The thing is, I frequently getsome of my best ideas whilst I am driving in my car. As skilled a driver I might be *cough cough*, it wouldn’t do to actually whip out a pen and paper and jot down ideas whilst I navigate my way through KL.
Yesterday, I had the most brilliant idea of tape recording some of my dialogues using my phone. So I squealed away my dialogue on the phone whilst Eizwan drove to Rasta for a small Warwick gathering *waves to Kelly*. Sometime after midnight, I uploaded my recordings to transcribe what I’ve said.
And had to turn it off immediately. How terrible it is to figure out that you sound like a bimbo.
Posted 1/27/2008 at 9:26 AM
Markets Will Tank
So I started some part-time work today. Somewhere in the err..finance industry. That is all that really needs to be said.
Well, that and the fact that I think the Malaysian markets should worry that I’m back in finance. When I started my first job nearly three years ago, Malaysian markets stagnated for two years whilst the rest of the Asian markets rallied. When I left my job, Jan 2007, the markets began to rally, like rally in ways you’ve never seen before.
And now, on the day I started my work, a rogue trader wiped out 7.2 billion USD from SocGen. Mark my words, the markets will definitely tank this year.
Posted 1/25/2008 at 9:42 AM
Series: Tanjong Ole (Previous chapters can be found here)
Author’s note: Can barely keep my eyes open to publish this. But as always, much love, many thanks, kisses and hugs to Eizwan for beta services.
Doctor Kelly Chan was happy the day was over. It was her third day in this strange little town of Tanjong Ole and so far, everything was, well, it was alright.
The healthcare was certainly acceptable. If her new housemate Liza was anything to go by, the people of the town were a little odd but generally very kind. Despite her parents warning her that she was far too modern and that she might offend the town-folk with her city ways, they were generally less judgmental than she had expected.
She knew her parents were disappointed when she was posted to Tanjong Ole when most of her friends were posted to University Hospital and GH. They must have thought she could not survive in a town that was three hours away from Kuala Lumpur.
But Doctor Chan had a secret. She actually applied to come here.
After London, the whirlwind lights and sounds of KL, and then Steven. God, Steven. She needed the peace and tranquility a small town would give her to forget all that she left behind.
As if on cue, a crash resonated through the clinic. Doctor Chan froze.
“Who’s there?” she called out.
No reply. The nurses had gone home. Did they lock the door on the way out? She knew she should have asked a nurse to wait with her whilst she closed the clinic down. Being alone was not the wisest of ideas.
Doctor Chan got up from her seat, looking at the medical equipment in her room. Nothing in this room could be used as an effective weapon. Her heart started to beat faster.
God, how stupid was she assuming everything was safe just because she was in a small town.
“Who’s out there? I know karate!”
The door opened. Doctor Chan screamed.
Posted 1/20/2008 at 10:43 AM
|Title: Kehidupan di Marikh
Series: Tanjong Ole
“Kehidupan di Marikh”
Sergeant Izwan was manhandling a young man, a spotty oily-faced teenager, by the collar. The young man, still buzzed from the drugs in his system could only stare back dumbly at Sergeant Izwan, open-mouthed.
“I’m a deputy to the law! I will not have drugs in my town” he barked. “You understand?” The young man nodded slowly, far too stunned and high to respond.
Sergeant Izwan forcefully shoved the young man into the cell and slammed the cell door. He turned, his bomber leather jacket whirled behind him as he strode out.
And bumped into a mystified Inspector Jamal standing by the entrance.
“Sergeant?” Inspector Jamal inquired mildly.
Sergeant Izwan gave him a confident grin. “Selamat petang, Guv.”
“Guv?” the Inspector repeated. “Sergeant, why are you in a leather jacket?”
Sergeant Izwan held his hands up as though expecting the Inspector to admire the leather jacket. When Inspector Jamal did not respond, he launched into his explanation. “I was watching Astro at my sister’s and there was this great police show. Life on Mars. I’m inspired, Guv, to clean up this town just like they do.”
