tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55463452827884070612024-03-13T12:10:29.918+08:00PURGE!!! and be damnedUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-6382576201911707582014-10-19T22:07:00.001+08:002014-10-19T22:09:19.008+08:00a re-discoveryI have been thinking a lot lately about writing long-winded essays on nothing and everything. An impromptu meetup with two of my college friends, Ida and Ell, had me thinking about it again.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ida especially was insistent: Your Facebook food pictures are great. Do a blog on the food you eat and the places you go.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The truth is, I have been writing in my head all the time. It's easy to play around with words when you are not looking at a blank computer screen. The intro, the body, the conclusion. They're all there. And I do sound quite smart in my head too.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tonight, while going through my Blogger dashboard, I discovered the link to my second blog that had only four miserable but well-written (if I may say so) entries. The final entry of that blog was in mid-September of 2010.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b style="background-color: black;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #666666; line-height: 20.7999992370605px;">My last entry was in April. It is now mid-September.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #666666; line-height: 20.7999992370605px;">What's happening to me?</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #666666; line-height: 20.7999992370605px;"><u>But I'm glad I haven't quite yet forgotten the URL to this blog and more importantly, the password</u>. And this should be reason enough for me to attempt an update at least once a month.</span></span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #666666; line-height: 20.7999992370605px;"><i>Darn those social networking sites for taking away my concentration and focus</i>.</span></span></b></blockquote>
I have forgotten the password to that blog. Such irony. And worse, I have set comment moderation too. That blog is now officially dead. I may, however, export (oh! such a clever-sounding word) the other three (well, two) entries here. And such a loss too because I quite like the name I gave to the blog (originality is dead), my profile name and the url.<br />
<br />
Ah well .. that's life. And aging too.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-1855068632030127012014-05-02T14:12:00.001+08:002014-05-02T14:12:50.319+08:00On my face<p dir=ltr>I am lying face down on a hospital bed, having my left foot, or rather, the heel of my left foot, softly massaged.</p>
<p dir=ltr>Today's my 2nd physiotherapy session. I'm thankful it's not as gruelling as the first one three days ago. I have another 4 sessions to complete. </p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-74824922023921987452014-04-24T22:48:00.002+08:002014-04-24T22:48:50.852+08:00BrokeI have been meaning to write. I especially had all the time to write when I broke my foot early March.<br />
<br />
But I didn't.<br />
<br />
The first two weeks of having my foot in a plaster cast, I wasted the time by moping around, being miserable at having to become an invalid and immobile (because I was on crutches) and making everyone miserable too. Or rather, the sight of me lying on my back with foot raised and struggling while walking with the crutches made everyone miserable.<br />
<br />
The next two weeks I was doing my best to adept to the situation. Which, I think, I did quite well. Managed to sweep the floors, clean some parts of the downstairs bathroom, cooked simple dishes (the simplest dish, the pasta, would take me an hour or so to prepare). What I didn't get to do and didn't want to do was to climb up and down the stairs. Too scared of falling on my face and breaking more bones in my puny body.<br />
<br />
The cast came off after four weeks but the foot hadn't healed completely. The family rejoiced because it meant that I could walk with some help from the crutches and a wee bit of bearable pain. The very first evening, they took me to a sushi dinner. The weekend, we visited my mother and I'm pretty sure we went to some shopping place to eat and gape at expensive stuff.<br />
<br />
Today, the seventh week, I had another x-ray of my foot (in total, my foot was x-rayed four times) and the fracture has healed "beautifully," said the doctor. But it's not over. I have to start physiotherapy to strengthen the muscles which had gone to sleep while foot was in cast. I guess that explained why I feel extremely tired after climbing up the stairs. And the pain akin to muscle pull around the ankle area of the broken foot.<br />
<br />
So, I will have to attend two sessions per week, with each session lasting 90 minutes. There'll be six sessions altogether. And another appointment, minus the x-ray, with the doctor end of next month.<br />
<br />
Let's hope I will be running by then.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-87738963505313642312014-02-27T17:01:00.001+08:002014-02-27T17:04:52.500+08:00Wordless<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3zLrvUgPWN8/Uw79pfZ_CVI/AAAAAAAAKR8/I8SXX5hukc0/s1600/DSC_0288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3zLrvUgPWN8/Uw79pfZ_CVI/AAAAAAAAKR8/I8SXX5hukc0/s1600/DSC_0288.JPG" height="260" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where fishermen park their boats along Sungai Pahang,<br />
