The Sweet Escape

Well folks, it’s that time of the year again where Adek packs her trolley bag, bids farewell to the office (for a fortnight anyway) and embarks on another trip. (This time, she had asked Abah if she could go - and leave him alone for those two weeks - before purchasing the flight ticket. She has also made arrangements with this company to deliver food to Abah in her absence). And as usual, she is faced with the following recurring questions of what to bring (yes, after all this time, she still has decision-making headache):

Brolly or raincoat?

I’ve brought a few brollies to Europe before and ruined them all in the strong winds. So this time, I’m packing my hat and a raincoat.

Footwear: Crocs or Converse or Geox?

Err, not Birkenstock please

Which book(s) to bring? Important: it must not be boring, it must be thick enough to last me for the next fortnight but it must not be heavy

Historical tomes are a no-no

What I hope I won’t face – due to my gender, appearance, dressing, religion etc...

... and inconsideration (including but not limited to those idiots who claim full ownership of the airplane armrest. Clearly they have no clue about airplane etiquette)

What I hope to experience: Different culture, languages, people... and of course, food

An every day Caturday! (But you know what, I find I always get up early when I’m on holiday - to maximise my holiday me-time. Or because I have an early flight/train/coach to catch)

Well, OK, I’ve started but not done yet of course...

This is the first time I’m flying this particular airline long-distance. Hope I’ll be comfortable in no time (and hopefully no armrest-hogging moron too! Have checked in online and got a window seat in a 3-4-3 seating arrangement. Meaning I have to squeeze myself out and ‘walk over’ my two seat-mates if I need to use the washroom)

Note to self: be a responsible traveller.

Hopefully I’ll come back with a fresher new different perspective of the world.

And hopefully I won’t be tanned too much (yes, I’m vain. Don’t you already know?).

See you later, alligator!

Love Don’t Live Here Anymore

My best mate is leaving TheOrganisation.

She had confided the intention to me some time last year and I asked if she couldn’t consider a change in department or portfolio instead. She brought it up again early this year and when I heard it, I got upset. I didn’t want to listen further and adopted the ostrich mentality. I didn’t want it to happen for it would be upsetting to me and I thought (wrongly of course) that if I didn’t want to know about it, it wouldn’t happen.

If I don’t hear you, it won’t happen. I wish. Oh how I wish.

I wish. I wish it wouldn’t happen. But it would. And I can’t stop it from happening no matter how much I want to.

My best mate is a smart gal. OK, she’s a genius. She can learn everything in the shortest time possible (including those complex and complicated matters that most of us took ages to even begin to comprehend) and yet she is the humblest person ever. She has a very good sense of humour and a very high tolerance level (look, she can stand me so, yes, she is infinitely patient and highly tolerant!). She is tactful and diplomatic, everything I wish I am but know I have to try hard to be.

And yet she is practically being driven away from TheOrganisation by someone. No, it’s not her work that’s the issue because she loves and thrives on her work. It’s just got to the point where she feels she cannot stay any longer because of this someone and she doesn’t like how her reaction to the person is changing her.

It’s a crying shame really because I know TheOrganisation will really lose out on a brilliant employee. I told her I can’t help thinking that the other person is winning in a way because this other person is staying on. I know my best friend will not stoop low and say anything bad about this other person because it’s just not her nature. So I really think it’s unfair that the person who drove her away ‘wins’ while my friend has to find an exit.

