My Trusty Tools: The Pilot and the Zebra

I ran to the post office, walked back, and ran up the stairs to the 16th floor. All of that today, and the days to come, for that faithful mass of muscle weighing less than a pound that kept me going for the past two decades. Well, there are other contributors to life and survival than just the heart but let's not argue.

It was fun to expend all that energy to depletion (nearly) but it also meant a lazy afternoon. My pencil case got my attention but ultimately, I was drawn to its contents. There's the scientific calculator which once elicited a "what is this thing with so many buttons on it?" from my mother.

There they are...

The star in that microcosmic world of writing implements has got to be the Pilot G-1 gel ink pen with a rubber grip. I don't remember when exactly I got it but looking at some test papers (yes, I keep my Malay and English essay papers) and exercise books, I've had it with me since 2001. 

Being a leftie, I get some unwanted smears when I write fast. Sometimes, the ink just got through to the other side of the page. I love it on cards and for writing one-liners. I no longer use it for work now. With 1 cm-ish of ink left, I'll let it go into semi-retirement. 

Next comes the Zebra mechanical pencil (I was looking it up and found it on eBay). I love this one a lot. Partly because it's a gift from a significant person. I go to an all-boys school and I'm straight so yeah... 

Unlike my [oft-misplaced] rulers, I make sure this one stays in the pencil case when not in use. Great companion during the hours arranging a poetical piece. 

It really is funny. The heart I mean. One word with two meanings. One with a routine task of pumping blood; incapable of feelings and affected only by electrical impulses. The other is intangible but is most perceptible by everyone: it's capable of reacting to stimuli such as love, hatred, or excitement. It appears to be able to advise, cherish, and affects moods. 

Wait! Do we love with our heart or with our mind then?

 

Bittersweet Scottish Summer

I stared at the empty page

Not knowing whether to bitch or make an adage

Maybe I could try to wet that six by eight with ade

Concocted and brimmed in my dreamy head

During the Bealltainn companioned by the Great Highland bagpipe

I heard myself humming to delightful melodies

Yesterday I awoke to a dampened hype

In fellowship with silence I groaned in my maladies

Images of a kvetching child now dance before me

Echoes of her voice are haunting but no less than endearing

It’s but a short time before she melds into the scenery

That of a luxuriant Kelvingrove Park, reddening

The bench is empty, save for the weathered grains
A faithful third in every conversation

Whether they be blessings or banes

The gust has carried them to certain oblivion

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder

But it felt like the top of Ben Lui, only colder

Behind the tear-sealed palpebras picturing Loch Lomond

I revisit the sweet memories of summer gone

 

Autocracy, Bureaucracy, and I'm busy

As usual, faced with an enormous list of things to do, I'm complaining about the lack of time in a day. There's only so much (and a little more) a person can do before 10 x 5 = ? takes more effort than usual to compute.

This is where my favourite part of toiling comes in: the reward. My "have a break, have a Kit Kat" time. Instead of chocolates, I go on a blog hop or streaming videos on YouTube. Recently, everyone was sharing the Undilah (Vote-lah) PSA on facebook and I must say, the messages are spot on.

1. exercise our right to vote (meaning you register if you'd never voted before

2. the people's the boss (and like most evil bosses, they have the "Eject" and "Promote" buttons to push)

Still, when I learned that the PSA was taken off the air (not that it really matters since there are plenty of resources on the Net), I felt that someone on top was annoyed by the contents and the 'extras' making a cameo appearance.

I don't know, I might be wrong. Of course, they have their reasons for doing so. They always have some forms of a canned speech, don't they?

Back in school, I remember learning about the structure of the government and the principle of separation of powers. We discussed many things and one of it was the deadening subject of bureaucracy.

I wish I could meet up with Mr Anthony now and ask why didn't we learn that the government is autocratic? Well, to put it nicely, quasi-autocratic. I suppose this is tacit knowledge to most people? Again, I might be wrong because nowhere in the [mainstream] papers or news states that. We're a democratic country because... *trails off*

Oh well, I'll settle for a Jubilee Project PSA for now.

Teachers, I have so much love and admiration for them...Well, not quite everyone...
 

The Story of A Dry Bread

I meant to say rye bread.

But my French rye bread was a little on the dry side. It's always nice to learn the history and/or the story behind that certain recipe and how it came to be. The same couldn't be said about those posh-looking bakeries many of us walked into, at least once, in shopping malls.

The bread is alive!

Besides, the only story we'd tell others about that particular establishment is the costly loaves. In time, patronizing these places will be nothing more than history for some; with a less-than-sweet memory of burning a hole the pocket for something less than a sourdough – effort-wise.

Still looking for a stromboli here.

