tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55303585800131878132024-02-11T15:44:55.564-08:00A Son Of A PeachLaugh, you deserve it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-69500558804096197582015-09-22T07:57:00.003-07:002015-09-22T07:57:46.323-07:00Me, The Cheater<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I am going to get really candid about my personal life in this blog post, something that I fiercely protect from people. I want to be known for my work, and not the shenanigans that happen in my life off camera.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And today will be the first and the last time I talk about my personal life, and this concerns about my broken relationships. You see, I've only had two serious relationships in my life. The first one lasted 5 years, and the second one that just ended clocked in at 4 years. That also means that I have been attached since I was 18.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And during the duration of both relationships, it was I who cheated. Yes, you read that right; I was the cheating one in the relationship. And maybe your perception of me would change after reading this post but I feel that there is a moral responsibility on my end to talk about cheating or fidelity at large. I am not picking sides with cheaters and neither am I trying to justify my actions. This post I hope, would speak to you and serve as a reminder for those who are in a relationship and those who will be in a relationship in the future.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />Cheating is wrong. Everybody knows it and anyone who has indulged in it or had been at the receiving end of it knows of this fact. I am a cheater, and I cheated in BOTH of my relationships. So basically I am scum. And it gets worse: I cheat, repeatedly.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">And it has cost me both of my relationships. All those lies, secrets and promises of change amounted to nothing but heartbreak, broken trust and a deep sense of loss. But I have no one else to blame but myself. I knew what I was getting myself into, and yet I went straight into it, thinking to myself "This would be the last time" and then I did it again, and again, and again.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">I suffer from the Othello Syndrome. It is the delusion of infidelity of a spouse or a partner accompanied </span><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">by morb</span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">id jealousy and in many cases, cheating on your end to counteract offset that delusion. This syndrome affects, surprisingly more males than females.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This is not an excuse. I have no excuses for my cheating, I was well aware of the fidelity of my partner and that fact alone makes me feel worthless, and worthless is all I have been feeling for the past few days.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Many chances were given and many chances were misused. Many promises were made and many promises were broken. What kills me is the sudden quietness in my life. It is deafening and it kills me every second. But I know better than to seek refuge in others because I am responsible for my own actions and I deserve this deathly sense of loss and pain. It is the only treatment I deserve.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">I don't think I will be in another relationship. I don't think I have the emotional capacity to forgive myself for what I've continually done in the past.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Let this serve as a reminder to all of you out there who are cheating at this very moment, or have thoughts about cheating on your partner. Let me tell you this: It's not worth it. You will lose much more than a partner. You will lose respect for yourself. And no person is more pitiful than one who has zero self-respect.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-23656701381965531042014-12-11T21:03:00.000-08:002014-12-11T21:03:16.435-08:00School For Mothers<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I stumbled upon this textbook: How To Be An Effective Working Class Malay Mother. Apparently all our mothers come from this school. Here are the Ten Golden Rules.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">1. Threat your kids with death</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Aku terjun baru korang tahu! Bila aku dah mampos baru korang tahu nasib korang!"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">2. Compare your kids with other over achieving kids</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Kau tengok anak Cik Timah, semua baik jadinya! Mana yang tak tinggal sembahyang, mana yang pergi universiti. Sejuk perut si Timah tu. Ntahlah, anak-anak aku susah lah, tak boleh jadi macam diorang."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">3. Ask for an extravagant amount of money from your kids.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Jangan bohong dengan aku! Hah, kerja overtime aku tengok hari-hari, buang duit dengan orang tua susah!"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">4. Scold your kid's friends who sneak into your house when you're not in.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Ah bagos!! Masuk satu-satu macam pencuri! Berambus pun macam pencuri!!"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">5. Use "Kau nak jadi setan?!" at least once a day.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Kau maghgrib-maghgrib tak tahu nak balik eh!? Kau nak jadi setan?! Ah bagus, bawak anak dara mana ntah balik rumah. Kau nak jadi setan?! Yer, subur-subur semua masih membuta. Kau nak jadi setan?!"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">6. Sad, sacrificial stories. Use your tears.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Aku selama ni korban, tangan jadi kaki, kaki jadi tangan besarkan korang tapi satu anak pun tak kesiankan aku. Sob. Dari kecik aku bela sampai dah besar panjang. Sob. Ni balasan korang kat aku? Sob, sob, sob.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">7. When your kid turns 21, every day, you must ask them about marriage.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Bila aku nak timang cucu? Bila kau nak kahwin? Kau takda kawan ker? Bila nak bawak kawan kau balik rumah?"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">8. And when they bring their gf/bf home, criticise.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Betina/jantan apa kau bawak balik? Pakai tak senonoh, dengan orang tua tak tahu salaman, bagus lah, jantan/betina gini kau nak jadikan bini/laki?!"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">9. If you have a son, always threat that his future wife will never be like you. If you have a daughter, threat that she will never be like you.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Nanti kau kahwin bini pengotor, baru ah kau tahu langit dengan bumi. Situ tempat tido, situ tempat main, situ jugaklah dia menyerakkan."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Or.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Kau memang tak boleh pembersih macam aku. Buat kerja rumah punya pemalas, masak, haram! Nanti kau dah kahwin, kasi laki kau cekik Maggi hari-hari!"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">10. Nag. Nag about everything. Minimum is two hours. Great mothers nag throughout the night and continue till next morning.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I don't have enough space to type the nagging. Go figure.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-74215695310911142202014-10-15T07:15:00.000-07:002014-10-15T07:18:15.221-07:00I'm BAAAAAAAAACK!It has been ages hasn't it? This is going to come across as an insincere reason but I have been incredibly busy. And I meant in it's truest sense. The fact that I have time to sit down (lying down actually) in front of my MacBook and type this post out is a miracle in itself.<br />
<br />
Bonda Bedah and Mak Temah's popularity has been gaining incredible momentum and I have been busy with my work as a drama trainer (IT NEVER ENDS) and little holidays in between.<br />
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So anyways, here I am again. Hopefully this starts off yet another slew of snarky and hopefully hilarious posts on this recently abandoned blog. Haha.<br />
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One thing that I would like to share with all of you in this returning post is the reason for the feeling of pride in my little chest. I took part in the 24 Hour Playwriting Competition by TheatreWorks and given the fact that I have to complete writing an entire play in 24 hours and I slept halfway through it, it is a miracle that I got 3rd place for it!<br />
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YES! 3rd place yo. Pretty drag proud of myself. I haven't had the courage to go for these competitions because of this thing called self-doubt (I have it, and in excess whether you believe it or not) but man. First time, and already clinching the 3rd place speaks a lot about what I have always been afraid to do.<br />
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My play was titled Lanang (Boy) and although they left out half of my father's name (see the link below), I am happy I did it. So here at A Son Of A Peach, I am going to share with you snippets of paragraphs from the play. Hope you all enjoy reading it!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Synopsis:
Following the death of an enigmatic matriarch, Hajjah Ruminah Binte
Salimin, the play talks about how her favourite grandson, Adi Bin
Razali, and her daughter Habsah Binte Marzuki, cope with regret,
unfulfilled dreams and the fragility of life. The relationship
between mother and son is further strained when Habsah, after the
death of her mother becomes a completely different woman than she was
before, much to the disappointment of her son.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">This
one man play (one actor, two roles) aims to showcase a beautiful and
many times, a flawed relationship between a boy and his grandmother
and a daughter with her mother.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Lanang (Boy), a play by Hafidz Abdul Rahman</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My
grandmother, Hajjah Ruminah Binte Salimin was an immigrant from
Medan, North Sumatra, Indonesia. At the age of five, she came to
Singapore with my great grandparents and settled in a small village
in Jalan Eunos. At the age of 14, she was married to her first of
three husbands. When she married my grandfather, her third marriage,
she was 24 years old and would in the end gave birth to 13 children,
10 boys and 3 girls. My mum was the youngest girl, the third last
sibling in this huge family.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My
grandmother never went to school, never touched a book. She was, as
some would put it, the quintessential uneducated, child bearing Malay
housewife. And like every quintessential uneducated, child bearing
Malay housewife, she toiled with her bare hands to raise a family. A
huge family may I add.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My
late grandmother had a gift. She was a brilliant masseuse. Dislocated
knees, sore muscles, pregnancy related problems that require a rub
here or a stretch there; she could do it all. So at 35 years old, she
decided that she didn't want to sell food and kuehs from a makeshift
stall by the roadside anymore and decided to put her gift to good
use. She would work as a masseuse and help her husband find more
income to provide sustenance for her growing family. And before long,
she was sought after by everyone on this island. This was the start
of her 35 year long career as a masseuse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">She
used to affectionately call me “Lanang”, which is Javanese for
“Boy”. She would spend her afternoons watching programs
broadcasted only on Indonesian channels with the help of a TV antenna
that my mother had bought for her at Yaohan, now known as Thomson
Plaza.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
reception was never clear and the images shown on the television
screen were always grainy but my late grandmother didn't mind it at
all. I guess that was her small little way of holding on to a piece
of home; being able to watch an Indonesian channel on television,
even if everything was grainy and hazy.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">And
that was how I got bitten by the Bollywood bug. Every afternoon at
4pm, Surya Citra Televisi, otherwise known as SCTV, would air old
Bollywood movies till seven in the evening, just in time for the
Mahgrib prayers. So there I was, lying down, head resting on my late
grandmother's outstretched arm and watching an old Bollywood movie as
usual. It was a hot afternoon and my grandmother smelled of baby
talcum and a hint of lemongrass oil. I, till this day, will never be
able to forget that smell.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">And
for the first time ever, I finally understood the magnitude and the
amount of love that my late grandmother had for me. I knew my late
grandmother would do anything for me. She was a very strict lady or
at least that was what my mother told me, but her generosity was
unparalleled. If she was down to her last dollar and you were in
need, my grandmother would give the dollar to you, without batting an
eyelid. That was why her sustenance in my opinion never seem to
cease, no matter how much people owed from her, no matter how much
she spent on her children and grandchildren. I guess that was God's
way of rewarding her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Fast
forward two years and here we are in my living room, and a paranoid
mother to boot. I know my mother is getting better and she has learnt
to cope with the death of my grandmother pretty well. I miss my late
grandmother. But more than that, I miss my mother. I miss the old
Habsah Binte Marzuki. Coping with the death of a loved one is not
easy. But when you come to terms with the very fact that everyone
will die, one way or another and you accept the fact that there is
nothing you can do to stop it, only then will you realize the
importance of now, the present. I am starting to feel like a
motivational speaker here but really now, in all honesty, you can
mull over the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">past
and you can plan for the future but never forget the importance of
the present.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
present is not a memory, not a likelihood, it is tangible, it is
seizable and it is meant to be appreciated and lived, vicariously,
precariously and may I add, lovingly. If anything else, the death of
my grand mother taught me one thing. A mother can take care of ten
children, but you don't know whether the ten children can even take
care of one mother. My grandmother had thirteen children, and yet she
died all alone. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i>(pause)</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
I better go fetch my brother from school now. Beacause if I don't,
let alone the present, I won't have any future whatsoever. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i>(smiles
and walks upstage right, exits)</i></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i>.</i></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i>.</i></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i>.</i></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My
sisters were probably right. I probably drove him crazy with my
uncompromising stance on cleanliness. No wife would want to admit
that she is a nag, but if there is an award for nagging, I'd probably
win it. And I have 19 years of experience in nagging so that probably
is a good foundation to drive anybody crazy.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My
divorce was a fairly peaceful process. There wasn't any fights, there
wasn't any arguments about who would get the custody of the children.
