Month: January 2007

Fools and monkeys.

The good old days of blogosphere have passed. There was a time when you could voice radical opinions without incurring the wrath of the monkeys. In order to achieve that took a lot of skills. It’s really an art, so to speak. And the art is called subtlety. So, what was so wrong with those times? When you could think aloud and make them monkeys go purple from frustration without landing yourself in the zoo. Positive changes did take place, albeit slowly but it guaranteed everyone’s right and freedom to a healthy extent. I had no problem with that.

Malaysians are accustomed to the lack of freedom in expression, particularly when it pertains to issue regarding the monkeys. When blogs emerged as a medium of expression, people were pleased. Finally, we got to write about things that the main publications would not publish. But Malaysians aren’t fools, Malaysians exercise cautions. Even the most radical blogger have lawyers to back him up in case he slipped up, no?

So those were the good old days. But, where have they gone to? Some prolific bloggers have allowed fame and blind support to get into their heads, thus causing them to believe that they’re invincible. That they are the untouchables. They get so bloated up with pride that they think everything in blogosphere happens in relative to them. Of course, that couldn’t be further from the truth. However, the monkeys, stupid as they may be, are just happen to be smart enough to play along to that. Why shut up the few brash ones when you could shut up the whole lot of them, they think to themselves.

All Malaysian bloggers are walking on thin ice now. And who is to blame? I’m afraid, the fools have rushed in and let the monkeys steal the bananas.

Growing up.

This post first appeared on moNSTerblog.

Man Child summoned me into the bedroom and pointed at the dressing table. My perfume and pressed powder were on the table and I’d forgotten to pack them. It’s the second time I managed to forget something. Opened my suitcase again, that cheap thing that my Dad got from some travel fair. I was practically prying it open with my nails. After about 10 minutes of struggling with that plastic piece of junk, I groaned (Man Child said it sounded more like a scream) and started sobbing.

I don’t want to go back, I cried to him. Buried my face in his chest and sobbed uncontrollably. He gave me a tight hug and told me that it’s okay. I cried more, because it didn’t feel okay at all. I was secretly hoping that he would give me a choice of quitting my job and offer me shelter. It’s wishful thinking, of course as none of my loved ones would tolerate such behaviour.

Soon, I managed to get hold of myself. Calmed myself down, stopped the tears and continued my struggle with the damned suitcase. It popped open with ease. I stuffed the perfume and pressed powder into available space with a heavy heart. And then, I was ready to make a move.

Man Child almost broke his thumb while moving my suitcase to his car. It bent backwards while he was pulling the extendable handle out (read: stay away from cheap suitcases). It’s very unlike Man Child to have that kind of things happen to him, how do I put it…he’s usually a very alert person.

I resisted the urge to ask him, but I could’t. Did I distress you? No, he said.

‘Are you sure? I asked again. You can tell me’.

‘Maybe a little, I totally understand what you’re going through’.

‘Thanks. You know my stuff are usually there and it really didn’t occur to me to have to pack them. They belong there, you know. The empty dressing table just did it for me. I went apecrazed, sorry’.

‘Don’t worry about it. You have to accept that it’s part of growing up’, he consoled me.

As a good friend put it, growing old is mandatory but growing up is optional. I don’t want to grow up, I hate it. But accepting it, I suppose it’s tolerable for now.

Princess and Pennywise.

This post first appeared on moNSTerblog.

Lets call her Princess. I’ve known Princess for a very long time. Our history dates back to pre-Asian Economic Crisis. Back then, we both disliked boys, had under-developed chests, used the same multi-coloured Swan brand school bags and enjoyed abnormally long late night telephone calls. In fact, Princess wasn’t even a princess then. She was my best friend and we swore to live together in a luxurious penthouse once we become successful career women.

Suddenly, in the midst of surviving my first haircut disaster, my best friend’s chest started to develop, her naturally silky straight hair began to capture admirers while her skin stayed as spotless as the first day I met her. Imagine all of those things taking place while I looked like Pennywise.

Pennywise.

Princess and Pennywise. A certain interesting ring to it, don’t you think? In simple terms, I wasn’t thrilled to have my best friend transforming into a different person, what’s more, a better person than me. It was so difficult to juggle between harbouring evil thoughts about Princess and maintaining our dear friendship. I suppose, at the age of 13, I could have just easily raised the white flag to jealousy but for some weird reason, I didn’t. Princess was my best friend, and she soothed me as much as she provoked me.

Things of course ironed themselves out eventually. Along the way, I discovered push-up bras, hair straighteners and Oprah, my spiritual enlightenment. Then, got a couple of hearts broken and the score was even. It’s like old times again with Princess, only better. Well, I refuse to talk about the time when Princess got herself respectfully employed while I rolled around living off other people’s hard-earned money.

Funny isn’t it, how women are so competitive. There is no distinction, whether she is a stranger, an enemy, a best friend or your Mother, the instinct is to compare and compete. No matter how much you deny your feelings, you secretly wish that they were lesser or at least at par with you. It is sort of scary, but that is the way we women are made of. Relationships can be destroyed and forged (as in my case), so ladies, keep those claws to yourselves first!