MONOSACCHARIDE: The simple sugar.

Homesick. As hell.

I am very sad. It’s so scary, and I’m so sad.

I got home a day earlier, and today I managed to meet up with 2 of the longest lasting, most treasured friends I have.

More importantly, I’ve also met up with the 2 aunts who brought me up till I was 7, one of whom lives in Japan now and I usually see only during Hari Raya.

I shall not continue this post because this whole leaving-everything-behind deal is starting to make me feel really sad.

Ok so I have not been in Singapore for the last 2-3 weeks, am still not back yet, but I’ll be back tomorrow night, afterwhich I have 2 days in Singapore before I say bye bye to what’s been my home the last 20 years and move on to greener (not literally though) pastures.

I am, however, planning to sneak back home on the 28th for Infected Mushrooms at Zouk. Home’s only 4 hours away anyways.

So till 2013, goodbye Singapore. You will forever be where I call home cause we all know how I am too kiasu to belong anywhere else. No actually that’s not true… I just can’t imagine calling myself a Malaysian.
& when I return, at the age of 26 (LOL), please do not forget the pre-fix to my name, hey.

“I’ll be your winter coat buttoned and zippedstraight to the throat
With the collar up so you won’t catch a cold”

The last thing I need is for you to impose on me your theories as to why I am shrewd and not conforming to what you feel is healthy. So fine, think what you may, that it was out of repulse of one side’s hurtful flaws and a couple of bad experiences that must have wounded me pretty deep, whatever, or that I watch too much TV, whatever, seriously man, whatever. Just keep it to yourself. Do not keep reminding me. Stop trying to figure me out. I haven’t done it myself so I don’t see why you should. If you really must, do not do it at my expense. I am happy where I am. I am happy ignorant and confused and stagnant. All I know is that I am here because I chose to be here. Not because I was trapped in a corner and suffocating and desperate to be saved like you think.

Maybe I am in denial. I don’t know. Maybe, who cares, I certainly do not. It does me good that I do not think about it and that I deny according to my fancy. I do not think about it because I do not want to have this figured out just as of yet, meaning I do not wish to listen to your overwhelming opinions as you attempt to explain my life and my choices. I am young, I am reckless, I am careless, and I love it like that because it is undeniably easier that way. I am very comfortable with not having to wage war with the demons in my head just as so I can once again own a sad piece of terrain on your land. I am very comfortable with letting myself fall onto whichever side of the fence. Do not make it seem like the grass patch on your field is greener in comparison because I highly doubt you’ve climbed this opaque wall to see that other patch of grass and walk on it and lay on it and smell the dew on it the next morning like I have.

You cannot see through walls like Superman, can you? And hearsay does not count either because it does not do anyone, or anything, justice.

You choose to love what I love too, can you not understand that I love them for the same reasons too? Is it the male ego that hinders your acceptance that a seemingly inferior class is preferred over yours when by right, society gives you and your kind the throne?

Do you know that this experience has taught me more about myself than a whole army of men ever could? Have you thought about the fact that maybe I am truly in love with this new world, and not because I was left with no choice of alternative routes to salvation? Don’t you think it is possible that I have fallen in love through the course of my journey and not because I made up my mind to do just that before I began?

It is possible, is it not?

All that I ask from you is that you give me the benefit of the doubt. I am not sure myself, I am anything but clear-headed. But having negative mentalities like yours and churning such pessimistic ideas will not help either. Let the answers come to me naturally, let me explore and learn, truth will surface in due time, and when that happens, we will discuss. I will talk.

For now let me be.

Don’t you realise that it is people like you who say the things you said the reason why I cannot be proud of this, and instead hide it like it was some kind of embarassing, sick flaw? So much for encouraging me to be open, really. You only make me feel faulty and inept.

I am not one to diet. If I needed to lose weight, I would exercise and drink more water, I would cut down on late nights, but I am definitely not one to diet. I still eat whatever I want, whenever I want.

These days have seen me heavier than I have been in past years. I can’t help it. I am truly too happy, and happy people eat… Heartily.