When I got divorced, after 19 years of marriage, my eldest son Adi
was already turning 19 and my youngest was already 13 years old so my
children were already big and definitely didn't suffered from any of
that post divorce traumatic syndrome rubbish. My kids were very wise
beyond their age and they respected our decision to separate. So I
had it easy, to be honest. There wasn't any tantrums, any tears, any
tension. A trip to the family court was all it took. My divorce was
finalized in less than half an hour.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Throughout
my marriage with Razali, my mum have helped me on the side by
constantly buying for my household needs. Razali is a carpenter and
he has been working at the same company for over ten years and he was
happy working and drawing a minimum wage. I had to go work in order
to get extra income for my family. I have four mouths to feed at
home! My mum, Hajjah Ruminah Binte Salimin, bless her soul, she would
accompany me on my weekly trip to Geylang Serai for grocery shopping
on the pretext of accompanying me but when it comes to paying, her
hand was always the quickest to pay for things first.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Nevermind,
use that money for your children” was what she would always say to
me. My son Adi was her favourite grandson, much to the annoyance of
my other siblings. Even they had children and even they were Hajjah
Ruminah's grandchildren. Why the unconditional love and showering of
gifts be reserved only for Adi my son?</span></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://www.straitstimes.com/lifestyle/theatre-dance/story/no-first-prize-years-24-hour-playwriting-competition-theatreworks-2014">24 Hour Playwriting Competition TheatreWorks</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-33553749824972354592014-01-26T03:59:00.003-08:002014-01-26T04:12:03.755-08:00Why I'm Thankful Of Being SingaporeanDear Stephanie Micayle (Mycale? Micyale? Whatever),<br />
<br />
Now before I start, I would like to request that before you start reading the content of this letter, I want you to adopt a new fake accent; something exotic preferably, whichever you think is good enough for your Aussie bottom (I recommend something Scandinavian or any accents from Eastern Europe). Alright, ready? Good, now we're set and good to go.<br />
<br />
Oh honey, where do I start?<br />
<br />
Okay let's do something first. I want you, right now, at this very moment, to think about your parents, about your friends and families, about the happiest place that you love to hang out at, about your favourite Starbucks drink, your favourite website to visit daily, your funniest part-time job experience.<br />
<br />
I want you to think and recollect on all those things and now, I want you to step back and realize and come to terms with this fact, this well known fact, that there are millions, MILLIONS out there who have nothing.<br />
<br />
NOTHING.<br />
<br />
They have no parents, no friends and families, no jobs, no Starbucks to go to, never set foot in a place to hangout and chill with friends, no access to the internet and to the world, no clothes on their back…nothing.<br />
<br />
So who are we to sit in front of our computers and bemoan about our plight and lack of reasons to be proud of our country? To say, "I am not proud to be a Singaporean" and then list down every single thing and reasons for saying so?<br />
<br />
Yes Stephanie, this country is incredibly flawed and needs to be changed in the way it is being governed but is gratitude too much to ask for? Even I am not in agreement of many things that is happening in Singapore but I am thankful, I'm thankful that I get to wake up and see my parents, friends and family members, that I am able to put food on the table and am able to have three square meals a day and to go out as and when I desire.<br />
<br />
Because I choose to see things in the bigger picture. Yes, I'm typing this out to you in a small four by four metre room, a pathetic pigeonhole and a far cry from bigger, more spacious rooms out there in the world. But I have a roof over my head. And so do you.<br />
<br />
I have a roof that protects me from the rain and the sun. There are no bombs, missiles and snow falling down through this small four by four metros pigeonhole of a room.<br />
<br />
I am thankful that the girls in this country can roam around in the streets at two in the morning (or any time of the day to be honest) and not get raped, beaten, bludgeoned to death.<br />
<br />
I am thankful that my mum is able to walk around in public with her hijab intact, and proudly pinned on her head. In some countries, my mum could be fined, thrown into jail and sometimes beaten for wearing the hijab in public.<br />
<br />
I am thankful that I am not living in a refugee camp, living in makeshift tents (okay those people at Changi Beach don't count).<br />
<br />
So Stephanie, it is okay if you're not proud to be a Singaporean (trust me, even I feel the same way many, many times during the course of my existence) but be thankful of what you have. A little gratitude goes a long way.<br />
<br />
If you don't like how your country is being run, CHANGE it. We are the next generation of Singaporeans. If you don't like your government, change it. Don't sit down and list out all of your grouses and not do anything about it, and worse while residing in another country. The elections are going to happen, YOU change it.<br />
<br />
I know I will.<br />
<br />
We need to stop this whole misguided sense of entitlement that our generation has right now, at this very moment.<br />
<br />
If you fail at everything, migrate (I presumed that you have so nobody will be stopping you now would they?). But don't complain about something when you can do something about it but you don't. Because if you don't and the rest of our generation doesn't, then we're basically screwed.<br />
<br />
And we have only OURSELVES to blame. Cause believe it or not, we have, as a nation, the power to change our country, but all we seem to do is to whine about it.<br />
<br />
And of course as an artist you cannot make it in Singapore, everybody knows that. Have you seen Mediacorp? That is why artists like JJ Lin, Tanya Chua, Taufik Batisah, Stephanie Sun, Hady Mirza and many, many, many others go regional or global. The world now is so small Stephanie, nobody is asking you or our artists to remain here and bemoan about your stunted growth as an artist that is in a country that doesn't nurture your talent.<br />
<br />
If you have the talent, you'll make it. Anywhere and everywhere. Talent and luck is all it takes, every self-respecting artist knows that.<br />
<br />
Talent sustains. Complaining does not.<br />
<br />
Now you can reach the world via YouTube…oh wait, you've done that already. So what is this whole "Singapore and Talents and Artists" talk about then Stephanie? Hmm? Aren't you already the "only Singaporean" in that talent show? This, I'm having trouble understanding.<br />
<br />
In conclusion, though I honestly agree with you on many things that you have said in your video, I do wish that you would have handled the topic with a bit of gratitude and fairness to you famous statement.<br />
<br />
Our generation needs to learn how to be a doer instead of a whiner. Our generation needs to know and understand the magnitude of their luck of having been born and raised in Singapore, a country questionably bridled with the flaws in its governance but have given them, simply, a childhood to come out ALIVE of.<br />
<br />
And there are millions of children out there who sees our supposedly frustrating and monotonous regime of a life as their idea of a dream life.<br />
<br />
And until we stop and do something about out country instead of sitting down and complaining (which to be fair is perfectly acceptable and dare I say it, encouraged once in a while to let off some steam) about it, nothing will be changed if our future generation doesn't change it themselves except for a growing list of grouses over time.<br />
<br />
And yes, count your blessings while you're still at it.<br />
<br />
Regards<br />
A Son Of A PeachUnknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-25817201652691373402014-01-26T03:20:00.002-08:002014-01-26T03:20:38.751-08:00My Ass-pirationsMy 13 year old nephew is going for a CCA day at his school this coming weekend and he had texted me in Whatsapp (yes, our family is very big on texting, don't judge) asking for my opinion and I replied, "Anything that's not dance related. You have got two left feet, don't embarrass yourself."<br />
<br />
That text got me thinking about careers and aspirations. Therefore, I would like to take this opportunity to share with all of you my aspirations when I was younger in this blog post.<br />
<br />
When I was a small kid, I couldn't be older than nine years old; I harbored a deep desire to be a lawyer. I think we can all agree that as kids, our dreams were very lofty. A doctor, a pilot, a lawyer, a policeman, a scientist etc. Even my late grandmother had wanted me to become a lawyer.<br />
<br />
My mum however wasn't sold on the idea. I wanted to put the bad guys in jail, fight crime and spend my days saying, "Yes your honour, no your honour, three bags full your honour" and earn lots and lots of money.<br />
<br />
My mum however said, "If there is a snake and a lawyer in front of you, you will kill the lawyer first you understand? Lawyer first! Then the snake! A lawyer twists his words more than a snake can coil and for that he or she should be killed first!"<br />
<br />
So you can imagine why my lawyer dream didn't blossom further during primary school.<br />
<br />
In secondary school, I then started to harbor a deep desire to be a radio presenter or a newscaster. I would buy newspapers (Only the government sanctioned, the one sided, disgusting The Straits Times for me thank you very much) on a daily basis and read out loud all the articles for about an hour. I found the idea of reaching hundreds and thousands of people an exhilarating affair.<br />
<br />
I never came around to being one but after two years of practice, I came out with near perfect diction and reading capabilities. Oral exams became a walk in the park and I took part in various oratorical, story-telling and debate events in school and out of it.<br />
<br />
When I was 15, I had a great desire to be a literature teacher. I figured that I would be a brilliant educator and would make literature an easy and fun subject for my students; complete with music, song, dance, pantomimes and drama. For the next couple of years I toyed with the idea of being an A* Lit teacher.<br />
<br />
It is also during these two years that I started to fall in love with theatre and the performing arts. I was so heavily involved in it during secondary school that after my "O" levels, I made up my mind to enroll in an arts college to pursue my tertiary education.<br />
<br />
And so I got into Lasalle, after doing an Anton Chekov's Three Sisters Monologue for the audition piece.<br />
<br />
By 17 years old, I wanted to be a playwright and an actor. I would go home from college and write mini monologues for myself. In fact, I even wrote an unfinished (they always remain unfinished) play titled Heat.<br />
<br />
The story revolves around an ironing board and how different people from different lives reflect on their existence while ironing their clothes.<br />
<br />
Typing that made me smile. I was so idealistic. I told myself, "You're going to write a play, go to a theatre company and have it staged three months later to a full house." Little that I know that the whole process is an impossible dream because simply, my plays weren't completed; an unfinished product.<br />
<br />
But to be honest, wanting to be a playwright was my last dream career. and it stayed on for so long because it is a feasible possibility for me.<br />
<br />
All I got to do is finish up on all these half-finished plays that I wrote back in college. And who knows, maybe one day, you will get to watch one of my "yet-to-be-completed" play on stage. And that of course is a huge stretch.<br />
<br />
I cannot even finish a blog post and have it published on time sometimes, let alone a full play. (:Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-58646703808475533532013-12-30T10:41:00.001-08:002013-12-30T10:41:44.960-08:0025 Reasons Why You Should Never Invite A Makcik Over For Christmas Dinner1. They don't eat ham. And you can't lie to them and say that it's turkey ham. They can smell a gram of pork, miles away, just like sharks to blood. Come to think of it, some Malay makciks ARE sharks.<br />
