Nine Crimes

I feel bad for staying home and just staring at the ceiling shuffling in between Miles Davis and The Wallflowers. I needed that break after a whole week of four to five hour sleep before heading back to the mundane thing we are all stuck with – work and that after work, work out and yes, start up work.

Sometimes, in between all that engagements, I asked myself if I am doing all these just to prove my worth to people around me. That I am not your idle, in state of repressed limbo and as always, confused Minah.

Uhuh. A weekend of doing nothing. How responsible.

I am juggling between Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Emptiness, The Devils Finds Work and struggling to finish another Kundera. It pains me to continue that man because every line punched and filed yet another linear thought, and I’ll be “oh look, I’m on the MRT and I’ve got something so emotionally profound to canvass but whipping out the brush requires extreme effort when your mind is on an intellectual turbulence and nothing, should stop that train of thought, NO SU! You can write about it later, this is the moment!”

*snorts*

It was a very interesting thought. Maybe pseudo intellectual kind of way because hey, I’m your no.1 poser. Only by the time I get back, I lose all enthusiasm to (let's use a cheem term) immortalize them here. I can’t even remember now, but it was an interesting thought.

I feel like an utter failure right now because nothing is confirmed at the moment, I have no ideas how to fuel my publication, I haven’t finished any of the ten new books I have right now and my daytime job isn’t entirely satisfying although it pays the bills.

Oh god, what a load of insecurity and ultimate whinging. And there’s more:

I met CT last Monday. It must have been a pre red letter day. Shoved my way out of the train, hopped on the escalator and was affronted by pretty shoes, lovely lingeries, dresses and of course their vulture consumers in the middle of Plaza Singapura.

You know what, screw the likes of No Logo, anti-capitalists and what-nots. I wanted something pretty for myself and for once, I wished I could step into those stores and have a pick without worrying if I could be broke later on in the month. And I got into that pathetic phase where we feel all so sorry ourselves and start cursing the lucky ones who shop their lives away without a hoot or care in the world. Then I justified my vagabond and unbearably envious state of my mind by rationalizing on the savings I’ve diligently kept to fund my trip to UK in June and decided that it was a worthwhile sacrifice after all.

And then, moral reflexes kicked in. The whole humility moment ingrained ever since I learnt how to fast when I was a kid – every time you feel hungry or thirsty, understand and empathise the kids and the people of Africa who have nothing to keep them going at the end of the day.

Fasting is one of the best lessons ever disciplined by my parents and my religion. It humbles you.

So I digress.

As I was saying, moral reflexes kicked in. I thought of Mum immediately and felt so incredibly disgusted with my indulgent act of narcissism and selfishness. There I was feeling all poor, pathetic and worrying about not having enough fashionable clothes and looking forward to three crazy weeks in Glastonbury, Amsterdam, Swtizerland, Liverpool, London, Belfast – you get the idea – drinking, smoking and living a life of hedonism.

And there was Mum. Mum who worries about using up everyone’s money to pay for her medication, house bills, daily expenses etc. She came to my room the night before, fresh from her trip to Malacca and eager to share. It was late, I was tired and I know we were going end up discussing religion and I’ll just get mad at her. But she sat on my bed with her dentures removed, slitty eyes marred with age and her skin so translucent and devoid of any healthy pink patches and looked up at me.

It struck me then and at that moment floating aimlessly inside the shopping shaft; damn, mum is old. Mum looked very old.

So there she was on my bed and she looked so happy recounting her short weekend trip to Malacca. Other than the holy land, Malaysia has always been her vacation. No other room in the bank to get herself to any exotic destination.

And there I was with my 2007 goals to see the world, open my eyes and along with it, all other sophisticated travelers mantra imbued in my resolution.

She was happy being able to use the swimming pool, trying out the roller coaster rides, and shopping for cheap goods in the markets. My parents spent their lifetime struggling to make ends meet – bills, our school fees, transport - just so we’ll grow up with an education because uneducated as they are, they know that whatever-certificate we have is the ticket to a good life if you make the most out of it. There I was, paying off overblown bills and giving her the bare minimum just so I could save a significant amount into what? The traveling-soul-searching experience. That soul searching began not in some quaint cobbled streets in the middle of nowhere or elysian green fields amidst blue skies, but in that “Utopian arcade” we call Plaza Singapura.

Those barrage of unwanted thoughts had me doing that “blinking back tears” moment, bumping into chaotic happy people, rushing into the third storey ladies, banging the toilet seat shut and sitting there staring at the clinical white washed door. And what started out as a few teary drops launched into a torrent of self pity, helplessness, envy, confusion and I don’t know what else. Incoherent, horrible thoughts. I stopped only to launch into another sobbing fit for what seemed like half an hour.

And then CT called and we met.

I shall attempt a happy entry after this.

you scare me

Oink

Introducing Cartman's pig: Fluffy

Yes, this is indeed my year. If I were to go by the horoscope brouhaha, the year of the pig and all fellow piggies worldwide will be coupled with every sort of turmoil there ever will. I wanted to kick off this blog with a big bang the Occident way, only to stumble into an emotional cesspit of sorts.

Of sorts.

Understatement of the year.

So, sod the mind riddling travesty horoscopes have in store. I mean at the end of the day, it’s all a self fulfilling prophecy if you allow yourself to gag at the bullshit fengshui masters, astrologers and priests have regurgitated over the millennia. (whilst laughing on their way to their rolling bank, may I add.)

