life, love, *motherhood, and then more
Archive for November, 2004
Tired
Nov 27th
Dina's blog post made my eyes wet today as I struggled to keep afloat amidst the tension at work and in my personal life.
'Cookies and footprints.'
Where have I heard those before? My name is an omen. Every Friday, we go to Subang Parade, and I pass by Amos and his famous cookies send whiffs of Chocolate Chip bits to my nostrils. I almost swoon, almost.
And then the memory of it all overwhelms me. I look at my friends, and I force a realistic chuckle to fit in. The jokes they tell don't gel; in my mind, I'm always thinking of something else.
Sometimes I wish Mum didn't give me a name that rings as an immediate term of endearment.
'COOKIES.'
The lines are like neat lists in the cabinets of my mind, labeled and filed. A… B… C…
'Cookies with you?'
'Cookie please?'
'I'll get you cookies.'
'I asked my mum to bake you cookies.'
'Can I call you cookie?'
'You're my cookie you know.'
'You're like a bag of chocolate chip cookies. I never know what I'm going to get next.'
'Where's my cookie???'
'Dearest Cookie… I love you…'
When I was in uniforms, they had cookie dedication days, and I would receive nicely wrapped cookies in pink and white wrapping tissue. 'Be my cookie?'
My very first Valentine's Day gift was a delivered bouquet of pink roses from the Blooming Florist, with a copy of Titanic's OST and a 400 g bag of Famous Amos's Chocolate Chip and Pecan Nut cookies. I didn't like the bloke, but I was flattered he knew my favourite variety.
I was called 'cookie monster'… for many many years… and some friends still call me that.
I've had enough.
I'm not in denial, but I've always been wearing a mask. And lately, I'm getting really, really tired of it. Maybe the strings around the ears have gone lose, maybe my face has shrunk. I'm not sure. But this mask doesn't fit anymore.
Behind the mask, behind the smiles, I feel trapped. It's like a huge box I'm in… there's an exit to this, but it's nowhere near me.
I want to move on to acceptance, but I seem to be stuck forever in this container. I've banged my head against the glass, but it seems unbreakable.
There is an opening at the end. I see it. I run towards it. My, how I run, how I run….
But there's an invisible pull that keeps me from sprinting out of it.
But I've not admitted it until now. Now. Now.
What's the truth?
I'm exhausted. Stifled. Cramped. Sick. Irritated. Disgusted. I'm tired of waiting.
Cooperative Principles
Nov 26th
A professor once tried very hard to impress upon us that true researchers live and breathe research. And when it comes to researching language, we've got to soak ourselves in the sea of communications.
'It's like catching butterflies,' she said. 'We should be holding nets all the time, ready to catch these little bits of living language as they fleet into the atmosphere around us… you'll never know what gems will fall into your nets. As linguists, discourse analysts, we're like that. Butterfly-catchers.'
I've been surrounded by butterflies all this while, and I've been quite a resourceful butterfly-catcher myself. As communicational slips fall into my territory, I've been collecting and storing them up like they're precious diamonds… and then I scrutinize them unconsciously. I have conversations with myself (oh, but isn't this all too evident?) and I often interact with my butterfly collection.
So in this exercise of collecting butterflies, I have come to the point where I suddenly realize that I am a prime example of a 'rule-violator'. In studying discourse, Grice's Cooperative Principle is like the #1 commandment… Right, actually, I don't exactly violate all its rules. At least, I obey the first rule at all time: I speak the truth?close friends have commented that I'm too bloody direct and honest, PY once told me, 'You've got to learn how to rephrase your words so that they're not so direct and hurtful.'
But there are three more maxims which I hardly adhere to. I don't ever supply 'just enough' information. It's always 'too much'. Then the other irony is, even though I am normally direct and honest on speaking my mind, there are always occasions where my utterances turn out ambiguous. I suspect it's because in real life normal people aren't too direct, hence they expect me to be ambiguous, and yet what I say sounds so freaking direct that instead it confuses people? This is possible right?
More importantly, I violate Rule #2 ALL THE TIME. My responses are always, always against the Rule of Relation, which states that a response ought to be relevant to the topic of discussion. 'Be relevant,' says the Gricean principle. Na-ah. I'm ALWAYS incoherent… I listen to you, while I absorb the topic of discussion, and think of something to say, I'll just switch to something completely unrelated.
I suppose it puts people off.
