Girl From Mars, Air Force One

2011 has been somewhat of a bitch. Not exactly a mean-girl but rather like a pms-ing mom. After a 9 - 5 job. Cooking dinner. For a family of 10... Thankfully there were a few good times scattered in-between bitch fits but basically the last year to me has been a whirl of work shite, family events (sis got married – don’t even get me started on the pre/post event DeRahMaH!) and secret squirrel stuff (thank goodness for eville bff sidekicks – yes that’s plural on purpose).

Besides a flurry of work drama and panic attacks, nothing profoundly significant happened to me in 2011 – which is why that proli’ the best bits of the year was the travelling I did. Ever since 2007(!) I’ve been meaning to blog on the places I’ve travelled to – mainly to capture my thoughts /impression of a place before it’s forgotten. UNFORTUNATELY. Every time I get back from a nice holiday I’m thrown head first into hurricanes of company events, shiteloads of editing and mountains of reports. *hisssssss*

Never mind travel writing – I haven’t even done any photo filing *sigh* I’ve over 20G of digital photos I keep meaning to print; from my visits to Indonesia, Philippines, Singapore, Italy and UK. Not to mention my Malaysia pics – of my village/longhouse and other places around Sarawak, to Labuan, Sabah, Kuala Lumpur and most recently – Pahang. *sad face*

The clock is ticking so instead of a customary New Year’s post or individual travel blogs, this is going to have to count as a 2011 summary cum Travel mishmash jumble.

I’ve already covered what a bitch 2011’s been (can’t say too much about work – wouldn’t want to bore you). And I can’t very well cover all the places I’d like to blog about without unearthing at least half of that 20Gs worth of photos (CAN! WORMS! all over the place!!) and/or applying for 2 weeks of work leave... So what do all of these places have in common that I can talk about (so I have at least one semblance of a travel post)..? *insert sneaky smile here*

...I am what you’d call a “lucky” traveller. Maybe it’s the somewhat stupid, awestruck look of moronic wonderment pasted on my face (can’t help it..LIGHTS!! everywhere!) but airport, immigration, hotel, taxi and restaurant staff all around the world (to date) really do seem to love me. To illustrate, in the last trip I made, the airline counter guy actually called me to the front of the line (much to the exasperation of some 15 others waiting in line heh). And in London, my travel buddy was caught in a stern 15-minute interview with immigration while I got waved in with a “Have a lovely holiday and see you soon!”. Suck that. Hahah. But I’m getting sidetracked... what I meant to talk about was this... *drumroll* the aeroplane ride leading to the destination *cymbal clash*

I ADORE aeroplane rides. Once you’ve survived the hassle of lugging your luggage around the airport, getting through security checks, all  the waiting in line blablabla... there’s nothing quite so wonderful as strapping yourself down into that narrow chair (of course I always try to book myself a window seat), swirling the air-conditioner so it hits your forehead and then... aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Besides falling into a short deep sleep 10 minutes after take-off (proli’ due to lack of oxygen), I love the very thought of being suspended in air. No matter how many times I’ve flown I can’t help but to wonder at the miracle of flight. Looking down and seeing tiny lego-like houses, matchstick trees, island dots and thread-like rivers – to me - is pure magic. There is something breathtakingly thrilling about being able to float and glide across the sky. In a bigass heavy machine no less! How wonderful is Man, and how great is God to have granted us with such intelligence? When I’m there between Heaven and Earth, I’m in a better place. In that in-between place, I have no history and feel no mystery. I feel weightless, I am hopeful, I am pumped with adrenaline of anticipation. I am magic. I am free.

And I’ve not given up on seeing an Angel floating on a pink cloud yet. Blessed New Year 2012.

Clean Up Woman ~ Color My World

I don’t claim to be an expert housekeeper but years of supervised cleaning (by a full-time working, MA-holding, allergic-to-dust, no-maid-mother-of-five Mama) has rendered me somewhat knowledgeable in the art of cleaning both fast and furiously (Dad + Mum + 3 bros + me + kid sis doesn’t leave much recovery time between cleaning sessions). So by popular demand from career-girl-homies who don’t like (or know how tsktsktsk) to clean ~  here’s a post on how to best clean your Casa Del Amor (that’s Espanyol for ‘house of lurrvvee’, my language-challenged younglings!). Only the basics, mind you ~ if you pass Level 1 I may consider getting you to Level 2, FOC hehe. Also I should mention these tips apply primarily to Asian homes (climatic conditions taken into consideration *nods*). Boys please read and learn! Here we go…

