28-year-old mummy to an amazing 1-year-old baby Anggun who I secretly believes favor her daddy more than me but of course, I won't admit that to him. Entrepreneur, environmental scientist, go-getter.
I'm human sir, so I judge. With you, I judge profusely. And by every standard that I measured you against, I have to say, that you have managed to fail gloriously in every single one that it becomes a record. You stoop so low that you are one of a kind.
I'm rarely and deliberately rude to anyone even to those I can't stand but you are just the kind of person, the first one ever, whose feelings and thoughts I don't give a rat's ass about.
So sir, beware. Don't be shocked and be very scared that I'm not all smiles and sugar. You are about to get a taste of my bitter medicine and it ain't gonna be pretty.
My mother, brother and I were waiting for the lift when the the door opened to an empty one save for a recognizable face inside.
12 floors until we reach ground level. I thought to myself, this is going to be a long way down unless someone says something.
Thank goodness my mom decided quick on breaking the ice.
Mom : Aqasha kan?
Guy : Ye saye... *chuckles*
Mom : Aunty nampak Aqasha lagi hensem real life dari dalam TV~
Guy : Terime kasih... *chuckles some more*
Me and brother : *cringes*
Mom : Tinggal sini ka?
Guy : Tak, ada shooting, dekat rumah kakak Ayu Raudah?
Brother : Haaaa??? Rozita Che Wan ada sini?? (guys and their fascination with the Malaysian MILF -.-'')
Guy : Eh bukan. Kakak lain. Oo sebut Rozita Che Wan laju je ek?
Brother : *hearty laughs*
Lift opened and we said our goodbye and parted ways. By that time we had visited over 6 apartments in a day and we were so exhausted. We decided that meeting an actor was a sign for us to call off the day and decided on the house; each of us with different motives. Brother was hoping to catch sight of Rozita Che Wan in the future, Ibu was daydreaming of meeting Anuar Zain, I wouldn't mind stumbling upon Bront Palarae.
And based on a very relevant set of reasons, that's how the decision was made.
Stumbled upon the song by chance and it reminded me of one of the place I wouldn't mind visiting again and again. The city of love, Paris.
The song embodies all the essence that makes the city what it is; magical, romantic, mysterious, quaint. It's a big city, yes, but the atmosphere is somehow slightly different. It doesn't pull you fiercely in that you feel like you have to dash from one high of an attraction and on to the next which leaves you feeling drained, spent at the end of the day, no. With Paris it's different. It has the energy of a big city, yet it dissipates gently towards the edge, careful not to overwhelm you, but powerful enough to sweep you along with its charm. You'll feel like you want to take your time with this city, savoring each single thing carefully before the next.
Strolling along the left bank of Seine River, stopping at each bouquiniste, sifting through rows and rows of old postcards and posters, finding something that'll be perfect for your collection..
Gargoyles of Notre Dame looking down on couples walking hand-in-hand, smiling into each other's eyes, as if the one they are with is the only person that matters in the middle of throngs of people all around...
Taking in the scent of old paperbacks, running your fingers along the spine of old worn books, pretending that Shakespeare and Co bookstore is a treasure cave that you found on your own private adventure and that its every content is now yours, yours to relish one by one for as long as it takes..
That ubiquitous landmark that you can't seem to escape if you're in Paris, the highest point in the city, "scraps of metal" some might say but it still is a sight to behold nevertheless, especially for the first timers, out of admiration, even out of disappointment for all the fuss is about..
Taking your time climbing the steep pavement leading up to Sacre Coeur, a treat in form of an artist village awaits you halfway, the Montmarte, where dozens and dozens of painters will offer to draw portraits, sketches, caricatures of you..watching these seemingly struggling artists at work will give you the chills, knowing that Van Gogh, Picasso and countless other big names have roamed these narrow streets before..
And when you've climbed the final of the steps, the sight of Sacre Couer, proudly perched atop the hill, only the second highest point of Paris welcomes you..from there, enjoying the view of Paris during sunset, the sky a tinge of pinkish grey, with buskers nearby belting out their reggae-ish rendition of 'Knocking On Heaven's Door', the song's choice couldn't be any more fitting..
Getting lost through the maze of Paris's streets, which, if accepted with an invitation of an adventure rather than a stressful not-in-the-itinerary episode, will lead you to an off-beaten path which might surprise you either in form of a charming boulangerie lined with freshly-made macarons in any imaginable flavor, amusing little art shop selling paper dolls and/or handmade stuff, even a playground with an interesting story like the 'I Love You' wall..
Relaxing your tired feet in coffee shop by the roadside, while having the best croissant you've ever tasted, buttery, savory, soft, perfectly crisp but not too much that it crumbles messily..together with le chocolat chaud, a perfect combination to enjoy the sight of people walking past by, the French guys..
Yes, the French guys, the artsy-fartsy type which you can spot by those carrying what should be their artsy-fartsy portfolios in their hands, tortured-artist look on their scruffy ruggedly handsome face sporting a 3-day-unshaven growth, so endearing that every word they speak will sound poetic, what's more, in French, oh s'il vou plait..but wait..