It sure as hell isn't a way to flirt! What does it imply? Not that I don't realize that switching topics suggest disinterest… but I can't help it. Let's see. Once someone was talking to me about opening a door and how to get about doing it (a guy of course, and now that I think of it, he was probably trying to cook up a conversation), and I spoke to him about it for a while, and suddenly started to talk about how noisy the dogs were.
Another time, a friend (another guy) was trying to be fun and flirty, I remember the topic was about a tiramisu recipe and how one can make the best tiramisu and as the conversation was going to enter the point of maybe-one-day-i-can-teach-u-how-to-make-it, I proceeded to switch the topic to some horribly obscure discussion about Greek vs Chinese myths.
Actually this tendency to switch topics usually occurs when I get cold feet with someone I am extremely fond of. Is it an act of self-defense? Could it be that I'm so comfortable with the present state of things, that possible attempts at bringing things to another level causes me to freeze up? Could it also be, that I'm so fearful of saying the wrong things, that I decide to switch topics…?
So what happens? How come I do have bull's eye occasions, where I actually hit the nail on the spot?
You know? I think my intuition has got a pretty important role in all these human-relationship things that I always get entangled in. I get a gut feeling and when it overpowers me, I grab it by the neck and shake it until the truth blurts out. And what I do get?
'Yes, yes. That's what I want.'
What happens, if THAT is what you want, but you can't do anything else about it, except want it… ?
She'll end up posting something like this.
Who is minishorts?
Nov 24th
I must have written a dozen versions of my own biodata ever since I started this blogging exercise. And, no, I do not rest easy. So I'm writing it again.
After all, she's come this far.
The beauty of the new biodata page lies in the fact that it's masquerading as a post. As of now.
But again, and again, you'll be able to come back here and read about this person, as she professes to be, on this day of 24 November 2004.
So the girl, what's she like?
You probably think she's obsessive compulsive, like most female bloggers claim to be. But actually not. Her desk is a complete mess. She hasn't cleaned it in ages and test papers from yesteryears still lie amidst old credit card statements.
She owns two credit cards and makes sure there's no debts. Which means usually, at the end of the month, she's already broke in cash. That's why she always says she's broke.
She's perpetually locked in relational confusions. At the moment, now. A few months ago then. Even in the middle of the beginning and the end, she's always confused, always not knowing what to do. And she doesn't hide that from the world, so usually you get to read all about it.
She's trying very hard to justify the purpose of paying for her Master's degree at the University of Malaya when she isn't really doing anything about it. It also means that she's slackening. But she's promised herself that she'll graduate by October 2005. We are all awaiting the day with bated breath.
She's an organization-nut. She's been involved with society run-ins since she learnt the word 'politics', and still grappling with the fundamentals of 'being nice' to people who aren't too appreciative of her standards of being nice. That said, she's with the BRATs, the Leo movement, AIESEC, its alumni, and then she's done some Red Crescent Society masquerading as well. And proud of it all.
Speaking of being proud, yeap, its in her. Narcisscus could have been reincarnated as a woman, and that woman is perhaps her. Which is why from time to time, you'll see self-flattery in practice. Photos of herself (and her equally beautiful bunch of friends and acquaintances) are often invited onto the platform to do a fashion parade of sorts. For no reason at all.
She's got a freaking fluctuating weight these days. It's gone up to 62 before, and then down to 58, and then down to 49, and then up to 56, and down to 53. All in the course of 1 1/2 years. She's hoping to hit 49 kgs again, but her medical student friends tell her its too low a BMI. And that she's perfectly okay. Well, okay. Except I could have thinner arms and a smaller butt.
By the way, she's not a real life student. She knows she seems to write like she's lost in her school girl days, well maybe she is, if you count life as a huge educational institution. She deals with academics a lot though, she edits academic materials. She's kind of a nerd. Kind of. She tries very hard to convince people she isn't one. Yes, she isn't a nerd. Even though she edits PMR and SPM papers. The kind that you used to do when you were sitting the government exams. Yup.
Also, she doesn't wear shorts. The closest thing she'll get to shorts will be a pair of cullottes. The 'shorts' in 'minishorts' refers to 'short stories', 'short takes'. You already know what 'mini' means. Originally, the blog was called 'big little thots'. It's now condensed to the original domain name. Now you know. So stop asking if she wears shorts. Or whether she's hot. Usually she doesn't really bother… the weather's always hot where she is, though.
Oh the men in her life. She dated a few before, had two more serious ones. The previous serious one was a total let down, the recent serious one still figures greatly in her life. They're still v. good friends. Have no doubts about that. They still meet up over milo-ais and limau panas almost every weekend. So quit being a busybody and wanting to know what happened.