Raking – DON’T hold your rake like a broom! It doesn’t work that way (brooms generally go from left to right, semi-gently). It’s called a rake for a reason y’know. Look up the verb definition: “Scratch or scrape”/ “Draw or drag” with long movements best sums it up. So don’t be a wuss. The teeth HAVE to drag on the soil or you’ll spend ages wussy raking. Rake from outside in i.e. you’re supposed to drag the leaves towards you. Work to gathering the leaves in a circle / pile. What you do later depends on the ruling Department of Environment of your country/state (burn it/ bundle it etc). I’m not accountable ;p

Sweeping – I once saw a good friend sweeping outside in towards herself. I swear, angels wept… please, DON’T hold your broom like a rake! Sweeping should be light (unless your house has dust bunnies of steel ~ shame on you!) and the movement shouldn’t be too long or far (‘cos your dust may go flying / you’ll miss some on the way). Instead of collecting the dust in the middle of a room, I sweep towards a corner. Switch off all fans/ airconditioning before you start! Also instead of using a dustpan to collect the dust, I prefer to corner the dust pile with several sprays of glass cleaner and use toilet paper to wipe it up. Even dust in the bin has a chance of flying out eventually (making your kitchen or wherev you keep the bin dusty). Which brings me to the next point ~

Bins – Hardly anybody takes out the garbage daily, especially if you have those cute little bins in different rooms. Take heed! Little bins are NOT meant for dusty/ smelly/ wet dirt. Their “scientific” (hah) name is waste paper bin. Geddit? Made for bits of tissue/ make-up blotting paper/ cigarette boxes. Keep ONE bin for wet or gross waste. Make sure you line all your bins with paper/plastic bags. Maybe I’m a little OTT but I rinse out milk cartons/ egg shells / soda cans before I chuck them in the kitchen bin. I drain soup bowls and I compost everything else. For onion / banana peel etc. I tie them up in a separate plastic bag (not proud of it but what’s one to do? Plastic is sometimes necessary). Remember, house lizards, ants and rats are just something all Asians have to deal with *shivers* but that doesn’t mean you have to feed them.

Mopping – I use Kiwi Kleen. It’s cheap and leaves my tiled floor all shiny. The scent isn’t overwhelming either. Follow the instructions ~ more is NOT better. I also use a traditional old-skool mop. MORE IS NOT BETTER. Don’t overload your mop with water. You’ll end up sloshing, slipping and *touch wood* maybe falling. 

Those draining cover mop pails are heaven sent. I grew up squeezing the mop with my bare hands and trust me, you don’t wanna do that -_- Mop from the outer room inwards (don’t go stepping over the areas you already mopped). Opposite of sweeping, switch ON all fans/ airconditioning before you start (try to aim them at the floor, they’ll dry faster. It helps to wear rubber Japanese slippers while you mop ~ you leave less tracks that way. Personally I mop to a corner so I can wipe up the bits of hair or hard dust gathered with toilet paper. And if you’re like my Mum who’s very sensitive and allergic to what she calls “synthetic scents” use Vinegar instead of Kiwi Kleen. For the record, my fave Kiwi is Red (rose scented).

Dusting – I don’t dust. I polish my furniture once a fortnight so dust doesn't fly (did I mention I’m allergic too?). Pledge is good for wood. Glass cleaner works for table tops and electronic equipment. MORE IS NOT BETTER! You don’t want to get electricuted do you? Those non-textured car-polishing cloths are much better for polishing compared to normal fuzzy tea towels. Expensive but they’re well worth it. And don’t be lazy. Wash them out with detergent after you use them *peers at audience over glasses*. If you must dust, do yourself a favour and dust before you sweep/ mop (you ARE gonna sweep/ mop after, right?).

Glass Polishing – Any glass cleaner should do it (I use GoodMaid Glassex – I know right? That name! LOL) but the secret to a really shiny surface is to use newspaper rolled in a ball to shine the surface again after you’ve wiped off the glass cleaner! I jest you not! SHINY! SPARKLY! *schwwinnnggg* (sound effect yo). Works on windows (including your car windows) too. Basically every glass surface you want shined. 