<br />
2. They'll gossip about you at the table itself and you won't even realize it.<br />
<br />
3. They will give you their recipe for a more "sedan" roasted turkey.<br />
<br />
4. They don't drink wine. They call it "The Devil's Piss".<br />
<br />
5. They have a different way of saying grace. And it's not going to be pretty when there is pork and alcohol on the table in front of them.<br />
<br />
6. They probably have a nicer set of cutleries and will make no effort to conceal that fact in your face.<br />
<br />
7. And a nicer set of table runner.<br />
<br />
8. And curtains.<br />
<br />
9. They will stop eating halfway to go to the toilet and make a quick phone call or Facebook status update about your terrible hosting skills.<br />
<br />
10. For the Christmas gift exchange afterwards, someone will receive a set of second hand unused "good as new" Tupperware.<br />
<br />
11. They'll find your Christmas background music too churchy.<br />
<br />
12. They'll want to eat Sambal Belachan with everything, and who has time for that shit?<br />
<br />
13. They will probably come an hour late because they have to "settle some things at home first".<br />
<br />
14. "Eeuw! You eat slices of beef with cranberry jam?!"<br />
<br />
15. They will scoff at your version of eggnog and ask you to try pengat instead.<br />
<br />
16. "Chinese New Year you celebrate, Christmas also you celebrate, actually which one you really supposed to celebrate?"<br />
<br />
17. They'll bring along their kuih makmur and pineapple tarts and hog all the limelight.<br />
<br />
18. They have to leave by 8 cause there is a re-run of Adam and Hawa on Suria at 8:30 after the news.<br />
<br />
19. They won't be game enough to wear Santa hats cause they're already wearing the tudung.<br />
<br />
20. Have you ever seen a Makcik singing a Christmas Carol. Exactly. Me too.<br />
<br />
21. They'll stand in front of your Christmas tree going, "Where did you cut down this tree?"<br />
<br />
22. They'll bring along a friend who will invite another friend and another friend because they are "shy to come alone".<br />
<br />
23. They'll bring their own non-christmas-y dishes. Something Hari Raya-y.<br />
<br />
24. Have you ever seen a Malay Makcik eat mashed potatoes with a fucking fork. Yeah, me neither.<br />
<br />
25. They'll want to come back again next year.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-74597911484315553872013-12-30T10:17:00.000-08:002013-12-30T10:17:13.562-08:00Like Mak NenekThere is something incredibly off putting about parents who dress up their kids in clothes that make them look way older than they are.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I adore kids (not really) who are dressed very cutely and appropriately. I, however, am talking about parents who dress up their kids years beyond their age, complete with garish make-up and unnecessary accessories.<br />
<br />
See I believe that kids should look and dress their age. I am absolutely all for playing dress up and looking all cute and she but I draw the line at trying to dress up your kid in such a way that they don't look like a child at all.<br />
<br />
I believe that parents have the final say on this issue mainly because they are the ones purchasing the clothes and dressing up their children. And if their children are the ones who request to wear make-up for example, at only six years old, it is the parents who have every right to say "NO". But sadly, some parents don't share the same sentiments.<br />
<br />
I was at a wedding the other day with my mum when both of us saw a pair of sisters sitting across our table dressed 30 years beyond their age.<br />
<br />
They had a princes gown on, complete with makeup (and we're talking mascara, blusher, lipstick, the whole nine yards), a handbag, a pair of dangling (!!!) earrings, a bejeweled hair band and get this: gold necklace and earrings.<br />
<br />
They both look like a bad attempt at dressing up as a Boyanese (fun fact: Boyanese love their gold jewelry) princess during Halloween. And I'm being nice here.<br />
<br />
My mum however is more brutal with her observations.<br />
<br />
"Why are the two girls dressed up like a Mak Nenek? The mother stupid or what?" my mum loudly exclaimed.<br />
<br />
"Mum I think the mother heard you," I whispered, hitting my mother's leg from under the table.<br />
<br />
"So? Let them. I mean, children should look like children, not like their mothers!" my mum rambled on.<br />
<br />
"You've got a point," I smiled.<br />
<br />
The mother of the two girls started to give us wary looks, as if suddenly realizing that we are talking about her.<br />
<br />
"They think cute is it? Oh, like trying to make their kids models lah wear this and that. But the children so ugly how to become model? And then they uglify their kids further with makeup and gaudy fashion wear!"<br />
<br />
"Mum! Stop, that's so mean," I hushed at her.<br />
<br />
"Oh! A Son Of A Peach is telling me that I am mean? What double standard!"<br />
<br />
Slowly after, the mother of the two girls stood up and motioned for them to follow her.<br />
<br />
As the two girls were walking, my mum said something that made the mother turned and glared at us.<br />
<br />
"Oh my god the two girls are wearing heels! I thought it couldn't get any worse! Very Mak Nenek!" my mum squealed loudly.<br />
<br />
I immediately took out my phone and pretended to test. And you think I am the bitchy one in the family.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-72238888978734568322013-12-16T10:06:00.001-08:002013-12-30T10:04:58.344-08:00The Art Of GiftingEvery Christmas season, you can be sure that Steve is single handedly improving the Singapore economy by going on a shopping rampage to buy gifts for literally…everyone.<br />
<br />
The fact that he has a bank account that never seems to deplete in reserves also means that the gifts he buy would either send you into materialistic orgasm or shame at your own poverty.<br />
<br />
Over the years I have learned to accept his gifts with a gracious "thank you" and though he never asks for it, presented him with an equally exorbitant (what's the use, really) gift in exchange.<br />
<br />
"He bought me a Michael Kors tote! And all i said was, 'Oh my god, this would be a perfect Christmas gift', and then bam, suddenly I have a Michael Kors paper bag in my hand!" Star squealed in excitement yesterday over dinner.<br />
<br />
She, Melanie and Steve had went Christmas shopping earlier in the afternoon and while Steve is in the gents, Star and Melanie regaled in sheer excitement over Steve's utter generosity in buying Christmas gifts.<br />
<br />
"And he bought for me an entire set of La Mer beauty products! Like on a fucking wimp! I mean, I'm aware that he is filthy rich but he's pulling all stops this year I'm telling you!" Melanie continued, flipping her hair fabulously.<br />
<br />
"He got for you a $500 gift voucher from Kinokuniya because he knows you love to read and collect books and something from Tom Ford, don't tell him I told you," Star winked.<br />
<br />
"No fucking way. He bought me those shades that I've always wanted?!" I said, feeling a rising fear inside of me.<br />
<br />
Fear because there is no way I can top his Christmas gift. And the worst part is, I don't even celebrate Christmas in the first place.<br />
<br />
Just then Steve came out from the gents and said to me, "From your facial expression, I know for a fact that Star have told you about the gifts that I bought for you."<br />
<br />
"I did not!" Star tried to explain.<br />
<br />
"Your vagina is not the only thing on your body that is perpetually gaping. I told you I wanted to surprise him Star!" Steve angrily said.<br />
<br />
"It's the season of giving. I just thought he should know the starting price cap for YOUR gift. In a normal situation, I would just give the man who buys me a branded bag a blow job, which is priceless if you ask me, but since you're gay, all the three of us are left with a splitting headache and a groaning wallet in order to top your Christmas gift," Star said.<br />
<br />
"You know I'm not like that. It's the thought that counts," Steve chided Star.<br />
<br />
And so yesterday, I went to get for him a cufflink from Dunhill and at the same counter, struggled with the Ah Lian salesperson.<br />
<br />
"This one for you?" she asked earnestly.<br />
<br />
"No, it's a Christmas gift for my best friend," I smiled.<br />
<br />
"Wahlao! So high crass one!" she suddenly raised her voice.<br />
<br />
High crass. Crass. CRASS.<br />
<br />
Beats me as to how these people get to work in a luxury store int he first place.<br />
<br />
Star texted me just now saying that she bought for Steve a Marc by Marc Jacobs sling bag and that she finds this whole Christmas gifting ritual a tedious and stressful affair.<br />
<br />
Not when you are at the receiving end of it BITCH.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-8887640163471671632013-12-13T01:01:00.000-08:002013-12-13T01:01:05.242-08:0025 Of My Favourite TweetsThese past eleven months, I have been busy tweeting snarky tweets, one after the other. In short, here are 25 of my favourite tweets, so far.<br />
<br />
P/S: Do follow me on Twitter @asonofapeach<br />
<br />
1) "Baby, have I gained weight?"<br />
<br />
"What am I? A fucking weighing scale?"<br />
<br />
2) I don't understand how some Minahs wear foundation; white face, brown neck.<br />
<br />
What is this? An art class?<br />
<br />
3) I think it is absolutely rude to pinch your nose when you see a Bangladeshi worker. Do you see me closing my eyes when I see your face?<br />
<br />
4) Just overheard an Ah Lian telling her friend, "Eh that Channel bag 3k leh!"<br />
<br />
She said Channel guys. Channel.<br />
<br />
5) If you don't like what you're doing, move on.<br />
<br />
You're not a tree.<br />
<br />
6) Shit happens. I mean, look at you.<br />
<br />
7) People who post unrelated photo captions on IG should have their names changed without their consent so they understand the meaning of relevance.<br />
<br />
8) "Love is blind"<br />
<br />
That's what I keep telling myself when I see you and your boyfriend.<br />
<br />
9) $50 Malay wedding. A shotgun case and a trip to the ROM by cab.<br />
<br />
10) My gay friend is so obsessed with T.O.P. from Big Bang he said, "I would be bottom just for him!"<br />
<br />
#TMI<br />
<br />
11) "One Way Or Another" from 1D is a perfect stalker song.<br />
<br />
12) Eh Minah, what shine bright like a diamond? Your standard is Zhulian only girl.<br />
<br />
13) Am I the only one who pronounce "LMAO" as "Lemau"?<br />
<br />
14) Never piss off a Malay woman or she will set an army of pontianaks to your house.<br />
<br />
15) People are so stupid sometimes.<br />
<br />
16) I wore a beanie once to get that "street" look. I ended up looking like a dickhead with a loose condom flapping at the end.<br />
<br />
17) People should stop standing at their windows in the middle of the night not doing anything at all.<br />
<br />
18) Heroine is a movie star.<br />
<br />
Heroin makes you see stars.<br />
<br />
#knowthedifference<br />
<br />
19) I don't trust boys whose eyebrows are slimmer than their girlfriends.<br />
<br />
20) I have this inexplicable desire to smack off tiaras off little girl's heads and scream, "You're not a fucking princess!"<br />
<br />
21) Love is not screaming when you see your girlfriend's face in the morning without makeup for the very first time.<br />
<br />
22) Some girls are medically "mentally-deranged".<br />
<br />
23) If you seek Amy, she is not at a Malay void deck wedding.<br />
<br />
24) The bra cup will always protect you from the haze.<br />
<br />
25) I am so traumatized by Miley Cyrus's performance at the VMAs. I think I got an STD just by watching it on television.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-23494284905059268552013-12-13T00:49:00.001-08:002013-12-13T00:49:51.166-08:00 Para-Instagram-ingThere is something incredibly obnoxious and attention-seeking about people who post unrelated, "mini-essay" captions of their photos on Instagram.<br />
<br />
And because of this increasing phenomenon, I am going to dedicate and entire blog post to address this issue and try my level best to give as many wake up calls as I probably can to those of you who are still doing it as of today.<br />
<br />
