Yesterday…all my troubles seem so faraway

So yesterday.

Yesterday was a strange day. I could take yesterday as one of those lousy, awful, good for nothing days but looking back yesterday, I think I took it pretty well, considering…

Considering, let’s see:

1. My car won’t start

2. The news.

But there were some good stuff: Adil and Shida’s wedding. I seem to have a habit of making friends with people who marry each other. Not a bad thing of course, but it does mean I have to attend both bride and groom’s side to a wedding. At the risk of looking like I’m one hard up person for weddings, I just don’t feel right only attending one side: a bit like I’m favouring one over the other.

But anyway. Caught up with Shahril, Pablo, Ded, Safa and Faren where we made very stupid comments (we were hungry!) and giggled like a bunch of teenagers through out the event. For some reason everything cracked us up – must have been the lovely chocolate cake Sime Darby supplied. When Adil’s father appeared on screen, Shahril remarked that would be Adil, 20 years time.

“Do you think our children will be attending his kid’s weddings thirty years time?”

“Yes. Probably,” I said. “Probably making as many stupid comments as we are now.”

Cue: Dissolving into giggles.

Looking back, we weren’t particularly witty but I think when lunch is served late, and the other alternative is to be grumpy and sulk, I think laughing inanely helps.

But the car. Oh the car. I have no idea what’s wrong with the car, although based on expert opinion (thank you Google!), I’ve narrowed it down to either the starters or the batteries. One article I read said that if there was build up, it could cause problems with the connection and there is some build up. I’m not very mechanicall-y, rather the stereotype girl when it comes to cars and tuning but I think I’ll try and clean the battery with Eizwan’s help this week before dragging my oh-so-irresponsible feet to AAM and paying the RM 180 so that they could tow my car to professionals.

Later that evening, I received some awful news. Not to go into detail about it and providing further gossip fodder for well but to summarize. I’m Asian. I have strange concepts that I adhere to such as water-face (air muka). And this had affected me there terribly, I’m learning to let go, it’ll take me a few days…I’ll get better eventually. The post helps tremendously, writing it always does help.

It’s password protected but sorry guys, no clue this time. Message me and I’ll email you the password.

So Facebook or email me if you want to read it. Don’t be offended if I don’t give you the password though – depending on which circles we hang about with, I don’t want to be the cause of any malicious ill-will either.

Read somewhere that as a writer, you’re naturally very angry – comes with the territory. Not quite a writer just yet – writing one or two articles and a play does not maketh me a writer just yet. But you get what I mean.

Of Swimming, Tigers and Being Loved

So Stringbean due to the unfortunate weather conditions and my less than reliable pair of lungs, have been on-and-off again. But this morning, I woke up to sunlight streaming through the crack in my curtains, meaning yes! The sun has broken through the dust particles in the sky andit is a morning that I could swim.

So off to swim I went, probably the first time in a week and a bit.

Stamina, as expected was at an all-time low, my arms ached during my freestyle and I was finding it difficult to remember the twist my core. But, stroke count has improved massively! I’m quite, quite chuffed by this one, and hoping I’d improve some more!

***

I like swimming in the mornings. Mostly because the only people at the pool early in the morning tend to be the elderly, there are few younger people i.e twenty to thirty somethings in the pool. It does not make me feel weird, actually, younger people make me feel very weird. It’s this bizarre competitive feeling that inevitably crops up when they’re there – like I can swim better and faster than you. And there will inevitably be a mad dash through the pool where we’re swimming as fast as we can and we’re both thoroughly exhausted at the end.

Older people don’t really bother you, they’ve been there for years, whilst us young uns are faddish – we’ll move on to the next hip and happening exercise regime when the time comes. But they’re quite chatty and they do talk to you in between laps.

One older man asked me today where I’ve been. “Haven’t been seeing you around.”

I pointed to the sky. “Haze. Been affecting my asthma.”

“Ooh? That’s not good.”

I smile, about to continue my next lap when he suddeny said, “You should go to the zoo.”

This is the point where I pretend to understand what is going on. My training in government has helped me a lot.

“Eh?”

“Yes, the zoo. Get some dead tigers. You should eat some of them. It will help your asthma.”

