you know you have a death wish when:

1. you walk your umbrella-less classmate home to tilt your karma balance slightly to heaven.

2. you smile at the guy on a bike who nearly razed you to the sidewalk because he was almost hit by an opening umbrella.

3. you look at the detergent bottles wondering which would look best as an urn.

4. you go on and buy 3 Maggi Hot Cups hoping that everything other people say about instant noodles is true.

5. you wonder if you should burn down the bloody trees that grow right smack in the middle of the sidewalk.

6. you wonder what would happen if you gave the mak guard zerr fingerr.

7. you let the lizard live because you don't want to meet it in heaven (or hell)

8. you drink water straight from the tap.

9. you sit on the balcony and wish you were higher up.

10. you make up another just so you can get a nice round number.

indeed, facilitating death has never been easier.

before-dawn moments

Why do I stay up till the morning light?

because then,

i see bubbles of dreams floating by

iridescent fragile inviting

i touch wisps of thoughts that ripple the air

like liquid smoke

i hear breaths of people caressed by sleep

forgetting eluding escaping

i feel like the world is mine

for that,

i'd pay the price

of sleep

thought-provoking thoughtless stuff

I picked up today's (well, yesterday's) newspaper and I was greeted with a darn huge photo of a dude in a train. On closer inspection, the dude turned out to be The Very Honorable Grandfather Radiant Prime Minister. Forgive me. I have been translating documents for the past few days and I have trouble breaking the habit.

Anyway, I have digressed. For curious souls, this is the article. Buy the newspaper for the full impact. The impact after I read the article is as follows:

Manglish Alert

YOU NOW ONLY KNOW AH?!?!?!

Manglish Alert End

*shakes head*

There's nothing like the first time, eh?

We humble denizens have long been desensitized to pushing and shoving and clinging and trying-not-to-breathe-in-that-aroma-ing. We are used to automatic doors closing into our tired faces - it is just yet another disappointment in a long series of disappointments. We are used to being crammed into compact tubes of bodies - subhuman in our emotional separation from each other. We are used to being alone amidst crowds of lonely people. We are used to traveling by KTM.

So, I was thinking, what would happen if I was on that particular train-ride? How would I have reacted to a benign old man who keeps asking me questions about the transport system? Hmmmm..... Interesting......

Anyway (again), this particular paragraph was particularly hard for me to understand:

In both trains, the prime minister, dressed in a red batik shirt with golden print, had to stand although passengers offered him their seats.

Why did he HAVE to stand when people are offering him their seats? I'm sure it's not because he can't get to the seat - everyone would be scrambling to let the poor guy sit. So why is he standing? Don't tell me it's chivalry. Then it would have been CHOSE to stand.

So, back to my question: why did he have to stand? Lunch on me, for the answer I find most rational.

how to survive bad food

I am happy. I am content. I am at peace.

Taiping food is yummy. Taiping food is delish. Taiping food is heaven.

I want to ta pau Taiping food back to Shah Alam. I want to ta pau enough for one month.
I want to Cut Bloody Bistro and Paste Cashier Market.
I want to tell the hawkers that they can get a lot of $$$ if they franchise at SS17.

But all this is impossible. I know because I tend to type nonsense when I am on a sugar high. I am on one right now.

Oh well.

All I can do is take loads of photos of yummylicious Taiping food. And what shall I do with them? I shall whip out my phone before meals and stare long and hard at the droolifying food. And when I eat, imagination shall dance across my tastebuds.

Hah.

Your tasteless maggi goreng shall become ultra-deluxe bihun mi goreng with heaps of slurp-worthy gravy and all the right stuff.

Your wobbly artificial tofu shall be a mellow taste of carrot cake in my mouth; crispy on the outside, soft on the inside.

Your 90% water apple juice will transform into that intoxicating mixture called "sem boey" - lime juice, watermelon, honeydew and jelly on ice scrapings so delicate, they disappear instantly in your mouth.

Taiping food totally pwns Shah Alam food.

No wonder all the pigeons didn't want to fly there.

on crows, pigeons and hornbills

I woke up this morning and stared out my window. Savoring the last moments of being alone in Shah Alam. Savoring independence. Savoring freedom. Savoring solitude. The early morning breeze caresses me, invigorates me.

A crow flew past me. And another. And another. Black behemoths, their discordant cries rip the gentle air. I'll never get used to them. I do not love crows, especially their cawing.

I'm a Taiping girl! A town of peace and serenity (literally) that does not have crows. We have cooing pigeons. We have twittering sparrows. We have silent kingfishers. Not crows. They simply do not belong there.

I counted 9 crows this morning.

And I wish they were pigeons.

***

The thing about meeting new people is that you become acutely aware of how ignorant and stupid you are.

In Taiping, you get to see rows of pigeons on the electricity cables. Rows and rows of them looking like this:


___pigeon___pigeon___pigeon___pigeon___pigeon___


So I asked my Sarawakian roommate if they get


____hornbill____hornbill____hornbill____hornbill____


She laughed and laughed and laughed.

lepas geram

Rules. Regulations. Over-enthusiastic enforcement. Policies. Idiocy. Ignorance.

Garrrhhh.

kns.mpk.knnccb.sk.pkmccb.tfk.

Sign of madness #2 : swearing in alphabets

Dangerous sleeping habits

According to Amy, my roomie:

I fell asleep while trying to study for the SAT practice exam. I was sprawled on the bed, gripping my pencil and paper, happily using the dictionary as a pillow while earphones pump unlistened music into my ear. What a nice position :)

She called my name several times, poked me, and shook the bed. No response. She called again, dragged away the dictionary and extracted my pencil and paper. Still no response.

When she took out my earphones, I finally opened my eyes and smiled at her. Then I asked her to turn off the lights. She asked me if I wanted to apply some medicated oil to soothe my cough. I declined. When she insisted, I took the bottle and rubbed some oil on my throat. As I turned to sleep, I wished her good luck.

Pretty normal, isn’t it? But there’s a catch.

I don’t remember.

I don’t remember waking up. I don’t remember smiling. I don’t remember talking. I don’t remember using any oil.

I don’t remember anything.

Oh.My.God.

Shahril and Ron Nie might be right.