Of Resolutions and Loose Women

Its that time of year again when my mind starts whacking out suggestions for new year resolutions. Inevitably a few of ye olde favourites are up and running - the 'procrastinate less' 'exercise more' 'revise harder' 'actually stick to your bloody resolutions'. Those ones. So i start to scribble the list down (im a traditionalist, sue me) and as i reach no 7, on auto-pilot, my brain goes - no.7: Grow Up. 

Now now, I know you're thinking "Jeez this reeks of retrospective over-dramatisation" but i assure you, true believers, thats what happened. 

Walking the path of the inner-shrink (self-shrink? Terminology aid required.) i turned on the music and thought about it. And i think whats bugging me is a combination of a couple of things.

1. The fact that everyone around me seems to be having intellectual growth spurts, and im still the same 4 foot 3, or whatever we were in highschool.

2. This line in a graduate recruitment handbook: 'Resist the urge to become an expert on day-time telly. Jeremy Kyle, the Loose Women - and much as it pains us to say it - Dick Van Dyke in the role of Dr. Mark Sloan have nothing to offer you.'

Aside from the fact that I have no idea who Dr. Mark Sloan is, and my only opinion of the Loose Women* is that it MUST be a poor incarnation of the Desperate Housewives**, the statement sat unpleasantly with me. Because im pretty sure that if the people who produced student guides tailored to people like me, it would have read:

"Resist the urge to be a, more oft than not, insane fan of things. Stupid amounts of information on spandex-wearing basket cases, Manchester United, fabricated concepts of heaven/hell/time-travel/mass-relays, anything that requires a console and - as much as it pains us to say it - things with Martin Freemans face in it, have nothing to offer you."

Which got me worried.

Because i know a shitload about some things, and a little bit about a lot of things. Which is how i like it, but turn potentially deep intellectual conversations about things like politics into fucking quicksand. And friends who i thought were (to return to my analogy) also 4 foot 3 in highschool, have gone away and come back NBA all-stars.

Its not like i dont WANT to be more world conscious. Believe me, you dont know what id give to punch that carrot-topped, condescending (i dont care if its unintentional) judgybee in university every time i shrug and say i dont really care about something and he looks at me as if to say 'why did they accept you?!'. Or to keep up with Jish past the point of conversational diminishing returns when the chit chat turns to politics or other 'grown up' shit. I dont know what a mortgage*** is outside of the Monolpoly definition.

I just cant be bothered. Is that a bad thing?

I read a lot, my brother will testify to the fact that i have amassed a tiny library, but I read to ESCAPE the world. Why read Freakonomics when you could be saving universes and slaying dragons? I read the occasional newspaper, but the news is depressing, our politicians are idiots and the new economic plan cant keep my interest for more than a couple of paragraphs. Im not completely cut off though, dont get me wrong. The environment, basic human rights, religion, law (for the most part)... fair enough. All that other crap?

Ngeh.

I guess all this applying for jobs and 'commercial awareness' shtick has gotten to me slightly. And i guess i will have to make a bit of an effort to placate the people who will inevitably be determining the affordability of shiny new things as we fast forward into the future.

But im removing 'grow up' from the list. It can wait a couple of years.


Over and out,
nk




*I was wrong. Its a day time talk show with interviews and shit. Whether its any more intelligent than Desperate Housewives remains to be seen.
** The only things i hate more than DH is Gossip Girl. And Twilight. And maybe tween-pop. Ok, maybe a shit load of other things.
*** I know what a mortgage is now. Dont panic.

Post-apocolyptic Update

Let me just start by saying im slightly disappointed that the world didn't go kaplauwee in a fit of sexy angels zombie induced panic.

As opposed to some other from of world-ending, obviously. 

Although... that slightly optimistic bit of me that went 'oh well at least i wont have to write this land essay if the world ends' is crying in a corner. That's pretty much what im going to tell mum next week when she enters the room at 3 in the morning to find me desperately mashing away at the keyboard.

"I fucked with the schedule I'd made a week ago and waited till the weekend just in case the world blew up - didn't want to waste any precious time i could've spent with you guys!"

Yeah, pigs will give up on naturally attained flight and invent jet-packs before she buys that.

So once again i find myself inexplicably drowning in a shitload of things that need to be done urgently. I say 'inexplicable' but you, me and the next door cat know that's a lie.

It's all her fault. 

So as it stands, I've got two weeks to hash out a grand total of 4000 words worth of respectable legal crap, apply to at least 10 firms for internships with a cv that is currently in the works and cover letters that are yet to see light of day, tutorial work for the week that I get back, Tort submission, organise flight plans for the uni bunch for summer 2013, kick ass in COD, finish Assassins Creed III, and clear Dishonoured Corvo Attano's name.

GAME ON.





nb: okay, maybe not the last three. It's that devil child, i swear. She's a bad influence.

nk

Fish-kites

I always liked airports. Because an airport equals airplanes and airplanes (unless you're just seeing someone off) equals travel.

Flying itself may not be the most fun of processes, but I like the high you get when you know that in a day, you'll be in a completely different place. Doesn't really matter where I'm going really. Whether is just next door or in a different time zone, going away or coming home - I'll never get sick of traveling.

See you soon, I guess :)
nk

Can We Talk?