On Pane di Prato:

This typical Tuscan bread, also known as Pane Toscano, is made without salt. The absence of salt has a historical explanation. During the Middle Ages, Tuscany’s neighboring provinces controlled the Italian salt market, levying a heavy salt tax. Unwilling to submit to their rivals,  the Tuscans created breads made without salt. Such breads have a yeasty flavor, but quickly become stale. Tuscan cooks have developed a tradition of dishes using stale bread

-EricTreuille and Ursula Ferrigno, Bread

There's more to a loaf of bread than flour, water, salt, and leaven. We're so used to eating those plastic-packed loaves of soft bread that will only keep for 3 days or so. Anything that tastes different from these "standards" are not bread at all. Artisan bread are usually too dry, denser, and chewy. Bad.

Pain de seigle. French rye bread. (Source: La Panière)

Oh well, I grew up eating those "standard" slices everyday. Just thought I could bake my own. Never mind me, I'm on a restricted diet; for financial reasons that is.

To bake or to buy, to each his own! ^.^

Yoshi! Ikuzo!

Yes, I'm still sane but for how long? I can't tell. I've been motivating myself all day today and for the past weeks; prompting myself to go a step further. 

"Just one more line before you can stop for dinner. Never mind the aroma of baked squid stuffed with minced chicken, fish, shrimps, and crab meat (?)"

Operating from where I am right now, I couldn't have asked for a more strategic location in the house. Five steps to the east is my room. The place I would go to plop myself on the bed and heave loudly every few hours or so.

Five steps (yes, I counted) northwestward lies the kitchen when I need the heaven-sent liquid called water. It tastes sweet when I'm thirsty. Seriously.

The window to the north provides me a view of the outside world and sunsets are always beautiful. I said sunset because I let down the curtain to shield off the glare of daylight. No, I don't glitter nor burn.

Back to the coffee table where I work, it's in the path of the afternoon breeze blowing into my room and exits the window to my left.

A twitch to reposition myself. A scratch on the back to eliminate the itch. Turning my head in circles and shrugging to loosen up. That's about all the "physical activities" involved in a day. Gosh! And at 60 kg, I'm not exactly worried about my size but my heart.

A few hundred pixels away lies the bookmark button to Blogger and Windows Media Player. This is what's keeping me from mental lethargy although I get occasional blocks halfway at the 5100th word.

No English or Mandarin songs for me (even though I don't understand 80% of Mandarin) so I don't have auto-understand the lyrics. I'm switching to Japanese! Woot! I don't understand 8 out of 10 words I hear and I don't wish to either. For good reasons too: I can fully concentrate on making a 5-line sentence broken up in pieces by a mixture of commas, semicolons and dashes; all the time peppering it with words / jargons / phrases worthy of publication in an academic journal.

If I have to choose, I'll still go for blogging. They say all goods things are meant to be shared, so I'm embedding the MV to the song I've been listening to for the hundredth time now.

Sakura ~Anata ni Deaete Yokatta~ (さくら ～あなたに出会えてよかった～; Cherry Blossom ~I'm Glad to Meet You~)
 

The spacebar is not responding well and occasionally, wordsarenotproperlyseparated. Sometimes they do.

Hey, friend!

This a story about Abby. Yes, you can think of Abby as the Abby Sciuto from NCIS but she’s unlike Ms Sciuto in case the mention of her name conjures an image of a gothic girl totally addicted to Caf-Pow. Energetic yes, but relatively subdued.

It’s one of those high school boy-meets-girl-and-they-became-best-pals stories one hears ever so often.

The meeting in 2002 wasn’t your normal meet, greet, and shake the hand sort of encounter. Studying in a boy’s school (Go SXI!), the only girls we could meet are those in Form 6 (Pre-U) and I’m positive they don’t even have the time for immature nestlings like us. And we’re too preoccupied with street soccer to ogle at them; well, most of the time we’re busy if you know what I mean.

I got Abby’s number off a greeting card sent from her society (well, it’s those quasi-diplomatic well-wishing) but too bad she wasn’t in at that time. I left my number, who I am, the reason for the call, and a message before hanging up.

Before long, she returned the call and that marked the start of a lovely journey. The calls and texts went back forth more times than that between Kennedy and Khrushchev during the Cuban Missile Crisis. We talked about school, friends, studies, guys, girls, and empty chats in between.

Believe or not, we haven’t met even once. If there ever was a chance, and one that I didn’t grab, to meet her it would have to be the day she left for the UK for her A-Levels soon after our national examination, the MCE.

Left or right, here we are right now. (Photo credit: Thomas Pate)

Eight hours (7 in the summer) of time difference, there was only a small window for a chat and I wasn’t connected to the net all the time like I do now. A freshman in varsity, I once caught up with her on MSN Messenger at 10 A.M. local time and managed a 30-minute on-and-off chat. She’s a sophomore in University of Bristol now. Life as a student is great but hectic. Working at 2 A.M., I’m sure it is.