The other men in her life seem all drawn to the blog to read up on ideas as to how a girl functions. She's telling you this: If you're looking for ideas as to how to jaga your wife or girlfriend, please remember that minishorts is different from all of them. Don't assume. Every person is different.
So this is me. As of 24 November 2004. After today, I might be someone else. So if you meet me after today, and find me completely different, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Random randoms
Nov 23rd
Prone to incessant ramblings, here she goes again.
Random Thought #1
I was surfing the net, and logged on to one of my favourite haunts, found this link and thought it was awfully weird but very often true.
i write every poem about him. whenever i see a building site, i think of him, and i sometimes hope that i will see him. everytime the phone rings, i pray that it is him. i want to spend every moment i can with him. he's the most wonderful, intelligent, kinda, and beautiful boy i have ever met.
but i don't love him.
Random Thought #2
I feel like sneaking pages of Holy Blood, Holy Grail right now, but I'm not supposed to because otherwise, I'll never get around to finishing whatever's left on my table. I think I'm becoming obsessed with writings on the occult recently.
Random Thought #3
I am SO BLOODY BROKE. My purse has got a hole so big, and it's started to burn right through to my bank accounts. Splurging is good therapy for the soul, but its extremely bad on the pocket. At least, when you were younger, and earning money wasn't remotely in the plans, you wouldn't think twice about spending your parents' money. But now… now… when I go out with Mum for dinners, for lunches, it's all on me! When we go shopping, her clothes are on me! And I don't have a scholarship for my Master's degree, so that's on me as well. One of these days, I believe, the household bills will be on me too. Put those aside, I still have the little luxuries I want to access myself to. Which leaves me temporarily bankrupt.
And Christmas is coming up. Plus I need to save up to 7k so that I'll be able to spend comfortably for my annual holiday next year.
If I reject your invitations to parties, especially those with booze and gift-exchanging sessions, you'll know why.
If I reject your invitations to dinners, especially those with cookouts and BBQs, you'll know why.
If I go to mamaks and settle for an RM1 glass of Limau Panas and continue to complain about how hungry I am, you'll know why.
If I do NOT send out any x'mas cards, you will know why.
If I still owe you money and tell you I'll pay you back later, I mean later. Don't even hope for me to give it back to you by the end of the year.
My paycheck's 3 days away but I've got to save at least half of it if you really want nice pressies from me.
That said, all of the above prolly won't apply after a while, because I'm horrible at keeping accounts. And I'll be spending again.
Random Thought #4
I seem to be constantly struggling to decide whether I'm living a satisfyingly admirable life, or the not-so-enviable life of a nerd. Someone asked me if I were a journalist, but I wasn't in time to tell her: I wished. I edit sub-quality exam papers for a reputable company! For a song! It's a joke! I kid you not! Gah! And at the rate things are going (believe me, there are A LOT OF THINGS happening in my life right now), it doesn't look as if my life is getting more glamourous.
When young, I wanted *damn wanted* to become a reporter on CNN… it got out to the entire faculty, and I knew in hushed whispers behind me, there were little wannabes (oh yes, Narcisscus was reborn as minishorts) who would mutter under bated breath, 'There, she wants to be a TV reporter one day.'
So much for one day. One *out of the idea* day.
Since then I've seen 3 friends walked right into the entertainment industry and started hosting their own TV shows!!! And me? Me? I'm a boring old book editor whose life revolves around counting print runs and telling people that their concepts don't glue.
If things do pull through, it won't get anymore interesting. Nada.
The job's exciting though. Always wanted to be in publishing. So, kinda got what I wanted. Not what I'd imagined though.
Random Thought #5
I seem to have overwritten again.
Booking it
Nov 22nd
September's issue of The Bookseller has an amazing reproduction of the cover for Greg Iles's Blood Memory, scheduled for release, according to Amazon, in mid-Feb 2005. That's just one of the next books on the list, after Foucault's Pendulum and Getting Over It. Or maybe I should try out Iles's Black Cross first, then again, the themes of WWII don't appeal too well to this girl here. Yes, yes, the book binge is still rushing along at top speed, and I'm doing very well, thank you. I'm not sure if I'll end this gluttonous fest soon, but really, it's been such a long time since I last drank in so much literature just for the heck of it.