Allow me to begin with the following disclaimer: 
If identical images are used to illustrate different points, it is for the sake of efficiency and uniformity. Not because I have truly underestimated how difficult it is to finger paint attractive stick people.

There. Now down to business. In the wind down of what has been a more-down-than-up summer, I have come to realise a couple of things. Firstly: I may be a spoilt brat.

I know, it's a shocker.

Let me explain. This is me now:

Stick limbed, vaguely triangular in body, bald, and most importantly - unhappy with my small pile of kryptonite-looking cool stuff. (hint: Only one of the above is true IRL.)

And this is where I want to be in about 15 years:

If you thought: skinny limbed, still bald, queen of a small island nation and owner of Superman's cape and a shitload of REALLY COOL STUFF, then you serrah, are correct. 

Because context is necessary to understand, I shall elaborate. I have recently updated my before-30-bucket-list (you come up with a better name) and while discussing some of the less personal goals/wishes with my mom, she commented amusedly, that she'd never thought of these kind of things when she was younger. Now I'm paraphrasing, but she basically explained that she just went where the wind took her, and she was happy. I got a little agitated at this, because I couldn't understand how someone just 'settles' for whatever gets flung their way. And then I thought it over, and I realised that I may be a little spoilt.

I mean, its not like my parents have left me wanting - I visited Disneyworld, a solid chunk of Europe and Australia well before I turned 15, and Irvin and I were given anything we wanted within my parents means for the fair price of doing well in school. I'm in a good university (though maybe not the one of my dreams) doing a very respectable course. And yet, I bitch and moan that if that list hasn't been completed by the time I turn 30 (35 at the most) I will not die happy.

To give you an idea of the utter whimsy of this list - Item 23: visit Madagascar and see those really cool alien-trees.

I guess what I'm trying to figure out here is whether I'm entitled to want all this stuff, or have I fallen into the astrological stereotype of the Pisces dreamer and I need to find someone to slap me really hard and get me back to planet Earth. Should I stop saying 'I'd be happier IF...' and just take stock and be grateful? Or would that be settling? Is it 'spoilt' for me to dream of bigger things when I have friends saving up for flights in piggy banks? Is it okay that I think I wont die happy if I never write a book, go backpacking with my brother, work for Bioware, finally master the violin, sing in a professional choir or eat funny-sauced french fries in Brussels? What if I never learn to scuba dive? I guess if my worst fear comes true and I'm eaten by a shark that wont really matter... And what if I finish everything on that list and i'm STILL unhappy/unfulfilled/clinically insane?

Can I, Should I, What if... Ugh. Someone point me to where I can find Answers.

Excuse the lack of segue, but now to problem no. 2.

This is me on a normal day:

Now you see why I needed that disclaimer.

And this is when the world decides to take a crap on me.

Lately (and by lately I really mean over the past two years) it seems that I've been asked either directly or indirectly to help with shit that people really should be managing themselves. Its not like I don't care for them or anything, on the contrary, I love these people -that I shall not name either by name or by title- to bits. But your emotionally taxing problems + my overactive brain + occasionally PMS afflicted emotional control = No sleep for me, or a lot of crying and yelling. 

These problems usually file themselves into two categories:

1. You're adults, you shouldn't be burdening me with this crap so SOLVE YOUR OWN SHIT.

or

2. I managed it by myself, why do I need to hold his/your hand?

I know that problem solving comes with the oldest-child territory since apparently all oldest children are inherently gifted in mitigating and all have Phd's in 'getting things done'. And I'll do it too! I'll figure out  all this shit to the best of my ability because I know that I can help, and because I know to a certain extent I should, and because I care. Even if I've been told that the feelings-fixer part of my psyche is going to doom me to a lifetime of attempting to cure, and being attracted to broken people. But I don't want to get suckered into the emotional equivalent of curing cancer or brokering world peace, yknow? Especially if Helping and my sanity are inversely proportional.

I'd just like to say that I'm perfectly happy dealing with my own pile of problems thank you very much. If you haven't noticed, its SMALLER than Mt. Other People's Crap. But if I point this out, I run the risk of being a Horrible Human Being.

Happiness is a pain in the butt.



nk.
Todays conclusion is brought to you by too much chocolate cake, a handful of potato chips and evil!goatees. 

Springeth Cleaneth

So I finally got off my arse and decided to test out my new sketchy-doohickies on the iPad, and viola! New blog header!

Also got around to clearing out some of the less than satisfactory posts, so if you're one of my more die-hard (HAHA) readers and you notice something's missing, that shit GONE.

Yes, this would be me taking baby steps to get my life in order before uni starts again. It seems insignificant (maybe it is, I'm weird when it comes to mine own literary works of any kind) but like I said: Baby steps.

Crawl before you can run, child. We'll figure out flying and all that other shit later.

Here's to 2012/2013 being awesome-r than last year!




Hopefully I remember to study this time.

nk

RVP

Turning my little patch of internet real-estate into Football-Punditsland could not be further from my intentions, but I have to get this one little thing off my chest. I'm all for the 'let the haters hate' mantra, but twitter on game day has gotten on my nerves.

The issue: I don't see the logic in the whining and complaints (not even from Arsenal fans, mind you) that Robin Van Persie has gone all insta-hero on the red side of Manchester.