It’s been a long time since I blogged and while I find myself giggling at made-up anecdotes on the way to work, peeing in not-so-sterile pub toilets, and policing the atrocities people wear at Raffles Place, I am at a bloody lost on what exactly to talk about on my virgin post. I’ve switched blogs countless times now, either to avoid the vindictive pro-Islamic-fans, non-friendly blog applications and hacker(s) alike. So now, I’ve gone public. Be nice, because if you know me, I really am. :)

Back to my Oinky year. But before this blog continues to pay homage to a year of drama-mamaness, let’s recapitulate the big, eventful events in my life for the past year:

• Thailand, Tioman, India

I profess. I’m not a frequent flier. I’ve hardly traveled when I was younger; my idea of the world consists of Malaysia, Malaysia and Malaysia. So I made it a point come 2006, I have to take small baby steps, while stringing my budget and see what’s the big fuss all about out there. Conclusion: I still don’t see the fuss. Maybe I’ll eventually understand what the hell these life-turning enlightening trips are all about.

• Birthday

Celebrated my birthday in 2006 for a whole week. I had three birthday cakes, two hide and seek surprise dinners, loadsa gifts and enjoyable dinner/drinking sessions. Being single has its many perks – the company of too-good-too-many-friends. :)

• Work

Wonderful colleagues. Bitchy lovable drunkards. Only downside? Boss and pay. I’ve plans for both of them, which of course I shall not discuss publicly here. Ah, sweets!

• The-Start-Up

Fingers crossed. I’m not going to discuss this any more publicly. And despite my sardonic snorts when it comes to fengshui and superstition, I honestly can’t afford to jinx this one up. All in good time.

• School

Took up a part time B.A while busting my ass at work. That’s probably because I was busy writing my paper, dozing off at my desk and doing all sorts of research when I’m supposed to be working. All in all, I’ve been chalking up decent grades. So I got to pat myself on the back, no?

• Mum

We, (the whole family) were expecting it. But when the news came, it hit me hard. You know they say how news could be so bad it seems to hit you right in the gut? I never thought that was possible, partly because I’ve always seen mum as my superhero and another, I’ve never faced the possibility of her bowing down to the illness. And I’m dead afraid of death, fully knowing it’s inevitable and it’s the only confirmation for every single soul out here.

The good old manager had to drag me in the meeting room at work upon which I immediately burst in tears, sobbing and hyperventilating. He was kind enough to offer me his cigarettes, buy me coffee and suggested I go home and take the day off tomorrow. I stayed on at work, walked around Far East Sq in a daze, talked to mum who was sobbing like a little girl over the phone, started wailing in public (Thank god that place’s practically a ghost town in the evening) in between answering phone calls from concerned friends who insisted on knowing where I was so they could be there for me.

I’m still struggling to cope with this whole debacle and I know it’ll never end. Either this thing which shall not be named takes my mum, or she’ll overtake the thing via her mortality. Which is pretty redundant, I say. We all die.

The past few months consists of doctor appointments, financial appeals, and trying to live life normally. She’s getting paler, her skin’s thinning from all that Glivac and I’m trying to keep myself as busy as possible to just not to think about it.

• Love

A girlfriend once told me that my life will consist of many many whirlwind romances before culminating into The One. It’s a jinx I swear. (yes yes, didn’t I just pledge myself as a horoscope atheist?)

Whirlwind romances are great, fun, flighty. Girlfriends have told me not to get attached because they live vicariously through me. But four years of the same old shit? Pfft. This is what I’ve deduced so far on my “love” life:

“Love” has been reduced to equate the great clash of civilizations. (That's drama-queen for you) Filial piety, Islam, East, West, Orientalism, Muslim, Muslim Muslim and possibly Islamophobia. Oh, don’t we just hate bloody binaries? I’ve dated a good number to know me being Muslim will pose a huge problem for the long term. I don’t wish to insert any theological arguments here. There were splendid moments, great chemistry – in and out of bed, but the jinx shall prevail. To more whirlwind romances and *yawn* The One.

• Friends

- The joyrides, singing at the top of our lungs in the middle of the night along our many three-letter-acronym expressways

- The giddy pubbing sessions listening to live bands and dancing ourselves silly

- The serious one-on-one catch ups over coffee *blink*

- Eye candy watching and fashion policing along Raffles Place. And ye can’t say I can’t multi-task

- The late nights banging out our presentation, ordering Macdonalds take out and moonwalking down the library shelves

- The crazy club-hopping marathon we had

- The after-work drinking sessions or staying back in the office just talking. :)

- Supper sessions. Prata, Teh O Halia, Nasi Pattaya, Milo Dinosaur, Nasi Padprik. Al Ameen, Baghdad Street, Jalan Kayu, Tampines, Changi Village, Simpang Bedok, Gardens. No, we hardly do Newton or other tourist traps posing themselves as authentic hawker centers. Although I do concede, the food at Newton rocks.

List is endless. And the events above were a shallow summary of it. It’s been a tiring day, and will be even more so when I get back from The Good Vibrations music festival. To all the babis, piggies and boars out there: this is our year and may no ideological bullshit get in our way of **great success. Heh.

** To be enunciated and pronounced Borat-style.