By the virtue of God

and a very generous Singaporean PR company, I found myself in the presence of my favourite author and inside possibly one of THE best public transportation systems in the world (or at least this part of South-East Asia).

Behold!

Neil Gaiman drew me a RAT. One of THE top ten moments of my miserable, unfulfilled life. XP

He also signed off that he loved me. Possibly because I buy his books and continue to contribute to his already immense personal wealth.

And here he is with his GF, Amanda Palmer (of the Dresden Dolls). Shitty angle because I was too star-struck to ask for a picture with them.

A picture of Amanda during a VERY good one-time only private gig at the Chambers, Arts House Singapore.

And now, to the proper update: Pictures that I took during my trip; not much inside the Arts House itself, but that's because one does not take pictures like a friggin' tourist inside the building that once used to be the Parliament. The Arts House is an amazingly historical place and also very sombre, a perfectly fitting place for a Writer's Festival.

Okay, so I was put into Ibis Hotel (not Peninsula, THOSE guys overbooked themselves) which is very pleasant and perfectly nice. As you can see, I started making it a mess from the get-go.

From the table of the little cafe at the Parliament area itself where I had my first meal in Singapore.

The front of the Arts House

More Arts House. Yawn. Sorry la. Pictures not so good coz I was too busy trying not to look like a gap-mouthed tourist.

People crossing the pedestrian walkways. Very, very nice walkways indeed and cars RESPECT YOU. HEAR THAT, MALAYSIAN DRIVERS?

Apperantly, Singaporeans are very serious about 'catch cheating spouse'.

The very beautiful St. Joseph's Church; I went for Saturday evening mass and got properly caught in the rain after. Damn fun.

Orchard Street! With X Mas decor edy!




More Orchard Street!

A slightly artsy picture of what also I forgot edy. Haha.

I wish I could put up more, but it's raining now and I need to complete my chores.

Let me just leave you with this:

My trip to Singapore was amazing. I saw how the other half lives. Their MRT is beyond efficient, their buses reliable and not LATE AND POORLY MAINTAINed and their people, civilised. No random spitting on the ground. No vandalised busstops.

Sure, their food can't hold a candle to what we have in Malaysia (no country in the world can, IMHO) and their people tend to be a tad hurried. I also got the feeling the GOVERNMENT IS WATCHING ME which in a sense was disconcerting.

But we have a lot to learn, us Malaysians, or at least THE DAMN BARISAN NASIONAL have a lot to learn. How can you fuck up public transport here so badly when really, KL isn't even bigger than Singapore?

I also envy how they pay a lot of emphasis to arts, and can hold water with big names like Neil Gaiman. Don't see him coming to KL now, eh?

I love my country (but not it's government). I love the food. I love many aspects of life in Malaysia. But we can do and be so much more if THE DAMN BARISAN NASIONAL would just get their heads out from whatever dark hole they've been in and DO SOMETHING GOOD.

That would be a nice complement to the fantastic satay, nasi lemak, bak kut teh, tose, and char kuey teow.

But my fingers are too tired to type out the blow-by-blow account of Singapore Day 1,2, 3 and 4, so you'll just have to wait for Parte Two; coming soon.

Ciao ya'll.

I found myself writing a letter no one will read

and after that I deleted it, because I was so ashamed I wrote it in the first place. After which I sang the entire Disney's Best Love Songs Vol. 1 in a strangely sweet, high voice. I even threw in a few trills ala songbird.

Then with a snort and a fair bit of snot (well excccuuuuse me, I've got a cold), I woke up.

I sweats-ed a bit, contemplating the world, then I went straight back to sleep. Remaining sleep rather un-eventful.

Woke up with the sun in my face, and realised:

a) The letter writing WAS real - I was melancholy that night and I wrote some things down which I feel better having regurgitated in print, but was instantly ashamed of it after.

b) I DID NOT delete the damn thing, and hence I find a Word doc on my desktop titled: To ____, in hopes you never read this.

c) I do not sing that well after all - the singing was definitely part of the dream. Shit-e.

Point being; my days and dreams have begun to meld into one.

It started with work, you know. I would have a terrifically real nightmare about how Mr H (he shall be known as that from now on) yelled at me for not writing fast enough, and how a colleague of mine who I really like and is on good terms with is secretly stabbing me in the back, and when I wake up, dazed and in my loosest, biggest pants and rotten-est T shirt, I would be completely

UNSURE

if that actually happened.