RVP signed for close to 25 MILLION pounds. And we can't go a little crazy because the guy's proving that he's worth the money? I'm not suggesting we tear down the 2OLEGEND* banner on the Stretford End and plaster v. Persie's face across the stand just yet, but 4 goals in 3 matches INCLUDING a hattrick to pull us out of the fire against Southampton? I'd call that a bloody good start.

But I must be missing something important because a handful of people seem to think that we ought to ease Van Persie's transition into the club by pelting him with eggs or something.

Did Chelsea boo Torres when he joined them from Liverpool? Did the Citizens rain rotting produce on Tevez as he ran around in sky blue after only just recently ditching red? I think not!

(Correct me if I'm wrong though, flying eggs and vegetables would be quite entertaining.)

I understand that football comes hand in hand with friendly banter and, more often than not, not so friendly banter. And that's cool y'know. You are entitled to your opinion. You sing your songs, we'll sing ours. We'll bitch about the hordes of players that joined you for cash, and you can counter with the shitloads that we're paying our players. Touche.

But as a fan, I speak from experience when I say that football is much like Saurons Ring.

It's pretty and it's magical, but it can also make you a horrible person.

Y'see what I mean?

And what I'm trying to get at in this unfortunately long winded manner, is do us all a favour and go be a horrible person in private.

As for Van Persie... I say take a bow, good ser. And welcome to Manchester. We promise we wont pelt you with eggs.


nk




*Ole Solskjaer, you will always be my hero. 

The Sausage McMuffin of LIFE

So much to talk about, so little time before my coworkers start showing up to work. Not that they're late, no no no. I just get here at 8 because I enjoy watching what's left of the sunrise through tinted glass windows 17 floors above ground while sipping my lukewarm teh tarik without the tarik and munching on granola bars an hour before work actually starts.

That was sarcasm, if you didn't pick it up.

Work was... I'll settle for 'enlightening'. But I'm not going to discuss work now, because I am currently working for an IT company, and if anyone was going to accidentally build Skynet, it would be them, so I'm not taking any chances. (And then I remember that the laptop they've given me is shit, so maybe I shouldn't be so concerned with robot-filled post-apocolyptic futures. But still, blogging about work at work just seems like bad manners.) I'll talk about work after I end my internship tomorrow.

Instead, I'll tell you a little story about my breakfast.

Today, I had a McMuffin. Specifically, a McDonalds Sausage McMuffin. Which is an earth shattering revelation (I exaggerate, sue me) because I have successfully sworn off anything McFoody for a very very long time. And with good reason too. I'm sorry to turn you off your Quarter Pounders, but you wouldn't be eating that if you know what went in it. OR ON IT. I have a mom who used to work in the fast food industry. You know the ice-cream machine thing? THAT'S WHERE COCKROACHES GO TO DIE.

But I digress. There's an earth shattering revelation I have to discuss.

Today, I didn't feel like eating my granola bar. I decided the stupid thing had too many fruits and nuts and shit that was good for you  (BROWN RICE SUGER, what in potatoes -thank you Mira- is that even supposed to be?) 'Rolled oats'? PISSSSH. No. I was going to McD's and getting a greasy, cheesy, breakfast burger. At 8 am. Because, as long as I don't see the cockroach, there is no cockroach and I'm home dry. Ignorance is bliss and all that jazz.

Here is where I pause my story to derive the moral of this little tale. In Law, they call this 'reasoning by analogy'. I think just I read to much into things. but lets get on with it eh? The granola bar (and my attempt at eating healthy as a whole) is my law degree. Dry, hard, usually flavourless and occasionally soul-crushing. but it's good for me. The McMuffin on the other hand, is the degree of greener pastures: Art, Literature, Writing, Design - deemed by people that society anointed as 'wiser than thou' to be enjoyable for that brief moment while the cheese is still soft, and the burger still warm, but not so fun when youre sitting on the toilet for ages on end because a roach decided to do the macarena on your McBuns. But you want the burger, because it looks so good, and you're sick of other people enjoying something you want, while you're munching on what might as well be raisins on cardboard.

Today's inspiring analogy (and breakfast urges) is brought to you by two of my friends deciding to, and I quote BOTH of them, "Drop out of law AND DO SOMETHING I ENJOY." Am I doing this wrong? Like guys, I see the burger, but I also know there's a cockroach twitching in the insecty throes of death on the floor next to me. That, I notice AFTER my meal btw. You see, the cockroach is the metaphor for the Downside (caps intended) that comes with doing the things you love that wont make you lots of moolah. How are you all ignoring the cockroach? The friend in England, is excused, because the McDonalds you live in is managed by different people. But the friend back here? We've both got fathers who will not be (and in her case, from what she's told me, IS not) happy with daughters dropping out of law. I don't think mine can even fathom the idea without popping a vein, so I don't mention it, except to make veiled comments in the car, while I know he's distracted as fuck anyway.

I want my McMuffin too, Maker damn it.

But I'm not here to mope. I understand the realities of the world. There will ALWAYS be cockroaches - whether you see them next to you, or they're dying in your ice-cream maker behind the scenes. I will eat my damn granola bars, and even though I may not enjoy it as much as I wish I would, I will chew the hell out of that granola bar because I know what it's worth, and I owe myself that much. And I guess I owe my family that much. But I WILL have my burger. eventually. But I'll have it once I know that there are no more dancing cockroaches on my breakfast.

