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.
First involvement in report write-up submitted to DOE. Prioritized courier some more. So excited!
They were 3 volumes altogether and my name is on all of them. *beams* Though they were just standard monthly reporting, an update to the main EMP, not the EMP itself, nor the DEIA. I still need to go to an induction course and be certified by DOE before my name can be on one of those reports.
But sometimes we need to celebrate our little life's achievement along the way to keep us going. Give yourself a pat in the back. Or get yourself that new pair of shoes. ;p
Anyways. For DEIA and EMP, which usually have like 5 volumes including the Appendices, which makes up to about 800 pages or more altogether for each set, DOE demands 15 copies of those. If we print on both side of the paper, that makes 6000 pages. 6000 pages! Which eludes their initial purpose in protecting our environment..what a comic irony.
I was reminiscning good memories about my father the whole morning. Not in a sad kinda way.
I remember my mother telling me how my father's mother was such a sweet and simple woman, she once declared that if my father's first child is a daughter, she would like it if she lives with her. This was a woman who never learned, or refused to learn, how to use a gas stove. Imagine what kind of a woman I would have became if she lived to see the day I was born. I would be perfect for Pencarian Gadis Melayu show!
Anyhow, it so happened that this morning, a colleague approached my table and asked me if I know anyone in this office originating from Melaka. She got this nice sort of like a mini encyclopedia on Melaka printed on thick glossy paper, the pages are all colored. She got it while attending a conference but since the book deals more on history and cultural heritage which does not have much to do with her project, she figures she should give it someone who would appreciate it better.
I can't really explain my feeling at that moment. I feel like I was being spoken to. Since the concept of life after death does not exist in our religion, so it was not possible that I was being spoken to by the spirit of my deceased father. Though the idea was a romantic one but I have to dismiss it although it would make just the perfect plot Ghost Whisperer had the show survived another season.
Maybe it was just pure coincidence and I told her my father was indeed from Melaka but I never got the chance to go there since by the I was born, there was nobody left at the kampung anymore. The later generation of my father's family just simply left after their predecessor died. Sure my father brought us a couple of times there but at that time it was just another fun family trip (naik kereta lembu and all); being young and unknowing, I never tried to look past that.
She simply said, well good, then I should give the book to my father for him to relive his childhood hometown and perhaps for me to re-trace my root and history.
I accepted the book with a warm feeling in my heart.
21 February 2012
My blog just somehow went crazy. Didn't remember messing about with the template oh well perhaps it just got tired of me. Changed to the first new template that caught my eye, everything's okay now, it was good while it lasted with the last one, no hard feelings.
I went back home carrying 4 pairs of heels from the office. The thing is, I went to work wearing heels or wedges and once I arrived due to lots of running around the office I would change right into my reliable flats. And usually I would stay in them all through the day and without realizing it I would go home wearing my flats. The next day, I would wear another pair of elevated shoes; heels or wedges. The cycle continues until I realize that I'm running out of heels/wedges to wear.
Girls. We can never have just one shoes for work. The other guys just wear the same pair everyday. Most guys only have one for office, one for sports, one for casual and one flip flops. What uncomplicated life guys have. Well, my boyfriend might beg to differ to that but the rule applies to most guys.
Went back late from work today. Things are pretty chaotic without me having my own car. After a long day at work we'll drive straight to KL to pick my brother up and that's more tiring than working all day. Need to find a car fast. In the middle of doing just that and now I can't sleep. Luckily since I went back late today I can come in later tomorrow. 11 am it is.
20 February 2012
Tadi sembang kedai kopi kat kedai mamak.
Siapa yang hisap rokok masing-masing keluarkan sebatang rokok, ketuk-ketuk kat tapak tangan, sebelum light up.
Siapa yang tak smoke pulak, kunyah keropok kacang yang namanya tak dapat nak recall lagi dah. Tapi asal dari indon katanya.
Sembang punya sembang termasuk la topik yang agak deep sedikit.
"Comparison is the death of joy." Itu topik perbualan.
Seorang project engineer di tempat aku bekerja tu berkongsi tentang tabiat dalam tidak sedarnya yang suka mengikut perkembangan rakan-rakan lalu menjadikan mereka sebagai kayu ukur pencapaian sendiri. Biasala tu. Siapa tak buat kan.
It might serve as a positive kind of pressure which pushes us to outperform them and in the end outperform ourselves. But during the process, we would loose sight of the here and now, of what we have achieved so far, of the importance of having fun along the journey. We undermine our abilities and spirits with such negative thoughts and the sinking feeling that we are left behind in the race that does not exist, except in our insecure mind.
Fear is irrational. We're all gonna die so we might as well just go big. What's the point of winning the non-existence race? We're all gonna die and turn into dust and bones and all that won't matter.
