What I do on my break

My routine in the morning goes something like this. I wake up, grump at Eizwan for having to wake up and then check my stuff online (yes, I do go online even before I have my morning coffee). I read the news, check Twitter before checking my blog.

Recently though, I have not been checking my blog though. Mostly it’s because I’m feeling so guilty that I haven’t been blogging. I try not to say “I don’t have time!” as an excuse – it’s an excuse that annoys the hell out of me when I talk to people. But unfortunately, it is true. In between trying to start a new business and writing, I barely have time to eat, much less blog.

Which is a shame, because a lot of the stuff I enjoy doing have fallen on the wayside – even my daily dose of McNulty has been reduced to seeing Dominic West in John Carter, in the rare instance that I do go out.
So, who says that working with your family can be a dead end? Either you’ve never done so or you don’t have my family.

Anyway, after a crazy intense month, my parents declared they needed a break and headed down to Johor. Which means, a break for me!
The first morning they were gone felt very strange for me. After working constantly, including weekends and nights, it felt very strange and odd to not have any work. So I kept sending my parents work emails although they were driving down. Again, if you think it’s odd to be sending your parents work emails, you don’t work for my mother. For as long as I can remember, my mother has made her children sign contracts with her. For real.

It’s only fair, you know.

But I’m on a break! I shouldn’t be on my pc working. I should do stuff that I haven’t had time to do. Like clean up the house. Or play with the cats. Except the cats did not want to play with me. Instead they took turns babysitting me, keeping a watchful eye on me. As though they’re thinking “This human isn’t used to being at home. She might hurt herself.”

I wish I could sit still and rest because God knows I need it. But instead, I started scheming on the things I can do, things I can prep so that I could make our life easier in the coming ridiculously busy months.

I opted to prep frozen food, stuff that requires me to do minimum cooking on busy workdays. And of course, if you know me – why do the simple stuff when you can do the insane!? Why I’ve already bulked purchase my vegetables, blanched then and froze the. Now I can safely ignore and still not eat my veges and not feel guilty as they wilt away in the fridge.

And if you’re going to freeze vege, why not freeze some burger buns for a quick dinner? And why do it the easy way by buying burger buns when you can make it yourself?

I think it’s for this reason that my family points out that when I fall ill, I tend to fall ill spectacularly.

Rejected!

So today, I received my first rejection letter. One of many, I reckon. No, not for any book writing – that is nowhere near ready but for some work that I’ve been doing.

I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed. I am. The first feeling is disappointment, a little crushing feeling inside my heart. After that it’s anger. Like of course, no one trusts you. If only you’re some big hot shot, people only look at hot shots. Even if the hot shots aren’t good. And then you question yourself, like why aren’t you a hot shot? Why haven’t you become a hotshot yet? Are you some sort non-performing twenty-something non-hot shot? And then that crushing disappointment returns coupled with another taste of humble pie. You can’t help but feel sorry for yourself. You feel really small. And then you question if this was the right way to go forward.

And then you eat something indulgent. My friend S, eats pink cupcakes. I drink coffee. Whole milk please, nothing of that skimmed milk nonsense.

And then you get over it. I usually say, “Meh.”

Ever since I’ve decided to go on my own, I’m getting better at rejections. Gotta develop a thick skin for it, especially since before, it was easier to do any sort of business when you are backed by a fancy company. Not so when you’re just little old you.

I wish I could say rejections get easier with time, but they don’t. However, the recovery time is a lot faster. I don’t pretend that I’m not disappointed. I’ve done that before and it sort of boils together and I get into an argument, usually with the husband about dishes and then I end up bursting into tears screaming, “This damn plates are a lot like that time when so-and-so told me that I’m not good enough to go on my own.”

Boyfriends, husbands, listen up. It’s never about the damned dishes.

In this case, I’m thinking of how to go forward. The temptation to mope and lie down is there and each time this happens, it makes me want to give up a little. And then I think of some of my friends who have been working very hard to pursue their more noble dreams. And when I mean dreams, I don’t mean material wealth. I mean dreams like working towards a finance job that helps build roads and schools in poor countries. Or becoming a surgeon so that they can go on to volunteer in countries in Africa.

And I remind myself, whatever I’m doing, these are one of the many challenges that I will come across in pursuit of happiness.

So yes, I’m disappointed. But I’ll just make a cup of coffee. I keep myself busy. And then I move on.

The Man Next to Me

The Password

Oooh, am I getting all secretive? Well, if it has to do with work, yes. So anytime you see the work category and you’d like to read about it, just type in the password:

Clue: “Is there life on Mars?”

As you can tell, it’s a little more difficult. Just FB me or drop me a note if you’d like the password. But if you’re keen to figure it out, it’s two words (remove the space) and it’s related to the phrase above. Oh and second clue. It’s an actor.

But anyway.

There is one thing I do dread about work that is not work related. And that would be the journey to work. I take the LRT to work. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not bad. On good days, it’s relatively comfortable with decent amount of space. It’s efficient and occassionally breaks down, but no more so than the Underground for instance.

The one thing I do dislike  about the journey there is how mind-numbingly boring it can be. It’s tedious and KL generally lacks the interesting people that you sometimes see (and then run and avoid) on the train in other parts of the world. Most commuters are just like me, bored and frustrated with what they do.

I started wondering what would make my morning commute more interesting, that’s when I thought wouldn’t it be lovely if…..

Scenario 1: The Man Standing Next To Me

It’s a sunny Wednesday morning. Which makes it all the more a waste. Wednesdays are meant to be dark and gloomy, a reminder that you have THREE more days to go in this long forsaken week. I’m shifting about in the queue, left foot to right, right foot to left as the long short train arrives at the station. My fellow commuters are impatient to enter, they try to stay in the queue but some of us break out of the queue and shuffle and shove our way in. Politely of course, it’s only Wednesday, there’s no need for us to be too aggressive.

I enter the cabin, I am not fast enough to shove a kindly old lady aside for a seat. First tragedy of the day have struck. I have no choice but to stand.

But wait…

Today is no ordinary day, no. Firstly, the man next to me does not seem like a drained KL worker with bleary eyes. He is tall, very thin and hair that seemed to have a life of its own. Thick and practically uncontrollable, it looked soft and for a second I lost myself, so tempted was I to run my fingers through his hair. He is dressed in a t-shirt and a pin-striped jacket, uncomfortable in Malaysia’s warm weather but he looks perfectly suited with the jacket, as though something would be missing without it.

He has lovely brown eyes, a cheeky smile and he had his hand hanging of the safety grip. He even smells good, his cologne cutting through the smell of plastic and metal of your average LRT cabin. I am staring at him , I know I shouldn’t. He winks at me and I immediately turn my head to the front.  I feel my heart pounding and I try to keep my eyes at the window, sneaking glances occasionally and paying silent attention to his reflection on the window. I feel my palms becoming sweaty, holding onto the metal pole to keep steady was becoming more difficult as my knees grew weak. It is becoming insidiously difficult to keep the giggles deep inside my chest from escaping and then me collapsing on the ground.

Because who would have thought that David Tennant would get on the same train as I would.

***

Okay, more scenarios later. It’s almost time to go home! Gyahahahah.