I chatted with Jasmine, after not seeing each other in person for almost two months now. It went along the lines of,

“You won’t believe how much weight I’ve gained. And my tummy! Oh my goodness my tummy! I show you picture… K, can see?”

“OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOURSELF?!”

I met up with Dino a few nights ago, after a really long time too, and I said,

“I’ve been happy! Can you tell? It shows around my belly!”Who would thought my butt could get any bigger than it already was?

“And around your arms, your face and your butt… Your thighs are bigger than mine now.”

A conversation with my mum this morning,

“Adek I cooked your favourite… But I am not encouraging you to eat. I made it extra spicy too, but I am not encouraging you to eat.”

“…@#$%^&*!!!!!!!!!!!”

 My favourite,

When I bumped into an old friend 2 days ago in Woodlands,

“Hey you!”

“OMG you look like a mother of three! I didn’t recognise you!”

“Yea you’ve always said I look like a mother.”

“But NOW mother of THREE, not one anymore!”

“CIBAI YOU ALSO GAINED WEIGHT OK!”

“Yes but abit only! I didn’t upgrade by two whole kids!”

It’s raining. I can’t jog.

“Oh fuck off Mark. It’s not my job to make you a better man and I don’t give a shit if I’ve made you a better man. It’s not a fucking woman’s job to be consumed and invaded and spat out so that some fucking man can evolve.”

-Jenny, The L Word Season 2 Episode 11.

The girl waits on the shore and looks out to sea. She holds her breath until his ship sails in. She has so much to say. She won’t dig her toes into the sand. So let the waves soak her dress. She won’t walk and she won’t breathe. She has too much to say. She takes this time to figure them out. Words don’t fail her.. Please.

To internalise:-

and my personal favourite,

Steve Aoki at Zouk, call me if you’re interested. We’ll have a blast!

I am incredibly misunderstood by many, I realise. Especially those I have only just met. What makes that ok for me is probably the fact that the ones who loved me then love me even more now, and would probably love me still years down the road.

To the select few who have offended me by falling out of love with me in the course of the friendship, I daresay you lose out. I am one to better myself and if you would have just stayed a little longer to see it through, you would have gained more than what you stood to lose.

I am back from the salon. I am tired from a hard day’s work and (a lack of) sleep that is seemingly impossible to catch up with. I have been reading Ash’s short stories and I realise I miss writing. I miss feeling. It is terrifying to let myself feel now. Everything’s been swept and tucked away into a bottle. I am waiting for the glass to explode onto the keyboard. My keyboard has three hundred and seventy alphabets and keys. I cannot imagine a man’s affection for a woman could ever compare with the connection that is made when a woman is affectionate for another. I am possibly homophobic when I look into the mirror. So much so that I have looked at myself lesser of late. But I am engulfed in your feminine prowess everytime I look back into your eyes.

I miss writing.

I will be your sunshine through the rain. In return, will you promise me solid ground?

We could be complimenting jigsaw pieces. Or our lives could.

I think this calls for a trip to the salon.

So tell me, what is the damn point of me going down this very unnecessarily terrifying new route, that might or might not be of worth to me in the long run, if my new encounters are simply manifestations of what I’ve stuck through before, minus a dick?

I came this far because I thought a change was in order. I took a huge step for myself in a very risky direction just as so I can put a definite stop to tiring old ways. But you, you might just be proof that the devil indeed comes in every shape, size, and apparently, gender too.

And me, I’m just living proof that no matter which angle you bend the damn arrow, players will still be just players, and girls who are attracted to players (and only players) will still be just that.

You may have just ruined my last remaining bit of faith in humankind. This is dreadful, I swear. Do you see the gravity of this?!

I can’t stop this thing short, that’ll be lame. But I won’t play either, cause then that’ll defeat the purpose of you in the first place. So this is what I am going to do. I am going to start being honest. So brutally honest. No more pretense, no more hiding. Everything’s going to come out, and then I’m going to demand for an answer, and if it’s a no, I am moving on. I may find you hot, true, but please remember, I still hold both cards in my hands. I can switch anytime I like and you’d be forgotten faster than you can say gay.

I have also adopted a no return policy of late, to ensure space for newer, fresher stock; and I dare say I have been keeping at that rather well.

