I think back of the time in Delhi when Moaness and I went sightseeing to Qutub Minar and we ended up in a small village in the middle of nowhere. I was wearing a modest skirt and accompanied by a male.

I think back of that time I went out with two Nigerians looking for sarees. The Indian guy at the shop kept asking me out to go clubbing (yeah right as if I'd take him on that offer). I was accompanied by two males.

I think again of the night in Mumbai when Moaness and I took the 45 minutes ride to Gate of India, saw the Taj Mahal and went to an amazing Indian restaurant. We walked back to the train station, passing by many homeless people with makeshift tents and bricks as pillows. It was 10.30 in the evening, the paths were mostly dark and again I was accompanied by a male.

I reminisced about these few times when locals mistook me for a northern Indian.

I have traveled to many places and yet I am still that same person - wide-eyed, bewildered, excited traveler who thinks nothing but the best of people and admires the beautiful scenery and culture of each country, and perpetually in awe of their people, their culture and most importantly their food.

I've been reading a lot about the gang rape incident that happened last December 2012. Some of the reactions from the people are, to put it shortly - shocking.

"She deserves it because she was out with a man who is not married to her."
"If a woman is good and pure she would not have worn a skirt. Anything but kurtas and lengas are too revealing."
"She is asking for it. If she is out with a man alone she is not a good woman. She is probably already tainted by that man."

I know I'm being melodramatic but anyone could've been that woman. I could've been that woman who was gang-raped.

I shudder at the possibility. And our state of humanity.

Killing Brain Cells

I have been listening to a lot of Earth Crisis lately. Earth Crisis is my ex-boyfriend's favorite band, though I never did take a liking to any of their songs when I was still with him for all of that 11 years. I wanted to say my late ex-boyfriend, but then I realized he's not deceased and still very much alive. Oh well, he is dead to me now. A friend asked me why I keep mentioning his name in conversations even though we are no longer together. I don't know. I cannot help but to associate a lot of things with him because he was in my life for so long. A lot of them are objective rather than subjective, like when my mom complained about my dad who liked to disappear for days without any news, I will tell her that was how my ex was too. Or that time I went to the Unearth concert, I had to tell people I might bump into him and I'm worried that might be awkward, because he is a fan of the band too. Or when I was enjoying Japanese food with a guy I like, I had to tell myself I am savoring the moment because this guy loves Japanese food and he doesn't. I cannot pretend that he never existed. He did. He's just dead to me now.

Well back to Earth Crisis. There is a song heavy on my rotation called All Out War, and then when I read the lyrics, I found out it's about war against meat eating human beings. Hmmm.. Vegetarianism.. I dunno. The first thing that comes to mind when talking about vegetarianism is that episode in South Park where Kyle developed Vaginitis. It's a condition where a person breaks out in vaginas all over his body when he stops eating meat, and if he stops eating meat altogether, he will turn into one giant pussy. I'm not saying all vegetarians are pussies, but some of them are really annoying, especially the self righteous ones. You eat minced meat and they will come up with unsolicited advice about where the minced meat came from - the leftovers of the carcass which no one wants and can't be sold so they grind them to a pulp and then people gobble it up like it's foie gras. I don't care where it came from, you dickhole. It tastes better than your fucking pumpkin soup. And then there are those people who like to show pictures of cattle or goats being tied to a tree, unwittingly waiting for their turns to get slaughtered. And then pictures of the animals being cut up into pieces. This is especially true during a certain religious season. I am not big on these before after pictures either. I don't want to know where my delicious lamb chop or BBQ short ribs are from, god damn it. Someone else has to worry about that, so I won't. All I know is I am able to enjoy them when I want to.  So in a sense, I am the real pussy.

I would like to try going vegetarian for a week, just to see if I can. I have great respect for vegetarians so long as they don't shove their meat free belief down my throat. That said, I don't feel any less love for Earth Crisis. They can continue consuming their tofu and broccoli and I will continue consuming their music. What a pointless post.

All Out War

I think, I owe it to The Narrator to housekeep this blog and delete some of my old posts. They are arguably a bane to this blog's existence, and I cannot for the life of me imagine them being a legacy when I'm dead. So off to the rubbish bin they went, along with the memories of the person of whom I wrote them for.