Inspector Jamal studied his Sergeant’s plain clothes appearance. Sergeant Izwan beamed as the Guv studied his outfit, taking in the jacket, the striped wide collared shirts, the flared trousers.
Sergeant Izwan didn’t think the Inspector’s eyebrows could go any higher. The Inspector blanched before leaving him be in the cells, muttering something about needing tea and “At least it’s not Magnum PI”
Posted 1/14/2008 at 10:58 AM
So Emo with my eyeliner…gonna cut myself, yeah…
There are days when I’m just emo! Yeah, emo with an exclamation mark, because it wouldn’t be emo without the emo!
Which is a shame that I’m 24 and I’m just too old to be emo! anymore. I’m too old to be sitting around with thick eyeliner, a long scarf that’s far too warm for Malaysian weather and scowling away in a mall. Plus, I am after a, part of the “teh suity” club and I can’t really misbehave. The world is too effin’ small.
I am currently reading a number of things, from Ian Rankin’s Rebus novel (a hardboiled detective fiction, to which my dad relishes the thought that it is a hardboiled fiction. “Rebus?!” he says. “What are the odds?”) to a number of angsty House fics online. I also bought another book out of Dad’s recommendation, Brother Karamazov by Dovstoyevsky. I’ve never read Dovstoyevsky or heard of him before till recently (okay, Sandra Bullock’s character speaks about Crime and Punishment). Dad admonished me over it, saying he loved Solzhenitsyn and Dovstoyevsky. Things you learn about your parents, I never knew my father enjoyed Russian literature.
The weather in KL isn’t helping much either. It rains practically all the time now, and monsoon rain where it rains by the bucketload. Rain makes me feel all melancholy. Rain is great for inspiration but it’s a major bother when it comes to running errands.
I have an upcoming Warwick gathering (which I’m glad that they don’t actually read this blog). We’ve been aiming for a gathering for ages but can’t seem to get it going without A pushing for it. The entire debacle (?) reminded me further of ties that bind between people. Thought of my little Warwick group, the analysts back at my Evil Org I used to work in. People tend to talk about ties that we have with each other. I disagree, I don’t there’s ties that bind. I think with groups of people there’s usually a central focal point, that once the focal point disappears, it sort of dies down.
With my little Warwick group, A is the focal point, if he gives up on it, we all give up. It makes me feel a little sad. But I wonder how a “focal point” is chosen. Is it the personality? Is it the person? Or by some random choice of the universe?
I’m writing something about that to explore that idea. Blame all the House/Wilson fics, they do something to you, makes you want to explore human emotions…something I’m not used to doing. Heh.
Posted 1/10/2008 at 11:20 PM
|So sorry about the late update. Hah, first scheduled update and I’m already behind. Well then, looks like I have to promise everyone and up date every Monday so that I wouldn’t be late.
Here’s the latest mini-story. If you’d like to read previous “chapters” you could find it conveniently stored at my Fictionpress profile. Feel free to check it out and leave lots of nice and lovely comments. Hahaha. Um. Yeah.
Linkety-link: Tanjong Ole at FictionPress.
On with the show.
Cikgu Liza’s eyes were glued to the TV. Was he finally going to say the words? She’s about to leave him! Do something, for goodness sakes! Soundlessly, Liza reached for her muruku and munched.
“Saranghae,” uttered the handsome man on TV. The young woman did not respond. Tears welled up in Cigku Liza’s eyes.
“Say it! Tell him you love him!” she pleaded to the TV.
A car rolled up in front of Liza’s porch. Liza grew a little nervous. It was late and she was not expecting any visitors. Liza cautiously crept to the door, peered through the grill.
A petite woman stepped out of the car. She had long, wind-swept hair, porcelain white skin and almond-shaped eyes. She was beautiful. But she carried an air of melancholy about her. Her eyes often trailed to the ground and she only had a ghost of a smile on her angelic features.
A handsome man stepped out of the car. He helped with the bags out of the car.
“Well, here you are,” he said.
“Yeah,” she replied.