Cup/ Kettle Coffee/ Tea Stains – LEMONS! Most people will advise you to slice the lemon and scrub the cup/ kettle with the lemon quarter before rinsing it out. DON’T. Instead, BOIL the sliced lemon (skin and all) in the kettle, pour out the juice into the stained cups while still hot then later when it’s cooled, SCRUB both kettle and cups with the peel and juice before rinsing it out and scrubbing it again with dishwashing detergent and hard back sponge.

"To heart, take my words. 

And may the force be with you ~ yes, hmmm..."

Kiddy Fix: Shite They Say

This is a post of some of the things my older brother’s kids have said or done which I find amusing (some secretly ‘cos I believe in giving munchkins due respect when possible). My nephew’s 14 now so he’s not quite as funny as he used to be (tween growing pains!), but his sisters (9 and 7) still say some pretty funny shite. 

(picture taken a few years back, when we were all younger and cuter)

Here we go...

1) Nevvie told me repeatedly he didn't want the last piece of cake then had the audacity to be shocked when I ate it, saying he was only being polite.

Yes, this is what he looked like. Sorry, too late! *burp*

2) Niece 1 said I looked smarter than usual... ‘cos I was wearing my glasses. Guess I normally look dumber than this.

3) Niece 1 was once squalling away in the living room (she fell down and hurt her knee). So everyone was gathered round her, patting and comforting and clucking away. Niece 2, who doesn’t relish being away from the spotlight, left the room and returned twirling a hula hoop. She was 3. So everyone stops fussing around Niece 1 to laugh and cheer Niece 2. Niece 1 then burst into a fresh flood of tears (but the moment was like totally gone).

Fckin funny shite. You had to be there...

4) I once had a 2-hour conversation with Niece 1 about Spongebob’s best friend Patrick. According to her, “He HAS a surname, Aunty! His full name is Patrick Star!” Kinda took me back with her enthusiasm there.

And here I thought he was just Patrick the idiotic cartoon starfish.

5) Niece 1 and Niece 2 once had a major verbal blow-out in the family room. Excerpts of their emotional exchange as follows *hehe*

Niece 1: Leave me alone! I told you I don’t want to play! Don’t be stupid!

Niece 2: How can you say that to me?? I’m your SISTER! Mama told you not to bully me! You’re supposed to do what I say!! I’m SMALL!!!!

Niece 1: You’re not small anymore!

Niece 2: HOW CAN YOU CALL ME FAT?? Papa TOLD you not to call me fat!! I’m telling Papa!!

Niece 1: I DIDN’T call you fat! I just said you’re not small!!

Niece 2: THAT’S THE SAME THING!! You called me fat and stupid!!

Niece 1: I DIDN’T!!!

(After I choked down the overwhelming hysterical laughter I intervened. They were fine within an hour)

6) Nevvie got a CSL Spice. Most of the men in my family carry Iphones (I’m a Blackberry girl meself, go figure).  Excerpts of Niece 1 and Niece 2’s phone discussion *snort*

Niece 2: What’s the difference?? Uncle Mang (that’s my younger brother btw) and Grandpa (my Dad) use Iphone. Isn’t it the same as Spice? They look the same.

Niece 1: It’s not the same. Papa said they’re different.

Niece 2: But what’s the difference?

Niece 1: Iphone is Apple, so it has an apple picture on it.

Niece 2: So what does Spice have?

Niece 1: Let’s go look. I think it should have a Chili because Chili is a Spice.

Me: *choke on Chinese tea* 

VS

Nope, no Chili. Don’t worry, they lost interest before they even reached the family room (or their brother chased them away from his new phone)

My little tween cousins (Dad’s youngest brother’s kids) also provide much amusement. To illustrate:

7) Tween Girl Cousin is seriously "in love" with Justin Bieber. She refers to Bieber fans as "BelieBers" (geddit? “Bieber BELIEVERS”= BelieBers). Dang nearly choked on my coffee when I heard that one. Call me outdated, I’m not in the business of keeping up with tween stars! Annyywaayyy... she was mournfully singing along to him the day he played in Kuala Lumpur, all depressed ‘cos she couldn’t go. At the time of this entree, Bieber is (according to Tween Girl Cousin’s facebook) sick. Tween Girl Cousin has been actively campaigning online for all BelieBers(!) to pray for his speedy recovery. She cries at the thought of Bieber on his deathbed.