And you… You better start thinking hard about what you really mean to say cause the next wish that you make? Well you might just get it, beautiful.

Sidenote, Zouk was terrific. So was Marco V. It’s now 7.41am. Goodnight world.

SEAN TYAS WAS THE SEXXX!!!

It does not make me any less of a person just because I am open about my affection and adoration of some people. Discussing my feelings keeps me reminded of my standards and my principles. A materialistic and highly practical person such as myself needs constant encouragement to appreciate people for more than just what I stand to benefit from them. Besides letting a beautiful person be aware of his beauty and making him feel good about himself (which I love doing), I am also setting an example for myself to follow.

There is also a stark difference between being desperate and nostalgic. Desperate is the fool who sleeps with the chick he meets around the next bend simply because he couldn’t get no other. Nostalgic is the romantic who loves the demons from his past because he acknowledges the fact that though in present he feels agonised, it is the same being that used to bring him bliss and happiness. Nostalgic is also the charming idealist who doesn’t rush the future and sweep old pains under the rug, but one who takes his time to cry, heal and calm himself before he bravely moves on to paint entirely new pictures for himself; With no pathetic intention whatsoever to achieve something similar to what he had before, a replica identical enough in nature to be made a replacement, simply because he was gracious enough to accept, forgive, but not forget.

In fact, I think the loser here is the one who boasts about loving his partner ‘to death’ to some, only to deny making that statement to ladies he intends to fuck and then going further to make claims that he has never liked/ stopped liking her for whatever reason; When in truth, he doesn’t even give a damn if he has her or not.

I have decided that I will revert to wearing my heart on my sleeve once more, and that I will pity the ones who choose to trade meaningless ego with their souls. Go on asshole, you can keep your bloody pride, and while I float around comfortably, safely, in the warm understanding and affection that my friends cacoon me in from being able to connect with my experiences as beings with real emotions, I hope you eat yourself to death in your lonely confusion and painful masquerades.

(I have editted this entry at least thrice now, adding more April babies to this list as I recall them. It’s a wonder how I seem to have so many Aries and Taurus friends.)

Birthday shout-outs to (in random order):

Arshad- I still think you are disgustingly gay in all that make up and your clothes, and I was simply mocking you everytime I call you superstar, but it’s never seemed to bother you. I insult almost everything that you do, that you are, the girls that you sleep with and your tastes; But you still tell me stories about your life anyways. You’re bloody thick skinned and I appreciate you most for that. For old times sakes; Happy birthday, pretty babe. 

Dino Big Daddy Cool (BDC)- Thank you for always being the level headed one amongst us, and thank you for leading by example. Thank you for educating us of acceptance and maturity, and most significantly, forgiveness. 

An bro!- The one and only Farhan Arab in my life. You’re irreplaceable. May 24 bring you what you desire most right now. & beyond!

 Ash & Wawan!- The house party was whacked! But what rocks more, is having you two crazy tarts as friends. Me love you long time.

Khalid Badib- This is still the cutest pic that I have of you. You haven’t changed much since, save the cast on your arm and a jungle worth of hair on your face.  

Danial Feroze Joseph Hakim- Stop calling me kotek, and tonight I hope you bring home enough catch for nenek to cook asam pedas. 

Shaik baby!- Some bonds are made to last, yeah? 8 years and counting. I miss you heaps, my love. BUT! I think I miss your mum and her soup tulang more. See you this weekend, can’t wait! 

Mya, my bitch- The one and only burmese diva who’s not like any other divas I’ve ever met my entire life. You’ve been with me since we were short, skinny and innocent. All that doesn’t even sound remotely possible now, but yes, it’s true… Once. 13 years ago we were once kental; But we loved it. Now we’re just superficial… And boy do we love it!

Mya dearest, we are the 2 left standing, seeing how Bella, Nat and Azzy have left us to join the Attached&Committed circle. I guess it’s safe to say they’re in it for the long run this time. How romantically sweet, no? :) We have no clue when our turns will be but I doubt we’re looking forward to it anyways, betol? Betol. Who would have thought… Us 2 were the most kental amongst the 5, how did we end up being the last 2 left frolicking around. Goes to show, hero mati last. 

