I'm sick today.

Be OK soon enough.


2am Idiocy

Apparently I was being tipsy and emo a few nights ago (after being dragged along to a watering hole with really cheap beer, when I was just expecting to go out and have coffee with friends) and had some really stupid conversation with KY which I almost forgot until he brought it up today.

This is how it went (I think, can only remember bits of it)...

Me: I'm not a nice person sometimes I think. *emo*
KY: *cheerfully* Yeah, you're terrible.

I think my expression must have gone from T_T to O.O! to -__-" in the few seconds I tried to figure out how to respond to that.

In the end I just laughed... and then he laughed, and after that I couldn't find it in me to be emo anymore. So I crawled up the stairs to KO in my room.

Celaka. Damn smart this guy, just expertly dealt with the topic and closed the discussion on it so simply.

Sometimes also good to keep friends like this around lah, less chances to bersedih over nothing.


Hey guys,

Thanks. For cheering me up when I called with tears in my voice and nothing much in the way of an explanation. For looking me up even when I'm petulant and emotional and about as pleasant company as a teary three-year-old with a bad attitude. For texting me with words of comfort, even though I'm not very forthcoming with the replies.

Thanks for being so fiercely protective of my welfare, even though I'm probably to be blamed for half the shit I get myself into. Even though I've given none of you reason to have much faith in me, aside from the good days where I can laugh along with you guys, and when the leaky faucet problem doesn't seem to be present.

Thanks for loving me, and your cheerful acceptance of me as a whole. Thanks for telling me that you like me for who I am, neurotic moments included.

Mostly, for sayang-ing me, despite the mood-swings and the inconsistent behaviour and the false reassurances of "I'm OK, yeah, I am, I really am..." after which I give you all a scare with yet another very dramatic episode where I dehydrate myself and achieve fuck all else but give you all reason to worry and then laugh at me.

Thank you for never judging, or mouthing off about me, or demanding for or requiring an explanation when I didn't feel up to saying much at all.

Thank you for being my friends.

Thank you for keeping me sane.

And thank you, too, but I've already said that, and I'm not sure if you understand, but it doesn't really matter, I reckon.

Y'all like Jim Carrey in Yes Man!

(But mercifully less annoying...)



This lack of real sleep thing is getting a bit too much sometimes. My dreams are crossing through into my real life.

Had another bout of insomnia on Sunday night, and dozed off only in the wee hours of Monday morning. At approximately 6am I was dreamt that I wasn't clothed. However, in that dream, I somehow had to cover myself, because either work-related contacts, or an ex-lover and his current girlfriend (more likely the latter possibility, I'm more wary of her seeing me in that state) were showing up.

Woke up soon after, groggily stumbling to the bathroom attached to my bedroom. Blindly reached out for some article of clothing, ANY article of clothing, to cover up my nakedness (more often than not, I sleep in the buff). Only realised that I was wearing an over-sized tee after many long frantic moments of groping around in panic.

Sheepishly, I went back to bed, cursing being woken up from much-needed slumber by such a dramatically stupid dream incident.