This analogy made a bit more sense in my head.

What I'm trying to get at is that I will finish this degree with the highest qualification possible, at 22. And after that, I WILL qualify for Ivy, pack my stuff and go study whatever I want in the good US of A. Masters, another degree... whatever, y'know? Maybe graduate by 25/26.  Doctors take 7 years off their life to study. Why shouldn't I?

I owe it to myself to do what I should, but I also owe myself the chance to do what I want before its too late, and sorry to all who may say nay, but you and your gross-ass insects can go to hell. I've got bugspray. And medication.


People really shouldn't let me eat meals by myself.
nk.

You inconsiderate, bigoted, self-important, racist little shit.

Stepping back around one hour ago - about 7.30 on my watch - and I was in the One Utama Maybank waiting for my dad to do his thing, when I had the misfortune of listening to what must have been the ass-holiest motherfucker in Selangor at the very least, giving his sales person a yelling at.

Now, I'm all for good customer service, but this jackass was unhappy because he had been made to wait for (insert short span of time here) for a service that he had shown up for. Unfortunately for him, the person he was supposed to see was Muslim, and was currently breaking fast. This rotter however, was having none of it. And the parts of his rant that I heard included the kind of fuckery that one would not expect to hear, least of all so publically. (Not that someone should have thoughts and or conversations like this in private either, by the way.)

The exchange went something like this

Asshole: Why have I been made to wait so long.
Poor salesperson: Sir I don't know where he is, now is buka puasa (breaking fast) time. 7.30 to 8.30 for all the staff in the mall.
Asshole: So they want to suffer, I also have to suffer is it? They cannot impose this on me. Not on business hours. It's inconsiderate! How can you bla bla bla some other racist shit.

INCONSIDERATE?! YOU DICK.

I'm not one for religion, or any sort of faith practice, and huzzah for you if you arent either. but I'd like to consider myself an advocate for racial harmony and some ground level tolerance at the very least, so I was LIVID. If not for my own chickening out, I would have said something, or punched you, you jag. How dare you say that someone is being inconsiderate for taking an hour of their time to go and have some food after fasting for a day?! How dare you say they are imposing ANYTHING on you!? I didn't see anyone asking YOU to refrain from food or water for hours on end. Don't like waiting? Shove it where the light don't shine, bastard. I'm pretty sure you weren't complaining when you took a month off whatever shit job I hope your god has seen fit to asign you to go celebrate Chinese new year. You don't see me banging down your door for busting out the fireworks when the rest of the human population is trying to go to sleep. And the MUSIC. Chinese new year music is the bane of my existence, but I've never yelled at the guy in the Carefour to go do something about it have I?

I'm not a saint, and would never presume to be. But I'd like to think that I live in a world where BASIC HUMAN DECENCY isn't a rarity.

And I hope that you sir, die a horrible fiery death when it most inconviniences you.
Good day to you all.

nk

(The writer would like to clarify that neither is she Muslim, or harbours any hate towards Chinese people. It just so happened that the people involved at the time, were one of the two. And in true Malaysian fashion, the sales person just happened to be an Indian guy. I'm just here to make the world a better place, and hopefully get the chance to throw peanuts at the asshats who are trying to do the opposite.)

Let's not get ahead of ourselves

SAY HEL-LO TO MY NEW APPLE FRIEEEND.

I am now the proud owner of a not so new iPad! Glory hallelujah.

And of course, with the coming of new and shiny things, also comes new and shiny resolutions that I will most likely not keep.

Lets take it back a couple of years, shall we?

#1
The item: MacBook
The LIE: "I now have a private computer for all my writing, and photoshop, and graphics and garage band! GARAGE BAND - Im going to be such a diversified artiste (with the 'E', bitches.) in the next few years."
The depressing truth: Kay, sitting down to write, later experiment with that new photoshop tool you saw and - holy mother of balls, 6 Facebook notifications? Fuck art, imma be an internet celebrity.

#2
The item: Swanky new nike trainers.
The LIE: "I'm going to lose weight, and be fit. Not skinny per se, but healthy."
The depressing truth: The most 'worked out' muscles I had were my thumbs. And thats only because the xbox needs you to use both of them.
The not so depressing present: to be fair to myself, i have lost a considerable amount of weight, and gym or swim at least three times a week now, so HUZZAH!

#3
The item: Any instrument I attempted to play after the piano.
The LIE: I am going to be a prodigal child. Children will want to be me, while their parents pinch them and go "You see, you so lazy! Work a little harder and you could be playing like that!"
The depressing truth: My parents going "You see, you so lazy! Work a little harder and you could be playing like that!"

You should be getting the drift by now.

But just for shits and giggles, lets list down some resolutions for the iPad, shall we?
1. I WILL download an art program and USE it to practice in lieu of a sketch book.
2. I WILL practice writing more because I no longer have the excuse of not lugging around the MacBook. The iPads keypad could pass for a computers for shits sake.
3. I WILL finally download all those classic books that I told myself to read but wheedled out of by not getting a kindle and not wanting to buy paperbacks in the UK.

Lets see what actually goes down circa 2013.

nk.

Craptastic sans caffeine.

Crappiness seems to be a recurring theme this year. Maybe the Mayans fucked up and what's actually happening is that everyone (I'm generalising) would have a complete BITCH of a year, instead of the, admittedly more dramatic, end of the world.