I so wanted to ask her, “Bieber got a Fever?” but I didn’t want to make her cry

8) Sometimes I think tweens spend way too much time online. I was recently sent on an errand to Tween Girl Cousin’s house to send fruit to her parents. So I drive all the way across town, beep and honk, holler and yell outside the house gate and no one comes out. Even though they were TOLD to expect me. I call and call the house phone but no one picks up. Finally....

2 minutes later she emerges from the house. Apparently, all I had to do was FaceBLOODYbook mobile WRITE on her wall. I laughed at it the next day -_-

Yes I love our munchkins. They make every “serious” problem seem silly. They put things in perspective. Plus, they adore me and think I’m famous:

They’re not old enough to know what PR people do or what a press release is *sssshhhhhhhhh*

Bangers + Mash: Down Is The New Up

My friend Rick and I have never been able to agree on ANYTHING. Besides him being kind of a chauvinistic ass, I guess we faught mostly because ever since we were teenagers, he’d flit between being a paranoid pessimistic, or an agitated ‘who gives a fxck!!’ daredevil maniac who drove too fast, swore too much and laughed too hard for too long. I know how it looks like – that he probably had a drug problem, but trust me, he was the sober one. Just a tad childish, a wee bit crazy and proli’ a bit too hooked on video games for comfort. Fighting aside, we were pretty tight till we turned 19 and went off to different Unis. Now many years later ~ we meet up for coffee once in a blue moon or cuss in drunken joy if we happen meet at local watering holes (rare as I hardly go out). There was a time though, when we’d email each other regularly (the year we turned 20 to be precise – you know, away from home and all alone in Uni busy settling in blablabla). Once he even sent me a snail mail – not so much a letter as a bumper sticker he’d bought from an Australian flea market that said “I’d be a people person if people weren’t such assholes!” . *sigh* typical.

From the rough two hundred emails we wrote each other that year, only one stands out in my mind. Our all-time, undefeated HUGE argument on BOREDOM. See, he’d written me a whiny longass mail berating the Australian education system (actually he was never much of a scholar so he’d have hated any form of education anyway) whilst cussing life away from home, ending with how BORED he was all the time *whine,whine,whine*. I responded with adolescent Jules-typical bitchiness: telling him to shut the fxck up and quit complaining, that everyone our age got bored. That anyone of every age got bored. That the thing to do was to stop being bored and do something about it. This then led to our longest e-arguments ever. Four longass emails from both sides ended with him (in essence) going: If you’re so good at getting over being bored then tell me how lah! Oooo it was SO on. I can’t remember what I wrote him exactly. But I DO know it was a list that ran from Number 1 – 20 in reverse. I also know that it ended with a phone call from Australia from Rick, laughing his ass off and saying “you win!”. yay! :)

Enter 2011. Another friend (who shall remain nameless ‘cos I know he reads my blog), no less whiny than Rick (though more stable and pro-education hehe) craps on about how bored HE is. 32-year old me is too wise, mature, sphinx-like and composed to argue. Out loud. Hehe... It made me think though, how DO i remain so awesome? Putting aside (to quote Barney Stinson) the additional “awesome glands in my brain” of course. Seriously, I’m hardly ever bored!

So I know it’s more than 10 years since I rebelliously wrote out THE LIST for Rick. Back then kids didn’t have easy internet access, big allowances, cars even... we rode the bus or walked to cyber cafes, those without mobiles used payphones, some of us worked part time in college cafeterias. Tsktsk.. lucky kids today. With the advent of facebook and its complementing games ie. Restaurant City (me likey!), I’m not quite sure how anyone could still be bored in this day and age, but evidently you still can (yes I’m talking to YOU, you-who-must-not-be-named). So here’s my 2011 list, upgraded to NOT include the “hanging out with friends” / “getting sloshed” / “getting stoned” variation, also without some of the stuff 20-year-old-Jules put on her list ie. studying/ finishing up reports / research etc. Suck this:

TOP 20 WAYS TO BEAT BOREDOM, ALONE!

20. Pray. *don’t hit me!* No, seriously. Meditate. Pray. Thank Him for all His blessings. Maybe then you won’t feel so bored you ungrateful jackass.