See, I am all for colorful descriptions. I am. And if you know me and am familiar with my work and sense of humour, you would know that I appreciate good paragraphs of carefully stringed words.<br />
<br />
But let's not take it any further than that, can we all agree on that please?<br />
<br />
I am not going to name names, but I have had the unfortunate luck of following Instagram accounts that are living social media examples of delusion, pretentiousness and irrelevance.<br />
<br />
Once a girl on Instagram posted a photo of her newly bought Chuck Taylors and she captioned it, verbatim, "This is a true world we are living in. We smile on the outside but cry on the inside. And cry is all I do. But life has to go on, and even though it is cruel, I have to do it, with only tears as company. #life #qotd #reflections"<br />
<br />
……………what the fuck man?<br />
<br />
How is a picture of a pair of sneakers related to the treachery of the world? are the shoes in the picture representing the journey and the steps that you make in life? Is that it? Cause I definitely didn't get that from that emo paragraph.<br />
<br />
Are you a shoe whisperer?<br />
<br />
Do you treat fellow human beings as shoes?<br />
<br />
Are you harboring a deep desire to work in a shoe store?<br />
<br />
I have so many questions to ask you. And I know I will never get that opportunity to ask you all these questions so the best thing that I can possibly do is to UNFOLLOW YOUR SORRY LITTLE PRETENTIOUS ASS.<br />
<br />
And this morning, I unfollowed 27 people on Instagram.<br />
<br />
My rationale on social media is this: IF YOU CAN'T STAND IT, UNFOLLOW IT.<br />
<br />
It beats than having to sit down and read all these paragraphs of unrelated, irrelevant captions and wasting about seven minutes of your life to try and think of a possible link between "picture" and "caption".<br />
<br />
You not only feel happier but it also brings a sense of unclutteredness (if there is such a word though I highly doubt so) in your life on social media.<br />
<br />
"Why do people write fucking essays on Instagram for their captions? All I'm seeing is paragraphs after paragraphs of words and words. This is Instagram; I'm here for the fucking pictures!" Steve ranted just now over lunch.<br />
<br />
"Who?" was my first question.<br />
<br />
"One of my secondary school mates! Urgh, she seems like a cool chick but after her engagement got called of, she suddenly became this men-hating, self-loathing, emo-queen, paragraph-loving mess! And her engagement got called off two years ago! I think she is mentally deranged," Steve shook his head.<br />
<br />
"Unfollow her then. That would end all your online misery," I laughed.<br />
<br />
"No you know what? I'm going to retaliate and keep on posting pictures on Instagram from now on with an accompanying caption in the form of a long paragraph!" Steve said, taking out his iPhone 5.<br />
<br />
"That is childish Steve. And if you're going to do it, then I'M going to unfollow YOU," I threatened,<br />
<br />
"Don't be an asshole," Steve sipped his coffee.<br />
<br />
That night, he did the unthinkable. He posted a photo of his dinner, a plate of grilled steak and potatoes and captioned it:<br />
<br />
"We are in control of our own destiny. Let no one dictate our lives but ourselves. Like sand through the hourglass, so is the days of our lives. I know you might take this as meaningless chatter but remember that we are mere mortals and at the end of the day, God is the one who call the shots. So let us always remain humble and thankful."<br />
<br />
To which I replied, "Not long enough. Dig deeper."<br />
<br />
That's what friends are for.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-7779602012466861462013-11-11T11:09:00.002-08:002013-11-11T11:09:35.564-08:00A Thousand Splendid SunsI have just finished reading A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini and it has changed my life. And I say this humbly, and with a lot of unexplained pain inside my heart. I cannot recommend it enough for your guys to read it.<br />
<br />
There are many magical moments in the novel that transported me right into the heart of Kabul, Afghanistan.<br />
<br />
But nothing is more shocking than this short piece of passage I am going to share with you. The Talibans have just taken over Afghanistan and this was written on the flyers, strewn around the city:<br />
<br />
<i>Our watan is now known as the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan. These are the laws that we will enforce and you will obey:</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>All citizens must pray five times a day. If it is prayer time and you are caught doing something other, you will be beaten.</i><br />
<i>All men will grow their beards. The correct length is at least one clenched fist beneath the chin. If you do not abide by this you will be beaten.</i><br />
<i>All boys will wear turbans. Boys in grade one through six will wear black turbans, higher grades will wear white.</i><br />
<i>All boys will wear Islamic clothes. Shirt collars will be buttoned.</i><br />
<i>Singing is forbidden.</i><br />
<i>Dancing is forbidden.</i><br />
<i>Playing cards, playing chess, gambling and kite flying is forbidden.</i><br />
<i>Writing books, watching films, and painting pictures are forbidden.</i><br />
<i>If you keep parakeets, you will be beaten. Your birds will be killed.</i><br />
<i>If you steal, your hand will be cut off at the wrist. If you steal again, your foot will be cut off.</i><br />
<i>If you are not Muslim, do not worship where you can be seen by Muslims. If you do, you will be beaten and imprisoned. if you are caught trying to convert a Muslim to your faith, you will be executed.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Attention women,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You will stay inside your homes at all times. It is not proper for women to wander aimlessly about the streets. If you go outside, you must be accompanied by a mahram, a male relative. If you are caught alone on the street, you will be beaten and sent home.</i><br />
<i>You will not, under any circumstance, show your face. You will cover with burqa when outside. If you do not, you will be severely beaten.</i><br />
<i>Cosmetics are forbidden.</i><br />
<i>Jewelry is forbidden.</i><br />
<i>You will not wear charming clothes.</i><br />
<i>You will not speak unless spoken to.</i><br />
<i>You will not make eye contact with men.</i><br />
<i>You will not laugh in public. If you do, you will be beaten.</i><br />
<i>You will not paint your nails. If you do, you will lose a finger.</i><br />
<i>Girls are forbidden from attending school. All schools for girls will be ceased immediately.</i><br />
<i>Women are forbidden from working.</i><br />
<i>If you are found guilty of adultery, you will be stoned to death.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Listen. Listen well. Obey. Allah-u-akbar.</i><br />
<br />
Put things in perspective eh?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-91824951368166267562013-11-11T10:56:00.002-08:002013-11-11T10:56:31.050-08:0010 In The MorningOver the past weekend, I spent Diwali, for the first time in Taiping, Perak. A friend, upon coming to terms and the sudden realization that I am hopelessly obsessed with Bollywood and the Indian culture at large have, in his best interest, invited me to his house (mansion, really) and to soak in the full Diwali experience.<br />
<br />
I jumped right into the idea almost immediately, not knowing that there is an ardous, back sore 9 hour bus ride involved in the equation. It was too late to get an air plane ticket so begrudgingly, I went ahead, bravely I might add, with a brand new kurta in my bag (don't ask) and a fervent, almost manic sense of excitement for the impending three day Indian Culture Extravaganza; all just a 9 hour bus ride away.<br />
<br />
Just.<br />
<br />
Love the festival. The ride? Not so much.<br />
<br />
The bus ride started at 10 at night and it was everything I imagined it to be; dark, long, insanely freezing because the driver had a bad clout of judgement and decided to crank up the air conditioning throughout the entire journey. The bus ride was made more unbearable with the fact that I sat beside a man (and I'm not making this up) who was so fucking drunk he peed on his seat.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, with all the alcohol coursing through his system, he managed to sleep throughout the entire journey and diminish any chances of him puking all over me.<br />
<br />
9 hours later, I was at the Kamunting Bus Terminal, smelling the crisp 7 o'clock air and awaiting my Punjabi friend, Terry to pick me up and drive me back to his house.<br />
<br />
"Oh by the way I have two dogs at home," Terry said as we drove into the street leading to his house.<br />
<br />
"What?! You didn't think it was important to tell me this BEFORE I came to your house?" I shouted.<br />
<br />
"Relax, they don't bite," Terry said.<br />
<br />
"That's what all you pet owners say," I mumbled under my breath.<br />
<br />
When we arrived at the front of his gate, both the coolie and the maltese started barking at me.<br />
<br />
"They're barking at me," I said, holding Terry by the end of his polo tee.<br />
<br />
"They're dogs, that's what dogs do," Terry rolled is eyes.<br />
<br />
"What fantastic hospitality Terry," I said with no hint of emotions in my delivery.<br />
<br />
The dogs were then tied up to their respective barn situated at the far end of Terry's expansive lawn by his mother and I was ushered into the house by his father.<br />
<br />
The moment I stepped into the house, a strong smell of masala and butter hit me. I knew then that I was home.<br />
<br />
After settling down nicely, his father, Mr Hari, prompted me to sit down at the sofa in the living room and watch television and rest while lunch is being prepared.<br />
<br />
"I heard you like Bollywood? We have all the channels. Come! Watch!" he said, voice booming throughout the entire living room.<br />
<br />
And before you know it, the sounds of Bollywood music filled the living room and there I sat on Terry's sofa thinking, "I've hit jackpot!"<br />
<br />
That night was a night of many firsts for me. I, for the first time sat down with Terry's younger brother Ammarjeet and witnessed how he made kollum from scratch. It was magnificient to say the least.<br />
<br />
After that we played with fireworks and in between we filled our stomachs with more briyani and masala mutton and ayam masak me rah that by the time Diwali happened the following day, I felt more indian in a single breath that Katrina Kaif can be in her entire life.<br />
<br />
All decked out and ready to serve guests, I made my way to the kitchen to show Terry's mother my kurta that I bought just for the event.<br />
<br />
"Wow! You look great! You're officially one of us now!" she squealed.<br />
<br />
"Where's Terry aunty?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Oh he's outside at the lawn drinking with his brother and father," she replied.<br />
<br />
"It's only 12 noon," I said, shocked.<br />
<br />
"They started at 10 in the morning," Terry's mother laughed.<br />
<br />
Right. How could I ever forget that they drink at every given occasion. Heavily.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-43833823719315864522013-10-27T09:09:00.000-07:002013-10-27T09:09:05.502-07:0025 Ways To Deal With A "Fat" FriendWe all have that one skinny friend who goes on and on about how fat they are, with total disregard of more genuinely bigger sized friends in the same group.<br />
<br />
1% of the time, it is a real mental problem (body image issues bla bla bla). 99% of the time, it's just to seek for attention and have someone coo and tell them otherwise.<br />
<br />
Well fuck you skinny twig bitches. Here's a list of what we can do to combat aforementioned attention seekers.<br />
<br />
1. They should be treated like ducks in the process of making foie gras; force fed with a garage.<br />
<br />
2. Slap them on both cheeks with a double cheeseburger.<br />
<br />
3. Backhand them on their "fat" skull with a weighing scale. Repeatedly.<br />
<br />
4. Have someone really fat sit on their stomach till they involuntarily excrete.<br />
<br />
5. Deny them food for two weeks. After which they will die and tadaa! One less annoying person to handle.<br />
<br />
6. Substitute their spaghetti with Spanx.<br />
<br />
7. Smash their heads on a slimming mirror.<br />
<br />
8. Sign them up involuntarily to a medical facility that deals with chronic bulimia and anorexia.<br />
<br />