What's even better than French guys are the French women, mon ami, mon cherrie, so effortlessly chic in the classy but fashion-forward way they dress and the way they carry themselves with that characteristic French air that's so hard to pin down; put-together, self-assured, but never arrogant.
Hunting for treasures amongst what others might classify as junks in Marche aux Puces, there amidst the bric-a-brac, are relics from the past, old doorknobs and buttons, candleholders, jewelry box, or perhaps a vintage Hermes perfume bottle that would make a good addition to your existing perfume collection.
From the easily recognizable Art Nouveau metro station entrances, to the glass pyramid of Musee du Louvre, to the bountiful choice of halal food (Uzbekistan, Indian, Lebanese, Algerian, Moroccan, Japanese), Paris definitely has a lot to offer and much more.
There's a sense of longing that's tugging at my heart whenever I think of the place. Perhaps we'll see each other again some day, with or without AirAsia.
Went to see a second doctor and instead of getting a consultation on my bad case of poxes I got a free consultation of my future. 15 full minutes of it. The doctor was thorough in his diagnosis that his consultation ranged from my higher degree education to future family plans. Thank you dear doctor. That was very sweet of you to care so much.
So anyways, the doctor told me my poxes are normal, that I shouldn't fret too much over it. I guess that's what you get for going berserk on the search engine trying to self-diagnose yourself with little medical knowledge. Hah.
"Pantang dia semua boleh makan kecuali ais."
"Kira ayam boleh makan la doctor? Telur? Kicap?"
"Jangan tanya satu-satu..., semua boleh makan....kecuali ais."
"...OK."
Doctor told me that what's dangerous is my saliva. It carries the disease. Meaning that if I were to bite you now and your body does not have the antibody for the virus then chances are you'll be infected. I'm a chicken-pox spreading zombie muahahahaha! Boyfriend even said that my reenactment of a blood-thirsty zombie is really good, I mean, I really could get into the character having grown up with zombie-fighting games and nightmares.
When they told me I should stay away from chicken AND kicap I was like I DON'T WANT TO LIVE ON THIS PLANET ANYMORE!!! But for the time being, I'm still keeping soy sauce of my diet, just in case. EVERYONE I met said it'll make the scars turn black. Like the color of the soy sauce itself. I know it sounds too superstitious to be true but let's not take any chances shall we. (Although it does hit me funny bones that if that same rule applies to every type of food, I'll be turning green from the amount of pulut sekaya and kuih cara I've consumed.)
I guess I did overreacted and it was so stupid of me. I felt very guilty of how I've behaved these past few days. It's just chicken pox for God's sake and I acted like the world is about to end. I wish I have a Doraemon so I could use his Time Machine to go a few days back and knock myself in the head.
Oh well, all is well now. Poxes still there, still gross-looking but I'm Ok.
Since I can't go out even though I've got my license, what's left to do? Yeah, let's get smarter. The following list will tell you just that (taken from DailyBeast.com) :
So if you thought getting bulldozed and ambushed at the wise age of 24 by chicken pox virus would suddenly hit oneself with an epiphany on the outrageous level of superficialness that the world operates at and that kind of seemingly profound BS, well, you are clearly misunderstood.
If anything it has made me even more vain.
You can't put the entire blame on me for being too dramatic.
You should see the size of the poxes oh my GLORIOUS GODDDD help me~ They are unbelievably huge, like the crates on the surface of the moon I swear. Nothing speaks ugly louder than looking into the mirror right now.
With the prospect of me possibly starting work pretty soon, all I could think of is how horrible I would look on my first day of work. I even started to come up with excuses to postpone my first day at work if the scars haven't all faded yet but I don't think they would appreciate it since I've already missed out on an opportunity once before. Tell me how much shallow-er can one be.
I know I know I've heard it all, went through it all in my head but right now I just want to be a pessimist. Let me pretend that my fate is actually doomed, more tragic than Giacomo Casanova's first love, Lucia.
They felt in love in their teens, until one day Giacomo has to go to the city to continue his study in becoming a minister or something. While patiently waiting for her love to come back, Lucia caught the virus that I've caught and still am fighting right now. She told her parents to move her to a barn behind the house, tied her legs and hands to prevent her from scratching all over. When the worst has passed she looked in the mirror and found that while her body has been spared, her face was disastrous, having trashed her head like a maniac into the bed sheet and squashing all the poxes, yellow pus oozing out (ewww!). She decided to never let Casanova saw her that way and asked her parents to tell him when he came back for her that she died from the virus. The rest as they say is history. Giacomo, instead of becoming a priest/minister/etc, went on to deflower all nuns and women he came in contact with by the infamous name Casanova and his first true love Lucia became a high-end escort in Amsterdam infamous for her mysteriousness for constantly wearing a veil across her face. I'd say, they truly were meant to be!
Moral of the story? Looks is just like a house made of cards. It will come crumbling down at some point. Pointless shit.
On the other hand, there are people who made a luxurious living by building house of cards. And laser rejuvenating skin treatment for scar removal on the face costs about RM1200.
