Gnomed

The girl tells me she likes my “magically delicious” shirt.

I am gnomed.

Ceasefire

Little did I know it’s nearly 2 years since my first touchdown in N. America. I remember feeling all excited and exhilarated, because I ran away, or flew away, from the cage I saw as Malaysia. The Malaysia I knew was a place of control, hypocrisy, and apathy; land of psychological abuse…and many unwanted memories.

Perhaps I’m spoilt. I’ve lived in a city all my life. Places elsewhere were mere passing interests. What I knew of politics came out of the mouths of opinion leaders. I’ve been taught to be cynical, afraid of strangers. Make friends with people of my age, of my background, of my race. Everything else kept at arm’s length. You can’t trust people you’ve just met. No late nights, no parties. You’re yellow, not white. Or brown, or black. Arts is bad, science is good. You can’t make a living out of scribbling, can you?

Sounds like parents manywhere.

Parents, when they stay away from your life, can make you realize how often you’ve barely tried to carry the responsibility yourself.

So, living here reveals how I never really left the cage. Got used to it. It grew on me.

And somehow, without control, I feel lost. There are too damn many choices.

.
.
A friend asked me if I still felt the same about the US as I did 2 years ago.
I wish I do.

I told him it’s still safer than Malaysia.

.
.
I’m not through yet. I’m still deliberating; to stay or not to stay. Half-hearted decisions are barely wise.

Birthday card

Just received an email from the school today:

	At the IU Foundation, we believe our friends are worth celebrating. This week, we are celebrating you. View your special greeting here.

~

Wow. I’m amazed that the school cared enough about my birthday to give me the exclusive link to their special greeting for me which 4382431 students have seen before, probably.

Though it’s actually a pretty cool flash animation, I’d rather have a bottle of Coke, thank you.

Facebook updates

From my 25 whatevers:

3. You know you’re an SL addict when you realize that you spend more time awake in SL than sleeping in FL. And you have dreams about SL. And you know what these acronyms mean.

Aside from that, here are some what’s-news:
1. I haven’t been doing my work. But I now have a clearer idea of what I want to do with my life. Perhaps this is the quote of the moment for me:

“We try to judge people not on how much time they waste but on what they accomplish over fairly long periods of time, like a half-year to a year.” – Les Earnest.

2. I am still in a relationship with the man I love. Hoorais.

3. I bought my first ever pair of rainboots. The are red with yellow ducks all over. Classic.

4. I still think Paddington Bear is the most adorable shit ever.

5. I am moving into a house for the first time in my life, with four girls, two of which are terribly amazing because they worship my legal age. It’s going to be sexciting.

No, it doesn’t involve orgies. Unless…, nevermind.

6. I have been on time for most of my classes.

Sequel to the prequel

I once said I’d talk about Collins and Disney. Let’s try this again, shall we?

A) I like Collins a lot.

B) Collins is short for Collins Living Learning Center (CLLC).

C) Nobody calls Collins “CLLC” here.

D) It is a Hogwarts-looking hippie dorm.

E) Why hippie?

1. Collins officially has the healthiest, vegan-friendly menu in their dining hall. And they serve good shits (sometimes).
   a. It’s pretty sad, actually, when I think about the dorm food of all the other American campuses.
2. We recycle everything from beer cans to assignment sheets, except leftover Panda Express.
3. We have courses where you can get credit for sleepingmeditating.
4. I’ll bet you all $1500 of my meal points that at least 50% of the residents here smoked pot at least once in their stay in IUB.
   a. If you lose the bet, you will compensate with actual cash.
5. Although most of us shower like most capitalists, some of us don’t support hair shampoo.
6. LGBT-friendly. (Officially, at least.)
7. Truth, beauty, freedom, love.
8. Etc. E.g. “Hogwarts Week Fall ‘08.”

F) Why Hogwarts?

• Why don’t you do a Google search or come see for yourself?