The first time I remember feeling disappointment was when I was around fifteen. I don’t remember over what exactly, maybe because it wasn’t a significant heartbreak besides the fact that that was the first incident I was unhappy over anything, but weighing the possibility that it could have been about my grades, friends or family, I hardly doubt it was any of those. I have a strong feeling it was about one of the 874358479 boys I had a thing for. No surprises there, I know.

But what made my first heartbreak special to me was the initiation of a very bad habit in me that has stayed on and grew to be even more intense today. After my first heartbreak, I went on to have a third hole pierced in my left ear.

Every subsequent heartbreak after that one, major or otherwise, be it about a break-up, over a death or diagnosed disease in the family, a misplaced earring, a bad grade, a lost friend, anything really, would probably mean a five dollar trip to 77th street and going home with one additional stud in my left ear. It went on for about 3 years, and because I was a very sensitive soul, both my ears looked like bulletin boards by the time I left college. I soon decided that it was a fashion disaster since I was more often than not, too lazy to match the colours of over 10 studs to any singular outfit I wore. I removed my earstuds and I let all the holes close save for two on my left and one singular hole my right.

In polytechnic, I decided I was going to stop terrorizing my ears, and since I am not allowed to pierce any other parts of my body, I went on to terrorizing my hair instead.

Every little time I felt sad, angry or depressed, I went to the salon.

3 years spent in poly saw me change my hairstyle twenty times maybe. It wasn’t that my life was sad or depressing, cause by nature I get over things very very quickly. It was just that I am/was extremely volatile, and emotions are/were easily swayed.

In year 3, I spent $300 on dreadlocks. I forgot what triggered this hairstyle. It was probably my tutee underperforming for his end of year exams or something like that. 

I guess for most of us, we yearn for changes after we’ve gone through a bad patch. It’s normal. I guess, in a spiritual sort of way, a change signifies a new beginning; and just the thought of that hovering in our subconcious state triggers for a quickened rate of physical and emotional recuperation. For some others, a change helps heal a regretful soul; Lest of a new a beginning, but more of altering the current circumstances to make for a more bearable present.

About half a year ago, my obsession with multi-coloured hair mellowed down. When that happened, it slipped my mind that in place of mane restyling activities, I might have to think of a new way to incur physical change upon myself the next time I needed ‘change’.

So few months ago, when the assignments started to pile in and I felt a little pressured, I decided, heck, I’ll just go back to piercing my face again. Not my ears though, they’ve been porkmarked enough, those poor things. 

The eyebrow stud did the trick, but I soon found out I had to find yet another alternative to piercings and hairstyle changes cause apparently, my communist father thinks that a piercing on the face makes me look tacky and ugly.

Fine then, I then went on to getting a mark under my ear. It’s pretty discreet, especially since I always wear my hair down. (The picture has been taken off because I have old friends sneaking their noses up and down my neck as they scan for it and in all honesty, a friend’s breath hard on my nape creeps me out especially when he does it immediately when he sees me after a few weeks of absence.)

So a month ago, when I hit a little rough patch, I thought, what the heck, let this change be a big one. A painful, permanent, expensive, big one. 

I went for lasik surgery 2 days back and starting from tomorrow onwards, I’ll be constantly decked in my YSL shades during the day and in my pirate eye covers (picture above) on both eyes at night. I’m so hip and pirate y’all! I also have to refrain from watching TV, using the computer (I am blogging illegally), playing with my PSP, reading, doing soduko, exercising, going out to crowded or bright places… For the next one week or so. 

Next week will mark the 3rd week of my home confinement in the name of pre and post surgical prepping. How mundane.

Who knows, a few more failed relationships and a cat death or two later, I’ll probably (finally) have enough guts to go for that Botox I’ve always wanted.

For now let’s just say thank you and bye bye to two very much loved friends that I’ve grown to appreciate last few years.

To the rugged half-rimmed black Oakleys that saw me through O levels, thank you, I loved you, and I will forever be indebted to you for your outstanding durability despite my careless handling.