An awkward silence fell between them.
“Thank you,” she finally said.
Silence once more.
“I love you,” he said. Liza could not see the reaction on the woman’s face. It was presumably, not the reaction the man was hoping. Crestfallen, he mumbled a quick goodbye before entering his car and driving off.
Liza and the woman watched as the car drove off. Once the car was at a certain distance, she watched the woman’s shoulders sag and a soft sob escaped her lips. She turned to pick up her bags and headed towards Liza’s front gate. Liza rushed back to the sofa, pretending she saw nothing and waited for the doorbell to ring.
Posted 1/7/2008 at 9:54 AM
I’m a Nun
Ah, so much for posting a new ficlet last night. I didn’t want to post up a new fic-let until I could get it archived somewhere and problem is, I couldn’t get it archived on Fictionpress until sometime late Sunday evening due to Fictionpress’ policy.
Anyway, my page on Fictionpress is up, the chapters are a little wonky but at least it’ll be there in order by posting date.
I’m like a nun
I woke up this morning in an exceptionally bad mood. Perhaps it’s the weather, perhaps it’s about time that I had a bad morning since the past few weeks, I had been in a decent mood except for the occasional tetchiness. Perhaps it’s due to all the fics I was reading yesterday that finally culminated into a “I’m not very happy” Adlina.
It started on Saturday when I was surfing the interwebs. I was half-writing and half-feeling sorry for myself from the sinus when by accident, I came across a Quantum Leap/House fanfiction crossover. Anyone who is into fanfiction (which I like incidentally, so go away naysayers) knows that House fanfics tend to be of the gay. Which I’m not really into but I continued reading anyway.
The fic was alright, but it got me reading other sort of fics that I usually wouldn’t read mainly NC-17 ones and slashy ones. And yesterday, whilst it rained heavily, I curled in bed with my Ian Rankin where he described in descriptive detail about how Rebus got an erection whilst reading the sexual fantasies of sexual predators (despite being disgusted by it all….)
That’s when it suddenly occurred to me. I am of the conservative. Or I’m so Care Bear like when it comes to my writing, that it’s almost disgusting. Let’s not talk about rocking the boat here, I’m talking about writing stuff from deep inside your heart, gut-wrenching thoughts and feelings that you have, that you really wish you never had, that writing it down on paper is equivalent of slitting your wrists and using your blood as ink?
Not that I’m saying writing House/Wilson slash fics is so dirty (which incidentally, there are some dirty ones) that it’s equivalent to slitting your wrist. Some of them are so tender, bit like Brokeback Mountain which I thoroughly enjoyed. I’m just wishing that I could write anything: House/Wilson slash fics, Martha/Rose, original fics that include thoughts scandalous that would make my parents blush. And cry.
Instead, I keep thinking, noooo! People will find out. And I have a “teh srs” (lolcat speak for “the serious”) job, one that requires me to get all suity from time to time. And the backlash in Malaysia for writing anything that is not of the norm (example: It is acceptable to write about sex in Malaysia if it is cliched. Like bad girl sleeps around. Acceptable. Good girl thinks screw this good girl thing, hey, wait, screw everything! – Not acceptable). I can’t even imagine. I didn’t like P Ramlee the Musical and I got trashed for voicing my opinion on why I thought it was bad.
Knowing that I’m self-censoring ourt of fear is makes me feel pretty darn pissed off. And I think, that’s the reason why I’m in such a pissy mood.
Edit (10/1/08): Re-reading this entry (hence I really should never post in a pissy mood), I worry that I come off as equating slash to well, hardboiled fiction or something equally perverse. I thought it’d be best to reiterate that slash/het fics are comparatively mild compared to hardboiled. What I’m getting at is that I’m so…conservative and shy about writing these things that whilst I’ve grown to be more fascinated with slash, I don’t think I’d be able to write it. Not because it’s gross, more like I’m too shy to write about these things. Anything to do with sex, I’m incredibly embarrassed about, making me more of a prude more than anything else.
Posted 1/7/2008 at 9:39 AM