So what is up with me? After the stint on the tropical island ended, I was sent to a little shit hole on the south of the mainland. That place totally blew... which made for a wretched and miserable old me. The highlights of my day would be watching Netflix after work and going for restroom breaks at work (They played an excellent selection of music there by the way - was where I discovered The Black Keys.. right at the comfort of a random toilet bowl). I hated the place the minute I got in, and have been plotting my escape since. If you ask me why, I cannot remember why anymore. It's stored in a dark corner of my mind that I do not wish to revisit. I just knew that I should get the fuck out of there. And I did, all within 3 months.

So now I am back, to the place I used to bitch and whine about. I wasn't lying when I said I did not want to come back. I truly did not want to come back. And then I was condemned to hell on earth. A land where Mexicans would kill to get in and Indians would cheat and lie and annoy the fuck out people to get a working permit. And I couldn't leave fast enough.

So thank you M.

Janji Update

This blog deserves an update.

I don't know who we were kidding when the 3 of us tried to jump start the blog bandwagon when this was started almost a year ago. Well at least we tried. No harm trying, you twitter-loving scumbag.

Well here I am in a foreign city on the eve of Malaysia Day. I never forget. I like to think I'm patriotic like that. God I love my country. You never know how much you miss hailstones despite the gold rain here unless you're away for awhile. (this sentence was inspired by Jit Murad's play) Being my first time away for quite a while, I guess I was bound to be homesick.

When I say homesick, I don't mean it in a 'sekolah asrama penuh' kinda way. Of course being away from the humid weather and endless traffic jams is something I'm thankful for. It's just that on quiet nights like these, when the weather outside is freezing cold and wet, your mind likes to wander off where it once reigned: In Bolehland, the land of endless politicking and ungrateful fucks.

So on Malaysia Day, I want to see pass the rhetorics and the lies. I don't care about red paint, gay guidelines and whether any Janji has been Ditepati. Let this day remind us of how 3 (used to be 4) territories came together and laid birth to a nation. The only thing I felt should have been looked into was the date because it could have saved us the whole friggin' debate and countless arguments if Malaysia Day was held on 31 August. But come to think of it, at least we have something to quarrel about for the next one or two centuries.

Happy Malaysia Day!

Call me an old school romantic, but I refuse to believe that one would be in a relationship for money. There are many cases of people being together only for money of course, but I believe mine is not one of them.

Yet when we fight, why is it that he can't talk about nothing else but the amount of money he spent on me? Is that really all that matters? Theoretically, if this is a purely monetary-based relationship, wouldn't that make me a whore? 

Wow. Thank you for outrightly implying that I'm nothing more but a money-grabbing, rotting-piece-of-shit of a whore. 

Where do whores go? Tyrion asked. 

Where there's love. I said.

Thanksgiving My Ass

I'm not exactly thrilled with him right now. I made roast chicken for thanksgiving, and the entire day he complained about how much he hates holidays, and how he has not spent any holidays in the last 10 years with a significant other. I said having a partner does not guarantee an excellent holiday, it might just be as bad, and it could easily be a lot worse from my personal experience. He said he can't speak for me, but he's the kind of person who will always enjoy celebrating holidays with his girlfriend. So I said how could you have possibly known that if you've always spent your holidays alone? He said he was still with his ex on the Fourth of July, and it was utterly splendid. Well what the fuck was he doing with me then, go to your fucking vietcong ex then. What a rude, inconsiderate and ungrateful little bastard :(

One of the reasons why my ex boyfriend's mom disapproved of me (among many others) is the fact that I didn't cook. Let me rephrase that, the fact that he told his mom that I can't cook. Cooking is, unfortunately, like many other skills (i.e. driving, fellatio, manicure, bulb changing) - easily learned, practiced, and if one is diligent enough, perfected - a fact that probably escaped both his mother and him. The real reason why I didn't cook, and unapologetically so, is because I simply didn't have to - my mom cooks all the time, and she loves cooking for me because I love eating her food. I don't eat a lot - for every serving of rice I have, I would usually leave 3/4 untouched, but with her food I would at least have a second helping. She sometimes grumbles that I don't cook, but she will cook anyway. So why the hell would I fix something that's not broken?