19. Do your Accounting. Can be depressing (depending on the state of your accounts) but bet your bottom dollar you won’t be bored for long. I consolidate my income to my probable spending before each month every month. Then as soon as I get paid, I pay my bills according to budget (rarely off track unless there was a premium shoe sale), try to save a little and blow the rest as per plan!


18. Catch up on your office work. Don’t know about you but sometimes I prefer to work at home. Unlike the office, you can think/ type while smoking. Besides, the more you accomplish, the higher your chances are of being promoted/ head-hunted to high flying, highly paid corporate bitch/ jackass. It’s harder to be bored with all that lovely money waiting to be spent ;)


17. Organise. For instance – I have separate DVD folders for different movie genres (I keep ‘horror’ at the back ‘cos some of the covers are scary). Do what it takes to organise your books/ magazines/ make-up/ documents/ tools etc.

16. Get artsy. Sadly, the older I get, the more sensible I get – now that I know I’ll never be a great artist. So I reupholstered my bedhead, painted my bookshelf and am planning on stencilling that same bookshelf. I also constantly doodle ink line-art trees and butterflies.

15. Housework! Yes, cleaning is therapeutic – for men who aren’t man enough to clean the toilet then wash and wax the car! Sew on those missing buttons. Or go gardening! I used to weed manually but have since bought an electric grass trimmer and MAN! mowing sure is fun... Stop living in a sty you little piggy


14. Drive!! If you have a car, go cruising. I looovvveee cruising. It gives me a chance to think things over ~ or you can just drive blankly, enjoy the close proximity of air-conditioning on a hot day whilst singing along at the top of your lungs with no one to judge your off-pitch awesomeness (this particularly for closet-boyband-lovers who act all grungy and macho, you know who you are heh)


13. WALK. Then again, to each his own – you may prefer running. I walk, careful to not bring valuables along (except RM2 in case I meet the ice cream man – anything more than that for a vanilla cone is daylight robbery!). While you’re on that walk, check out the scenery and if it’s good enough, settle down and get ready to...


12. People-watch, laugh in your head. (out-loud is rude)


11. Read. Whatever floats your boat. Magazines, horror, chick lit, the Bible. CULTURE up!!


10. Watch movies/ glee/ ugly betty/ desperate housewives etc. Again – whatev you like dahling.


9. Download stuff (the anticipation of finding a long-lost fave 80s movie torrent is adrenaline in itself). And don't be a scrooge ~ sharing is caring!! Upload too.. Just make sure you have an active anti-virus system.


8. SHOP. I can buy two week’s worth of groceries with rm50 – yes my Mother taught me well. Of course I’m only shopping for ME, but that’s beside the point: If you’re bored you must have time to kill. If you have time to kill then kill it at the supermarket. Really THINK why a particular brand of milk is better. Check all their expiration dates. Mentally calculate how much you save by buying a bigger carton of milk. If you suck as much as I do at Maths, it’ll take you forever! 

*I didn't buy this hat either*



7. Browse. I bum around in my favourite boutiques all the time. Try on shiteloads of different outfits and shoes – enjoy the activity of dressing and undressing over and over and over again. If you see a hat you love but know you’ll never wear, do what I do ~ *snap* then runawayyy... makes for a cool facebook profile pic yah?

6. Book-browse. Variation of reading, but this way you do it without necessarily having to buy a book. Most bookstores won’t kick you out for reading. I once spent 3 hours in a bookstore reading a novel. The ending was disappointing, so I didn’t buy it

5. E-browse. Look up the stuff you’ve always wondered about ie. “What is Marcia Cross’ real hair colour?” “Is Scott Baio still hot?” “What happened to Edward Furlong?”


4. Write nonsensical articles like this.


3. Rock it. Or whatever it is you like listening to.


2. While you’re at no.3, lay back and stare blankly at the ceiling. Aaaaahhhhhh... which will proli’ land you at my all-time No.1 activity of how NOT to be bored when alone:

 1. SLEEP.

 Tadaahhhh.... Now you’re not only NOT bored, but you’ve a super organised and clean house, stocked fridge, clean yard, enriched mind, soul and tired out (but healthy) body so you can sleep well.Didn’t even need to add in my back-up point IMAGINE/ DAYDREAM. Kill-time, SCORE! Totally.

*Disclaimer: This article was NOT meant for smug-marrieds. Don’t wanna hear about how lucky the rest of us are to be so free. Don’t really care about how busy you are either. Article was in response to bored-alone-friend’s whining. Go fly a kite with your kid.