9. Ask them to consume copious amounts of Slim 10. If their liver fails, go and visit them in the hospital and laugh, "Pierre Png already gave one of his liver away muahahaha!"<br />
<br />
10. Ignore.<br />
<br />
11. Good them further by reconfirming that yes, they are fat.<br />
<br />
12. Tag them on Facebook with a picture of a pregnant cow and caption it, "You".<br />
<br />
13. When you go to the zoo together, point to the hippopotamus and loudly scream, "Oh my god your folks are here too!"<br />
<br />
14. If possible, oven them. Tell the police afterwards that all you wanted to do was to "help them burn the calories".<br />
<br />
15. Play a game of dodgeball with them but instead of a regular ball, pour liquid lard into a plastic bag and tie that shit up.<br />
<br />
16. At McDonalds, take away their Big Mac and give them only the lettuce and pickles saying that "it's for the better".<br />
<br />
17. Stop being friends with them because you "only make friends with skinny people".<br />
<br />
18. Tie them up to a fat person for a day just to fuck up their social life.<br />
<br />
19. For their birthday, instead of a birthday cake, buy a loaf of who meal bread and a few candles.<br />
<br />
20. During dinner gatherings just tell the waiter, "Only plain water for him/her".<br />
<br />
21. Blindfold them, tie them up to a chair and repeatedly hit them with a crispy KFC drumlet.<br />
<br />
22. Go to their house and secretly install a "Fat Cam" and upload it on YouTube.<br />
<br />
23. Roll your eyes when they say "I'm fat!". After that mutter audibly behind them, "Fuck off." Screw it. You don't need that kind of friendship.<br />
<br />
24. Instead of a kinky dildo birthday gift give her a zucchini instead.<br />
<br />
25. Ask her/him to read this list.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-59127497172608866822013-10-17T04:27:00.002-07:002013-10-17T04:27:53.066-07:00The Annoying ListIn conjunction with Taylor Swift's annoying 22 hit song, here are 22 annoying things that I have graciously listed down.<br />
<br />
1. Body odour in public transportation. If you're not going to take a shower in the morning, you're most definitely not welcomed on public transportation.<br />
<br />
2. Excessively negative people. And it's worst if it's attention seeking. Like I would gladly push you off a cliff to end your "misery".<br />
<br />
3. Parents who bring babies to movie theaters thinking that the loud sound system would not startle their baby and making them wail. Throughout the movie. Cause common sense is overrated.<br />
<br />
4. Sales assistants who say, "It's all there". Well if I found what I wanted, I wouldn't be asking you in the first place would I?<br />
<br />
5. Wet cutleries at foodcourts. Is my dish more delicious with a generous sprinkle of tap water or what?<br />
<br />
6. People who jut their legs on the seat in front of them. I'm not interested in a free back rub thank you very fucking much.<br />
<br />
7. Faulty elevators. Why? Why? Why? I pay my taxes. I have every right to be a selfish lazy bastard if I want to.<br />
<br />
8. Soup served cold. Reheat and repeat please thank you very much.<br />
<br />
9. Persistent flyer distributors. Stop following me, I am not interested in a $38 Thai body massage.<br />
<br />
10. ATMs only capable of dispensing $50 notes. The death of me.<br />
<br />
11. People who wear glasses without the lenses. Hello? Stupidity also got limit okay?<br />
<br />
12. Beliebers.<br />
<br />
13. Mediacorp Channel 5. I know it's a free to air channel but we've seen Con Air and Face Off on your channel a grand total of 897215309827314576 times.<br />
<br />
14. Taxis that don't accept NETS as a form of payment. GET ON WITH THE PROGRAM.<br />
<br />
15. Starbucks on weekdays. If I had wanted to see a whole lot of people studying, I would go to a library. Fuck off.<br />
<br />
16. The Last Page on 8Days. Uninspiring, unfunny and absolutely unreadable.<br />
<br />
17. Unresponsive EZLINK card readers.<br />
<br />
18. Homework. But then again I'm Malay and we're naturally lazy.<br />
<br />
19. Jennifer Aniston.<br />
<br />
20. Weak Public Wifi. Nothing sets me off than being on Wifi weaker than Amanda Byne's level of sanity.<br />
<br />
21. Price tags that don't peel off clearly.<br />
<br />
22. The audience in every of The Ellen DeGenerees show. Were they fed with ecstasy before the show or what? Ridiculously happy people are very dodgy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-71940815958004490582013-10-17T04:08:00.001-07:002013-10-17T04:08:33.410-07:00Halloween Horror NightTo be honest, I've never thought highly of the Halloween Horror Night in Sentosa's Universal Studios (3rd year running now) and was more than ready to dismiss it as another run of the mill costume party, albeit with a giganormous budget and an elaborate publicity campaign.<br />
<br />
So off I went, on the 12th of October 2013 (and that too upon much coercing and incessant begging from Star, Melanie and Steve) to the Halloween Horror Night 2013 at the Universal Studios, Singapore (armed with an express ticket of course at an additional sixty bucks because I wasn't interested to wait for hours to get inside a fucking haunted house).<br />
<br />
Let's talk about the Haunted Trails. This area is filled with talents (and not so talented) dressed up as ghosts and ghouls and their main job is to scare the crap out of visitors and to indiscriminately be in hundreds of photos taken from and with ticket buyers.<br />
<br />
Some were really into character and tried their level best to scare people and some are generally bad "actors", just writhing meekly in corners.<br />
<br />
"In five minutes, I can writhe better while being tied up in bed and with my eyes closed than these girls can in their entire lives," Star said at one point, loudly to one of the poor girls at the entrance of the first Haunted Trail. She was dressed as this bloodied Victorian vampire.<br />
<br />
First up was Vampires and I groaned and rolled my eyes. See, I grew up with an insufferable fear for Pocongs, Pontianaks, Toyols, Hantu Teteks, Hantu Galas, Pelesits, Penunggus, Hantu Rayas, Penanggals and the likes of it.<br />
<br />
Vampires? Not so much. It has and will always be a Western concept for me. And in truth, they don't scare me at all. Show me a bloodsucking vampire and I'll show you a Malay housewife who sucks more than her husband's blood; and that too on a daily basis.<br />
<br />
The next trail was The Covenant Of Evil, or something like that and it was filled with witches and shamans and again, boring. The only way I can be reduced to tears is if there is a Bomoh somewhere performing a real exorcism right there in front of everyone. Hey, go big or go home.<br />
<br />
There was also a Haunted Jungle trail filled with sweaty bare bodied men posing as some kind of animal spirit and Steve was like, "Oooh, I would lick that sweaty body dry" and that that pretty much sums up the level of sex, I mean, scariness that trail had to offer.<br />
<br />
Never change Steve, never change.<br />
<br />
The last trail we went was filled with Pocongs (wrapped corpse ghosts) and Pontianaks (female ghosts who dies during childbirth) and it was a feeble homage to the Asian folklore and I was like, "Okay, now we're talking". There is something about coming face to face with the horror that you grew up with that really hits home.<br />
<br />
I've always been terrified (and make no qualms or effort to conceal that fact) of Pocongs. It is possibly the only type of ghost that I am terrified of. I have no idea why but for some reason, it just scares the shit out of me.<br />
<br />
And so Steve and I, hand in hand (please bear in mind that these are tow fully grown man holding each other's hands in public), walked slowly into the trail.<br />
<br />
There were about 8 to 10 of these Pocongs lined by the side of the bridge and in the darkness of the night, we couldn't tell which is real and which is just a mannequin. About 20 people have walked past them in front of us and after three minutes to no movement, we both concluded that those were in fact, just mannequins. I mean, which talent in their right mind would want to be wrapped from head to toe throughout the entire night?<br />
<br />
And then three of the Pocongs hopped.<br />
<br />
"Fuccccccccckkkkkkk!!!!!! It moved! It moved! It moved! It moved!" I kept screaming and running; Steve equally hysterical. Star and Melissa were nowhere to be found and when we stumbled upon them about 50 metres ahead, hand in hand, Star sharply said, "You look like to gay men running away from a Catholic clergyman with a machete in his hand. Stop embarrassing me!"<br />
<br />
"The Pocongs moved, it hopped! It was real!" Steve spoke between breaths, still clutching my hand.<br />
<br />
"Shut up faggots," Melanie hushed.<br />
<br />
The rest of the night was more fun because after that damn Pocong incident, Steve and I became jumpy with every passing moment and the Haunted House became an abyss of "Stop it!", "Oh my god!", "Fuck you!", "No!" and god knows how many shrieks and screams. Many times I found myself screaming at random staffs just working there as ushers in The Haunted Houses.<br />
<br />
All while holding Steve's hands.<br />
<br />
Halfway through the third Haunted House Melanie said, "Let's just go for the rides. I'm tired of you two ass lickers screaming at everything and anything!"<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-18835863978593003622013-10-17T03:42:00.000-07:002013-10-17T03:42:32.267-07:00Porn And Her Dough Of Bread24 hours.<br />
<br />
That is all you have for your birthday. In that 24 hours, you are at the liberty to do anything you please and 75% of the time, someone else is going to pay for you. In that 24 hours, you are allowed to shamelessly ask any random stranger to wish you a "Happy Birthday" and 92% of the time, they will. In that 24 hours, you are allowed to be obnoxious and ask for a gift from any of your friends and 68% of the time you will get the gift.<br />
<br />
This 24 hours is yours and yours to exploit.<br />
<br />
I've never been the kind of guy to celebrate birthdays with much pomp but this year is an exception. This year, I decided that for my birthday, I would like to get out of the country and not be reminded that there is so much a middle class person like myself can afford to celebrate.<br />
<br />
That means you go to any country where the currency is much weaker than the Singapore Dollar. Middle-class problem, solved!<br />
<br />
Having a birthdate in October also means that it is the monsoon season in every South East Asian country (where the currency is much weaker than the Singapore Dollars thank you very much). But I wasn't prepared for the kind of weather that greeted me in Krabi on the eve of my birthday.<br />
<br />
The rain was torrential and the whole trip there was wetter than Miley Cyrus' vagina after writhing on top of a wrecking ball. I practically spent my holiday there with an umbrella in hand and a scowl on my face.<br />
<br />
But never one to excessively complain (especially during a holiday because that would be fucking annoying), I made a decision to enjoy my holiday by doing things indoors instead.<br />
<br />
So I treated my body like a Play-doh and went for a body massage for two days straight and by the second day, my body was so relaxed that if you pushed me by accident, I would fall on the floor and immediately fall asleep on the floor.<br />
<br />
Oh boy was the massage good. As it is with Thailand, you can't make out the women from the woah-men. On the second day, my masseuse, or "massage therapists" as they are popularly known nowadays, was this pretty girl in her mid twenties by the name of Porn. Please, don't start.<br />
<br />
She spoke in an almost inaudible whisper and it wasn't until I laid down and saw her Adam's apple that I knew that Porn is actually a man. By then, it was already too late. I was already fully naked with the exception of a see through disposable underwear hanging precariously on my hips.<br />
<br />
Nowhere to hide.<br />
<br />
Her quiet, almost shy demeanor quickly evaporated when she started kneading my back like a dough of bread. Porn is biologically still a man and the brute strength was evident in her massage.<br />
<br />
The food in Krabi, Thailand, as expected was exceedingly delicious. There was surprisingly a great number of Italian restaurants that could be found in Krabi. I had a ball of a time slurping copious amount of spicy, intestine damaging Tom Yum Goong, made more delicious and enjoyable against the cool, wet weather for the entire duration of my trip.<br />