'Just for the heck of it' is a bit much, eh, since I minored in literature and contemplated a Master's degree in the subject. Behold this leakage of pure honesty: no, I don't read that much, even though I produce *gasp* books. I have in possession, most of the defined books of the 20th century… but I haven't read them all. And I've given away tonnes of books (a stupid Ex ran off with 40 of my books, including the entire Tom Clancy series that was produced up to 2002, none of which I have read, and half of my Clive Cussler books, again, none of which I have read). I have a spanking neat set of the Lord of the Rings, and because I *gasp again* don't like fantasy really, I haven't read it yet, even though I'm quite good at telling you what happens in particular chapters. I'm not too sure whether I ought to snigger at the sight of the chic lit revolution that seems to have expanded exponentially these days, you know… So far for me, Meg Cabot and Sophie Kinsella are pretty much overrated, and The Shopaholic series has yet to catch my interest.
I find it amusing really, because when I was in CHS I decided to become a librarian for just one purpose: to binge on books. And that library had a whole load of good books, I tell you. It had Ian Fleming's entire series, also every other month or so, some PTA generous philantrophist would give tonnes of money and we would be buying more books. We had Christopher Pike and LM Montgomery sitting on separate bookcases, even the Malaysian National Library didn't have as good a Fiction selection as we did. Each morning, shabbily dressed in pinafore and khaki ties, we would be climbing the metal shelves just to shove books into their neat compartments. It was tedious work, the arrangement of books, but justifyingly so. Librarians had the privilege of an extra book a week, plus we sat behind the counters the whole day, swallowing in new books that came in, and sometimes, before the books were put on the shelves, we had read them first and decided, 'No, not meant for the masses.'
That was where I met my first crush anyway. Librarians in CHS were mostly girls, and men were a scarcity in the exclusive top floor sorority (the CHS library was then on the highest level of Block C, THAT haunted building). So when I met The Filmmaker, we hit off like two colliding bullets. Friends ever since, because of our 'disadvantage' of growing up in English-speaking households and studying in Chinese congested SRJK(C)s, we decided to do many things together, including forcing ourselves to go to the same class every year… after which, joining the Editorial Board together (he was interested in features, I was more interested in The News), and the real papers together (we decided to head off to the same Star BRATs camp).
More importantly, The Filmmaker was an avid reader, and because I had an unadmittable crush on him, I struggled to keep up with his indulgences. And my, was it an expensive struggle.
First of all, The Filmmaker collected Manga. He had shelves and shelves of it in his house. His bedroom was surrounded by wall-to-ceiling shelves, and they were all double, no, triple-stacked with sets of Chinese-translated Manga. I had the luxury of not buying anything for a while, but after a few years, I thought it was horribly one-sided… so when Ranma 1/2 came out on the market, I decided to get my hands on it… and started collecting the series, if only to be the one who would be lending the books to him first. It kind of worked, and Ranma became a hot topic for the two of us in all of its 37-book run. That's almost two years!
Unfortunately, my stupid ex has taken half of my precious Ranma, and my mother thinks the naked drawings of Akane and Shampoo are just too obscene to be left around the house. So its gone now.
Secondly, The Filmmaker collected thick novels. Previously, I was infatuated with the Mills and Boons series (I found my aunt's entire set hidden inside her closet and stole the whole box home)… but then, Mills & Boons is quite an embarassing hobby to cultivate. So when The Filmmaker and I watched Jurassic Park together, I lied to him that I had read the book before. Now he was excited, he sort of loved Michael Crichton a lot, but he had never read the book about cloning dinosaurs before. Naturally, he asked for the book.
I was a poor girl then, my money had been dedicated to other things (such as Manga and fried chicken)… but this was an opportunity NOT TO BE MISSED. Fortunately, Mum believed that reading was a good habit, so she bought the book for me. That was when I started to learn how to read really fast (you see, I lied that I had read the book before , so obviously I had a show to perform). And I sort of yellowed the book to make it look dated. You know, splashed tea drops in places, dog-eared some pages… that sort of thing. It sort of worked… we had another book to continue our discussions over… and this went on.
12 years have passed since I met The Filmmaker, and we're now reduced to mutual, meet-up-once-a-year kind of friends. But I can confide in my innermost secrets to him, and we'll be there at each other's weddings one day. 4 years ago I told him I had been infatuated in him for ages, and he actually reprimanded me for not ever telling him.
'We could have been something.'
Could have been, but looking back, and accumulating my memories of my life up to now, you know what? I'm perfectly happy with how it turned out to be. Right now, what I have is perfect. And yes. Thanks to The Filmmaker, I have cultivated a ravishing appetite for the written word and got myself into the exciting world of publishing. Thanks to him. Thanks to him.