I would go to work feeling slightly apprehensive, flashes of scolding and yelling fresh in my mind, and eye Mr H with a bit of wariness. It's quite sad.

I also secretly suspect I may be having some very strange night-wanderings; my mom is grumbling I always fall asleep with my lights on, but I am

VERY SURE

I turned them off.

But alas. Until the day I install cameras in my room I will never know if I am actually

writing letters/ singing in tune/ reading books

while I am fast asleep. It's quite scary.

But then again.

MELAKA is out, guys. For my part, at least. I am most terribly sorry; Singapore will have eaten such a large chunk of my money that I will not be able to afford even maggi mee for the next month or so. It is fortunate that my mother is so supportive and has even helped me out.

I love my mom.

Replacing Melaka with L4D and makan trip hardly counts but I promise I will starve and save money to go next next month. Good for my diet also anyway.

But enough about that. Promise to bring home pictures of Singapore and hopefully some nice souvenirs - heard they are bleedin' expensive in Singapore, but I'll see what I can smuggle back.

I am going overseas alone for the first time in my life.

Wish me luck.

PHOTO Marathon - Canon's Exclusive Pissing Off Session

I begin this post with saying: the folks at Canon Malaysia had better send those who waited for nothing some pretty darned nice 'tokens of appreciation'. They had also better fire whosoever that set up the server systems.

With that, I present my own little photoessay of Canon Photomarathon Malaysia 2009.

7.00am

The sun in the sky right in front of the LRT station. Feeling quite excited, actually.


8.10am

Me and LM camwhoring just a little bit - well, a lot actually. Started very late and we decided to kill time by taking pictures of ourselves. Location is Sunway Lagoon Theme Park; we were trapped there all day!


9.50am - 3.30pm

Flag off! The start to the marathon.

Themes: SPLASH!; RED and SHOOTING IN PROGRESS.




My first shot for the theme RED. Made this poor Wild Wild West mascot dude pose for me, and used the 'color accent function' for the red effect. Most obliging guy.



Folks were a-plenty at Sunway Lagoon, and kids are so the funny as subjects.




Pinwheels. In semi-colour.



A choice I had for RED but didn't use because there were so many people at the bottom panel of the picture.



A very adorable girl with a balloon. Going crazy with my 'color accent' feature here, as you can tell.




My eventual choice for theme SPLASH! Refused to take the conventional splash of water pictures so I took a picture of a boy sitting on a float tube. Splash, geddit?




My submission for RED. No explanation there, lol. I particularly like this picture, my favourite of the bunch.




My submission for Shooting in Progress. Shot this while LM and J were off to take more SPLASH! pics, he is actually the Sunway photog.


4pm - 7pm. Server Breakdown.

No pictures here, but lemme tell you that it was just frustrating. The servers got all jammed up and nobody could upload any pictures at all. Added to that, as they were fixing the servers, some SMART KIASU IDIOTIC people were STILL uploading their pictures, despite having been told that uploading the pics would be useless; as SNARFU and TARFU and FUBAR has happened.

But as Malaysians, they don't listen, and continued to make things difficult by attempting repeated log-ins nonetheless.

So what we did was go makan at Sunway Pyramid (after a 30min walk O_o) and then drove back to the starting point of the marathon. Only to discover that they were stalling for time by showing some entries and THAT THE JUDGES COULD NOT MAKE A DECISION. By now, 10.30pm and very angry. Murmurs were going throught the crowd, and when the emcee announced that the results will be released tommorrow (today, meaning 11/10) there were howls of protest.

Followed by claps when they announced a 'token of apology' will be given out. -_-

So I left, and hitched a ride back with another friend, who stayed back and was pissed too. In fact, he took this final shot at 10.50pm, just before we left the place.



A rather beautiful ending to a tiring, frustrating day - thankfully made good with friends who were fun to be around with. :)

Its been quite a while

...since I updated.

This is because work has kept me busier than a hyperactive squirrel looking for winter nut stores and also because I arrive home every night just to slump into bed like a DEAD hyperactive squirrel looking for winter nut stores.

