Rather

I am not sure if I want to remember.
But if I have to live with regret, I would rather not remember it.

I would rather not remember being disappointed with myself.
I would rather not remember not feeling the need to cry.
I would rather not remember that how far I go depends on myself.
I would rather not remember my vivid dreams of terror and even those of love that haunt me as if they were possibilities.
I would rather not remember wanting certain things, many things, that I wish I did not want.
I would rather not remember these feelings.
I would rather not remember being alone.
I would rather not remember liking it quite so much to stay that way.

But then if I forgot, I would not remember what made me up and I would lose sight of what I truly wanted from life and the means to acheive it.
How else would I one day achieve my hope of living in isolation from the rest of the world and never coming in contact with another soul again?
Of course, the proper term for this ambition is to be a hermit but I'm sure you, as I did, would only begin to picture grizzly old men with long snowy hair and tangled white beards wearing bearskins and living in caves and carrying chipped walking staffs with roots knotted around it.

Some of these things are easier to forget than others.
But I would rather not remember which.

Cherish

            A scar streaked across his face, beginning as a thin scratch on his forehead and ending at a wound on his nose the size of his thumb. A deep crimson scab had already covered it though, and it seemed to her that for the little boy wearing it, the mark simply did not exist. He beamed as he beheld the candy counter, a smile that illuminated more than his face for it elicited smiles both from her and his nanny. He waddled around unsteadily on his tiny feet to look at the shelves behind him.

            A shrill squeal of joy escaped his lips as his eyes alighted upon the 16” teddy bears seated atop the nearest shelf. Her grin widened as she stepped out from behind her counter to reach for the teddy bear, brought it down before his wary eyes and handed the soft toy over to him. He hesitated a moment before accepting the offer as his nanny had nodded on encouragingly.

            Another ecstatic exclamation erupted and the child nearly toppled backward as he wrapped his arms around the bear that was as tall as he was. With a suggestion from the nanny, he began tottering precariously down the aisle in the direction of his mummy. The bear he held out in front of him seemed to be walking of its own accord as he shuffled it along. After a few excited squeaks and after the mother had checked the price of the toy and agreed to purchase it, the bear was carefully left on the counter and the little boy was left free to roam the store. Mummy and his little unborn sibling were still poring over the bottles of vitamins.

            With his nanny gamely trotting metres behind, the child proceeded to make his way through the aisles, his happy giggles leaving a trail. His mother was done after a while, and returned to the counter, calling out her son’s name.

            “Isaac!” she said, and the nanny echoed behind her having deserted the boy and joined her mistress.

            From her counter, she saw the child prancing past the makeup, searching for the source of the voice.

            “Isaac!” the mother cooed again, returning to the back of the store to search for him. The nanny followed dutifully, missing the boy as he appeared around the shelves at the front of the store. He caught sight of his mother’s figure disappearing through the shelves at the end of the row. “Ah!” he laughed, chasing after her.

            She watched him stumble off on his minute pair of feet and a tidal wave of emotions overcame her. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes as she felt and comprehended what the moment had beheld, a moment that they could never go back to. Would they remember, she wondered, one day in the future when the child was a moody, temperamental teenager and the mother a grouchy, overbearing figurehead, the love and trust they had had for each other that day at the store? Would he desire so much to run after her with such delight anymore? Would she have coaxed him to her with such a tender tinge to her voice?

            No one could tell what the future beheld, or how long lives were allowed to stretch before they are no more. The next year, the next day, the next hour could bring about anything. But as she looked upon the scene before her, she knew that such treasure as money cannot hope to procure was worth whatever the past had wrought or the future was scheming. It was in the present, in that moment when she witnessed beauty and love, not just by sight or sound but somewhere deep in a recess of her heart that often lay ignored and abandoned throughout the day. It was the devoted and undivided love a child had for his mother and the joy he proclaimed by it, it was the trust and warm affection a mother had towards her child and the care she took after him because of it.

            It was to her one of the greatest wonders of the world and of the heavens.