Kampung Kuala Pahang in Pekan, Pahang. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Wordless again.<br />
<br />
I am just not feeling it. There are stories I've "written" in my head but it's not present right now. The picture does not help.<br />
<br />
I should just write all the whatevers that flit through my head. But there isn't much up there right now.<br />
<br />
And I'm rushed for time. I need to cook dinner.<br />
xxx<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-35076289977659132982014-02-10T10:49:00.001+08:002014-02-10T11:31:51.796+08:00On the Go<p dir=ltr>I'm trying this again: blogging on the go. Didn't work too well the last time, or rather, I wasn able to make it work for me then.</p>
<p dir=ltr>Here's the problem. I usually blank out after the first paragraph. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I do miss writing. I write in my head all the time. But can't seem to let any of the words out the moment I am in front of the computer. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I am blanking out again.</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-43200635980726073522014-01-02T16:41:00.002+08:002014-01-02T16:41:39.713+08:00Let's Try This NowIt has been a while and I have, as always, been itching to write in here. But the other social media sites keep taking my time away, and all that I have written in head are forgotten.<br />
<br />
There is no purpose to this entry today. This is more of a test to see if I can type longer than 140 characters and not get distracted by the other sites.<br />
<br />
So, I think, the best way for me now is to keep this short, sweet and sassy.<br />
<br />
I'll be back soon. I think. :DUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-6003890985525828792013-03-25T23:02:00.001+08:002013-04-26T17:37:12.979+08:00Testes<div dir="ltr">
Blogging on the go. Let's see how this works since my fingers tend to freeze whenever I attemp to write the conventional way.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-NdJq7TuXOqE/UVBm685KoKI/AAAAAAAABBs/FX4CHiHigXg/s1600/1364223489561.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="300" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-NdJq7TuXOqE/UVBm685KoKI/AAAAAAAABBs/FX4CHiHigXg/s400/1364223489561.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-14533510867489425902012-10-02T12:52:00.003+08:002012-10-02T12:54:01.315+08:00As I Sleep<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jfrBQkvI6RA/UGpy7dPmSZI/AAAAAAAABAw/Yx7LGsAi4eA/s1600/sleep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jfrBQkvI6RA/UGpy7dPmSZI/AAAAAAAABAw/Yx7LGsAi4eA/s320/sleep.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>sleeping child</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I can't remember other than Tok Abib in my dream. He hugged me. I can't remember if he said anything to me. All he did was hug me</i>.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
That was the dream my daughter dreamt last night. Her eyes teared as she remembered it aloud. How she loved her grandfather and how she missed him.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-21789661370695364982012-09-24T20:57:00.001+08:002012-09-24T20:57:39.217+08:00rosaSome mornings, early, while I tend to my many potted plants, my nose would catch a scent.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ApT3O2NwgnE/UGBYETrjpUI/AAAAAAAABAQ/3zXbXBZV5_c/s1600/203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="112" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ApT3O2NwgnE/UGBYETrjpUI/AAAAAAAABAQ/3zXbXBZV5_c/s200/203.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Orchid, once nurtured by my dad</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A sweet scent, fleeting; lasting a few seconds.<br />
<br />
I'd stop from what i'd be doing, stand straight, and breathe in. The scent, it's mildly sweet. I didn't know whence it came. It's there and then it's gone.<br />
<br />
And then it occurred to me that the sweet scent smelt just like the <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attar_of_roses" target="_blank">attar</a></i> my father once used whenever he went to the mosques.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-61049614925883707522012-04-20T03:42:00.000+08:002012-04-20T03:42:35.365+08:00après minuitThe computer clock says it's 3:25am. And I am writing still.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IYaFVlPgA8E/T5BqHmlYRJI/AAAAAAAAAks/nCPjsJiqwUY/s1600/DSC_0926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IYaFVlPgA8E/T5BqHmlYRJI/AAAAAAAAAks/nCPjsJiqwUY/s320/DSC_0926.JPG" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of those things that I indulge in</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I haven't been writing in a while. Writing for the blog does not count. It's exhilarating to write again. A blank sheet of paper, waiting to be filled up with words. Just simple words. I don't care much for big, multiple-syllable words. I like using them though, they make me sound smart. But pretentious.