<br />
But back to the massage story.<br />
<br />
"I bet Melanie would make an excellent transsexual masseuse in Krabi," Star Whatsapped me yesterday right after I regaled to her my slightly uncomfortable messaging incident in a group chat consisting of the usual suspects.<br />
<br />
"And Star would make a good whore. Oh wait, you already are a whore," Melanie texted back in retaliation.<br />
<br />
And with that, I was transported back home immediately.<br />
<br />
Thailand though. Everyone was warm and genuine and it more than made up for the fucking shitty weather. It doesn't hurt either that I stayed in a villa and is equipped with a balcony that is directly facing the sea.<br />
<br />
Something a middle class like myself would never ever afford in this god forsaken country.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-11919218949469241982013-09-23T02:15:00.001-07:002013-09-23T02:23:21.574-07:00Bollywood At 9.<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: 14px;"><span style="color: #999999;">I was nine years old. This was my earliest recollection of how it all started. 1996. I was lying on my late grandmother's bed, tucked underneath her left arm, head resting on her chest. She smelled of massage oil and fabric softener. I will always remember that smell. She was plump and worked as a masseuse.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #999999;">Men, women, child, twisted ligaments, pregnant ladies, back sores, anything. She knew her way around this island, partly because her job required her to go to customers houses all over Singapore. Which buses go where, shortest routes, everything.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">She was a walking directory.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">It amazed me how good her memory was even in her seventies. She was larger than life. Much, much larger than life. When she passed away, I knew it was because life itself couldn't contain her. Her positivity, her infectious laughter. Every evening, after a full day of massaging, she would relax and unwind by being in her room, lying down on her queen sized bed and watching Indonesian channels playing on her little television perched on top of a standing cabinet, with a gigantic transmitter hanging by the bedroom window.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">She was from Medan, Indonesia and I guess that by watching Indonesian channels, that was how she clinged on to memories of home. The images were always grainy, but that didn't stop her from spending hours and hours watching Telenovelas dubbed in Bahasa Indonesia, variety shows, Indonesian Soap Operas otherwise known as Sinetron and re-runs of both old and the latest Bollywood movies.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">So there I was, tucked underneath her left arm, head resting on her chest, smelling the addictive concoction of massage oil and fabric softener, watching a re-run of an old Bollywood movie. The movie itself was the stuff of fantasy.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">It was about this snake goddess who has the ability to transform herself into a beautiful woman, who eventually falls in love and married a human being. This movie, later on in my life, after years and years of searching for it's title, is Nagina, starring the absolutely stunning Sridevi. But I was nine. And I knew nothing about Sridevi, not yet at least. All I could remember was the scene that will be etched forever in my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">The scene starts off with an evil priest who is trying to lure this snakewoman out of her room, in an attempt to steal her divine powers and possess it, for his own personal gain. so he was playing that snake flute or whatever you call it and she was writhing in her room, snake eyes formed and all. Shortly after, she opened the doors of her room, draped in a astunning white outfit, hell bent on battling it out with the evil old priest who miraculously is still not out of breath after blowing into the damn instrument for what seemed like ages.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">I suppose he was an evil priest and he had an evil pair of lungs. And just like everything evil, it will stand through time, whether you like it or not.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">And so the battle began. But no, there wasn't any special effects or CGI. In true Bollywood style, the duel was done in sing and dance. And boy did Sridevi danced. I believed the song was Main Teri Dushman which translates to I'm Your Enemy. But all I remembered was how bewitched I was with her dancing and inside my little head I asked, "Who..is..this..woman..?"</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">I was completely bedazzled, beyond comprehension. The scene replayed in my head for weeks after that. I wanted to know who she was and what was the name of the movie. In the next decade after that, I will be asking everyone that i know, "Do you know of this Bollywood movie about this snakewoman and she danced in this white outfit?"</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">Some would reply, "Since when did Bollywood make a movie about snakes?", most would just stare at me in disgust and say, "What the fuck? Bollywood? Snakewoman? You're fucking nuts."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">Once there was a boy in class who replied, "Is it Jennifer Lopez in Anaconda?" He obviously didn't hear the word Bollywood. And if Jennifer Lopez was a snake in a movie, her gigantic ass would make the snake looked like it just swallowed a cow. And the rest of the movie will be her trying to digest the damn animal and it won't be that much fun after that if you ask me.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">But that didn't stop me neither did it made me want to give up; in fact it made me more obsessed. Who was this lady? I was eighteen when I stumbled upon old videos of Sridevi on YouTube.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">And there it was.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">Of course by eighteen I knew who Sridevi was and I knew all about the movie but somehow or rather I just can't seem to find the movie in stores. There I was, choked up, finally reunited with my snakewoman. And the memories came spilling in, the massage oil smell with that hint of fabric softener, the grainy images, those evil pair of lungs that never went out of breath.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">I was nine years olf all over again. And almost instantly, my obsession was born. Fathered by Rishi Kapoor and conceived by the dance moves of Sridevi. In that instant, a friend, now I can't remember who, while watching the video with me started laughing uncontrollably and in between breaths said, "That is fucking old school dude. She looks like she is convulsing to death. Craptastic."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">But he wasn't making any sense. I am just a nine year old boy, and this is my first step into the world of Bollywood.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-90894140779597058292013-09-23T02:09:00.001-07:002013-09-23T02:09:20.412-07:00The Co-incidenceI was browsing through my notes and found this note that I had typed out a couple of years ago. Who would have thought that today I would have the opportunity to act it all out at the expense of my dignity and for the pleasure of the whole of Singapore? These pearls of wisdom are the ones that didn't make the cut for the Bonda Bedah Berates video. Have a good read!<br />
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<h2 class="_5clb" style="font-size: 24px; line-height: 28px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
School For Mothers</h2>
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There is. I am not kidding you. I stumbled upon this textbook: How To Be An Effective Working Class Malay Mother. Apparently all our mothers come from this school. Here are the Ten Golden Rules.<br /><br />1. Threat your kids with death<br /><br />"Aku terjun baru korang tahu! Bila aku dah mampos baru korang tahu nasib korang!"<br />
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(Later when I jump down to my death then you all know your luck!)<br /><br />2. Compare your kids with other over achieving kids<br /><br />"Kau tengok anak Cik Timah, semua baik jadinya! Mana yang tak tinggal sembahyang, mana yang pergi universiti. Sejuk perut si Timah tu. Ntahlah, anak-anak aku susah lah, tak boleh jadi macam diorang."<br />
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(Look at Aunt Timah's children, all successful! Can go university, doesn't forget to pray daily. What good luck. My kids? Hopeless. Can never be like them.)<br /><br />3. Ask for an extravagant amount of money from your kids.<br /><br />"Jangan bohong dengan aku! Hah, kerja overtime aku tengok hari-hari, buang duit dengan orang tua susah!"<br />
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(Don't lie to me! You work overtime everyday, want to give parents money also hard.)<br /><br />4. Scold your kid's friends who sneak into your house when you're not in.<br /><br />"Ah bagos!! Masuk satu-satu macam pencuri! Berambus pun macam pencuri!!"<br />
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(Good! Sneak in the house like a burglar, leave the house also like one!)<br /><br />5. Use "Kau nak jadi setan?!" at least once a day.<br /><br />"Kau maghgrib-maghgrib tak tahu nak balik eh!? Kau nak jadi setan?! Ah bagus, bawak anak dara mana ntah balik rumah. Kau nak jadi setan?! Yer, subur-subur semua masih membuta. Kau nak jadi setan?!"<br />
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(It's dusk already you don't know how to return home? You want to be a devil? Good! Bring a girl home! You want to be a devil? Good! Before dawn all sleeping like a log. You want to be a devil?")<br /><br />6. Sad, sacrificial stories. Use your tears.<br /><br />"Aku selama ni korban, tangan jadi kaki, kaki jadi tangan besarkan korang tapi satu anak pun tak kesiankan aku. Sob. Dari kecik aku bela sampai dah besar panjang. Sob. Ni balasan korang kat aku? Sob, sob, sob.<br /><br />(All these while i sacrificed, i used my four limbs to go out and work not even a single child pities me. I raised you all from small until you guys become adults. This is how you repay me? Sob Sob Sob.)<br />
<br />7. When your kid turns 21, every day, you must ask them about marriage.<br /><br />"Bila aku nak timang cucu? Bila kau nak kahwin? Kau takda kawan ker? Bila nak bawak kawan kau balik rumah?"<br /><br />(When can I hold a grandchild? When are you getting married? Don't you have a girlfriend? When are you going to bring your girlfriend home?)<br />
<br />8. And when they bring their gf/bf home, criticise.<br /><br />"Betina/jantan apa kau bawak balik? Pakai tak senonoh, dengan orang tua tak tahu salaman, bagus lah, jantan/betina gini kau nak jadikan bini/laki?!"<br />
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(What kind of gf/bf are you bringing home? Wear so sleazy, don't know how to respect elders, this kind of man/woman you want to make a husband/wife?)<br /><br />9. If you have a son, always threat that his future wife will never be like you. If you have a daughter, threat that she will never be like you.<br /><br />"Nanti kau kahwin bini pengotor, baru ah kau tahu langit dengan bumi. Situ tempat tido, situ tempat main, situ jugaklah dia menyerakkan."<br />
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(One day you will marry a dirty woman then you will know. Sleeping area, eating area all at one place.)<br /><br />Or.<br /><br />"Kau memang tak boleh pembersih macam aku. Buat kerja rumah punya pemalas, masak, haram! Nanti kau dah kahwin, kasi laki kau cekik Maggi hari-hari!"<br />
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(You are not as clean and pedantic as me. So lazy to do housework. Cooking? Far from it! Later when you get married, you eat Maggi everyday lah!)<br /><br />10. Nag. Nag about everything. Minimum is two hours. Great mothers nag throughout the night and continue till next morning.<br /><br />I don't have enough space to type the nagging. Go figure.<br />