There was a long silence thereafter with an email or two in between. I received a call from her one night, a year later, when she was back here during her term break. Well, that’s how things were.

At a point in time, we’re on the same path and headed in the same direction. Then there comes the moment when a choice is required of us; ah, that fork that leads to many places of untold fortune. We make choices life and some of us simply actualize that choice which was made on our behalf long ago. Either way, we chart our own course and in the process grow apart from the people we’re once so close to. And I embrace that without a protest, just a tinge of sadness.

Was there something that I did wrong?

It’s been so long, eh? Here’s wishing you nothin bt blessings @another milestone in life. Happy birthday!...|

She turns 26 today.

24 + 6 = A Possible Windup

We've heard from the sages of old that there's no such thing as "not having enough time" and there's only "a bad time planner". I'm not so sure if 40 years from now I'd be saying that. 

Maybe not. Maybe I'll go, "Since 2000, time planners are an extinct group. With so much to do, their absence and presence are likened to that proverbial drop in the ocean.

"You see, unlike the 1970s, technology has grown by leaps and bounds and more output is required of us. Consequently, as one demand is satisfied..."

Really? Am I just finding excuses? I can't seem to finish anything and even if I did complete a part of it, I was rejoicing inside and immediately took a day worth of break. That's how tough certain things are.

I sleep 7, sometimes 6, at times 5 hours and I (my eyes) absorb blue light for the rest of my waking hours. Still, nothing's crossed out from my to-do list. of things to be done that seem go on and on.

Relaxation comes in the form of grilling that centre-cut fish fillet seasoned with nothing more than just salt and pepper for instance. If I decide to take more time off, then I'd be kneading dough (Newsflash: there's a no-knead bread recipe available online. See? Even bakers need more time to, say, prep a sourdough starter. Or to walk the dog and do the laundry).

It was 8 years (and still counting) ago that I last made pizza. Nowadays, my low-cal floury affair is Indian through and through. Who? Meet Miss Atta, people. That's right, chapati from atta flour. Goes well with that leftover rendang or a mashed up can of mackerel in tomato sauce.

Chapati anyone? Kneading it is rather therapeutic. All that pent-up energy and frustration...

Really, I wish there's an additional six hours or so in a day. Then I'd have nearly 2 days extra per week. Oh well, I've got to suck it up and push on. I'm glad I still come here to freshen up.

I Still Remember

This time around I thought I should speak for myself. If 2 years ago I wrote about "us" remembering, I'm not sure if "we" was well-defined.

Ten years ago on this day (it's already night time here, a little past 10 pm), my friend mentioned something about a plane, a building, and an explosion he heard from another person.

"It must be some urban warfare but where? Fighting in the Kosovo War ended some time back," I thought to myself. I now know it ended in 1999.

It all became clear over the next few days and ten years on, who doesn't recognize images of smoke billowing from the World Trade Center or the clip where the plane slammed into the building?

September 11, 2001 meant different things to different people.

For me, it sort of renewed my interest in conflicts around the world and studying why people did it. What was going on in their head when they planned to make headlines and taking lives – sometimes their own – in the process? From Jonestown to Oklahoma City; Waco, Texas; Madrid; London; Mumbai; or Beslan, Russia, we've often asked why they did it. What drives them? I guess we'd never get a satisfying answer.

I have a folder in my computer full of pictures, tribute videos, recorded phone calls, and saved copies of websites detailing the chronology of events both in and outside New York City. I remember getting all teary watching one clip in the middle of the night and reading about Flight 93*. It goes without saying that I watched (and I know I have to) United 93 when it was released in 2006.

Life goes on, as it always does, and this day like many other dates, is a reminder of the evil that human beings are capable of. It is also one that highlights the tenacity of the human spirit in the face of a horrifying adversary.

Try as I may, I will never be able to comprehend, fully, the grief felt by those who have lost their loved ones on that fateful day. But Americans remember. The world remembers. I remember.

*I'm glad to know that this page is still available online.
____________________
I'm not going to try and justify the events that took place following 9-11 but I know that the whole world felt it. War isn't a beautiful thing and it affects everyone. It is depressing to know we have to tighten our belts to save for fuel.

Hello, Love!

A year or two ago when I was still receiving my monthly stipend from MOSTI’s scholarship – or the student loan in ’05 for that matter – I’d save some and after deducting for food (sometimes good food to reward myself) and lodging, I’d spent the rest on my beloved.

It was well worth it even when I know my actions raised some eyebrows. They say a nothing gets through to a love-stricken person. Fast forward to yesterday, it felt it's a little painful to part with RM 80 even though that place offered a cheaper alternative for a have-not like me.

Enter Logos Hope. The ship called port weeks ago and it's about time I pay her a visit.

