My Blog

I take a lot of pictures because I’m afraid of forgetting the moment.

I work hard because I’m afraid of never getting anywhere.

I write to you because I’m afraid you’ll forget me.

I check my work and e-mails obssessively because I’m afraid of making a mistake.

I constantly seek change because I’m afraid of being stagnant.

I don’t ask you questions because I’m afraid of the answers I’ll get.

Fear is an incredible thing. It can either limit or empower you. What do you choose?

The wealthy English playboy in Lauren Weisberger’s Everybody Worth Knowing drives a Vespa.

In Alfie, Jude Law drives a 60s-era 160 GS Vespa.

The best friend of the boy next door drives a Vespa.

I want a Vespa.

Black leather knee-high boots. Pink suede ballerina flats. Swarovski-bejewelled stilettoes. Guilty on three counts.

I bought the three most amazing pair of shoes recently. I have this thing with shoes. Like the rest of the female population, I hear you say. But while I would scoff at paying more than RM200 for a top, I would gladly plonk down 4 times that amount for a pair of shoes.

I know they’re things that no one really notices. Men hardly notice what kind of shoes a woman is wearing. They’re too busy looking at the lady lumps.

But I wear nice shoes because I feel good in them. The right pair of shoes makes me feel sexy and confident. Like I can conquer the world in my leather stilettoes and kick some major butt. Despite the fact I can barely run in them, let alone do any butt-kicking.

But despite my collection of beautiful shoes, I still wear my scuffed, old sneakers a lot. They’re the granny panties of shoes. Not particularly flattering or sexy but damn, they’re comfortable.

Go figure.

People my age, we’re Generation Broke. We’re a generation of reckless spenders with hardly any financial commitments and even less savings. Our money is all on plastic. If we’re questioned about the future, we make like Alfred E. Neuman: "What, me worry?"

We don’t earn that much so it’s hard to save, we argue. We want to live life to the fullest, we say. We’re still a long way from settling down and having a family so we can afford to spend it all now, we reason. We can find a rich old man, say the gold-diggers. Bloody damn true.

I try my best though. Of course, I buy more clothes, shoes, CDs, books and margaritas than I should.

My day job doesn’t pay that well. Especially when compared to the number of hours I used to work. I clocked in 13 hours on an average day in 2005. (I worked in a sweatshop, for those not in the know). But good thing I have more side jobs than a drug-dealing pimp.

I have to do the maths and ask myself why I bother with a full-time job when my side income is often enough for my expenses and then some.

Maybe I’m just a sucker for punishment. I like adrenaline, stress, challenges, obstacles.

In my line, it’s all about the hustling. It’s really not that different from the pimping profession. Except, well, pimping is more lucrative.

But for now, I like my job. And it’s pretty important to do something that you like.

Otherwise, it becomes a mundane routine. Day in and day out. To paraphrase a character from the movie Hustle and Flow…"It becomes a whole bunch of flow. That’s all we’ll be doing. And it’ll just go on and on…Man, the shit don’t ever stop. What we need is a hook."
Of course, I’m taking the guy’s words out of context. He wasn’t referring to jobs, he was talking about the art of constructing a good rap. But I think it’s pretty much the same. We all need a hook, a chorus that somehow makes the whole song worthwhile.

And that, my friend, is the hardest part of the song.

As long as there’s a bed beneath the stars that shine

I’ll be fine, if you give me a minute

A man’s got a limit

I can’t get a life if my heart’s not in it

- "The Importance of Being Idle", Oasis

I swear every time I watch the news, pandas will be on it. It’ll always be something on how these zoo officials in China are trying to get these two pandas to have sex by showing them instructional videos (panda porn?) or how China is giving a panda to another country as a goodwill gesture. Pandas get almost as much news coverage as George W. Bush.

And they’re pretty similar to one another too, except one eats shoots and leaves and the other eats, shoots and leaves.

China’s idea of doling out panda bears to strengthen diplomatic relations is very clever. Like when they offered two pandas to Taiwan a while back. "Well, sorry we pointed nuclear warheads at you and threatened you with military force and destruction. Here’s a panda."

Pandas are cute and cuddly and all. But really, an animal that does nothing but consume 30 kilos of bamboo a day and needs human intervention to encourage them to have sex when they obviously aren’t even interested in furthering their own species…shouldn’t we just let them naturally go extinct?

Biologists and panda-huggers, please don’t shoot me. Here’s a panda.

A good friend was telling me the other day about how her company is monitoring employees’ net surfing habits and online chat conversations.

It’s really a fine line to walk between employee surveillance and total invasion of personal privacy. How do companies walk the line?

Makes you think twice when it comes to bitching about your boss over MSN, huh?

I don’t understand why people bitch about their boss or co-workers all the time, and yet try to suck up for fear of not getting that promotion or not being well-liked in the office or whatever. If I don’t like a person in the office, I keep a professional distance. I don’t talk to that person. And if I have to, I’ll send them an e-mail instead. And I’ll deprive them of little smiley faces in my e-mails.

If you hate me and tell me to my face instead of bitching behind my back, then I would applaud you for your boldness and honesty.

Although I might hate you for hating me without a valid reason.

But that’s a whole different story for a different day.

I think blogs are evil.

It makes everyone compelled to share the dreariness of their boring little lives with us.

Like, I had eggs and bacon for breakfast. Went to work. Tried to find a mechanic to fix my faulty wiper. It was raining yesterday so I could barely see a damn thing through the windshield.

Big, fat, hairy deal. Is anyone really interested in my day, or what I have to say? But see, with a blog, it’s easier to express yourself to everyone. Even when no one’s listening.

But it’s ok. I don’t want an audience. I just want to vent. And I’m bored.