To the red Gucci that has been a bitch to match, I love you mucho. The day I had you marked the first of many splurges on red items just as so I could give you red friends. On most days I looked like Santarina but it’s ok, I may be mother Christmas, but I am mother Christmas in Gucci, dammit.

12 hours and 2724 words later, I am reborn.

Thank you to the friends who have stayed by my side. The ones who were never too busy for me despite holding down full-time jobs,
who never got bored of me despite my repetitive rambling,
who have never taken me lightly,
who slapped me silly when I needed to be slapped,
who said what had to be said even if they’re the toughest to put across,
who were brave and faithful enough to be the bearer of bad news,
who would never turn me down on any given day,
who could find a million other better things to do but instead chose to stick through.

You stayed by my side for no other reason except that you are my friends. True friends.

May this year hold many many more blessings and miracles for you. Yes, miracles more astounding than your 10kg weight gain. Hallelujah! 

 You’re finally fat and healthy now. No more the constantly stoned junkie, aye?

& I didn’t manage to catch it on print screen, but I saw you smile for the first time today!

It’s not even noon and I have just returned from the hair salon. I’ve chopped off about 5 inches off my hair length. And for the first time in a long while, I now have bangs. Yes, I have eyebrow level bangs. I am so generic. Oh the shame.

They say a woman’s ability to love and commit in a long-term relationship is reflected in the way she treats her hair. And though I can vouch on my cat’s life that I have only the utmost love and affection for my hair, and spend more time on it than any other part of my body, I cannot say much about leaving it unchanged for longer than a few months tops.

Ditto.

On an average day, you’ll find I am one of those annoyingly happy girls who have everything they could ever wish for. I am the one with curls in her hair and her heart on her sleeve. The one who’s extremely enthusiastic to jump and laugh and love. I am the girl who’s too optimistic to take pains to heart, or learn the lessons that have made the world so cynical. On an average day, I am also the girl who secretly wishes you were hers once more to shower with affection, whose arms are hers to jump into as and when she likes, and whose pockets are for her to sneakily slip small trinklets and love notes into when you’re not aware. You were never the sort to keep too many things in your pockets anyway, your car keys were always in my bag (which always finds its place on your shoulders instead of mine) and your wallet’s so ridiculously thin, so there was always plenty of space in your pockets. In so many ways, you’re not the person I thought I knew back then. You’re almost impossible to figure out, more so now. But the parts of you that have stayed constant with memory still charm me like nobody else can. You still sweep me off my feet. & you, only you, still knock the air out of my messy little head everytime you smile. You are my last. Still.

I feel that my determination to keep my hair in its natural state deserves some mention.

Since I was 15, I have been making trips to the hair salon every quarter year to either perm, rebond, cut, dye or extend my mane. On one occasion, I’ve done all 5 together within one visit. My record breaking price tag fixed to a singular visit was almost $800, where I spent 6 hours in a salon in Taka. That hairstyle lasted me approximately 4 months before I had the itch to get my hair done again.

I had treatments done very often, which was my saving grace from balding.

I have never seen my natural curls or colour since I was 15, which was 6 years ago.

But for the last 6 months, I have had only temporary straightening done, which lasts about a month or less, before my hair frizzes back. I figured since my fingers got itchy every few months, I might as well do something less damaging so it can withstand bi-monthly treatments.

Temporary straightening is immensely annoying, mind you. It leaves my hair wavy, puffy and almost fake. After 3 to 4 weeks, my roots will be extremely curly all over again and I have to spend hours getting acquianted with my hair iron. It’s proven to be more costly than standard rebonding because not only do I have to spend $85 more on straightening as compared to rebonding, I also have to do it twice as often, and invest in a good hair iron which I will have to spend 2 hours using to ensure I do not show up in school sporting toiletbrush hair.

I was extremely tempted to permanently straighten my hair again, but I stuck through the hell that was rebellious ugly hair for the sake of being less generic/fake/tailored.

Natural is beautiful, no?