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Did I tell you that there will be a PART TWO OF BONDA BEDAH BERATES? Wait for it bitches. I mean, peaches.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-9326609313310270922013-09-13T04:07:00.001-07:002013-09-13T04:08:27.017-07:00The Fame GameBefore I get a scathing e-mail or comment that this post is doing nothing but stroking my self-important and self-anointed "Oh I'm famous" ass, let me start off by saying that I do not think, for a nanosecond of my simple middle-class life that I am remotely famous in any denomination whatsoever.<br />
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Yes, the visibility of Lepak One Korner and A Son Of A Peach is increasing, but no, I do not think I qualify to call myself (and nor do I think my body of work warrants such a title) the slightest bit of a celebrity.<br />
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And this disassociation with the whole "fame game" on my part is the reason why I get tongue tied whenever someone comes and say hello or to tell me how much they love my work.<br />
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I'll be honest, there have been an increasing number of times when someone would approach me and I'll just stand there for a good 5 seconds just not knowing what to do or say. Many times it would just be a lot of smiling and a little "thank you". Sometimes, it would just be an endless splatter of "thank you so much, thanks, thank you, thank you".<br />
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Whenever I re-think about the whole incident and replay the entire scene in my head moments after it had happened, I can't help but feel slightly stupid.<br />
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"You could have asked for their name and asked them to follow you on Twitter, to look out for you next video, to subscribe to SGAG on Facebook, Twitter and YouTube, to help spread the word and continue with their support instead of just saying thank you, god!" Star said, rolling her eyes when I told her over dinner last night during the group's usual outing.<br />
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"Someone is obviously a bigger fame whore than all of us combined," Melanie said, eyes still scanning the menu.<br />
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"Oh shut up! All I'm doing is to increase awareness and make our friend here more famous!" Star raised her voice.<br />
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People were starting to look at our table.<br />
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"Not because you will be the best friend of a celebrity in the near future?" Melanie shot back.<br />
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"Well I was his friend when he was a nobody so screw you!" Star huffed, slouching back to her head.<br />
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"Guys, stop, I'm not a celebrity, I find this whole celebrity thing slightly far fetched to be honest," I explained to them.<br />
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"But not an impossible feat considering the amount of attention that you've been gradually receiving in public," Steve smiled.<br />
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"Oh Steve, I don't know, this is all happening too early and too fast," I laughed.<br />
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Just then a waiter came to our table and started taking our orders. Right before he left, he begrudgingly smiled at me and softly asked, "You're that guy in Lepak One Korner right?"<br />
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Almost machine-like, I instantly smiled and nodded my head.<br />
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"You're funny, I like your work and your friend is hilarious too," he smiled.<br />
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"Thank you so much," I kept nodding.<br />
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"And don't forget to follow him on Twitter and help spread the word okay? And look out for his next video!" Star suddenly chipped in.<br />
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"Sure will!" the waiter said and left to key in our orders.<br />
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"What? I was just helping..." Star shrugged.<br />
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P/S: Thank you all for your support and do continue to like the pages, videos on YouTube and Twitter and continue spreading the love. I'm still new to this whole thing so pardon my awkwardness if you all ever had the opportunity to meet me in public. I'm as starstruck at your love for me.<br />
<br />
Mr. H<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-37653803319884532142013-09-13T03:50:00.003-07:002013-09-13T03:51:44.401-07:00She's Just Bein' MileyLet's keep this post short and simple shall we? Much have already been said about Miley Cyrus's performance during the MTV Video Awards and her two music videos We Can't Stop and Wrecking Ball.<br />
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Ironic. Since she can't stop being a wreck.<br />
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And oh, don't put "Art" into your desire to purposely be overtly sexual and controversial. If you love pain, don't lick the fucking sledgehammer. Lick a life-sized poster of Liam.<br />
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And honey, all Britney did to shed her Disney image was to show her midriff, a bit of boobs and she danced with an albino snake.<br />
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Learn, and stop sticking out your damn tongue all the time.<br />
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98361572 people got an STD infection from just watching that performance.<br />
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P/S: Artists grow, change and evolve. I get that. But you're doing it wrong. Such a pity. You've got a great voice. If only your twerking skills is as good. And since it's not, stop that rubbish too.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-10133203361704534052013-08-26T04:33:00.001-07:002013-08-26T04:33:09.644-07:00100K Of Happiness<br />
I rarely look at numbers and statistics pertaining to A Son Of A Peach not because I'm weak in Math (terrible to be honest) but because I feel like there is no need for me to be swayed by numbers and figures in the first place. But sadly, there is nothing more emotionally gratifying than seeing huge numbers because let's face it: numbers (especially in staggering units) is a good gauge of success.<div>
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I'm not trying to be utterly presumptuous here to say that A Son Of A Peach is a successful blog (it is right?) but what started out as a humble attempt to spread joy and laughter to friends near and far; it has thankfully grown only from strength to strength.</div>
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Granted, these days the entries come in at a rather glacial pace but that is only because there is only 24 hours in a day and there is just so many things that I an manage to do in a single day. But don;t you worry, A Son Of A Peach is here to stay.</div>
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So 100K unique views eh? Not that shabby for a complete unknown and especially so after being in existence (the blog, not me) for a mere 10 months.</div>
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But that's not what I'm writing this celebratory blog post for. See in a fit of ecstasy, I have shamelessly shared this piece of news on Facebook and my ex English teacher, Mr Iaan had validated my efforts for the past 10 months with a succinct "Welcome" when I thanked everyone on Facebook for their support.</div>
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That can only mean one thing: My ex English teacher reads my blog. That feeling was equal parts enthralling as much as it is nerve-wrecking.</div>
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Nerve-wrecking because you can't quite shake off the fact that your ex English teacher is reading your blog and judging (or quietly corrupting) your grammar.</div>
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Once a teacher, always a teacher.</div>
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Oh what do you know? I have always been (or I'd like to think) an ace English student. I enjoyed English lessons with every single fibre and pore of my body. There have never been a single day where I dread going for an English lesson. I suppose this stemmed from the fact that I understood the relevance and charm of a well spoken man than a man who can apply Pythagoras Theorem when picking up hot strangers in a club.</div>
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And that was all I wanted to be. I wanted to speak well, write in a grammatically perfect manner and have an extensive vocabulary longer that Lindsay Lohan's DUI arrests.</div>
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The joy of learning the English language is further fueled by the existence of Mr Iaan. From the start, he wasn't the cookie cutter type of educator. The first lesson was him, in a neatly pressed white paisley printed shirt, openly chiding my other classmates and their inability to differentiate between a noun, verb and an adjective.</div>
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This was particularly worrying because our "O" Level examinations was just 9 months away. I, of course knew what was what but had kept my silent to impress him with our first ever composition handout.</div>
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I have learned more things in that 9 months than 9 years of learning English in school. Not the technicality of the language per se but the freedom of expression. And isn't that what language is all about? Mr Iaan's lesson is never devoid of puns and laughter and a gracious sense of healthy competition amongst classmates.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And that joy of writing, expressing and immense amount of creativity has only led me to this, and more. So thank you Mr Iaan for setting the highest example of what it means like to do what you enjoy, and to live their life, one grammatically perfect sentence at a time.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-45185401145301493162013-08-26T04:15:00.000-07:002013-08-26T04:15:21.233-07:00Apocalypse TechnologyThe thing about living in an era of machines and limitless technology is that it makes us lazy sons of peaches.<br />
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Much have been discussed, written, reported, studied, debated and argues about this topic but one doesn't really realize the severity of the situation until technology and machinery itself is being taken away from us abruptly and we are left hanging in the darkness of simplicity and involuntary manual labour.<br />
<br />
Three days ago, Melanie came back home from work only to realize that there is a maintenance work on both elevators at the condominium where she's living.<br />
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Melanie lives on the 22nd floor.<br />
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To make things worst, she was wearing a pair of 5 inch Nine West heels from work.<br />
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"I took it off by the 8th storey. I am not that stupid," she talked to me on the phone yesterday.<br />
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"Well you're stupid enough to wear 5 inch stilettos to work in the first place. What the hell Mel, you're a hairdresser. You're on your feet the whole time. Hello? Common sense?" I teased her.<br />
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"Are you going to let me finish or not?" she snapped, visibly (aurally, really) agitated.<br />
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"Fine....go ahead," I laughed.<br />
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"So I took off my shoes and climbed another 14 storeys back to my apartment only to realize that the elevators are working when I have already reached my gate. I'm a woman! How could they do this to me? I was sweating and the soles of my feet were dirtier than the insides of Star's vagina!" Melanie whined on the phone.<br />
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"Well in all honesty you're not a wo..."<br />
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"Shut up Harry! I know what I am!" she cut me off halfway.<br />
<br />
"Okay..."<br />
<br />
There was a moment of silence. Melanie continued.<br />
<br />