But I've decided not to auto-purge all my problems onto this poor blog today. Today, I have decided to laud the person who helped me get out of the funk. So Jisho, thank you for the talk, and I am so so so glad that even though we spent a good portion of the 11 years I've known you without being friends, we eventually pulled through.

We'll crack open some champagne when our friendship hits 50, okay? My treat :)

nk

Post Script

ALSO

Apparently there's some study that says too much jet-lag reduces your intelligence.
I'm blaming future failures on this.

nk

Writers block, the irony.

I've rewritten the opening sentence of this entry three times, not counting this attempt. This one survives the blessed (cursed?) backspace button because it's late and I'm waaaaay too frustrated to think of anything even mildly witty. And yet here I go again. Typing out words at speeds comparable to the rate that I'm skipping through my impoverished iTunes playlist because Zamzar has left the building, and I'm a little bored of all the songs that aren't 'Dovahkiin'.

Hence the irony.

(That I'm writing so much, not that I'm listening to the Skyrim soundtrack. Because FYI, it's AMAZING.)

Its befuddling. Confounding. Baffling. Puzzling! Err... stupefying?

...DISCOMBOBULATING!
(Yes, I did just pull out the thesaurus. But folks, it would seem that I have found my word of the week.)

But most of all, frustrating.

I sometimes despair that writing doesn't come to me as easily as it should. And when I say 'as easily as it should", I obviously mean "published by 15."And then I get a grip on myself, push the deadline back to 'published by 25' (fingers, and toes while we're at it, crossed) and wonder what is it I'm missing, y'know? Like... where's my theatrical catalyst? My 'event precipitator'? Batman had his parents gunned down, Spider-man had Uncle Ben gunned down, Superman had his planet... uh... exploded. Not suggesting that I want to don spandex and fight crime, obviously. Or that anyone should off my parents. Just... yknow.

Paolini quit school at 15 or something shit like that. Ripped off bits and pieces that I shall not point out from a beloved movie that I shall not name (unless you make me, go on, I DARE YOU) and STILL managed to sit pretty on not one, but FOUR best sellers. It's not even funny. I actually LOVE the first one for all its afore mentioned thievery.

And I'm stuck at university. Having churned out a measly 11 chapters in nigh over a year.

I hope I'm just lazy. Because the alternatives would be a) not talented enough and b)... I cant think of anything scarier than not talented enough. And that I refuse to believe.

Maybe I just need a change of scene. Writing fantasy can be a major brain drain... and this offer from Cracked is intriguing... and pretty tempting. They'd pay to have people churn out sarcasm loaded articles about pretty much anything as long as it's smart enough, and funny enough.

I could do that.

And it pays! Not superbly I'd imagine, but it pays. Anything to distract me from the harsh reality of the working world crashing down on my yet unprepared 20-year old shoulders that props up a brain still in denial that she is NEVER going to get that offer letter from Hogwarts, and that she should really give up the dream that she's going to wake up with the ability to move shit with her mind.

Where's Neverland when you need it eh?

While we're on that poorly thought-out segue (spelt that way, pronounced seg-way. Who knew?) I start work on Monday. Yup. Actual legal-ass work. That pays, yes. And I'm trying to get excited for it beyond the fact that I have an excuse to buy that snazzy blazer from Topshop that I've been eyeing forever, but it's HARD. Mostly because one thing that I've always promised myself is that I will never plant my butt behind a desk in an office cubicle with just enough space for no one to notice when I eventually end my suffering by strangling myself with the standard office telephone wire. And yet, if this degree didn't sign my ideal future's death warrant, this internship might.

I can't even say I hope that it proves me wrong... in the fear that I might be lulled into a false sense of 'this isn't so bad'. So said the sarlaac to its prey, right? If sarlaacs could say anything anyway. I dunno. I want to enjoy it... but yknow. I don't want to sell my soul to the suits either. Its confusing.

Oh and by the way, the irony meter has just hit approximately 650 words.

I think it's time to duck out, stage left. Ciao bella.

nk.

Swan song for the Clown Prince of Crime

Today
1. I found out that Mark Hamill isnt going to voice the Joker any more :(
2. The Joker dies in Arkham City.

I feel like a piece of my childhood has just been brutally stripped from me. This beats the Harry Potter credits, even my whinging about the Amazing Spider-man. And me sitting here in my 'the Joke's on YOU!' t-shirt. I cant deal.

Requiescat in pace, Mister J.

PS: Yes, I understand that I am shedding tears for a homicidal maniac. No I do not need help. Go away.

Air Quality Concerns

I would so very much like to burn this stupid Constitutional law text book in triumph, but I think Malaysia's haze problem is bad enough without me helping the Indonesians kill the planet. So I wont.

Instead I'll be here. Playing Skyrim until my eyes bleed from the strain, and my body shuts down due to lack of food.

-nk

Btw, if you couldn't already tell - I passed first year of law. Yay :)

So much for keeping this blog ISSUE-free

"-You cannot be sexist toward men. Sexism is based on a system of oppression. You CAN be discriminatory, rude, inconsiderate, and/or prejudiced against men but you CANNOT be sexist toward them.

-You cannot be racist towards white people. Racism is based on a system of oppression. You CAN be discriminatory, rude, inconsiderate, and/or prejudiced against white people but you CANNOT be racist toward them.