 

Resolution Declaration, Oxymoronic Supposition

December 2010 suffered me witness to the usual floodgate opening of all-things-“New Year”, though not so much as when my former “age of Hilton” Facebook acc. was active... hard not to notice though, that even with a select list of some 100 friends, my BB news feed was peppered with both well wishes and acerbic jibes welcoming 2011. As it is every year -_- ~ I will not pretend that I didn’t find my friends’ ventilations a leetle amusing (if a tad annoying) – nor will I deny that I didn’t jump on board with a perfunctory “HAPPY NEW YEAR Tom, Dick, Harry Potter etc etc” in reply to direct well wishes.



Jackassery at it's rockstar typical *sigh*



Enter New Year's Eve, the last day of the year, and a whole new flood of status updates re. New Year's resolution appears. Again, besides the usual candy-cane-stripey-pink-bubble-gummy wishes of a better year ahead, were the sardonic variations of “just get your shit together and screw resolutions”, besides the ever-original “my new year’s resolution is to NOT have resolutions” (here’s where I raise my eyebrow).

Tsktsk. Now. I don’t make public resolutions. But I don’t diss those who do either. I believe that everyone is entitled to hope. Because aren’t resolutions just that? Hope? How he or she does it is subject to the individual’s preference (whether I approve or not doesn’t matter – just don’t get all in my face for my predilections).



Check one. Here we go:

Somewhere in Kuching, Sarawak (East of Malaysia) on 31 December 2010 I lay oblivious to the world shortly before midnight (non-alcohol induced stupor, thank you very much). Somewhere else in Malaysia a friend sat pissed drunk in his own living room, and I’m pretty sure the world was peppered with friends and family members with their heads down toilet bowls – still others stared blankly into space whilst nursing cups of coffee (depending on which time zone they were at). Still more, like me, snoozed peacefully in all ignorance that 2010 had come to pass.

So why did I miss the opportunity to make one of the biggest commitments of the year? Why did I stop partying? When did the whole act of celebration become futile? Futile, really? Well, not really.


Check two. I stand somewhere in between “HAPPY NEW YEAR ~ WOOHOO!!!” and “New year, same old shit”. I gave up on voluntary New Year’s partying somewhere before my 24th year. I probably gave up on resolutions the same year. No deep, dark, meaningful story to tell here – it’s just the way it came to be. Drinking lots of alcohol? Check that. But only when I had a NYE party to host – yes, being a PR personnel for large hotels did require me to beam radiantly, smack on lots of make-up and don ridiculously high heels whilst making sure all the invited press/ media friends got a goodie bag, lots of alcohol, and reminders that the news release covering our happening count-down must, at all cost (including hangovers), come out the next day. Not so glamorous now eh? Don’t get me wrong – it was almost always fun.. just “but”... So on the years where my past employees didn’t have a NYE party, I’d be so happy to ‘get off’ that it became something like bliss just to vege out at home. No longer being in the hospitality industry, this is exactly what I had the opportunity to do, and did, this NYE - yay! 

This is proli' how I looked at 21 *blush*



I never consciously made or stopped making New Year resolutions. My memories of NY resolutions are somewhat hazy: images of an imbecilic group of uni friends (myself included) waving mugs of beer and slurring “WE WILL GRADUATE WITH HONOURS!! WE WILL QUIT SMOKING!!” comes to mind, but private dreams and wishes (if any) were never shared in public (thank goodness). While with the hospitality industry, entertaining demanding media people could be very draining and by the time I got home, it was all I could do to crawl to bed, not out of intoxication, but out of pure exhaustion, leaving little space for resolutions.

The cynics do speak with sense (if not with heart) – why should 1 January be any different to any other? We should do things because we have / need / want to, and not because of an arbitrary date. True? Maybe. Personally I think that to decide something of consequence on the first day of a new year is somewhat romantic – and if nothing else, it at least provides an easy timeline to judge / measure yourself by. So what if you flounder and flail by 3rd February? Would you have done better if you had started on 16th July? Who’s to say? But to the cynics I say – any other date would also be an arbitrary date, yes? Invert your philosophy good men and women. If 1 January is but just a date, then so are all the other dates.