So next time you speak to your colleague, subordinate, friend, parents, siblings, even children, be careful with your speech. Because words and action can hurt and drive someone away. And even though you win the point or argument, you may actually end up losing that person. And that is a bigger loss.

~~~~~~~

Arsenal lost away to Bolton yesterday. WTF. I’m just numb with disbelief, disappointment, disillusion and depression. This is the team that beat Barcelona (and it’s not everyday that a team can do that) and yet we can’t deliver at times. Wenger is ready to take the blame and while I wholeheartedly and strongly believe that the manager must make changes this summer, it’s not the manager who needs to be changed. Wenger’s fault is he has tremendous belief in his players - but of course since he is the one who brought them in and who gives them the chance to play (even when most of us don’t think much of certain players he has so much faith in) but I think there’s nothing with him expecting more from those players, indeed there’s nothing wrong from the fans expecting much more. The players have failed Wenger, themselves and the fans. But look, we still have four more games to play and while it’s all I can do to remain optimistic about us finishing second or third now, it’s only fair to debate and question at the end of the season. Like Arseblog said, the title may be over but the season isn’t yet. Oh to be a Gooner... is an absolute torture!

Are you of the glass half-full or glass half-empty?

The Good Earth

Happy Earth Day!!! Let’s continue to care for the environment by reducing our impact and conserving resources. Ask ourselves if we are already environmentally aware and conscious, if we already incorporate and embrace the green culture. Remember, we all have our part to play however small. So reduce, reuse, recycle, replenish and restore!

This Pain Is Just Too Real

Damn you. Damn you for hurting me again. I thought I’d be immune to this pain that you keep causing me. Instead it hurts even deeper. Why do you keep doing this to me? Why do you keep on hurting me like this, causing grief and misery to me? Every time you do it, it hurts even more. And every time I fall down harder and it’s tougher to pick myself up.

Damn you for drawing yet again, Arsenal. I’m hurt. I’m in pain. So much pain you can’t even begin to imagine. And damn you Eboue. If you come on the pre-season tour to Malaysia, I’ll make sure to pelt you with all the rotten tomatoes and eggs I can find. That’s for conceding the last-minute penalty.

You’ve better do something about it. I demand it.

Just The Two Of Us

Abah and I were in Kota Kinabalu last weekend. The tickets were bought/redeemed back in November in an attempt to move on with life without Mummy. I had some Enrich points that would expire and decided to redeem those for Abah’s outbound ticket.

We took the Saturday noon flight out of KL and landed at a quarter to 3. It was an overcast afternoon when we landed. Check-in was a breeze and we had a room at the fifth floor at the Magellan Sutera Resort that overlooked the sea and islands beyond. Lovely, simply lovely. Mummy would have loved it there. In fact, we also stayed there on our first visit together.

We took the hotel shuttle to the city centre for dinner and dad returned back to the hotel alone. I stayed behind to explore Wisma Merdeka and Suria Sabah - and ended up spending... #*~#_)%! Oh well...

We took the morning shuttle to the city on Sunday morning (Mummy’s birthday) and I explored Gaya Street Market alone. Abah didn’t want to. Wise decision too as it was hot and humid there. Met up Aud at Wisma Merdeka. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a long chat as she had a working lunch (yes, on a Sunday!) and I didn’t want to keep Abah waiting. We returned back after 2 pm and had a nice nap.

I woke up at a quarter to 5 to watch the Malaysian GP. Lewis Hamilton was comfortably in second place until that blinking idiot made contact with his car. I was so pissed with the stupid bloated pompous asshole. Anyway, Jenson Button made second place so all was not lost to McLaren.

We went out for dinner after 6 pm but returned back shortly after as dad forgot his wallet. For a while, I did wonder if he was pick-pocketed but I doubt the good people of KK would do anything like that. I once left my travel bracelet in the prayer room at KK International Airport and when I returned back to the prayer room a few days later, it was still there! And true enough, he left his wallet behind.

Two complaints about the hotel room/facility: 1. Why couldn’t they provide a nice huge flat-screen TV in the room?? All the better to watch TV with. Even a modest hotel in Vietnam provides this! 2. No ESPN channel. Simply unbelievable. Unforgivable.

We took the hotel shuttle again on Monday morning and went to the dried seafood market to buy some food stuff. We also popped into the Filipino market next door for oh perhaps 30 minutes tops to get some souvenirs. I then took the shuttle back to the hotel to deposit our purchases before returning to the city. We had lunch and dad went back to the hotel.

I was toying between a massage and blood cupping and finally opted for the latter. There is one centre in Wisma Merdeka that provides this, run by some Kadazan Dusun ladies. They told me they used needles instead of razors. It costs RM10 per bottle. The ladies were nice and went about their business quietly unlike my previous first experience. Y’know, I’m tempted to try out acupuncture one fine day. I just don’t see too many places offering that service at the moment.

I was also toying with some other beauty services but finally decided I’d better go back before dad started getting worried.

Dinner was had at CentrePoint.

We went down for a late breakfast on Tuesday and stayed in the room after that, resting and reading. I spent the morning (and the day before too actually) reading about the takeover of Arsenal shares by Stan Kroenke. We left after prayers and checked out just before 1 pm. SK and Alice came to pick us up and send us to the airport. They waited at Pacific Sutera Hotel instead and only realised they were at the wrong hotel after waiting some time. Met up baby Irfan too, a new Gooner (because his dad is one!) born 2 February 2011.

Our Firefly flight from KL was late in arriving (yes, I bought Firefly tickets for the flight home. They cost only 1 sen each when I bought them!) so we only took off at 1610 (incidentally, this was the time on my ticket but not the time displayed at the airport). We landed at KLIA at 1845 and took the KLIA Transit train to Putrajaya where Akak waited for us.

I survived a trip with Abah! (Or is it the other way round: he survived a trip with fussy moody me?!)