I got myself The Secret Life of Germs: Observations and Lessons from a Microbe Hunter by Phillip Tierno. Seeing what I’m working with now, it’s only natural that the title caught my eye as I scanned the titles left to right, top to bottom. 

Into the cart went One Extraordinary Day by Harold Myra; Breach of Trust, DiAnn Mills; Holman QuickSource Guide to Understanding Creation, Mark Whorton & Hill Roberts; and Son of Hamas: A Gripping Account of Terror, Betrayal, Political Intrigue, and Unthinkable Choices, Mosab Hassan Yousef with Ron Brackin – the latter being the type of book that will make my week. 

Got this at a third of the price

The books aren’t too old but they’re not the latest either. I don’t see Tom Clancy or Andy McNab but I was not disappointed. The pricing of the books is enough to put a smile on my face. You see, Tom Clancy’s Executive Orders costs RM 33.95 when I bought it 10 years after it was first published. Not exactly the latest right? 

I can only smile

If there was a time when my “voyage” passed through choppy seas, it’s got to be the part after I’ve paid for my purchase. I came to the next section full of thick, we-mean-serious-business kind of books. Any 3 for RM 40. Gosh! One of those reference books costs at least RM 60 (with a student discount) back in the varsity’s bookshop. There’s finance, business, calculus, criminal justice, and anthropology. If only archaeology and say, psychology or some Science-related books were there, it’d have completed the quota. 

Then again, would I have enough money in my wallet to pay for them?

At Borders some time back: Held this book for a good 15 minutes looking perusing the skeletons and its details. Too bad its wrapped

For now, I’m contented with the ones I have with me right now. This time, there won’t be a deadline to return the books and I could have all the time I need to finish them. Gone was the time when I could finish Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code in less than 24 hours.
 

At Port Swettenham

Hey my love, we will be spending more time together now. A book in hand, a bookmark between my fingers, and my back propped against the headboard waiting for you to snuggle up next to me. I love you Miss Read Ing*. 

*Yes, Ing is a surname.

It was great, people!

Good food and great company. 

And I stand by my statement. We had a blast last night and we've proven, time and again, that gatherings can be smashing without booze.

Anyway, I've never laughed so hard for a long time now and Kak Mimi's nieces and nephews are adorable. They reminded me of the time during such festive season where we run around the house without a care in the world. They kept coming back for fire to light their lanterns. I guess they have their interpretation of "carrying lanterns". One of those lanterns was annihilated, much to their joy as they shrilled in delight.

I'm glad we came up with the idea of bringing the Mooncake Festival to Raya open house. By the time we're barbequing the chickens (with an incredible consisting of lemongrass, somehthing, and something - sorry for my sense of taste, or the lack thereof).

Remember my digital dinosaur? I realized, after a few blurry pictures, that the auto-focusing is off at the shortest (widest angle) focal length but I'm quite happy with the outcome. Ah, I should have borrowed the DSLR...

It's sad that two of our "gang" members weren't able to join us but we did a little conference over the phone's loudspeaker and "chided" them for their absence. Of course, a commonplace for all gatherings, there were updates about the present and the future. Some good, some not so good, some bright and others dim. Still, it's great to know how they're doing now!

Thank you, people, for a great time and thanks to Kak Mimi for inviting us. Next stop: Indian cuisine for Deepavali next month.

All Set and Ready to Go

September. I have a funny feeling about September. A misgiving. Let's hope this month will be kind to me. When I visited my Dashboard (that's what the "home" page is called in Blogger) 10 minutes ago, I was greeted with a dialog asking if I'd like to try that new look that is supposedly streamlined for a better blogging experience. Well, for a start, my eyes hurt but I'm beginning to like light grey, orange, and blue.

It's September 3 tomorrow and we'll all be converging at 05.4668420°, 100.4555190°. Attempts to get my hands on some sparklers failed and I was informed that lanterns were already purchased, minus the candles. I'm not sure who's buying mooncake but my mind's on rendang. Kak Mimi delighted us with a trailer of what awaits us on the table and the backyard (we're having barbeque at night).

My Sony Ericsson K530i isn't going to cut it given the lighting of the place so I've purchased four AA batteries, which costs a bomb, to feed my power hungry digital camera. That's right, my camera's a triceratops by today's standard and nowhere as fast as those slim, velociraptor-like cameras that's rechargeable. Anyways, I'm hoping for the best out of my Olympus FE-310. Oh, by the way, it's an archived product @.@

Memory card's cleared. Date set. Clothing ready. A full tank of petrol. Tire pressure. Sunshades. Watch... I went too far. So yeah, starting September with good food and great company. After that, back to writing and bracing myself for any storms that might come my way.

Dreams & Reality: my third photomanipulation. Fall do evoke a feeling of dread in me, even when I first saw the stock. (Stocks and credits on deviantART)

September, end of summer break and beginning of a new semester for some folks I know.