Cupcakes and Broga Hill

Sunday 16 August 2009: Broga Hill. Mission: To get the Top preferably without:

a) Falling off the very high cliff and subsequently end up in the newspapers
b) Falling off the very high cliff and subsequently end up in the newspapers

With that goal in mind, we went onward to the most difficult hike I ever hiked, and the highest mountain I ever climbed. It was dead tiring, but SO SO AWESOME. Pictures say a thousand words so here goes:

It wasn't a sunset, actually. But I used my sunset feature to make it look dark and cloudy.

Our triumphant fists after making it up the hill: J was photog, so not in pic.

The hiiiiillls are aaaliiiveeeeee

....with the sound of muuuusicccc

Earlier that day, however, we were at a place called Wondermilk cafe, which is located somewhere in Damansara Utama, and boasts decent food, great atmosphere and seriously pretty cupcakes. Nice place, but the reason for our being there was not so nice - V's leaving. T_T

The decor in this place consists of cute teddies too.

The very pretty cupcakes we had made specially for V!

L-R: K, V, Bra and J. The poor unfortunate guy in a box is Matthew. Lol.

K being pervy with the girl of the day, V

A group pic with me smack centre, blocking poor C. L-R: K, Matthew, Ian, Jzune, J, Bra, Bear (hidden behind my head), C, LM, V and E.

So yeah, it was a day full of sugar and rolling hills - nothing out of the ordinary at all. Cupcakes in the morning, Mountainus Enormus Difficultus in the evening. Nothing to it baby.

Heh.

Sacrifice

Sacrifice

There are some things far more important than the All American Rejects. Sorry Tyson. You are deprived your once-in-a-lifetime meet with one particular fat, Chinese, giggly journalist.

*We should all take a moment to pray for him. Hopefully he may meet her someday in the future*

I am supposed to be en route the MTV World Stage concert at Sunway Surf Beach; and I am supposed to be gadding with the AAR, Kasabian, and Hoobastank. I am also supposed to be gadding with Boys Like Girls. But I sit in front of my lappy, at home, because my mom is sick, and my brother is sick, and I had better be at home to keep an eye on them both.

Also because my brother, aka designated driver, is now relieved from his post as designated driver due to his fever/cough/cold. No worries boys and girls, its not the dreaded H1N1; he checked edy.

Plus my daddidums is going out on various projects today - so the idea of my sick Mommy at home alone does not please me.

Sacrifice.

That's what its called. After three whole weeks of feverish excitement at meeting Tyson Ritter (oh Tyson, so sorry. Call me!) I am at home, NOT meeting Tyson Ritter.

I can hardly believe I am actually still sane, typing and not screaming in agony. Trust me: if you think this is noble of me, it rather is, but it's not, because I too, am afraid of catching the dreaded you-know-what. Worse, with my mom being one of the high-risk groups, I'd better not bring home any funny viruses.

I also have two double-page articles to write, (one of which has now turned into 3-page) and a movie review to write, and bah. A whole load of stuff to write.

So yeah. Some things are more important than MTV World Stage. Family. Work. Responsibilities. Obligations. Duty. Besides, my newspaper is well-represented; what with two other colleagues going.

To think, I wanted their autographs so bad! T-T But like I said, some things are far more important, and consideration towards your family members is one of those things.


Job Update

Well, I love my job - don't kill me - and I love what I do. If I ever feel like I don't wanna go to work, it's only because I am damn lazy to wake up in the morning. But I wake up thinking, "whee. movie review. interesting people. i like."

I like people. Watching them, talking to them. I don't like THEM them. You know. Like, in a crowd. Or a wild party. But I like watching them do things, discovering their strange and wonderful ways. People are always, always fascinating to me; and in this line of work, people with fascinating characters are a-plenty.

I've talked to so many people and met so many interesting characters and I do believe I shall never be bored with doing that. I really do. I think I am going to stick with my job for a long time, and never ever change fields. I may leave for better, greener pastures, but I shall always be doing what I do relatively well: writing.

For truly, how can I deny my twisted pleasure when I see my byline, when I see little black type forming up to make words? Yeah, so some people get off on porn, I get off on typing articles and stories, alright? I am strange that way. Typing, and hot male underwear models, better yet if they come greased, topless and brooding.

(Quiet you. I did not ask for your opinion.)

But yeah.

I am blogging away here. And you are reading this. Both of us are not going to MTV World Stage. We do make a good pair. We have so much in common!

Call me. Let's do lunch.

My Solitary Heart

Poetry, really, is never my strong point.

I detest the romanticism (meh) and although I rhyme once in a while (story-wise) I have this thing where I try to be too literary to rhyme. Heh. Macam real. But this poem (sorta) came out of a time when I was feeling particularly lonely, and had some of the saddest songs playing on my Winamp.

I was also, stupidly enough, in serious 'like' with someone I have since come to terms will never feel the same way. And thats fine. Because hor, I have my eye on someone else hor, happens to be - ahem. Never mind. *sheepish* Anyway.

So here it is, I posted it because I felt this one had such a strange melancholy to it, which is quite unusual of me. (Comments, as always, are welcome.)

Just don't ask me who the poor guy is. *ahem*



My Solitary Heart

How would it feel to love you so much it hurts?
My solitary heart, in a fragile glass case wondered:
and wondered silently I did.
How would it feel to give myself to you?
To love you so deeply it consumes every fibre of my being?
What would it be like to immerse myself inside your heart,
to be caressed by your warmth, to be enfolded in your welcoming arms?

Would you hear my beating heart,
and put your hands against it?
would you take my heart, my hands, my soul,
and see my love inside it?
My solitary heart wonders and longs for yours,
And silently I pine.

How would it feel to have your hands on mine?
How would it feel if you gently kissed my brow?
My solitary heart desires; and can stay silent no longer,
Would you accept my heart or crush it beneath your fingers?