This is not difficult."

Before the rant begins, let me just state that i think this is the biggest piece of rubbish i have read in a while. And im studying law, so rubbish is a daily thing. 

Racism is the belief that you are allowed to harbour prejudice, discrimination or antagonism towards someone of a different racial background because of some preconceived, idiotic, notion that each member of a race has characteristics or abilities specific to that race to make it inferior/superior to the rest.  It isn't exclusive for people of colour. If you are prejudiced towards white people, then wake up and smell the crazy, because you're racist. The amount of melanin in your skin isn't a get out of jail free card bro. 

The same goes for sexism. Its a prejudice, stereotyping or discriminatory on the basis of sex. Yes, TYPICALLY against women, but thats not part of the definition. If a woman in a place of power pays a man less, or refuses to employ men simply on the basis of gender, she's a sexist! THAT isn't difficult. 

I completely understand where people are coming from with the whole oppression thing. EVERYONE has racist/sexist tendencies that subconsciously trickles into your everyday stuff, it just so happens that white people took it a little too far, lit torches and donned white pointy hats. Russell Peters sums it up perfectly I think - we people of colour have made this such a big issue, that we've got whites running scared to mention anything that could even be remotely discriminatory. An English friend's parents have asked me if I find being labelled a 'Chindian' offensive. Or being called 'yellow'. And I laughed and said of course not. Thats like me calling you guys 'English' or 'white.' All I'm doing is describing who you are. And I get this A LOT. 

Also, 'banana', and 'nigger'. Are words like this okay so long as you're chinese, or black when you say it? Why is something less offensive if you're part of that race? It is either offensive, or it isnt. And if you think it is, then STOP USING IT, you asshats. It doesn't just magically become racist because someone of a different race uses it. Unless its obviously used offensively (BY ANYONE OF ANY COLOUR, MAY I JUST CLARIFY) then you punch that bigoted son of a bitch in the face. 

And another thing - with the whites (and this is quite analogous to the Malays back home), everyone else is all "Oh, you guys can't complain about anything - not education, not the economy, not unemployment - because to the rest of us, you guys are privileged motherfuckers."

What? 

If someone has worked hard, and cares about his/her future or country, i think they have a right to say something. No one is born on equal footing, and you look to your parents, and in some cases, outside factors like the government for this. But thats not a reason to diss on someone. I have friends who are intelligent as hell, but are shy to talk about their scholarships because they know that people will turn around and go 'Pfft. Bumiputera. Thats the only reason why."

That's the Government's fault you douchebags. 

And its all well and good complaining about it, but its not going to go anywhere if you don't do anything about it, is it? I've been lucky enough to reach a point with my friends back home where we don't even think about it anymore, and fortunate enough to find friends here who are cool enough to laugh about themselves. 

People just need to stop being such self-absorbed dicks and chill the fuck out. Everything starts with you. 

Vote Jish 2052*

nk
*dates subject to change

Nota Bene

If that stunning, currently in the works (and by in the works we both know we mean in your head without any hope of seeing the light of day till you actually start writing shit down) fantasy fiction trilogy of yours doesn't work out, take solace in the fact that you could probably crap out a novel based solely on sarcasm and tv tropes. We may not have many readers, but at least you'll be able to cross no. 4 off the bucket list.

Also, start writing things down. The rate you forget shit is faster than the rate at which you come up with good shit. We're losing a battle here.

nk

I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I cant help it I cant help it I cant help it I cant heeeeeelp iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

nk

I swear this is the last one.

I need to start turning some of this catharsis into a respectable legal essay sometime today anyway. I deserve an award in the ninja art of procrastination. 14 days turned into 6 days turned into fucking hell I've got 2 days to write six THOUSAND words. Which doesn't seem so bad in the sense that I can pull two thousand words out of my ass no sweat for the various misuses of the internet I subscribe to AND almost as easily manufacture page upon page of chapters of a book that, if I keep deleting the way I do, will never see light of day until I'm six feet under.

But cutting out the snark is potentially an issue. I'm 99 percent snark. Take that away and you most certainly do not have a billionaire genius playboy philanthropist.

Sorry. Excited for the Avengers.

And procrastinating, again.

There needs to be some sort of manufactured essence of motivation that can be bottled and sold to the hapless masses. I'd buy it.

Off to attempt work I suppose. Just felt oddly chatty today. For one way convo's with the internet anyway. Heaven help any one who tries to talk to me IRL.

Ja ne.

nk

Sidenote

Coffee and vitamins is a very bad idea.

Very bad.

nk

Desynchronisation

It's definitely the caffeine high.

You know, I can't even spell caffeine without the spellchecker. But then again, I cant spell field, their, successfully, business, and a plethora of other ridiculously simple words without some sort of electronic thingamajiggy anyway. Or without scribbling a thousand variations into my desk to see which one 'looks kinda right'. And I have a cambridge certificate in Advanced English. HAH. I also can't spell a word verbally, bet you didn't know that. I have to write it down. It's so bad its not even funny. 

Anyway, being spell-challenged (of the English, not the Muggle variety) aside, I was just thinking...

I've changed a lot since the old days. Some of the ol'pallies have adamantly defended that it's for the better. Age and college have softened me up. 