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">---</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Here's the thing about working from home. Or to be more exact, a freelancer working at home. There will be a long period when I am without jobs (because I don't look for them hard enough) and then there will time when jobs after jobs come in. This is that time. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">They (other people) do not see the 'challenges' I the freelancer face. They see it as part-time work as and when I want to do them (which is partly true). So they do not understand why I turn down (with much grace as I can muster) invites to meet up and socialise. What's worse is that I am not much of a social butterfly. I like being home and don't like much going out and meet people. Although at times I do miss the presence of people, but they are fleeting.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So, it is likely that a cousin will be unhappy with my absence at the kenduri tomorrow. "Why can't you come? You don't work, do you?" One can only sigh and explain tactfully. Deadlines, darling, they loom over me. An hour away from home means one paragraph uncomposed and unwritten. Still, they don't understand. I'm sorry. I'll make it up when this is over.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Now I go to bed. It is exhilarating, and I have trouble with my spellings. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-18170393026390724772012-04-06T15:29:00.003+08:002012-04-06T16:06:49.175+08:00April<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gmYqqVmGjEI/T36ZTQnNIbI/AAAAAAAAAjc/yUHbxHGNSw4/s1600/DSC_0875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gmYqqVmGjEI/T36ZTQnNIbI/AAAAAAAAAjc/yUHbxHGNSw4/s200/DSC_0875.JPG" width="112" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8xknVFGVoJA/T36ZSaT6oyI/AAAAAAAAAjU/AfvJebOKLfQ/s1600/DSC_0873.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8xknVFGVoJA/T36ZSaT6oyI/AAAAAAAAAjU/AfvJebOKLfQ/s200/DSC_0873.JPG" width="112" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">There is really nothing awesome about April, other than the fact that two writing jobs come a-dropping on my lap (which is awesome, really).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">These two might just be a precursor for something bigger. Life may no longer be as cushy as it used to be.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I am quite sure that interesting life-changing events will happen, in a big way.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">One has to be prepared.</span><br />
<br />
In fact, we've seen the signs. Since I am a firm believer that nothing is ever random in life, I view the two jobs as a pre-warning of sorts to be prepared for the worst.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">***</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s-N9nNh8dW0/T36ZWQB-ljI/AAAAAAAAAjs/F111HWZTiIo/s1600/DSC_0878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s-N9nNh8dW0/T36ZWQB-ljI/AAAAAAAAAjs/F111HWZTiIo/s200/DSC_0878.JPG" width="112" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ked6XJzSV2s/T36ZU44fZ2I/AAAAAAAAAjk/jlEeUX7fKb4/s1600/DSC_0876.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ked6XJzSV2s/T36ZU44fZ2I/AAAAAAAAAjk/jlEeUX7fKb4/s200/DSC_0876.JPG" width="112" /></a>Bullets. Its very connotation is negative. Bullets is just the thing that he's been dodging lately, but luck may just run out. One may just hit him. It has hit others before him. So, what's another spray of bullets?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Nothing is what it seems nowadays.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">***</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">When one is bored, one takes a walk in one's garden, enjoy the sunlight when it's there, and take in the colours and the smells. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I0Fb8unFrn4/T36ZaRTEFsI/AAAAAAAAAkE/egNwyX3_-AI/s1600/DSC_0882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I0Fb8unFrn4/T36ZaRTEFsI/AAAAAAAAAkE/egNwyX3_-AI/s200/DSC_0882.JPG" width="112" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XZ__Ke_3rDk/T36ZXnaRufI/AAAAAAAAAj0/SI-l41K7Jjc/s1600/DSC_0880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XZ__Ke_3rDk/T36ZXnaRufI/AAAAAAAAAj0/SI-l41K7Jjc/s200/DSC_0880.JPG" width="112" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ib79Ye6CPhQ/T36ZbpsaWlI/AAAAAAAAAkM/vs2tQhc0NDU/s1600/DSC_0883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ib79Ye6CPhQ/T36ZbpsaWlI/AAAAAAAAAkM/vs2tQhc0NDU/s200/DSC_0883.JPG" width="112" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">My garden, puny though it is, is the one place I enjoy working on. I will not not talk about all the plants that died under my care - it is simply too heartbreaking to even think about them all. </div></div><br />