I also cannot take facing Christian because for the past five months now I've been having an illicit affair with my office laptop. It's quite sad, really.

Work, in all its glory, is all-consuming. I enjoy it, but boy oh boy - my weekends are like GOLD to me now. I feel like every weekend I spend NOT SLEEPING or LAZING is wasted, because my weekdays are a flurry of activity and I hardly get a moment to breathe.

But I am not complaining. I do genuinely enjoy what I do and I happen to fancy that I do it well enough to not get me the sack. Which is fine. Hahaha.

Right now, as I type, the activity is dying down just a little, and the pages are almost closed. Bad news is that the closing is a little delayed. O_o

Nonetheless, I am enjoying a slightly quiet moment and I intend to fill you in (to my best capacity) with what has been going on with me for the past weeks. Because you know you wanna know. :P

It's a story!

Having had quite a few dud stories for the past few weeks or so, I believe the time has come to pick my battered self off the floor and grit my teeth. I will shoulder on. I will write some good stories and give a message to the 50,000 readers.

I just wish that I could remind myself of it sometimes; it is in my BLOOD to beat myself up blue, black and green over failures and pitfalls and mistakes. I really should just smack me upside on the head and then move on - instead of bringing out the medieval torture devices I keep hidden in my room and putting myself through the most painful of said devices.

But then again.

Well, it's improving somewhat. I was thoroughly depressed a few weeks ago but I feel happier now that I've got my head screwed on right again. It's not easy churning out story after story. And like a very scary editor once said "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."

So if I continue to beat myself over the smallest of things, or continue to perceive everything negatively, I will continue to get just a little bit more suicidal by the day. I ain't saying all is roses and peaches now, but I think it's not thorns and shit either.

It's the roses!

I bought roses for my mom on a whim the other day. She was incredibly pleased, and as always, demonstrated how pleased she was by saying I shouldn't waste money like that. Moms.

Thing is, I am a Daddy's girl. Always have been, always will be. I adore my alpha-Dino to distraction, and sometimes his approval (or disapproval) of me can rule my moods for weeks. Such is the level of Daddy's girl-ism I have. Which is sad. I ain't proud of it - but don't get me wrong. I don't look for Daddy replacements or whatever (that is sooooo wrong) but I do enjoy a really really close relationship with my dad.

So.

Sometimes, I forget my Mom. I forget that she's there, watching me buy persimmons and cheese cakes for my Dad. (I buy cake for her too, but she doesn't like cake much and it always goes to my Dad anyway) She completely supports me keeping my Dino pleased (his moods rule the household too) but I think I forget her a lot.

I forget that through everything, she is the only one who I can rely on to UNFAILINGLY give me accurate, excellent advise (my bro isn't really much around anymore, and my sister's information is dubious at best) and to listen to my grouses, my dreams, my whims and my fancies without complaint.

If there was an award for World's Best Listener, it would go to her.

I forget that it was her that kept the family together, and strong all through the years while my Dad was away on his job, and running his business. For those of you who know me well, you know the details that follow la.

But it was her, all the while. Managing the family, keeping us together, worrying for us. I ain't saying my Dad didnt' do that too, but.... well, he is always the alpha Man type, so he always functions as a 'Wait till your Dad comes home' threat.

(Which is enough to scare the bejeebers out of me and my siblings anyway. No need whack also. Threaten with Daddy enough edy.)

Through the difficult times and the good times, she was there. I've never met a woman quite as strong as she is, and if I grew up to be HALF as strong as her I'd be lucky.

It is as I grow older that I realise how much I truly love my Mom. The love I have for her comes from a different, deeper place. It is mingled in with respect and understanding. It is a love that I think will only grow as the years go by and I start to understand and see the sacrifices she has made.


So I bought her roses. Just cause. She looked at me all bewildered when I shoved the bouquet under her nose.

She asked: Why? What day issit? Why you buy? and I said: Nothing, just wanna buy for you la!

Followed by her saying: How much it cost you - why you waste money liddat? Must be you buy books again and don't want me to get mad at you la.

And then she goes off to put it in a vase, displaying them neatly and prominently at the cabinet. She also smiles at the roses for a bit - she thinks I didn't see, but I did. Heh.

It is moments like this that makes me love my Mom all the more. She is like a Rock; immovable, solid, reliable and predictable. She is also like a soft pillow; soft-hearted, forgiving and comforting.