Maybe thats the problem. The messing around with shit. I don't mean to get all deep and meaningful on your asses here, fates forbid that I go all hipster-darkside, but you have to consider the possibilities. What if its like tipping over the wrong domino in a carefully laid out sequence of a bajillion dominos? And instead of neatly tipping that last domino in a little pool of ketchup in your friendly neighbourhood McDonalds, the sequence gets jacked somewhere by the doors?

Not that I don't enjoy being slightly more chilled out, but tightly wound me had shit sorted. She probably wasn't very much liked, but she had shit in line, and being liked was never much of a concern anyway. Still not a concern. Maybe I just miss rules. Not that I followed them most of the time... I was always more a 'do as I say' than a 'do as I do' type leader anyway. Not the best course of action (dad would definitely disapprove) but hell, which one of us actually knew what we were doing at that age?

I wonder if admitting that gives me cosmic paragon points or something...

Maybe I just miss authority. Or responsibility.

I think I miss exceeding expectations with the minimal amount of effort on my part. Or meeting them, at the very least, instead of wondering if I'm flying wahahaaaaay below the radar. 

I wonder if I tipped over one too many wrong dominos.

I can't spell definitely or disapprove either apparently. 

How the hell did I ace those exams. 

nk

Caffeinated and Feeling Craptastic

I've never been an insomniac. Not involuntarily anyway. Though, I'm not sure if you can even be an insomniac voluntarily. Can you? Or is that just a casual self torture thing?

On second thought, don't answer that.

I haven't slept in at least 24 hours, I've had to dose my system with coffee for the first time since... ever. I don't even like the shit. And my inner health nut job is just dying to pop the vitamins, but I'm a not sure that if I take it with caffeine in the pipes, it wont explode my liver or something. Medication has too many If's and But's anyway. I'd turn to googling symptoms, but the last time I did that the fucking thing told me that I was bleeding in my stomach. When all that happened was I that I'd had some suspicious spring rolls. Yes, I was projectile vomiting my guts out, but I wasn't fucking dying. Had me all panicked for shits and giggles. And this was on the bloody NHS site as well.

Yeah. So, basically, I'm a no go on the sleep-o.

Gah.

Im not so ridiculously self absorbed to even begin to consider my life as 'messed up' in any way, as the more melodramatic in nature are wont to do, but I'm not so stubborn as not to acknowledge that something is definitely malfunctioning under the hood. I dish out advice to the little personality clone I call a brother with the speed normally associated with explaining to the listening world what my problem is with sparkely vampires, but the minute I turn head shrink on myself I draw perpetual blanks.

So it's 9 in the morning. And I'm listening to good old John Williams soundtracks because its the only thing i can realistically stomach. Lyrics have been a bit of a temper trigger recently, even the good ones. So to the wordless classics I turn. It helps that they're ridiculously good soundtracks to ridiculously good movies though.

Until Spotify decides to interrupt Dual Of The Fates with a Titanic advertisement. I'm not sure how bringing back this movie in 3D is going to make it any better. (Will they see the ice-berg in 3D?) I think my life was better off as a Titanic virgin, 'you haven't really lived until you've seen this movie' my hideously eye-bagged ass. And now they're sic-ing this -pardon the expression- shipwreck on a new generation? Not that this generation is untarnished by shit, ohhh no. Our paltry excuses for musical prodigies saw to that with frightening efficiency.

Anyway.

I think somewhere in my life there was a divergence in my little personalised version of Robert Frost's road in the woods. Only the options were never properly considered. I'm not sure when exactly I gave the finger to the road less taken, but I'm pretty sure it happened in the past couple of years or so. I've never been one for self doubt, I've never really been one for doubt if you think about it. So something has to have gone sideways for me to wake up and feel un-me, hasn't it? I'd be hard pressed to put a finger on it though. The last couple of years haven't exactly been a cake walk.

This is the part where I rue the fact that my life isn't a movie, and I cant have a tastefully done montage with some Bob Dylan music to timeskip over my seemingly tiny, yet dramatically accumulative problems to the part where Morgan Freeman tells me what to do to get this freakshow back on the road.

Movies are easier. Books are easier. Don't even get me started on the video games. Saving the world because only YOU can, with the wise sage guy who you latch onto as a parent figure because your [insert beloved family member here] died, with that snarky, roguish, sufficiently mysterious, fans-will-write-frustrated-fan-fiction-about-you sidekick, and your assorted band of lovable class-A nut jobs sounds a hell of a lot easier than trying to figure out some semblance of direction for the next two months.

Or maybe I just need a really good kick in the butt.

The references in this post are getting out of hand, anyway.

I think I can safely take my vitamins now. Over and out.

nk

Revelations

I always thought religion was pointless, but it wasn't until i went to church that i discovered that religion could be scary.

nk

20

So. Hit the big 2-O last night. Last night? Yesterday. Had a good night. Or so people keep telling me. I cant remember anything that happened after dinner.

Aside from the fact that I say ridiculous garbage when uhh... under the influence.

Its funny. I went from being completely and utterly miserable on the 5th and over the bloody moon on the 6th. Im not sure if it's something to do with the crazy amounts of happy that I get when I get presents, or if it's just that happy thing that your brain injects into... itself? No wait. That your brain tells your gland thingys to send to the brain to make you feel happy when you eat chocolate. Or in my case, stupid amounts of chocolate cake. Was it serotonin? I think its serotonin.