If you think this entree is somewhat of an oxymoron then you think right :) I believe in both good sense and good feeling. A juxtaposition of all that is good can’t be so bad, can it? So live and let live. If you don’t believe in resolutions then nobody’s stopping you from not making them; nor should you be so free as to slander those who do. Vice versa.

You could say that resolutions are full of unachievable, inappropriate goals. To you. But to the dream maker, let him dream. If all it hurts is your ears / eyes then stop listening and stop reading. You could say it be human arrogance rearing its handsome, confident head on NY Day that makes one certain they can stop smoking, lose weight, change jobs etc. Or you could say that one is making a NY wish for a better change, hoping that he/ she will be strong enough to do the necessary actions to achieve the ultimate goal. Hope being the operative word...

I have no resolutions. And if I did, why would I put it up on a blog? ;) Blessed & happy New Year 2011 to all and please don’t even think of getting me started on Christmas! *lovehugslove*

hehehe *watchaa

Faith no more, Home sick home

I seem to have misplaced my muse. So I'll mostly let the pictures speak. Though most people wouldn't bother much with a leased house ~ pride, stubborness and a fondness of hammering and cleaning employed me to give the house a little touch of what I may use in my future house o' dreams.

Note: As I didn't have any choice over the wall colours, I worked with what was given to me with what I already had. Except for the kitchen cabinets, hot water feature and air-conditioner, the house was empty when I moved in.

Shots of the living room. This is literally what you see as you walk in, the main entrance being a whole wall of sliding glass doors.The ratan pieces are castoffs from Old House from when the fam moved to New House. The rest are mine.

A few choice pieces of art ~ I nailed them on myself heheh

The bedroom walls are actually light grey. There's an overhead fluroscent tube light (which I hardly use). I like yellow lights at home. There's not much in the bedroom except an old three-legged armchair (courtesy of my old work place), a couple of chest of drawers (that hold mostly jammies) and a few books. I like my bedroom dark, cold and quiet. Am not quite happy with curtains (they let in too much light). Hummm maybe I am a vampire =)  

The bathroom and WC. Literal CLOSETS! teeny! But like I said, work with what you have. As long as they're clean and functional I have nothing to bitch about. At least there's hot water.

  The little study is off the kitchen. An odd place for a room I know, but the house is small. I chose this room for the study since I tend to smoke when I work late and don't want the house to stink. 

"To each his own" ~ and for some strange reason the kitchen and all its furnishings are BLUE. I am NOT generally a blue person. I like my living quarters in grey or white. But to "gel" with the flow a bit better I got those little cafe curtains for the sink (rm6) and a bunch of forget-me-nots. Works, don't you think?


There's another room where I keep all my ironing, laundry and make up. There's also a wet kitchen (where I cook and do the laundry) and an itty garden at the back (which I've only JUST cleared last Sunday). But I won't bore you with details just yet... if you'll excuse me, I have a Muse to catch =))

Here Is No Why : So Long, Not Goodnight

"This Is The House That Jack Built" has been stuck in my head for the past few weeks. Ever since I actively started house-hunting. You know the rhyme, right?  You can read it at
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/This_Is_the_House_That_Jack_Built

As mentioned in Wikipedia, the rhyme is a cumulative tale that doesn't tell the story of Jack (who builds the house), but instead shows how the house is indirectly linked to numerous things and people. Which is how I feel about Old House. As I move through the rooms of the only house I've ever really called 'home', a limerick plays in my head, not unlike that of of the nursery rhyme. 

For Old House ~ thank you for the memories:

This is the house we call Old House.

This is the room, which I called my own that’s now a study to write,

This is the corner where I sat and cried whenever I heard a fight,

Both North in the house we call Old House. 

This is the room where giggling girls,

Got ready for parties, with makeup and curls,

Whispers of crushes, of heartache and dreams,

Sleepover secrets shared later at night, in a room of the house we call Old House.

This is the room that was for three boys, 

Who dragged mud on the floors when back from school sports,

Who pulled at my hair and played tricks of sorts,

My brothers who grew up with me in the house we call Old House.

This is the floor where at 4 every evening,

A ray of sun would shine on her that lay sleeping,

Basking in sunlight, little sister would nap,

On the wooden boards that still cover the floor of the house we call Old House. 

This is the kitchen, that fed more than seven,

Two grownups, 3 boys, 2 girls and their cousins,

This is the sofa which hosted the family, to watch football on TV,

Slanted but comfy, in the centre of the house we call Old House.