            And so, even after the mother had made her purchases and the little scar-faced boy had left with a rapturous glee brought on by his new teddy bear, and even after an old man had called her rude and uneducated for following company protocol and refusing to give him change for a hundred ringgit bill, she sealed the moment tightly and kept it locked away in her memory so she would not lose it. She knew someday her emotion might cloud over her judgment and at such moments, the memory would be of profound importance, unless she forgot it. But in any case, it had been of profound importance at the present – and a gift it had been.

Departure

"Let her go," he said calmly, tugging her away. She blanched, but did not move any further towards her. He maintained his grip on her arm, but his frowned deepened and he looked instead at the other girl as he continued, "She'll survive."

And with that, he let go of her.

She stood up straight and nodded, pushing her soft hair from her face. Her eyes bore a look of deep sadness. "I know," she answered. "She is."

And with that, they both turned and left, leaving her. Alone.

Mishaps and Their Men

Are our words atoned for by who we are, cars we drive or importance of our lives? Meh, don’t think so.

Today I heard tell of a ludicrous situation.

My mom was cruising along past a green traffic light (according to her) when this black Peugeot dashed out of another lane into her path. A collision occurred and naturally, my mother looked to see who happened to be behind the wheel of the other car. A man got out of the driver’s seat to speak to her, but before that, another man seated at the back of the car rolled down his window and started yelling at her.

“What are you trying to do, kill me? Do you know who I am?”

My mom of course simply stated that she did not know the man, whoever he was, and proceeded to ask the driver about him. In an undertone, the driver had told her that the man at the back of the car was some soon-to-be-promoted-to-big-shot-status chief of some totally-unheard-of company.

The man then started yelling at her that his traffic light had been green, to which my mom replied no, she had seen the green light on her side of the road. This she backed with the reason that the cars behind the man’s car still hadn’t moved as the light on his side was obviously red. The man insisted he was right and threatening my mom with a police result.

This is ridiculously funny. And not even because I believe the lights my mom saw were green.

Firstly, it is my belief that a person must attain some level of worth before being intentionally murdered without being raped or robbed first. If that person is not a) a president, presidential candidate or someone of that status, b) a tyrannous dictator, c) someone with a mentally disturbed or distressed relative or d) holding trillions of dollars in an offshore account, then murdering that person would be an utterly worthless and redundant thing to do and no one would waste the time and effort to do so. In our now very much connected world however, it has become possible to destroy the social standing of a person through social networking, hence there is no reason to assassinate political figureheads anymore, unless that person is an equal of Gaddafi.

I assume that because he was only riding a Peugeot and my mother does not know who he was, he is definitely not big shot enough and no one with brains would bother trying to kill him.

Secondly, he asked whether my mom knew who he was. What a waste of breath, because I don’t see how this changes anything. If he was a politician, he would be a lot more honeyed with his subjects, or someone would post this on YouTube and kick him off his seat. If he were some company chief, he’d probably threaten to make life very difficult for my mother seeing as how he can claim to have the means to do so. But then that would not be possible seeing as how he did not know who she was. Or he could, as he so threatened, make a police report against her.

Apart from the fact that this man isn’t even the chief of anything as of today, making police report is more than just a waste of breath but a waste of time as well. Unless he is willing to waste two hours sitting there bored out of his wits with their endless and completely mindless dithering and pay them a nice fat sum after that, he is likely not to get much out of it. If he is willing to part with half of his wallet however, he could be arrested under bribery, thus making all schemes backfire on him.

But oh, what’s the point of blabbering on about this when he won’t read this? If I were there, would I have given him such a piece of my mind? No. I would probably just have raised an eyebrow at him as he demanded to know whether I knew him or not and snorted at his incredulity, giving him a face that plainly said, “For real?” Then again, he could have threatened to make a police report against my face because he is after all, one who claims to be a big shot in a good old Peugeot.