I really should start a list of the bizarre things I’ve been recommended to eat that would help my asthma. So far, colostrum, alligators and tigers top the list.

Though, I guess people are trying to help me get better so I should not feel so ungrateful. Or perplexed.

***

I am feeling very much loved. Like uber-loved. I’ve been writing without chapters for my story, it’s not a habit that I recommend but I started doing so due to Nanowrimo. As some of you may know, Nanowrimo requires you to do a word count, and so I did without chaptering to help the word count.

I was telling Eizwan yesterday that I’ve been having problems seeing where I was going, since my story feels like one gigantic chunk as opposed to smaller digestible pieces. Eizwan said he’ll see what he could do and just left it at that.

This morning, I woke up and in my Inbox, Eizwan compiled my writing into one word document, broke the story up into chapters and even created a table of contents that links to the chapters.

After the swim this morning, I’m on a real natural high!

Stringbean postponed?

So…it is a dull, grey Wednesday morning. I woke up early thinking I’d go for a swim but with the haze become a bit of an issue lately, and early morning, with the mists and the rain, sometimes it’s not easy to tell whether the grey skies are due to a lovely shower or smoke billowing from Sumatra.

Well, it helps that I’m oh-so-lazy and it’s just adding to my list of excuses to drag my sorry ass out of bed to go swim. So instead, I assure myself I’ll go swimming in the afternoon after I ascertain that the dull skies is just typical monsoon weather as oppposed to unseeing dust particles just waiting to wreck my lungs.

Heh.

***

It’s a terribly boring week this week but after the excitement that was this weekend (of seeing Manchester United and spending nearly 4 hours in total of traffic – lovely), I’m rather looking forward to doing nothing.

Well, almost nothing, I really have to finish my novel. I know I’ve been saying that for the past year already – starting to sound like a broken record – to think that future generations will find that statement quaint! – starting to sound like a skipping CD – dang, that’s quaint too! It’s all mp3s these days  – anyway, I really have to stop saying certain things and just do it. I blog about it mostly hoping by making public declarations, I’d shame myself into doing something with my life. Instead, I find my shame has no bounds, I can blog about it and not do it.

Perhaps I find inspiration from local Malaysian politics? – I kid. Let’s not talk about Malaysian politics, it’s cumbersome, tiring and frankly uninspiring.

But I really want to finish that damned thing, I want to get around to editing it and then start something new. And then I can flog the thing, I’m not optimistic, it would be too hardbreaking to be optimistic at this point.

Alright, enough blogging. Time for some breakfast and to do some work.

So…the training session

The training session was…interesting.

Well, no, it was actually boring, and standing around crazy rabid Manchester United fans was the interesting/borderline scary part. For the most part, I felt ultra-feminine amidst all the testosterone in the audience.

Although, ironically, with all these men screaming each time Rooney or Berbatov waves at them reminds me of how I would, predictably swoon if I were to ever meet David Tennant.

Not that I’ve met David Tennant. But I would like to. And I do predict I would be screaming or swooning or a combination of both when I do see him. Like the boys in the stadium yesterday.

Hmph. Men.

It felt odd being in the audience, considering I’m a fake fan. Fake because I support them by cheering their score…when I read it in the papers the next day. Talking trash about Liverpool or Arsenal supporters (because it’s so easy!). I am proud to recognize most of the bigger players (man, these men were buff!) – like Rooney, Berbatov, Giggs but none of the others. Well by face anyway.To top it all off – I wore my brother’s shirt, and today, will wear his kit so that I look like a real proper fan.

I am the stereotypical sister/girlfriend/wife fan. The types that give the scary female fans a bad rep.

But I am able to somewhat redeem myself because I KNOW THE OFFSIDE RULE. Hah!

The haze was absolutely awful yesterday, I spent most of the evening sneezing and imagine poor Scholes was not having too much of a gala time either (he’s asthmatic too!) but I had a fairly amusing time. Malaysians are so desperate for greatness, for our idols that we cheer at…Every. Single. Thing. Rooney waved! Yayyy! The coach picked up the ball! Yayyyy!! Berbatov missed the water bottle thrown at him. Awwww!!Yayyy!!