My last straightening treatment recently wore off, and on most days, when I do not have time/feel too lazy to iron my hair, this is how my (real) hair looks:

Those who have known me since pre-rebonding days, say hello once again to the Lina Sabrina you knew then. Slightly meatier than you last remembered, but hey, I can assure you I am still the same old kental and extremely messy nerd who blushes and giggles at almost everything… The same gossipy girl in the library discussing new pink/purple buys with Zanna, hardcore emo music with the twins and sporting injuries with Zilah. The same girly girl who sat with Aish at her madrasah class laughing over her temporary blindness (”Lina your eyes disappear everytime you laugh!”) after every joke.

Ahh, good ol’ young days, yeah girls?

Limewire totally tricked me, so for today we’re back to season 2, episode 10.

Life’s not a scoreboard, whether you win, lose or draw, it still goes on. So go ahead, argue with the refs, change the rules, cheat a little, take a break, and tend to your wounds. But play. Play. Play hard, play fast. Play loose and free. Play as if there’s no tomorrow. It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.

I was listening to an old playlist when I heard a familiar tune, with lyrics that never did hit home until today. I’ve found a song for you. I’ve found your song.

When it’s ready, the world will slow down too.

If you’re like me, and you love spending your days dancing alone in your room in front of the mirror, or with your crazy girlfriends while someone records it on her phone, dressed in less than an oversized jersey and your favourite pink panties, then you should download Britney’s new album.

It is so outrageously flirty, I don’t think it even counts as tacky anymore. I love it!

There are more singles coming up, but you should probably listen to these first:

Radar
Freakshow
Hot as ice
Ooh ooh baby
Heaven on Earth
Perfect lover
Toy soldier
Get naked
Why should I be sad?

Go  dance sexy, dance crazy, dance like nobody’s watching. Dance like everything depends on it.
Dance, dance, dance. Cause sometimes everything really does depend on it.

“You’re a sweet kid, but you don’t know what it’s like to have something change you in your soul.” 

“I do, I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

“Don’t let it change you.”

On a little girl with self-inflicted severe internal damage due to a chromosomal disorder and an inability to feel pain,

“Everybody wants a life without pain, but look at this… She should be on post-its, to remind people that pain is there for a reason.”

Amazing songs are those that make absolutely no literal sense to you even if you listen to it a thousand times over. By the 1001th time, you would have butchered the lyrics so many more ways that you’d be confused as hell and you start to doubt even the spelling of 3-letter long words. 

And then one fine day, something happens and it’s either your roof or your floor. Your roof comes down on you, along with the rest of the sky, or your floor crumbles and you’re falling and falling and falling all the way down to nowhere exactly.

 Then a good friend plays that same insensible song from your Ipod and he blasts in on your car stereo while you’re driving. First you feel annoyed cause you already have to deal with your suffocatingly tight chest, now you have to deal with a crazy assed friend who yells meaningless lyrics at the top of his lungs too.

2 lines into the song and you catch his eye in the rear view mirror while you stop at the light, and you realise he has fire in his eyes. You realise he isn’t playing the song randomly. You have 1491 songs in your Ipod and this particular song was chosen for you.

 So you sing along anyway. 

2 verse and a chorus later you finally breathe again after almost 48 hours of oxygen deprivation.

An amazing song lets you cry and breathe at the same time, when you were so close to losing all hope of ever finding sanctuary.

An amazing song is one that you won’t ever understand until you experience that same level of despair, until you reach the same plane of emotional state as the one the song writer was on when he penned down the lyrics.

Do not bother googling for meaning of classics; Great writers will never tell you what their words are about. It’s not that they don’t want to explain to you their stories, they just can’t. If they could, if they were even slightly capable of being so direct about their feelings, they would have written cheap hip hop club hits instead. 

You know hip hop, they take everything as it is, at face value. When sex is just pumping and music’s just to set the beat for that pump. It makes everything ugly.

Oasis balances out the ugly.

That amazing song didn’t help me solve much, but it jumpstarted my road to recovery, when before, I didn’t think it was even possible.

“Players only love you when they’re playing.”

You wanna gamble, you gotta be prepared to lose. Cause even the luckiest don’t walk into the casino 30 times in 30 days with 30 straight wins.

After what happened on Wednesday, I am hell bent on making the remaining of this week work out in your favour. I’m gunna make sure you have fun!

