May, 2006

TV2 aired Bend It Like Beckham last night, complete with censoring the part where Parminder Nagra and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers snogged at the airport. While watching it, I was reminded of someone else I knew who sped off right after her sister’s wedding for a game of football. Ahem.

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There’s this song that’s tied in with One Tree Hill, called Halo, which was supposedly written by a character in the show called Haley James Scott. Part of the words talk about putting people up on a pedestal, when they refuse to be there. It makes sense, I suppose. Why would anyone fully aware of the chinks in their armour ever want to be hoisted up for all to see? It’s bad enough living with your hang-ups yourself, without having the whole world scrutinise you. That is why I think George Bush is quite the perennial idiot.

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Have you ever noticed how underdressed people are when they are in the cash-payment lobby at Citibank? Women have never been prouder to strut their tattiest t-shirts – as they step out of a 5-series Beemer, no less.

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I am fascinated by Kampung Baru, for some reason. Especially at night. It may have to do with one of two related things: firstly, the fact that I have no idea how to get there, by car or otherwise, thereby adding a mysterious aura to the area itself. Secondly, because it is, for all intents and purposes, a kampung-like area, lying in the shadows of the tallest skyscrapers in the city – and in particular, two twin towers that currently are the tallest in the world.

Kampung Baru is, of course, one of the best eating havens in the city, if you’re looking for authentic Malay-ish food, accompanied by Senario/Era FM related ambience. Standing in its well-lit streets, I often wonder how the place looked like a century ago. Or even 50 years ago, really, beings that Kuala Lumpur has changed by leaps and bounds since Independence.

One of my interviewers told me that her husband went to KL last year, and he related to her how amazed he was that KL never slept; and that it was very urban, very metro, and most of all, not much different in spirit to London or Paris. I suppose in the same way that London has her hidden nooks and crannies, KL has Kampung Baru – where in the whole scheme of things, as the world revolves very rapidly around them, life goes on at its own pace there.

One of these days I should do the photojournalist thing and go take pictures there at night. In between the futsal whoring, of course.

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Is it more depressing for you to know that I don’t care anymore, or that I don’t care that you care?

Now that all we have left to do is take a trip up to Ipoh next week for the groom’s reception, I am now futsal whoring to the max. Seriously. If you need an extra body, pleaaaaaaaaaase let me know. I am desperate. Saya sanggup main ala-kahwin mishar – I play purely for your satisfaction.. you tak bayar I nafkah pun tak apa…

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My dad asked me if I wanted to go back to Kelantan next week; I politely declined, despite the fact that it has been a good 6 years, almost, since I’ve been back. I don’t think I have anything against the state in which I was born, but the only memories I have of the place involve very long car drives, aching backs, and extreme boredom.

It isn’t boredom for the lack of things to do; but more so for the lack of space to do what I want to do. Which consists of not much more than lying down on the veranda with a good book and sleep in the breeze. I used to think that I was a true-blue city girl, but despite being the center of various universes, neither Lancaster nor Bangi are urban hotbeds. Come to think of it, neither is Colchester. The appeal of them all are that they are quiet townships on the brink of larger cities. All this reinforces the idea of getting a one-bedroom apartment. Everyone else can sleep on the floor.

I am toying with the idea of taking 2-3 days off this week or next week, for some sun, sea and sand. Just give me a good seaside resort with Wi-Fi access. I have a thesis chapter to write, and I refuse to join the ranks of ‘regular customer’ at this Starbucks outlet.

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Being a part of the bride’s family during the wedding preparations last weekend, I was often summoned by those who dropped by to help when they needed a piece of this or a piece of that. It hit home quite quickly that I had no idea where anything was anymore. Nothing I was asked to find, I found, except perhaps my car keys. Kinda sobering, on some levels.

All in all everything went well; despite the fact that this was the first wedding in our extended family; and we were not quite sure of all the traditions and stuff. Quite surprising to see we had many friends coming out of the woodworks and chipped in whether they were asked to or not; always useful, that.

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If you would, could I recommend a book? A Plea for Eros, by Siri Hustvedt. I never knew I had a thing for short essays.

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If you could choose where you set up home base, would you go for :

a) a studio apartment
b) a one bedroom apartment
c) a two bedroom apartment

given that you expect to live alone, with your books, DVDs and various game consoles? Occasionally you expect the random guest to drop by – but would that be worth investing in an extra bedroom for?

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The truest of true facts about moving around is that however far you take yourself, there is a part of you that you can never leave behind, because it lives inside you.

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Sometimes it hurts, you twat.