Pictures here taken on one sunny morning.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RD1_hw8GAAY/T36ZdBVlo0I/AAAAAAAAAkU/7WxkQCIj42g/s1600/DSC_0884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RD1_hw8GAAY/T36ZdBVlo0I/AAAAAAAAAkU/7WxkQCIj42g/s200/DSC_0884.JPG" width="112" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-var-yZq90_0/T36ZfXjgOOI/AAAAAAAAAkc/yN9JaZcX2e8/s1600/DSC_0885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-var-yZq90_0/T36ZfXjgOOI/AAAAAAAAAkc/yN9JaZcX2e8/s200/DSC_0885.JPG" width="112" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-61DwqHJKYyQ/T36Zgb23mdI/AAAAAAAAAkk/13K24ma4gXg/s1600/DSC_0886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-61DwqHJKYyQ/T36Zgb23mdI/AAAAAAAAAkk/13K24ma4gXg/s200/DSC_0886.JPG" width="112" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ebsC36QBROs/T36ZZBuzA5I/AAAAAAAAAj8/UsV2B_jegF8/s1600/DSC_0881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ebsC36QBROs/T36ZZBuzA5I/AAAAAAAAAj8/UsV2B_jegF8/s200/DSC_0881.JPG" width="112" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-82126976716155997862012-03-29T23:28:00.000+08:002012-03-29T23:28:23.230+08:00In My HeadHere's my problem: I do not have suitable pictures, taken by me, to go with every blog write-up that I have (in my head) to be published.<br />
<br />
Without these pictures to go with the stories, my work will look dull and incomplete. There's only so much that words can do but with pictures, no matter how badly they're taken and composed, with their glorious colours, stories will gain 'depth' ...<br />
<br />
And in my head too, my stories are things that others want to write about. Words and paragraphs seamlessly gel together. You would want to read them again and again, and wonder at such perfection.<br />
<br />
All that exists in my head.<br />
<br />
Back to the problem of pictures.<br />
<br />
*sigh*<br />
<br />
Solution:<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ldfd8qOC9wY/T3QDe0G6mAI/AAAAAAAAAjM/MfEq3kfcSJc/s1600/DSC_0858%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="111" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ldfd8qOC9wY/T3QDe0G6mAI/AAAAAAAAAjM/MfEq3kfcSJc/s200/DSC_0858%5B1%5D.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kari Ikan Tenggiri (Lonesome) from my messy kitchen</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>one: I can put up just about any random picture that I take (even squirrel poop can be quite a colourful addition to this blog).<br />
<br />
two: screen cap every single brilliant masterpiece that I conjure at Draw Something.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-54912910857101221282012-02-03T17:25:00.000+08:002012-02-04T09:59:52.072+08:00Twit<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0mHypM1i34E/TyunsQsNWEI/AAAAAAAAAiY/v8vrlz6GNHA/s1600/Twit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0mHypM1i34E/TyunsQsNWEI/AAAAAAAAAiY/v8vrlz6GNHA/s200/Twit.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're a twit, tweeted the bird</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Odd that once upon a time, I found Twitter cozier than Facebook. Odd that I had found comfortable acceptance among strangers I did not know (and I still do not know them well enough). Odd that I found sharing photographs and thoughts with strangers on Twitter more fulfilling than sharing them with people I know on Facebook.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-91352326773189183372012-02-03T15:23:00.001+08:002012-03-07T15:17:03.248+08:00Tripping North<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><blockquote class="tr_bq"><blockquote class="tr_bq">Him: Let's go shopping in Bandung.<br />
Me: What would we buy there?<br />
Him: Household stuff, you know like bedsheets.<br />
Me: Why do we have to go to Bandung for bedsheets. We can get them at Parkson.</blockquote></blockquote></div><div><br />
</div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jg8WU943bSI/TyuMxltR4VI/AAAAAAAAAiA/JUdlZeY897Y/s1600/DSC_0281%255B2%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jg8WU943bSI/TyuMxltR4VI/AAAAAAAAAiA/JUdlZeY897Y/s320/DSC_0281%255B2%255D.JPG" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lost in the spectrum of vivid colours</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, the husband has been hankering for a holiday, preferably a shopping holiday. Me, I was just happy to stay home and mope. But of course, the husband would eventually get what he wanted and a holiday was hastily planned. So, a roadtrip with no definite plans for stops happened, where we traversed half the length of the North-South Highway, the whole stretch of the East-West Highway plus the coastal roads of the East Coast.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And as for shopping, we made stops at Padang Besar (where he shopped and shopped and shopped while I looked and looked and looked) and Pasar Siti Khadijah (where he shopped and shopped and shopped while I sulked and sulked and sulked). He wanted to go to Pasar Payang too but my sulking got the better of him so we went home.</div><br />
<br />
</div><div><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-71510882904748918162011-10-12T00:06:00.000+08:002012-02-03T17:26:12.613+08:00Don't Want To Friend You<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Not too long ago, a friend sought me for a chat over Facebook. He updated me of his current whereabouts and his work. And then he told me that he was in the same department with someone I knew.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"She said to say Hello if I were to talk to you," he said. And gave me her email address. "Just in case you want to contact her."</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I never did, but I did toy around with the thought of emailing her. Then I decided against it.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We used to be close, she and I. She took the trouble to attend my first wedding up north, and she did help me switch careers by providing the opportunities. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But, somehow along the way, I began to feel that she had been very judgmental about me. I know that she liked me because she kept me as a friend even after she left for greener pastures (she's been known to ignore former colleagues that she said "did not benefit her"). I began to look back at our friendship and our working relationship and remembered certain things she said to me, and the way she said them. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And so, one day, I simply decided to stop communicating with her.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">There are times that I miss our friendship, but I don't think I want to be constantly judged by her "high" moral standards, religious views and political bearings.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Easier that way.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-11319623971768275592011-08-23T17:01:00.000+08:002012-02-03T17:28:35.331+08:00Joy!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mXupsdnSaZU/TldUPnCentI/AAAAAAAAAN0/24vpw3cqfCg/s1600/Shoes.jpg%252520large" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mXupsdnSaZU/TldUPnCentI/AAAAAAAAAN0/24vpw3cqfCg/s320/Shoes.jpg%252520large" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mine! Yes, they are MINE!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">How can something so simple, so common bring me so much joy? Here's the answer - seldom do I buy shoes because it is simply next to impossible to find a pair (decent or otherwise) that fits me. So when I found a pair (in this case, THREE) that fit my feet snugly, I snagged all of them!!</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Truth is, only two pairs in the picture are mine. The other pair is K's but since she now wears the same size as mine (that is, Size 3 / 34), I plan to treat her shoes as mine too!!</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yes, I have new shoes for this year's Aidilfitri.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-40782201048158273412011-03-11T09:25:00.000+08:002012-02-03T17:29:11.112+08:00Morning Joy<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I am easily pleased these days. Life can't be more contented than being greeted by all the simple things in life.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Checked my backyard and I am thankful that the evil, mean, vindictive grey Siamese cat has not presented me with a fresh pile of poop at that little space between the pandan bush and kariveppilai tree. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I found these:</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-llioa2oTnrM/TXl4vQk37bI/AAAAAAAAALs/zFj1Wtw_e5Q/s1600/DSC_0063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-llioa2oTnrM/TXl4vQk37bI/AAAAAAAAALs/zFj1Wtw_e5Q/s400/DSC_0063.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terung</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yesterday, it looked like <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-weUadIxSyCg/TXcT7NcDMfI/AAAAAAAAALo/jfVPiVnDEjI/s1600/DSC_0318.JPG">this</a> and today, I can see it's progressing well. I just hope I'll be able to get to it first before the squirrels.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And then, I found this:</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-vuAAken0gbU/TXl5XUhnz3I/AAAAAAAAAL0/045M0YNHrxQ/s1600/DSC_0065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-vuAAken0gbU/TXl5XUhnz3I/AAAAAAAAAL0/045M0YNHrxQ/s400/DSC_0065.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ladybird so Vibrant</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A little ladybird, vibrant in colour, making its way up the terung plant stem. It then disappeared after it realised its presence has been detected by me (and the flashing light from the camera must have disturbed it).</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Really, life is beautiful and it is Friday.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546345282788407061.post-24434668102832478602011-03-08T16:33:00.000+08:002012-02-03T17:27:56.067+08:00Purge!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0hP_J48MszM/TXXoFesbyNI/AAAAAAAAALM/1PyMVEpqdsg/s1600/DSC_0229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0hP_J48MszM/TXXoFesbyNI/AAAAAAAAALM/1PyMVEpqdsg/s400/DSC_0229.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of a Big Tree in Perak </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It is not easy to maintain a weblog. I started one and it, after a couple of years (add or take a few), I got bored of it. Then I started another, and I found it hard to keep it. So that died a natural death. Thought that would be the end of it, but oh-no. The intrepid "writer" in me made me start another one and blog-world saw its quiet birth. I gave up on that one after a few months.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So here's another one. I've discovered blogger.com has improved / upgraded its template for dummies like me and I think it is easier than ever to manage and design one.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And here's to its longevity (ign0ranus, not blogger.com)! *clink glass*</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0