G) OfMontreal is in my good books. And so is Radiohead.

H) Pandora has the smartest radio ever. Not only does it kick Deezer’s ass at least twice, it can only be accessed in God bless Amedika, hah!

I) Ayam very excite about arriving in LONDON in less than twenty two fucking days, w00t!

J) I really should describe Disney some time before I forget what’s it like to be an adult-like child.

K) It’s raining snow here right now. I’m surprised that not enough people wore their Eskimo suits and popped out umbrellas on the streets, like I did.

L) I wonder why I don’t blog more often. There are many sexciting people around here to talk about.

M) Oh right, I have a 10-page thesis due next Monday based on a 350-page novel I have yet to read, and a 20-page short fiction to revise by the end of this week!

Crap, and a 3-page for my Capoeira final presentation.

I probably need to catch up with at least 10 of my readings as well.

And one fucking French chapter worth of homework.

I told you I have a Ph.D in Procrastination.

Highlights and lowlights

An extremely brief summary of how I’m feeling since I’ve last updated.

1. 0015, Nov. 5th, 2008: I semi-led a screaming mob from Collins –> IU Auditorium fountain –> Kirkwood –> past Trojan Horse (restaurant), in the name of Obama. Met his puppet/effigy somewhere towards the end of my journey.

It’s interesting how you can make new friends by having a common enemy.

And I am annoyed at the guy who took all the credits of leading the mob, without a mention of my original idea whatsoever. Whatever.

2. I salsa danced the last two-three weekends in a row.

3. On Halloween Night, I attended the Rocky Horror Picture (disappointingly not-so-live) Show in Buskirk-Chumley Theater. Nine fucking bucks for mediocre voiceovers and terribly limited acting from the Cardinal Theater Group.

Then again, I received a coupon for one large Pizza Express (worth $5? $6? $7??). Because I won the Orgasm Contest.

I don’t really want to elaborate on it because I sacrificed my laundry basket so that I could be a fucking Duracell Bunny (but wearing the goddamned basket is too clumsy for me to sit or run with. Fun.).

Oh, and nobody remembered the Duracell Bunny. Even with my fucking handmade golden cymbals. Apparently the Energizer Bunny didn’t need fucking shades and drum sets to be venerated by Americans.

So I was remembered as either the Energizer Bunny or Slutty Bunny (because I wore mostly only fucking Victoria Secrets, thinking that I needn’t part with my battery suit of a laundry basket).

4. I am still quite annoyed with someone who bailed on me tonight because of retarded text-communication.

5. I updated honestlydead.

6. I need to study for tomorrow’s French test. Mia prolly expected me seven minutes ago.

There goes my phone.

I can’t believe we’re approaching the last chapter already.

À bientôt.

From the refuge

I walk to class from my dorm at a quarter to eight each morning. I’d wish to be drowsy with leftover dreams from three floors above as I hurry past the nightmare on 9th and Park. And the other horror somewhere nearby. I don’t know if he still lives there.

Of course, that never happens in real life. Nightmares do what they do best in your waking life; they keep you awake with unwanted memories.

French classes and Amye are the only things that keep me sane right now. Dating was a terrible idea after all.

-

On a side note, pardon my lack of responses and updates in any of the blogs. I have been taking refuge beneath my blanket with my 15-year-old pillow. But in case you’d like to know more about what’s been going on here in school, do visit the RPS Photoblog (with your soon-to-be-varsity-kids/siblings/friends)!

Yeah, it’s part of my job.

Minor rant

I swear: One more email from my French class about course requirements and I’m going to lose it.

It’s just the first goddamn day, goddammit. You don’t need to email me 5 times to tell me about what I should bring.

Homecoming

I will be home in less than 12 hours. I don’t know how to feel. For as long as the plane sinks in altitude while the overhead telly flashes random information that brings me nothing but nostalgia, my heart sinks along with it. I reminisce what happened, before and after I flew to the land of real opportunities, trying to take it all in, letting it sink in.