I don’t know. I felt a combination of endearment and pity for our rabid love for Manchester United.

It’s the same feeling I had when I saw Federer the last time he came. I adore the man, if he wasn’t having babies with Mirka, I’d have babies with him too (I think he comes in 3rd or 4th in the list of men I’d like to have babies with) but it’s frustrating, you know? It’s awesome to see Federer/Manchester United with my own eyes but it’s not the same as watching a real match.

And being in the crowd yesterday made me feel that kind of restlessness I’ve been feeling this past year. It’s not enough I see Federer’s exhibition match – I want to see him play in the Finals. It’s not enough I see MU potentially trashing my poor Malaysian team, I want to see them in a Premier League match. I want Malaysia to be able to host a real game, where the stakes are high and everything is real. I want the real deal.

As Belle sang impassionedly in Beauty and the Beast – “There must be more than this provincial life!”

Ah well. Round 2 tonight. I am so not looking forward to the crazy traffic I’d have to suffer through. Took me two hours to get home yesterday.

But Eizwan’s coming home tonight. There’s always a good thing in everything that happens =)

Once in every 8 years

As it happened with my brother:

“So when is Eizwan coming home?”

“Tomorrow actually. I feel kind of bad, because I think he wanted me to pick him up from the airport.”

“Well, can’t you?”

“So I asked him when he’s arriving. He was like, ‘6pm’ and I’m like, ‘Uh-oh’. That’s kick-off.”

My brother nodded wisely.

“I feel kinda bad, abandoning my future husband at the airport.”

“Well, you’re going to see him all the time next year. Now Scholes and Giggs, you only seem them once in 8 years! I think that takes priority.”

Can I elope?

Warning: Grumpy post ahead

Today was the first day that I went back swimming again. After only a week and a bit of being out of swimming, my stamina was well, shit really. Usually I do 20 laps without much of a fuss but I was done after 10 laps and was thoroughly exhausted at the end.

*Sigh* It’s going to take me ages to get my stamina back. Curse you asthma.

***

Every so often, despite feeling like I’ve got a handle on all-things-wedding, I would suddenly panic a little and then go back on a wedding overdrive. Yesterday, the panic was about the dress as I’ve no idea who to turn to do my dress.

So till late last night, I browsed through sappy wedding blog after sappy wedding blog expounding the virtues of their hunny (my poor fiancee…his future wife has a heart of stone) and their every. Single. Detail. About. The. Wedding. Of. Their. Dreams.

At points, I felt like shaking these girls by the shoulders, screaming ‘Get a grip!’. There is more to life than getting married, there is more to life than playing house and having babies.

Actually, I thank God for their need to excessively share every part of their lives because I’ve finally figured out where I might be able to tailor my dress. I’m not going to link the links here, it’s not quite nice to mock someone and then link them back (okay, I’m a coward) but they’re out there if you know how to look.

God, they’re really sappy.

If I start being all cloyingly sweet (or unnecessarily nasty) blame it on reading through nearly 10 of those blogs last night. I could not quite write last night (haha, blaming others) as my thoughts and the mood sort of deteriorated along with the blogs. As soon as I began to write, I felt that my characters were starting to deteriorate, I could not get the feel that I’ve been getting for the past one week about the world that I’ve created. My characters are now wedding-obsessed AND they seem to have stepped out of some shrieky Malay drama.

And then at today’s bridal fair, my mood was further un-enhanced having to battle through some women who felt like it’s the appropriate place to start their vendor negotiation. Honey, your wedding is not till 10th October 2010 (urgh, tacky dates). Move along now, you have time and give THE REST OF KUALA LUMPUR a chance to talk to the vendor.

Not to mention, I dreamt again, for the fifth time that the groom’s weddng party arrived on the wedding day and not only do I not have anything to wear, I’ve done virtually nothing. So I had to sort of make do with my only baju kurung in my closet on my wedding, a very bright purple outfit that I wore to my cousin’s wedding years ago and slapping on some make up. I looked like a bum for my own wedding.

This foreshadowing doth me no good.

Yes, I only have one baju kurung in my closet. Wait, no. Two. The second one is one that I use at every single wedding other than family’s. Wait, including family.

Hmph.