I don’t know how I am going to sleep now that I’ll be alone. I wish school didn’t end so soon, but then again, we all need to move on to greater things, ya?

Needless to say, I’ll miss you heaps, Kitty dearest. xoxo.

Dear God,

If you give me a place in that Uni,
I promise to stop skipping lectures.

I will also stop downloading Grey’s Anatomy during exam periods and
start buying biodegradable eyeliner because at the rate at which I am sharpening my eye pencils and buying new ones, I am alleged to be one of the most ruthless abuser of the Earth’s natural resources.

I also promise to stop dating for superficial reasons and *rolls eyes* see the good in men beyond their looks and wealth.

I will return to my brother the money that I have taken from him by force, and feed my cats to make up for all the times I took their eating bowls away and hid it on top of the fridge just to see them look sad.

I will start sympathizing with community trash, and not call them that anymore, and I will stop making a mockery of them in front of their faces.

I will stop picking fights. I will stop sizing guys up just because I know the gentlemen won’t fight with ladies and the ruffians won’t fight with a policeman’s daughter. I will stop sizing up girls just because I know I am physically superior for the lady ladies and I am too aesthetically domineering for the minahs.

Please God, give me a spot in that Uni.

Amen.

That’s the way we like to fuck! 

This is how it feels to fuck on cocaine…

(more…)

You’re the bounce in my steps after 4 hour sleep nights,
and I thank you.

That was me hogging on Amanda’s phone till the battery went flat simply because I couldn’t stop talking to you and we’ve already killed the battery on my own phone.

That was also me not being able to concentrate on my Maths the whole night.

(more…)

It is utterly disgusting how you used your friends when you needed them, how you spent every waking minute with them because you were lonely,

and how you are now throwing them aside and devoting all that is within you, to the man whom you used to belittle on your public blog.

It is also utterly disgusting, though somewhat humorous, to see that same man try to make you look like a prized possession to so many after he has told me long, detailed stories pertaining to your actual worth.

God forbid; I will never do such things in my life.

When will either of you realise that small boats should only compete in tiny ponds? Baby your sails are the size of the bubbles I fart.

When will either of you realise that in my eyes, and in the eyes of the ones that I may one day choose to tell everything to, your faces are stained with shitcoal? Too dirty to bleach to even one tenth the shade of my pubic hair.

God forbid; I will never do the things you’ve done.

My oh my, look who’s still calling multiple times a day/night even after his calls were ignored and rejected, and he was told to stop. And no, it wasn’t to talk about school either. *smirks. The last thing he’d want to talk about is school.

Trust me, you wouldn’t want to know the things he chose to talk about, or the things he asked, or the way he suggested I call when this and that.

I wouldn’t lie about these things, and besides, I wasn’t alone when his calls came in. The girls saw “**** Home” (oh I am so dodgy!!) on the screen when my phone rang. Afterwhich they saw me press the reject button, and then they saw more calls coming in from the same number. I even have someone to swear that he heard me tell the dude to fuck off and leave me alone.

Come here, girl.

How about you go take better care of your boyfriend, huh? I don’t want to hear him giving more excuses as to why he picked up your calls late or why he’s taking forever to get ready and meet you, when I have been on his other ear on his house phone for the past hour.

Please do not impose typical Indian culture on me cause I just don’t get it. Indian by blood, but I’m really Frangipanian (sorry, Nat) by nature.

Let’s do a case study. Closest girlfriends like Mya and Bella have dated Indians too, but those weren’t typical Indians. They don’t look typical and they definitely do not think typically either. A couple were mixed-blooded, most have never dated typical Indian girls, some have lived overseas all their lives, all were either well educated, well disciplined or held down decent jobs, and most importantly, none were alcoholic.

A fair warning to aspiring middle-class Indian lovers, take it from the one who’s been there and done that more than once, and watched it going on around her, more than twice- Don’t go there.