This is the yard which housed geese and ducks,

Where children saw faeries running with rabbits,

Where children climbed trees and sometimes got stuck,

Where roses and sunflowers bloomed for the house we call Old House.

This is the table where many have sat,

Cards changing hands, truth-or-dare bets,

Laughter resounding in the walls all around,

Of the rooms in the house we call Old House.

This is the place where stories were told,

This is the place where secrets will hold,

This is the place of laughter and tears,

Over the rainbow, 2nd star from the right, is the house we call Old House, or Home.

Old House's History: Built in the 1960s by my late maternal Grandpa, Old House was where Mum, her 4 sisters and 2 brothers grew up. In the 80s, all of Mum's siblings migrated overseas (one to UK, the rest to USA) and Mum and Dad bought the house from Grandpa and Gran. They used the money from the house to migrate to the USA too. We were living in Kapit (little out-back town East of Sarawak) then, where my folks were stationed (gov't officers of education yo!).  In 1988 they transferred back to Kuching, and we moved in.

Why Old House is Old House:  In the 1980s, my family moved a lot. A LOT. According to my parents, every time we moved I'd want to go 'home' ~ not realising that 'home' was a government house commissioned to the (current) officer on duty. By the time we moved to Kapit I was 7, and when we moved out I was 9. Old enough to be impressionable by the act of leaving (most of the time without a proper goodbye espc. since I was never told we were leaving for good!) and of changing schools. So I joined a new school (again) at 10 and went through the motions of change. High school, college blabla… you know the drill. For the first time in my life, we didn't move.

Annnyywaayy... so I leave Old House in early 2000 for Final Year, grad late 2000 only to come home to... hello! W.T.F on so many levels, my folks have bought and moved into New House (of course it's not new now, but we still call it that heh). Which is when Old House started being called Old House instead of Home. ie "I'll be at Old House" instead of "I'll be at home".

2 months after grad I started work at a Holiday Inn Resort 45-minutes (drive) out of the city. They gave me a room to board and everything (evillee establishment method of keeping your nose in the grindstone) so the only time I got to hang with the fam was the odd weekend. Which is why New House never quite grew on me as Home. In 2003 I moved back to the city but living with the folks after being on your own for nearly 4 years just doesn't cut it ~ ya dig? Rather than see me slum it out as a 2nd rate border, my parents then offered me Old House to live in (if you must live alone, live where we know you're safe). So I did.

Bear in mind that Old House has a yard the size of... well let's just put it this way: We used to keep rabbits, ducks, geese, chickens + shiteloads of mango trees and a couple of rambutan trees as well! So from 2001 - 2004 the house was practically empty.  Growing. Germinating. Breeding. The yard I mean. Yes, I moved into a jungle.  Fix up the yard? I tried!! but there's only so much you can do on your own. And every time the boys came over it'd end with a bbq. My brothers were busy working / being dads, and my sis was in college.. So I moved in, cleared the driveway, fixed up the inside of the house, and have been living here ever since.

It's nice. At least to me. But now the wooden floors are sinking with dry rot and termites, the ceiling creeks suspiciously and the partition walls which aren't made of bricks actually seem to bleed (damp infestation). So I'm being forced to move. An estimate for a fix-up was deemed by every other Architect and Engineer, as ridiculous ie. it'd cost more to fix it up than to rip it down and build a new house. *sigh* So that's the plan. Old House will one day be New -Old -House. 

Besides immediate family of three generations (am including my brother's and cousin's kids), countless of uncles, aunts, cousins and friends, have over the years, lived in Old House. This house is legendary. Ooo if walls could talk, I'd be very rich (or very poor! haH!)... yes, Old House will be missed.

After looking high and low, I've found myself a new home. Signed a one-year lease and all ~ after a year, who knows what the winds of change will blow my way?  I think I'll be happy there. I hope I'll be. I know I won't be happy in the same way as I ever was in Old House, but I'm hoping for a different kind of happy. Old House has kept me safe for the past 22 years and I like to think that its sudden deterioration (if was fine last year) is its way of telling me to move out and move on. Am I still heart-broken? Well yes, a little. But I've come to realise that as long as we (me, my family and friends) remember Old House, it'll always be there to provide shelter when needed, in a place somewhere over the rainbow where happy pigs fly and flowers smile.