"And guess what? As if one machine breakdown in a day is not enough, an electrical crisis has to happen. My toilet light bulb got spoiled and I had to change the lightbulbs. Me. Changing lightbulbs. That's mens work!" she raised her voice.<br />
<br />
I chuckled.<br />
<br />
"Oh stop it Harry! When I was a man I didn't know how to fix lightbulbs. I won't know how to do so even as a woman urgh!"<br />
<br />
I laughed so hard I dropped my phone (thankfully on my fluffy mattress).<br />
<br />
But this incident really got me thinking about the dependency of the human race and modern technology. Can we really live without it? All while sipping iced tea that's been perfectly chilled i my new Mitsubishi eco-friendly fridge.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-5775651758958609222013-08-19T03:00:00.000-07:002013-08-19T03:00:45.723-07:00Hari Raya For WAGsWell, I suppose it's only right that I do a Hari Raya post, and that too on the 12th day.<br />
<br />
I have been immensely busy with work and brainstorming ideas for videos with SGAG (which I hope you guys are enjoying thoroughly) and truth be told, nothing exciting has happened during Hari Raya worthy enough to warrant a blog post.<br />
<br />
Between my mum fussing over what to wear on a weekly basis to pesky relatives asking me when I'm going to get married (cause I don't know, maybe they drive some kind of sick pleasure from asking the same goddamn question year after year) to me stuffing my face a record of six times in one short day, my Hari Raya have been fairly low key and free of drama (bawling my eyes out for forgiveness not included).<br />
<br />
Oh I'm so sorry, how rude. Here's wishing all my Muslim readers a blessed Syawal and may this Hari Raya Aidilfitri bring you nothing but happiness and love with your loved ones.<br />
<br />
Okay now that I've gotten that (genuine) formality out of the way, let's bring to you guys what you always come to this blog for: perverse sexuality.<br />
<br />
This came from our dear Star, who along with Steve and Melanie has their first Raya housewarming experience at my Aunt's place yesterday afternoon. My aunt had invited them over to her house because she had remembered them fondly during that one time when they came to her son's wedding and (unanimously) complemented her on her striking figure even at the age of 55.<br />
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So the four of us were sitting at the balcony, just talking when Star suddenly said, "Oooh, who's that hottie?"<br />
<br />
I looked in her direction and turns out, she was ogling at Zafar, my 18 year old cousin.<br />
<br />
"Star, that is Zafar. You bought him and his baby brother a chocolate bar 3 years ago when you came to my house for my mum's birthday party?"<br />
<br />
"Oh wow! He has grown up to be such a delicious looking boy!" Star squealed.<br />
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Melanie rolled her eyes and Steve just nodded indifferently as a form of response.<br />
<br />
"He is only 18 Star for god's sake!" I angrily hushed at her, not wanting anybody (oh god forbid) to hear to our morally unbecoming conversation.<br />
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"18 is of a legal age, what are you talking about?" Star replied, not even once taking her eyes away from Zafar.<br />
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"I think he has a girlfriend Star. With a face like that, he is either gay or attached," Steve chuckled.<br />
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"Well one thing for sure I can definitely show him things that his 18 year old girlfriend can't," Star smiled cunningly.<br />
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"All right that's it, you're freaking me out with this newfound cougar-esque morality I'm going to have more pineapple tarts!" Melanie stood up and left.<br />
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"Don't ruin a kid's life. He is a budding national footballer if you must know!" I warned Star.<br />
<br />
"Perfect! I can be a WAG, just like that. Oh wait, this is Singapore. Oh it's fine. I can be a low rent WAG, I can settle for that," Star smiled.<br />
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"A cheap ass cougar. How refreshing," I raised my eyebrows.<br />
<br />
Steve chuckled.<br />
<br />
"Fuck you! Don't rain on my parade bitch!" Star slapped Steve on his left arm. Hard.<br />
<br />
"Football field. Don't rain your your football field," I laughed.<br />
<br />
"Jealous assed bitches," Star rolled her eyes.<br />
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"Zafar, come say hello to my friends!" I called him.<br />
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He smiled and yes it was a damn perfect smile, and walked towards us.<br />
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"Remember my friends?" I asked him.<br />
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"Yes of course! Nice to meet you again Brother Steve and Kakak Star!" he smiled.<br />
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"KAKAK?! (elder sister)" Star shouted.<br />
<br />
Steve and I rolled on the floor laughing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-74387862784652589012013-07-25T00:03:00.001-07:002013-07-25T00:03:25.211-07:0020 Reasons Why Chocolate Is Better Than Sex1) You actually would thoroughly enjoy the swallowing part.<br />
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2) It doesn't judge your penis length.<br />
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3) If you fall asleep halfway while eating, it's still going to be there for you.<br />
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4) Nobody is going to judge you if you go fruity, dark or with huge nuts.<br />
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5) It's readily available...when you're ready.<br />
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6) It's always protected by a foil so you know it's going to be safe.<br />
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7) You fork our money for it and 10 out of 10 times you enjoy every bit of it and it makes you happy.<br />
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8) Hard or soft, it doesn't matter. It's still going to be good.<br />
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9) You can share it with friends and family.<br />
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10) It doesn't speak to you while you're halfway eating it.<br />
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11) You can eat chocolate in religious places and God watches over you safely.<br />
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12) You don't have to compliment it first before eating it.<br />
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13) Three at a time and no one is going to bat an eyelid.<br />
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14) No baggage involved afterwards.<br />
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15) With chocolates, "bite sized" is actually a good thing.<br />
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16) You can talk about your chocolate eating sessions openly with just about anybody without them thinking of your moral decay.<br />
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17) You can break it into two if you feel like it.<br />
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18) Nobody is going to judge you if you're done eating in under 5 minutes.<br />
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19) You can have it filled with liquor and it wouldn't make a fool out of itself.<br />
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20) You can eat your chocolates in front of your parents. Share with them even.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5530358580013187813.post-37898152628474697842013-07-24T23:55:00.000-07:002013-07-24T23:55:09.142-07:00Hello RamadanAnd so we meet again in this holy month of Ramadan. Before anything else, I would like to take this opportunity to wish all my Muslim readers a blessed Ramadan ahead.<br />
<br />
I intended to write this blog post much earlier (the plan was on the 1st day of Ramadan) but I have been utterly busy with work and preparing for the fasting month.<br />
<br />
My memories of Ramadan has always been a fairly good one. As much as we tell ourselves that wasting food is an tribute of the devil, 90% of us indulge in mindless food buying sprees at this time of the year. I am one of those people. I have spent an entire childhood just gorging on every food possible to the point where I feel like if there is an African cannibal tribe living next door, between my flesh and the food I've consumed; jackpot.<br />
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I started fasting when I was seven years old and so I'm pretty good at it by now. Melanie however, is the total opposite.<br />
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"I don't know how the fuck do you not eat for half a day and not even a single drop of water while you're at it. Much respect for your people man," she saluted me during one of our evening dinners.<br />
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"It's the Holy Month of Ramadan, please don't use the F word Mel, it's disrespectful!" Star said, adjusting her earrings.<br />
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"I'm not Muslim, fuck off," Melanie spat.<br />
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I snorted.<br />
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"See? He's not offended. And it's the Holy Month of Ramadan, don't you have to wear more appropriate clothing? Hmm Star?" Melanie raised her eyebrows.<br />
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Star adjusted her low neck top, rolling her eyes at Melanie while doing so.<br />
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"Maybe you guys should try to fast with me, it'll be fun," I asked jokingly.<br />
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"I heard it's a great way to detox too, I'm in," Steve chirped in.<br />
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"Why not? It'll be fun," Star quipped.<br />
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All three of us looked at Melanie.<br />
<br />
"Oh hell no," she shook her head.<br />
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"The gates of Hell are closed Mel. One day, just one day and I'll buy you a new dress if you manage to fast for the whole day," I bargained. Something from H&M maybe. If she asks for a Victoria Beckham or a Roland Mouret then I'm done for. Eat grass for Hari Raya.<br />
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"Fine!" Melanie relented.<br />
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"What do I get? How come I don't get any dresses?!" Star sulked.<br />
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"You get my blessings," I joked.<br />
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That was last week. Yesterday the trio started their fast but by 3 in the afternoon, Melanie couldn't take it any longer.<br />
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"Is it normal to have murderous thoughts swirling inside your head and to have a heightened snarky attitude when you're fasting?" Melanie texted me from her salon.<br />
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"I'm like that, even without fasting," I texted back.<br />
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"I'm serious god dammit!" she quickly responded.<br />
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"It's the withdrawal symptoms of not having food inside your body I guess. It's pretty normal to get easily agitated when you're hungry. Faith, abstinence and patience Mel," I replied.<br />
<br />
"Fuck this shit. Any sooner and there will be mass massacre in this hair salon. The papers tomorrow will have my face on the front page and it will read: Transsexual Hairdresser stabs 7 customers to death with a pair of hair thinning scissors. I'm getting myself a sandwich. Bye!" she texted back<br />
<br />
In the Whatsapp group chat later on in the evening, Star and steve called Melanie's act of weakness a shame of biblical proportions.<br />
<br />
"Damnit! I was this close to asking Harry to get me a sheath Victoria Beckham dress!" Melanie typed.<br />
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At that point of time, my heart skipped a beat.<br />
<br />
That was close now wasn't it?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0