For most part, I am Daddy's girl. But I think I am a lot Mommy's Girl too.

It's a Wrap!

Back to work and no more of that soppy stuff - work, I think, has taught me more in five months than in three years of school. It's cliched, but it's true. Work has a way of teaching you to be tough and strong, fast and efficient, and is both encouraging and depressing.

I think I DO like my work. I have my ups and downs, but for what it's worth, I think the experience and level of control over my work that I have here at my workplace is amazing, and very, very uplifting.

All is good. For now. =)

Of Blackberries and Despondencies

I believe that soon the world will be occupied by Blackberry-wielding humanoids, unable to tear their eyes away from the screen until they walk off a cliff or into a ring of fire and perish with only these last words:

My Berrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyyy!!!!

*and then 'splash' or 'foooosh', depending on method of death*

I have a feeling this is how I will meet my untimely but not unexpected demise. I will be in Broga, hiking away (I will be thin by then of course) when I will receive a new MSN message from V dearest and go:

"Oh look, J, its a message from V - WARGH!"

And my friends will be left to explain why my body was found shattered in the ravine but the Berry remained intact, wrapped protectively in my poor, broken arms.

*cue sad music*

I may be Berry mad. Nay, I AM Berry mad.

But this is not an advertorial in hopes that the Berry guys will give me the sweet, sweet Berry. No. Not at all. I didn't even link everyone I know to this post.

Yet.

But I digress.

The true reason I write this post is because I am beginning to be painfully aware that work is... different... from what I thought it would be. As my editor would say, this is my first job, and so I have a lot to learn.

I love learning. I just wish it didn't have to come with a healthy dose of 'GROUND OPEN NOW TO SWALLOW ME' moments. I've had so many of those I should be nothing more than a speck of dust by now.

And Lord forbid, is that... despondency I smell???

(Despondency: depression of spirits from loss of hope, confidence, or courage; dejection. - freedictionary.com)

Maybe its not so much the loss of hope as it is the loss of confidence. My belief in my writing is getting shaky - and I have just been presented with the perfect example of why I can NEVER be a HARD HITTING journo. Ever. Par non. Never ever.

I suck.

(To those who believe they suck: you don't suck until your editor tells you your story starts 'okay' then crumbles into nothing immediately after. My editor did.)

I write best personality pieces which allow me to say nice things, write nice things, use very little brain activity and a lot of creativity. I write best stories no one will read and then I will hide them jealously away (sorry, you guys ain't getting notebook paper scans from me) so I can continue to believe I write them best.

I gots issues okay? Issues that break my writer spirit.

But yeah, despondent would be the right word right now. I love my workplace, I think my colleagues and my bosses are great, but my writing just isn't so hot right now.

As you can probably tell by my use of 'not so hot right now'. If I were normal I'd be using words no sane human being would use in any conversation/blog/article.

I ssssuuuuucccckkkk. I could not suck more than if I actually did start sucking my tabletop and then my mouse for dessert.

Ew, that was inappropriate and disgusting. I hate myself. *hides under desk*

Even as I am whingeing away, a small spot inside my head (which looks and sounds like my Mom) that tells me to suck it up and be a man. Err. Woman.

It tells me to learn from my mistakes, dig up old stories I've written so I may see that I did improve (ohohoho, I did. Hella, I did) and tuck every little nugget of advice safely inside my brain-cupboard to be used at a later date, or to be dispensed to someone who steps into a situation like mine.

Which should be nobody, really, because the situations I get myself in because of what I say are... frankly... one of a kind. No one could possibly put their foot into their mouths that often.

It also tells me that all is solved with a cuppa' hot Milo and a good night's sleep. And with keeping my mouth shut more often. I try to do that these days, but its slow progress. I think I need to have a Blackberry in my brain, to keep tabs on what I can and cannot say.

Must keep mouth shut. Must keep mouth shut. Sometimes I wonder when one of my pals will tell me I talk too much, and could do with shutting up. They should, because then maybe I will.

I also feel slightly... restless. Not the kind of energetic restless, or the physical restlessness that spurs many people to go for a jog, play the Wii, or walk the dog.

Its a kind of mental restlessness which I can feel bubbling underneath my skull like an hideous swell. I need something that will make me excited about writing again, excited about being a journalist again, excited to be out there changing the world one word at a time again.