~~~~~~~~

Arsenal travelled to Bloomfield Road on Sunday. I was reduced to switching between Twitter, BBC Live Text and Arseblog to find out the score. Mad Jens ‘Abang Leman’ was in goal for Almunia (he told referee Lee Mason ‘You have to protect pensioners’). We scored two great goals in the first half. Early in the second half, we conceded a goal then RvP wrapped up the points for Arsenal. My baby (love his look!) didn’t let his accident earlier in the week affect him and put in a man-of-the match performance ;’) Our title hopes are still alive but only just.

He’s bad. He’s mad. And he’s back!

Theo van Nasregas. The way it should be. And how nicely appropriate it is that they were snapped in that order

So hopefully the grief borne over the past few weeks is gone now. But perhaps not. For Arsenal director, Danny Fiszman, passed away last night after losing in his battle against cancer, just three days after selling his stake in Arsenal to Stan Kroenke. Requiescat in pace.

~~~~~~~~

Anyway, I just discovered this today: my favourite King Arthur, Bradley James, is a Gooner!!! Fancy that!

Adorkable eh. Source

The New World/Mistaken Identity

I love my student days. I love that I could practically – if I so wish – roll out of bed, throw on clothes haphazardly and stagger out of the door to the lecture theatre. No one would blink, no one would bat so much of a mascaraed set of eye lid (because no one could be bothered with mascara or even lippie!), no one would do a double take at how you look, no one would gasp or gape at how you dress or if you have your clothes inside out or backwards frontward or badly creased, in short no one would even comment - or notice for that matter. Similarly, you can get away without brushing your hair (err, I’m sure someone will notice if you don’t brush your teeth but I suppose you can get away if you smoke or have something to drink beforehand).

Like I said, I love it.

Now that I’m back in motherland and working, I have to observe dress code at work (which I can understand as we need to project the right image). Besides, Mummy disliked us looking sloppy and untidy or sporting any tattered clothes.

But you know what. Only the old people dress up nicely. The young ones like us don’t and shouldn’t. Only the young people would have the nerve and can get away with dressing shabbily, looking like they’ve just escaped from a car accident. The trick is not to try too hard. The middle-aged people, they do that (after all, they have their image to maintain). And the elderly people are either over-dressed, too colour-coordinated, and simply just too fuddy-duddy.

Don’t believe me? Check this out then.

Moi? I’m going for the dishevelled chic look, baby ;)

Please don’t dress like this; you’ll be mistaken for a Bangladeshi ;) Source: Rubens Barrichello @rubarrichello who’s in town for F1

~~~~~~~~

All my life – even after wearing the scarf - I have been mistaken as a Chinese (since forever. I even had some racists called out ‘Chink’ to me), Japanese (!), Korean (yeah, right), Filipino (??), Thai (!!), Cambodian (what the?), even Turkish and Spanish (I’ve never been mistaken for an Indonesian though). When I travel, I have been mistaken as anything – everything and anything but a Malaysian. A girl I met in Singapore told me that the Westerners cannot tell whether one is a Japanese, Chinese or Korean. I suppose it’s just like we cannot distinguish some Caucasians. So no, I don’t take offence (even to the racists because they were just ignorant idiots). It never fails to amuse me though. As Socrates said it: ‘I am not an Athenian or a Greek, I am a citizen of the world.’