And mummy wanted me to be a doctor. HAH.
It is quite worrying however that I managed to ace biology, and yet come up with the above sort of masterful observations on the human brain.

Anyway, back to being bipolar.

I dunno. I was a little bummed that the whole birthday thing would be away from family (and friends, but you buggers insidiously wormed your way into my life so you count as family anyway) at first, but as i sat down for dinner (the lamb was amazeballs btw), as I sat down for dinner, I realised that you're constantly making family.

And I say family on purpose.
Anyone can make friends. The minute you make family, you know you've got something, and it's gold.

So to my massive family back home, and my strange amalgamation of new and old family here, I had an amazing couple of days to celebrate the day the world begrudgingly allowed me to exist. And I wouldn't trade any of it for anything.

Except maybe superpowers.

Coz they're cool.

nk

The Little Things

Late night showers at 11, nonsensical Skype conversations, singing in a wedding, sunshine, daily hot chocolates, cherries in a cup.

Loving life at the moment.

nk

Facebook Certified

Finally changed my religious belief on facebook to Atheism.

I know. I'm the poster child for revolution I am.

But I felt that it was something that had to be done. Not because of that shit that nothing is official before it's announced in a (one can only hope) witty status update. No, I thought if I believed in something this strongly, I should have the guts to announce it to the world.

Now, I say the world. but I really mean my old teachers, some people from school you assumed were normal but then decided to get all wise and preachy and shit, and that one Aunt who social custom dictated I had no choice but to accept as a friend.

Y'know. All the judgey ones.

I've been a facebook certified atheist for a week now.

I was smug and content about it for all of a bloody day. It drove me nuts. I thought about it, and thought about it, had breakfast, thought about it some more and then realised, I'm not really an atheist either. I've been a shit atheist. Yes, I wholeheartedly believe that god doesn't exist, and anyone who holds to religion in a capacity other than as a basic, moral guide deserves to be disappointed when there's no big after-party in the sky. And yes, I think that faith schools are the stupidest thing mankind has ever created, second only to facebook's new timeline rubbish. But I don't think I could ever believe in a system of complete non-belief either. It's hard to explain.

I'm going to try anyway. This is not going to be a theological masterclass, but be patient with me.

Richard Dawkin's 'The God Delusion' and the related documentary 'The Root of All Evil?' shaped a lot of my adolescent theories on god and religion. And for a long time, the man was salvation for a confused 14 year old who didn't 'ooh' and 'ahh' when a religious group teacher (for lack of a better word) told the class that her relative had been cured of cancer after she'd seen god. So I read everything and anything I could get my hands on. Books, articles, blogs, even bleedin' Quote Garden. I watched the documentaries with headphones on, just in case. And it made sense. The religious were zealots. Unrelenting and unyielding to the point of idiocy. Before you dispute this, I suggest you google 'the pope' and 'condoms'.

But then, atheists also have the tendency to turn into Grade A nut-jobs. Dawkins, sadly, has become one of them.

He quotes in his book, "Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?"

Religious texts were most certainly not faxed down from heaven for your reading pleasure, but I cannot agree to a world that science has sanitised for my use. I can't believe in a theory that dragons never existed. We just haven't found them yet. Hogwarts (or its equivalent) didn't forget me, the owl just died somewhere over China trying to get my letter all the way to Malaysia. I think stonehenge was built by giants. I believe in magic. The greeks really had flying horses. Mutants walk amongst us.

And I understand that the above quote is a metaphor, but I really wouldn't mind some fairies in my garden.

I will never believe in god, at least, not a god that the many variations of monotheist rubbish demand I bend knee to. But science and secularism, in the way Dawkin envisions it, doesn't have all the answers either. And to say they did would make them no better than the bigots they're trying to one-up. I cant be 100% skeptic, and I refuse to be labeled as agnostic. In conclusion? I have no idea what I am.

So today, I've changed my religious beliefs on facebook back to what it used to be.

I am a Jedi.
Because if I'm going to believe in anything, its going to give me the ability to move shit with my mind, and give me an excuse to speak like Yoda.

May the Force be with you.

nk

Physics Revisited

I gave up my old patch of internet real estate a couple of years ago to move to the then greener grass of Tumblr - the reasoning at the time, obviously, being that pretty pictures were the solution to world peace made everything better.

Sooner than later, however, the amount of writing I actually did on my Tumblr became inversely proportionate to the amount of pictures reblogged. At least, I think it was inversely proportionate. Physics was never my best subject. What I didn't know, I leeched off people smarter than me, and what I knew, was very little. Now, this is where my mother would interrupt and tell me that I'm dramatically underselling myself. But I know for a fact that the reasons I did well in that paper were 20% hard work, 30% the fact that the Ministry of Education foolishly allowed me to arm myself with a calculator and a book full of formulas (formulae?), and 50% the fact that some other idjits probably pulled the graph aaaaaaall the way down to funkytown.

But I digress.

Basically I wasn't writing about shit a whole lot. And I missed being able to express my thoughts in other ways than through the evil that is the ever expanding world of meme's, and the odd 'asdfghjkl'.

So I'm back. Older, but definitely not much wiser. And if I'm honest, I think those two might be inversely proportionate as well.

nk