The Tune that Had No Tune, and the Story It Told

She hummed a tune
That had no tune
And in it she gave sound to her emotion
She stirred the wind with her confusion
And twisted the air with tendrils of her resignation
She breathed herself into the world
That it might know her
If it so cared to

She was a quiet soul
Sole meeting soil with no sound
She would have liked to think she left no memory
No imprint
For that was how she felt to be
And if it wasn't, perhaps maybe she could be
Fine, she knew could never be
But should have been
To her

Because she knew the world was made up of things she could never accquire
Not only of fame and fortune
But of people with distorted eyes and wrong hearts
And of the loud mouths
Loud open mouths
Especially those, she could not hope to accquire
Nor did she want to accquire
It disturbed her

So she fashioned for herself
A place she believed she could stay
For it was made of only the things that would accomodate her
But in the place, she knew
She could not stay
For her head would not let her
She returned to the world, but thought constantly of it
Even though she knew it was an undoing
Of what should be

But there she was
And could be, as she wished
Alone
Where she could hum her tune without a tune
Of lonliness, of sadness, of wanting not to be
But the tune of no tune
Also of acceptance
And not wanting anything but

I am alone
I know you do not understand
And I know it may be quite dangerous
But I want to be

I’d always thought that my awkwardness was a thin veil disguising the real me. The me that was funny and could write songs that touched people. The me that would one day find some beautiful, intelligent boy who’d recognize me as his soul mate. The me who was secretly pretty and stylish if only someone would lift the veil and see. But I was beginning to suspect that underneath the awkwardness there was just more awkwardness and not much else. And that would explain why I stood in a room full of people and felt like the loneliest girl in the world.

- Sarra Manning

Work, Day 3

Hai semue.
*slaps vigourously pats cheeks*
Give me a couple of days and I'll probably be dreaming in BM.
I've discovered that everyday has its share of interesting and remarkable customers. Out of natural instinct to reveal these personalities to you - if only to have something to scrawl on about - I shall relate all of their characteristics and my encounter with them for you.

1. THE LITTLE GIRL WHO SCREAMEDAs I have mentioned before, little kids are the life and soul of the place - most especially the noisy ones. One small child in particular, upon setting foot in the shop, squealed with delight at the array of teddy bears we had painstakingly lined atop the shelves. "TEHDEE BEARUH! MAMEE LOOOK, TEHDEE BEARRRUHHH!" she shouted with evident joy. Then, upon spying the umbrellas, she whipped a bright purple one out with a most jolly "AMBRAELLAAAAAR! MAMEE LOOOK, AMBRELLAAAAAR! MAMEE, MAMEE..." Ah, she livened up the day! :D
2. The environmentalist with the old son, the young son and the English accent
   So I know he's married and wasn't even good looking but seriously. Anyone - especially locals - with impeccable grammar who walks in just makes me...ecstatic. Even the women. And what an environmentalist! Happiness filled me. :)
3. The old man and his wife
   An old man who came in, stared at me, and stared at my name tag. Then he walked off and whispered into his wife's ear. A few minutes later, the wife came up to me and brusquely asked, "You're a Chinese, right?" To which I replied, "Yes, I am." (In hindsight, I supposed I should have said I was Indonesian or Portuguese.) She explained, "Ha, I knew I was right," and peered at my name tag. "My husband thought you were a Malay."
   This is not the first, nor will it be the last. These Chinese people, I tell you. They're even calling me "kakak" now.
4. The aunty who spent a good ten minutes comparing the prices and goodness-knows-what other qualities of facial wipes.
   And she talked, too. Need I say more.
5. The mugging college kids who had way too much money to spend.I mean, buying a box of Brands Essence of Chicken when it wasn't even really on promotion and cost more here than anywhere else?
6. The lady who knew me.Why is it that everyone claims to know me but I can't remember a single speck of their face from anywhere at all? And this lady, she even knew who my father was.
7. The "codeine" man.Naturally, due to feeble grasp of chemistry, I knew what he was talking about when no one else didn't. *punches air* But of course, I didn't remember what codeine is used for, which was a pity. Back to the books it is!