Simply Wicked

Today, I’m going to share with you some status tweets from my mate Keith. He’s hilarious, he is. Oh and he was this close to Cesc back in February 2010. Keith won a competition that he never realised he’d entered by voting for Cesc for February ‘10 Player of the Month.

Cesc and Keith. No, not Charles & Keith (and no, I don’t own any C&K. I’d rather wear a Malaysian pair)

Check out his tweets!!! They were after last weekend’s match against Blackburn. I can so relate to him. But unlike him, I write angry tweets to Arsenal. Hey, they broke my heart, anyway! Anyway, Arsenal don’t publish Keith’s tweets either so I know it’s not just me.

A Lesson In Sacrifice

For the lesson, please read this moving letter from a Vietnamese immigrant working as a policeman in Fukushima, Japan.

************ LESSON TO LEARN FROM JAPAN ***********

10 things to learn from Japan.

1. THE CALM

Not a single visual of chest-beating or wild grief. Sorrow itself has been elevated.

2. THE DIGNITY

Disciplined queues for water and groceries. Not a rough word or a crude gesture.

3. THE ABILITY

The incredible architects, for instance. Buildings swayed but didn’t fall.

4. THE GRACE

People bought only what they needed for the present, so everybody could get something.

5. THE ORDER

No looting in shops. No honking and no overtaking on the roads. Just understanding.

6. THE SACRIFICE

Fifty workers stayed back to pump sea water in the N-reactors. How will they ever be repaid?

7. THE TENDERNESS

Restaurants cut prices. An unguarded ATM is left alone. The strong cared for the weak.

8. THE TRAINING

The old and the children, everyone knew exactly what to do. And they did just that.

9. THE MEDIA

They showed magnificent restraint in the bulletins. No silly reporters. Only calm reportage.

10. THE CONSCIENCE

When the power went off in a store, people put things back on the shelves and left quietly!

The F-Word

When I was growing up, the F-word was considered a taboo. I didn’t speak the word - if you did speak the word freely back then when I was growing up, you’d either be ostracised for your filthy mouth/choice of vocabulary or be smacked by your religious teacher/fierce senior (the latter was either a more painful or scarier prospect) and the mere mention of it made me uncomfortable. I cringed when I heard the word in movies and thought it was just crude, that the reason it was included was to excite the audience into watching it.

It was so taboo back then that I even thought those who used the word were bad, uncultured, uncouth, irresponsible beings. Until one day, I found myself saying the word. Actually, no. What happened was that I actually said the word out loud and didn’t even realise it until I noticed my girlfriends staring intently at me. It took me some time before I asked, ‘Er, did I just say the f-word?’.

Well, I got more acquainted (to term it loosely) with the word when I was in Blighty. My course-mates and college mates used it loosely and over time, I found the word less offensive, less taboo and less crude. In fact, I’m pretty much quite tolerant of the word now, having come across the word on a daily basis now. (And maybe the liberal over-use of that word has simply shed its taboo quality off and made it more acceptable?).

Yes, so I do say the word now (OK, quite regularly. So shoot me. In fact, just a few days ago, I was so angry at some idiot who kept harassing me via text messages that I replied and included that word in my text reply). I am capable of swearing like a sailor and cursing like a trooper after all (but then again, does anyone effing care anyway). And, anyway, this word? Well, it’s no longer taboo. If you think so, I’m afraid you’re an old person.