Still trying.

38005 feet, it said. 11518km went by.

I recall musing about my pre-departure some months ago. Relationships were the main theme, particulary the ones I had with my family and the cuntry. What used to feel like motivations to constrict my freedom and individuality now feels like excuses to make amends. The BERSIH rally, something like the vendetta I wish for Malaysia the very moment I watched V for Vendetta, actualized with the kind of media attention I think it deserved better. Not too long ago, over the phone, Mum told me to do whatever that makes me happy, sans our usual altercations. Even if it means sans my formal education too.

My romantic life. Over the month of August, at least six former flames attempted to make peace, some with hopes to rekindle past fires. I think I said something along the lines of “Dream on”.

As for my life in North America, well, let’s just say that nobody who has lived most of their life in the same cuntry would realize how narrow-minded they really are until they’re in frequent contact with someone of foreign culture. Many someone-s for that matter. Try dating a mixed batch at the same time too. For nobody can assume that they’re truly liberal until they’ve met their match. Also, it was interesting to put the American-Malaysian politics and social norms in perspective. Just yesterday, during the last makan session Malaysian gathering, after speaking to some Malaysians who have been around town for at least “half a decade,” I was reminded of the refreshing change practically all of us have undergone ever since we left the Southeast Asian counterpart of this melting pot of international culture.

Though, all in all, to compare the Malaysian drama I’ve endured with its North American counterpart’s worth of bohemia, my stand remains: I was not in the wrong place nor was the United States a better place for me to live in. I was merely in the right places to see what’s wrong with the mindsets many apart from me have been pre-conditioned with.

The best part of returning home? The food I think I got my best friend back; the best friend from high school. Not to mention the newfound realization of the amount of true blue friends I really have, especially in desperate times of need. How I was pleasantly surprised.

And all of this was made possible after my stay in that psychiatric unit, over the break in Spring, the week of my 21st birthday, my coming of the very legal age.

Irony, c’est la vie. Which reminds me: I’m taking French100 this Fall. Wish my procrastination preseverance luck for this summer and beyond.

Of friends and family and overdue spa vacations, no amount of wailing babies can spoil my mood right now. Not even the Korean brat behind my window seat.

Char kuay teow, ayam kambing bek!

.
.

P.S. This Sony VAIO is very nice and white and complementary before my next flight of Seoul Incheon Airport, South Korea!

Starstruck

Friday night; I met the most amazing music performer in my world.

She did not have the flair of Michael Jackson. She did not have the eccentricities of Bjork, or Prince, for that matter. She did not have the scandals of Britney Spears, the in-fame of My Chemical Romance, the hypocrisy of Avril Lavigne, the mind-blowing alto of Christina Aguilera, nor did she have the fame and glamour of Muse, Coldplay, Fiona Apple, Norah Jones, or The Beatles, to name a few.

What she did have, though, is a sense of humor; a psychedelic one, in fact. Not to mention one of the most ethereal falsetto I have ever…

…appreciated.

She makes you dream. Ask anyone who really listens to her albums and they can tell you that her music is upbeat, down-to-earth, romantic, sensual, morbid, and even downright depressing. At worst, she is a female version of Damien Rice; at best, she is just…

…Feist.

Friday night; I met the most amazing music performer in my world. After her feisty concert which did not fall short of amazing, we talked about and laughed at our quirks and wits. Most likely, nobody present, except for my friend Ian (and maybe Searle, Abby, Carolyn, and Carly), can testify for the amount of empathy we shared for one another, if only because we listened to our hearts, left them hanging out, and felt it all in that one evening.

She probably didn’t really know what Mushaboom means as well. Something random, she might add.

For all I care, her fans and management may testify me for yet another one of her million and one crazy fans, but frankly, at this rate, I would testify them to be in need of her kind attention. I have her email address and that is all that matters.

And then she asked for my name.