Okay so that last one was melodramatic, but you know what I mean. I am restless for 'that story'. The one I wrote about child sex trafficking did it for a while (not in that way, you dirty people), it got me excited about writing again, and it showed.

The one I just wrote, I hated. 'Not one of your better pieces,' said my editor. I agree. I gave it my best shot (I always do, even if I cringe after) but I just don't have my heart in it. It's quite sad really, for sometimes, my articles feel like chores. Really hard, brain-crushing, heart-smashing chores.

Right down there with washing toilet, cleaning out stove with Mr Goo, kind of chore. I need 'the story'.

The story which will see me walking enthusiastically for kilometres down the streets of Chow Kit, that will have me thinking about it even as I walk, the one that will have my heart beat everytime I see it on print, and the article I will bring home for my parents to read.

I never bring home my stories unless I am proud of them. Some I am, many I am not. And I hope that that will be forgiveable for a while. I am still learning, and with time and wisdom, I will know how to write in such a way that I will make people feel 'hey, yeah, that makes sense. this is a cool article'.

I've had a taste of that, and with every taste I appreciate. I get sms-es sometimes from old friends, people I've met, or even the interviewees themselves saying how they read my article and liked it. I live for those moments. Not because I am vainglorious (though it is, just a little) but because it validates me.

It validates me as a writer, that I can write something people read and remember. More importantly, it validates me as a journalist, that I can write something people will think about. Oh blarny to those who say its not about what others think. It is always and only about what readers think.

I think I have ranted overlong here. But it feels good, though my fingers are freezing and my tummy is aching. I feel clean. Emptied. Somewhat relieved I finally can admit my all-consuming doubts.

Maybe I will go and have that hot cuppa Milo. See if the problems don't go away all by themselves.

Goodbye, ya'll.

I Didn't Get to Say Goodbye

I never saw her walking away, nor send her off with an EPIC GLOMP. I blame my job, and I blame my transport-lessness. I also blame me.

I guess, in a way, I figured if I didn't see her off then she didn't go away to another continent in the far end of the world where the deer, kangaroos and boomerangs, err, play. Or fly. Whichever.

If you don't see someone leaving, then she didn't really, and she just went on a quite long holiday, that's all. In a far off place. Like, if I didnt' see her go then she is just right around the corner, and I can retreat into my stupid little bubble world, and we can all still go Broga Hill.

(Sorry V dear. I wanted to go see you off so bad, but denial and duty destroyed me.)

Hope you can still see my blog in Aussie.

I can't get the image of Hugh Jackman half-naked on a bull out of my mind, so forever now Australia = Hugh Jackman half -naked on a bull. To me. So I can't see the place having Internet and stuff.

(I know they prolly kick our Screamyx in the nuts with their broadband over there but I AM IN DENIAL DAMMIT)

I miss you already, so this post is for YOU.

It's Midnight here, in the Garden of Google and Evil (insects). I am up to finish off some work, and my shoulders ache. I know I talk a lot of nonsense, and I know I may have not have been the most easy person to be around with, but I am good at two things: writing and erm, writing.

So I write. A poem, for you. :)


Goodbye V

Victoria, Victoria,
I think you're still in Subang.
I didn't see you go away,
And so you, erm, didn't.

You are a sweetheart,
and a really cool friend.
That Kelvin is lucky,
He is your boyfriend.

I will always remember how you burnt the chocolate
for the chocolate mousse I made.
And though it tasted pretty bad
All of it, you ate.
(you prolly threw away the rest, but that's okay. I'd throw it away too.)

You're only in Australia,
the internet is everywhere.
Who say we can't talk on webcam,
while in our underwear?

You've got a whole future
ahead of you, so go get it
Australia is no KL, but
I hear they have PORK burgers.

It's an entirely new beginning there
and I wish you all the best.
Eileen say you must come back,
and so do I
But when you do, bring along
tall, blond, and blue-eyed.

For me la, of course.

I end this non-poem now la,
its getting quite stupid.
but here's my point:
(when I finally get to it)
Your body may have left the country,
but you are always here, in our hearts, in our minds, and in our Facebooks.

And V dear, when you come back, I EPIC GLOMP you.

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.