The Next Best Thing

I was watching a documentary just before the last World Cup that showcased travelling fans (including those who travelled on land to South Africa from Europe. They sure demonstrated such extraordinary commitment and I really admire this) when I wondered out aloud how the supporters could afford to attend World Cup. How did they afford the time? They can’t all get a five-week summer holidays surely. And how did they afford the trip from their country to the World Cup host country and to all the different venues in different cities?

In fact, one of my mates was sending me text messages when I was in Europe last year and when I finally returned, she asked if I was in Africa. I replied in the affirmative, wondering how she knew I went to Morocco. Turned out she thought I was in South Africa (I wish!) not realising that the World Cup only kicked off later that month (in her defence, she’s not a footie fan but I suspect she’s amused at my obsession). I told her that yes I was in Africa but the northern part and that I wish I could afford to go to South Africa let alone the World Cup. In one of the few matches I watched, I wondered out aloud to Mummy how those fans get to go to the World Cup. How envious I was of them and how I wished I was also able to afford the time and money to attend one of the world’s biggest events. And how one fine day I hope I’ll be one of those spectators watching one of the World Cup matches right in front of my eyes instead of via satellite. But the next World Cup hosts are Brazil (what? Fly around the world for that?), Russia (not so soon) and Qatar (the summer heat-wave! Spare me).

A fortnight ago, as I was having dinner, I mentally calculated when the London Olympic 2012 would kick off. It was 500 days to the London Olympic on the Ides of March so I counted and after dinner, checked the website. And guess what, I got the date right, right to the day. Alas, it would be from 27 July to 12 August 2012, yes, alas. For it would be right smack in Ramadan then. I checked the prayer calendar and it looks like it would be an 18.5-hour fasting day (well, it’ll be summer anyway). I highly doubt I’m prepared mentally or physically to fast that long. Sure it’s not as if I’d be participating in any event as I’ll just be a mere spectator but still, it’ll be draining. It means I only have 5.5 hours to recharge myself, rest and relax, perform ibadah and sleep. So there goes my Olympic dream then. Oh, if you must know, the next Olympic host city is Rio. I don’t think I want to fly around the world just for that. Not unless I marry someone wealthy.

So it looks like no Olympic or Paralympics Games for me - or even Catalympic if there’s one ;'( I shall resort to doing my own event then ;p

OK, the Olympic is off so I turned my attention to Euro 2012. The tournament will be held from 8 June to 1 July 2012 (outside Ramadan) and hosted by Poland and Ukraine. Poland? I had been pick-pocketed in Warsaw before so I am still a bit sore with that city. Ukraine? Well, Malaysians need visa to enter the country. So it looks like Euro 2012 is a no-go either.

Still undeterred, I even checked the host for the next Commonwealth Games. It’s Glasgow 2014 and the Games will be held from 23 July to 3 August 2014. Uh oh, it’s still Ramadan then, the tail-end of it. So there goes the Commonwealth Games 2014. How about the Rugby World Cup? It’s an autumn event. Oh, the 2011 host is New Zealand (I’ve been there) and 2015 host is... England! But I have to wait that long for the tournament?!

I was tweeting my mates about all these (someone even suggested Sochi 2014; the location is appealing as it’s by the Black Sea) and finally hit on the next best idea. OK, the best AWESOME idea. And it was well-received and more importantly, more affordable and more attainable/achievable compared to the rest. Let’s hope everything works out now. And what is it, you ask? I’d love to let you know but I have this paranoia about sharing my travel plans before I actually travel. But hey you are free to take a guess ;)

P.S. Adek must admit that she didn’t attend the Commonwealth Games in Kuala Lumpur back in 1998. And she has yet to attend any F1 event, even those at Sepang. She was in Barcelona during one F1 weekend and that, including the racing cars on exhibition in the city, was as close she got to F1.

~~~~~~~~

Yesterday was the tenth anniversary of the death of Arsenal legend, David Rocastle ‘Rocky’. I don’t know him as much as I should so I’ll let you read other bloggers’ account of him. RIP Rocky. The official site has a tribute to him, a photo gallery and a profile of him.