MONOSACCHARIDE: The simple sugar.

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.