I've accepted some time ago that death is a fact of life. Though, judging from my actions and relation with Him sometimes, this might not seem the case, but time after another, the thought engulfed me, and I am overcame with clarity of where we all stand. Doesn't matter what you do, places you have been, you and I are heading towards the same destination, every day, each second. You and I, we are not much different, you see.
To the point that I sometimes question myself what is the point of all the trivial things we have to go through daily, like picking out the right scarf for the outfit I'm wearing, finding the ever so elusive parking spot especially during weekday, or wondering if I had managed to leave a good impression on the supposedly important people I've met.
But the more I think about it, the more it becomes clear that it's the trivial things in life that really matters. Well, sort of. Most of them at least.
Like spending quality time with your loved ones. Kind words that make an impact to someone who really needs it at the time. You don't have to be saving the whole world to make your life worthwhile.
News of death come and go, it's hard not to feel stoic about most of them. I do feel sympathy towards the parties involved, but experience had taught me that however hard the situation might seem to the person at that time, all the sorrow that he/she is dealing with, the seemingly bleak future that person is imagining awaits ahead of him/her, he/she'll pull him/herself through safely sooner or later. Definitiv. We are all stronger that we allow ourselves to believe.
Another news followed the ringing of the phone today. The story, like every other death, sounds tragic, and it's hard to justify the death of another good and well-loved human being with so much to look forward to.
But that's not our place to decide. This life, the body our soul is encased in that we most of the time over-obsessed about, be it its shape, the clothes we choose to cover it, is borrowed, kind of like a vehicle to get through to our final destination.
Hopefully we'll have the time to re-remind ourselves that, time and time again.
This is the first time I've ever had to go on a real house hunting in my homeland.
The last time I did that was when I was searching for a place to stay during my practical training, but that didn't count. That was only a room hunting and my standards, well let's just say that I don't have any standards because I was desperate and up for anything which in the end saw me being confined in a store room without proper window in a rat-infested home for the whole 4-month course of my Praxisphase. Luckily I survived that. So as a few of my friends who, despite knowing all the risk involved, decided to spend several nights there.
In my own experience back in Germany, the process of finding a house to rent is in itself cumbersome, but apart from the tiring formalities of the process everyone has to go through, I have never encountered any problem arising from the fact that I am a foreign student. I've went to view 4 houses during the course of my stay in Germany, moved into 2 of them, and in short, no landlord has ever given me shit for carrying all of these labels; Asian, hijab-donning Muslim, and student.
That in a place where racism was taken to the very extreme not so long ago.
Not so much can be said about our own country though. Our prosperous country Malaysia which lauded itself in being a harmonious multiracial community.
For the last 3 weeks, I've called close to, perhaps more than 50 agents to ask for available unit for rent and the among first questions any agent would as are 1) Local or foreigner?, 2) Malay or Chinese or lain-lain?, 3) Student or working?
If you're a foreigner from Asian countries and black from any country, then chances of being considered as tenant is close to zero. An agent told me she once arranged for a viewing appointment for a European and when he turned up being black, she had to turn him instantly down. No further background check-up would be necessary, no chance will be given, you're just out if you're black. Being a student decrease your merit by 70% to stay in a well-kept, mostly inhabited by working professionals condos. Some landlords prefer only Chinese and some prefer only Malays.
I can't imagine those scenarios in Germany. People can report you on basis of being discriminative.
Having been a foreigner 'lain-lain' student before, it kinda struck a chord in me. Remember the time when a minority group of Muslim extremist went on a rampant flying planes into major buildings and bomb-exploding themselves off in public places and the world gave the rest of us shit just because we share a common religion name? Remember how that feels? Yes sure a lot of blacks here in Malaysia have been creating troubles using their students visa but meddling with money laundering and drug trafficking instead but what about the rest of them honestly looking for a better education? It's not wrong to be cautious but I don't think it's right to deny anybody their rights to be treated equally just because of their skin color.
Malays and Chinese in principle won't share a house if possible. I understand that that is to avoid problems that might arise when sharing a common kitchen and living room. But how hard can it be if people are willing to try and respect each other's needs? Going out of the way to just avoid each other do not count for points in effort department.
Yes we are a multiracial country, but we forgot an important and telling word in that slogan. We are actually a racist multiracial country. And nobody really knows how to mend that so we might as well just embrace it and continue with our lives.
On another note, we have just 2 days to pack our whole life and move. That's another proof that my family is weird. And I say that with much love. We love each other as much as we annoy each other, we enjoy each other's company as much as we can't stand each other, but still we decided to live in very close proximity to each other for another couple of years. Weirdos that we are. It's going to be hard but oh well. My prince charming has learned to know them and so far he hasn't run yet and that's good. In fact he's been getting along with them pretty well despite everything. He's pretty tough so he's definitely a keeper.
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.
First involvement in report write-up submitted to DOE. Prioritized courier some more. So excited!