Be prepared for their uniQQQQue sense of drama, and out of this world brand (it’s almost like India is on an entirely different galaxy) of bullshit. Whether or not the Indian has nigger proned ambitions and his ex-girlfriend was quote unquote, some shit mix Indian but she’s Christian. And see, this thing about Indians is that, despite the over-crowding that is going on back home in the land of celestial cows, they still believe that the Indian community is small, tight and well-connected.

Meaning, one Indian’s relationship, is every Indian’s business. Pray the dramatics are extensive enough to allow some 5 billion black noses to be stuck in. Make sure every nook and cranny are filled up to allow every moustached mouth under those noses a topic to talk about.

If you’ve heard about Indians being likened to double-headed snakes, I’m telling you, it’s true. Not all, but most.

See the problem is not necessarily the Indian you date, cause we all know that all our boyfriends and girlfriends are essentially the most wonderful people in the world, regardless of how hairy their chests are or how much darker the room seems to be at night behind closed doors.

Most of the problem lies in the Indian community as a whole. They feel an ingrained sense of duty to make matters worse by exaggerating a possibly small issue. And until the boyfriend is put in a spot where every inch of his being is being scrutinized and dirtied, until the relationship is put at the edge of a break-up, their solemn duties as friends have not been properly fulfilled.

They must talk, even if they weren’t at the scene of the crime. The Indian boys must act like they’re brothers, and that it is of utmost honour that they say things about the girl (even if the girl is their friend) to add fire and to break the couple up. The Indian girls must act like they mother the god-forsaken boyfriend and carry out maternal duties of assuming that the boy is too stupid to think for himself. And like all mothers, they must ask stupid OBVIOUS questions pertaining to his ‘pride’ like, “aren’t you ashamed for having been cheated on?” just to you know, rub salt in the wound.

Of course the boy is in some kind of dilemma. He cannot explain to his stand-in mother that she doesn’t understand what is going on but that he does, and he knows that everything is alright. He cannot explain that she was absent from the scene and hence, she doesn’t know enough to have the right to talk so much, that she has no idea what the nature of the relationship is like and so she won’t know how the rules run, he cannot explain that he loves her and that the relationship is strong even though it doesn’t seem like it sometimes. He cannot possibly explain all that- cause they’re Indians and they are so absorbed in their land of curry and coconut that they won’t get it. Ever.

Of course the boy can’t possibly be expected to back her up like how she did for him at least twice before, of course. Because his friends are Indians, and everything else is false and unfinal except for the words that sprout from the mouth of Gandhi and all things of the same shade.

I should know; My father’s Indian.

P/S: For those who are new to my writing, and are not yet informed of my blogging habits, please know that any threats/harsh requests/anything along those lines to delete my entries are duly ignored. I am expecting some form of blow-up somewhere to come out because of the things I have said here, but threatening to take back what I say won’t solve anything. So please, spread all you want, but comment selectively.

I have finally started logging into my facebook account of late, mainly because my first true love Friendster is no longer around.

Upon my first log in since a couple of months ago last week, I was shocked to see “598 other requests” and under 60 new friend requests, some of whom I do not know. Since then, I’ve been working long and hard at eradicating this mess, at the expense of my assignments ok. Almost a week since then and today, my finger stand bruised and almost broken from banging on the mouse clicker too much… But facebook remains victorious after I realised today that I haven’t made much of a progress. It is still in the 500s range.

One reason I deleted Friendster was the long chain of friend requests from mats and anjedis that didn’t seem to stop piling up no matter how many times I reject them. There were contacts whom I deleted cause I didn’t know who they were; Only to have them make another friend request a few days after… Afterwhich I reject or ignore… And they re-send and re-send the damn request until my e-mail inbox gets choked up with e-mail reminders from the server.

Now I feel like deleting Facebook too.

It doesn’t help that the server is so incredibly slow that it hangs my computer everytime I try to cheat and click on multiple buttons in each page load to quicken the request confirmation process.

“The Ten Most Dangerous Mistakes YOU Probably Make With Men— And What To Do About It…”

Here Are The Top Ten Reasons Why Women Keep Themselves From Living The Love Life Of Their Dreams—And How To Make Sure You Avoid Every One Of Them…

-By Christian Carter, Author Of “Catch Him And Keep Him”

MISTAKE #1: Betting Your
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