#nowplaying Faizal Tahir's Bencinta. No one quite cuts it like Faizal Tahir. ;)

Dear fellow Chinese people

(especially the old aunties and scrawny specky teenage boys),

Because you are clearly misguided and have obviously been wrongly educated, I have deemed it prudent and necessary to bring to your attention that I AM ONE OF YOUUUU. I know I may be lacking in them upward-slanting cat eyes and the alabaster skin so defining of our kind, but I can assure you that that does not make me any less like you. I too delight in partaking of scrumptiously savoury bovine and also teem lap chok as a sign of ancestral homage paid. I, unlike many others - you know of whom I speak! We shall not even mention those rotten fruits - am even rather adept in this rather, um...fascinating tongue of Cantonese. Moreover, I never fail to uphold the most distinguished practice of our race - kiasu-ism. It cannot be doubted that the blood of this race runs hot through my veins!
So please stop stuttering in attempted BM at me with the ill-conceived notion that I am a Malay. Firstly, it is an utter disgrace to the beautiful and elegant language of our nation and secondly, you just flatter me way too much. Bengang betul lah korang ni. Dah la nak kembang cam belon.

I'm a bloody traitor, oh yes I am.

Dear beloved and highly (un)faithful readers,

Greetings.
It is my pleasure to inform you that from this moment on, I shall be making a daily and consistent effort to craft grammatically flawless English pieces with as much finesse and panache as I can possibly muster after a gruelling nine hours of standing in a health and beauty store, running after customers and punching figures into an ancient machine. Otherwise, my less-than-fluent-in-this-language-of-yore co-workers shall overpower me with their overwhelming fluency in our local tongue, something I have perhaps hoped a little too much for.

Work is...everything I expected it to be. Exhausting beyond measure but - due to the grace that is the presence of crazy, lovable co-workers - adequately enjoyable. I could spout a slew of inconveniences, major annoyances, problems and turn-offs, but I think of the little blessings, bursts of incoherent laughter and those moments that bring slight bliss, it's worth it. Perhaps this much insight is a little premature, but I've been in that place for nine hours already. Nine hours.

First-day downs include the absolute terror of coming face to face with the mystery shopper. I mean, the possibility of having an uncomprimisingly rigid inspector deduct marks from me because I was lacking in skill and knowledge scared the wits out of me, all right! I'm gonna need a little more time than nine hours to figure out what brand has the best BB cream (which is naturally the most expensive) and whether guys can take women's collagen or not (word of mouth has assured me there is nothing wrong with it). Then there is the also uncompromisingly long (nine hours) of standing around in painful and very flat black flats (hence the term "flats" I suppose, which sounds uncomfortable enough itself. Bring back the trainers, please!) I spent an hour was spent stretching and warming my muscles after that. Hanging around behind a counter all day is not for the used-to-stretching-and-moving-about-every-few-hours such as I. And I have a feeling I will one day regret not being permitted to submit all them "family-planners" to interrogative questioning and counselling on their "decisions".

A first day plus point come in the form of little kids zooming around the place. I feel as if they are so easy to relate to - and not just because they are closer to me in stature, okay. I can just understand completely their utter fascination for the candy counter and their high-pitched squeals of "Mummy, mummy, can we buy some candy, pleeeease...can we get this one, or this one, or how about this one....mummy, pleeeeeease...". Like keeddoz, what a coincidence, ME TOO! At least I'm behind the counter where I cannot see anything but the lollipops, which I am not that into anyway. But I can see the happy and much loved fluffy bear-bears sitting atop the shelves across me! And I'm standing at the cashier where I get to scan stuff (as per my childhood pretendings), punch numbers in, dictate how many stickers people get and whether or not they get plastic bags (they usually don't). And it's air-conditioned. And we'll never run out of food because the place is full of awesome goodies. And I'm getting paid while being very well educated with knowledge that will definitely serve me well in the time to come.

Surprisingly, the customers are not a bane or a boon. They are just like...me. People I can see pieces of myself in. Goodness knows I annoy the heck out of myself sometimes and that I take forever to look around without buying anything and am capable of walking into the wrong shops and demand discounts for defective products and if I get what I want, smile and say thank you. Regular people.

But enough of my naive blabbering as if I really had that much to say about the working world. If you have not heard of Fata Morganas, do look them up. Supernatural magic stuff! This brilliant and terrifying phenomena shall be of much use to me.

For fully animated rambligs, please redirect to my Tumblr, kthnxbai.