And then I landed on this godforsaken island, and found most of the food inedible and despicable. I don't eat steaks, hamburgers, tacos or pizzas, so I was forced to make my own food. It wasn't hard, the first few meals tasted kind of ehhh but as I said, with enough practice anybody can bloody cook. The advent of online recipes expedited my learning process, my only grievance is that asian cooking takes a lot of preparation time which I usually don't have the luxury of.. and sometimes I'm just plain lazy. But when I have the craving, at least I can run to the kitchen and whip up something spicy and comforting.

And then after I got to know him, instead of cooking for just myself, I cooked for two. I knew that he liked my cooking, because he always asks for second helpings, or maybe he was just perpetually hungry. Deep down inside I also felt a tinge of pride because I have never cooked for anyone, not even for my ex of 11 years (serves him right). It gives you that inexplicable joy, slaving through unfamiliar grounds just to create something delicious and fit for consumption for your object of desire... My sister always says the way to a man's heart is through his tummy. Funny, I always thought it's through his penis. No wonder I didn't have much luck there.

And whenever I cooked for him, I never expected anything in return. You can say my affection towards him is genuine and unconditional. I simply enjoy his company, I love his sense of self-deprecating humor and passionate misanthropy, and he is just such a delight to look at. Some magazine poll somewhere voted Bradley Cooper as the sexiest man alive, but honestly if he were spotted in Hollywood, he would have easily trumped Mr. Hangover. There is nothing that I would not do for that man, except maybe anal sex. I would give him head all day if he wanted me to. He complained that my bed is the most uncomfortable bed ever, so I went shopping at 1 am on Black Friday and got an entire set of Calvin Klein bedding, complete with Calvin Klein mattress pad and Calvin Klein down comforter. I could have gotten other sub par brands, but no, I got everything Calvin Klein, just so he would stop whining about my bed. Also because I have always wanted a Calvin Klein bedding. I realize this zany relationship is lopsided and I am the only one showing any effort and affection, but I really like him and everything I did, I did it out of sincerity.

So is it too much to ask for a bit of respect and gratitude? How about not complaining that you hate your day while I am around? What am I supposed to do when you say these things? Am I supposed to ignore my own feelings? I have been there before, and I sought the company of girlfriends.. It was a holiday and I couldn't spend it with my ex so I went out with them instead.. but I didn't tell them I hated holidays because I couldn't spend it with him. That's just awkward and unappreciative. Even a callous cunt like me knows that.

Yay to life

It's my birthday today *fireworks*

It's been an awesome month so far.

Once and for all, my parents helped me resolve my 2-year-old problem and relinquished half of my monetary problems. Woes which had dogged me for months on end, of which I never thought there'd be light at the end of the day are finally gone. There are days I woke up in the morning and thought of it, and I remember being very depressed about it, I wanted to shove it away but I can't and eventually my family came to my rescue. I am relieved and thankful for my family, but being 30 and still have to have your parents to help you has made me think that kids are such a bane.

You'd thought by 30 they'd not be bugging you with their problems and you set them free and they set their own course in life and shit. Not come round to you and ask you for help, I mean what the fuck? If I was 60 and my kids still asked me to resolve their problems I'd go "Shieeeetttt I don't have the energy for this anymore, son."

So yeah, that's one dream I don't mind not happening. If it happens anyway, yeah well shit happens hahahahah.

Digressed.

Anyway it has been amazing. In the preceeding days to my birthday, during one of our many banters about where to eat, he willingly suggested Japanese food a couple of times when I knew he hates Japanese food. Aww is this really love? (Later he told me likes the Japanese udon in one of the restaurants that slightly resembles hailam mee, and that's the reason why he didn't mind compromising -_-)

For this birthday I received a couple of birthday gifts from Fuzzy, and I feel so, so, so blessed so thankyoubaby (sic).

Then on the night of my birthday gift I spent it with Cath from Beijing, Kirsty and Fuzzy and it was simply great as I love quiet celebrations. Cath who was my houseguest gave me a birthday card, with cute messages and it's been a long time since I got one so it was really, really sweet.

I am truly thankful for my supportive family, my ever reliable friends and my charming boyfriend. God bless you all.

p/s: Gosh I'm sucha woman I have to rave about my birthday in one sappy blog spot hahaha.