CIRCUSITCH

When Zero and I were younger, and when she had her own blog, our favorite pastime – other than doing crank calls and stealing other people’s letters (Zero had a serious addiction with letter then) – was to ridicule other people. Oh don’t tsk-tsk us, we all know that at some point in our lives we all do it too.

I think we had a secret blog created just to bash people that happened to irritate us. I forgot what it’s called but the point of creating it was to be able to leave hurtful (but true) comments without signing off as Anonymous. A lot of people were included, usually girls who pose in front of mirros with their tongue sticking to the left or right, girls who smile like Mary Kate Olsen, etc. We were simply creating Internet Drama because the logic (or non-logic) behind it is simply too funny. I mean, internet wars anyone? I receive hate emails on a monthly basis and why should I take them seriously? I had though, someone who wrote to me seriously, leaving his email address, to which I replied, and we corresponded. If you are reading this, hello! I have improved somewhat, right? Who cares what you think?!!

Of course we don’t do that anymore. Zero has dropped out of the Internet world and no one interesting is online or blogging anyway. Not that I’m complaining. But yesterday as we were getting ready to bed like some two sad spinter sisters we are, we bitched about the Coach girls.

Oh yes. Those who, when someone or anyone has the luck to go overseas, would put in orders for anything Coach. If you’re clueless about what the fuck Coach is, it’s a brand. Handbags, wristlet, etc. Girls go crazy for them and it’s just annoying. Everywhere I go look/read, I’d see someone hoarding Coach wristlets, bag, Coach Coach Coach. Aper yang best sgt COACH tu? Ya Rabbi. KOAAACH.

These girls would also DEFINITELY ask for – you guessed it – Victoria Secret. Hehehe. What the fuck – don’t tell me all you know about the United States are COACH handbags and Victoria Secrets? We have a couple of trendier girls who are looking at Marc Jacobs now (zero kau pon sama hehehe) which I think puts them slightly higher than those Coach devotees.

Whenever me and my sister talk about overseas purchases, we talk about – don’t laugh, but laugh if you must – Target. I can’t get enough of Target!! Or Anthropologie. Or Fred Flare. Those are just for non-essentials. We would scour the cutest fabric stores, and I definitely would hit all the running shops, etc. Who has time for Coach?? Get some new original ideas people.

I bet these girls would want Tiffany rings for their weddings and engagements.

Not too original until you end up being in the far end of the spectrum where your choices are less kampung, but still trendy and therefore not individual. Example, fixed gear bicycles, Diana cameras, sneakers… eh, kicks (salah sebut kang tak cool pulak), and many more I could not mention.

What happened to your gladiator sandals? Or your wide belts and DSLRs? Haih… poning eden!

My youngest sister falls somewhere in between. Where Zero is a fashion victim (but still pioneer O.C fan) in her own rights, and I am just a foul-mouthed freak, my youngest sister plays the cool cards just right. She wears all the neccessary leggings, and wayfarers, braids on one side thingy, but you ask her what she wants for her wedding ring, and she would answer to you, “David Yurman.”

Jgn main main. Sila Google David Yurman kalau tak kenal.

Adios Fuckers

The best thing about being on your own for the whole day is having all the time in the world to be fucking bored. My mission on my off days or vacations has always been the same: to be stinking bored out of my ass. My biggest complaint in life is that I don’t have enough time, and I feel rushed all the time. And here I am enjoying my luxury of a one day trip, hanging in the house, in my underwear, talking to no one, doing absolutely nothing, thinking about nobody. I think I was a cat in earlier days.

I live by this:

The time you enjoy wasting is NOT wasted time.

Amen

When I asked you what was wrong with them, you said, “They just don’t get it.”

I remember that from a book. I read it when I was 12 and didn’t get it. It was a solace when I was 19. And now, at 26, it is my book of hope.

I vowed not to be the one who doesn’t get it. Loving him, is like sleeping with a timebomb. I was left to fend to myself and tend to the enemy. He was alternatively charming and a cunt, loving and bitter. We first made love to the Smashing Pumpkins, the heat in the blanket engulfing us. Later, I slept while you caressed my hair. I felt every single strand, electric.

Today you are with someone else. I watched as you made her laugh, her slow throaty drawl dancing towards the sky. I think of all our times together, the long slow nights we had holding hands and talking. We talked our way through the nights, to sunrises and into books. Does she get you?

I hope I am the only one who gets you. We have a pact, remember?

If we’re talking about jealousy of the opposite sex when your partner is concerned, I would say that I take it a little differently.

I’m not a jealous person. Wait, no. I am a jealous person, outside of a relationship. But in a relationship I am rarely jealous. Why bother? What’s THERE to be jealous about? Sometimes my boyfriend and I fight over the fact that I am rarely ruffled. He wants me to show some concern, especially when a particular hot Korean girl eyeballed him boldly in the food court. He says that I am too comfortable in this relationship.

I am not too comfortable. I have bad thoughts about him realizing the mess he’s in – stuck with me – and then bailing out. So our standing is equal, except that when I see his straying eyes directed to someone’s legs, I feel amused, not devastated. He’s a GUY. Guys can’t let a nice view like a long pair of legs or a shapely butt pass. They just have to see it. Most of the times the body parts don’t really have to be good. As long as skin is visible, their eyes would rest on it. Blame it on their hormones. But don’t chalk it up to infidelity.

I’m not saying you should condone the act entirely. You have to know the person you love. If he is indeed someone who plays around, his wandering eyes is probably looking for the next amusement. But you have to know that normal men look at women. The way I see it, you either get why they do it, or you don’t. Just because they look at other girls don’t mean they are out of love with you, they just think she’s pretty, or hot, or sexy, or a combination of all three. So what if they do? He’s in love with you right?

I like to play a little game where I would spend my time checking out males checking out females. It happens everywhere and all the time. For instance, two nights back at Ikea. A daddy waiting at the table with his toddler daughter checks out the body of a young female with her friends. He wasn’t being dirty or rude; it was only for a millisecond. You think he thinks about the girl when he’s having sex with the wife afterwards? He probably does, but that’s another issue, with a different solution.

My boyfriend checks out other women all the time. I don’t really mind it because to be honest I was checking them out too. Is it his fault that they’re just too beautiful? Besides, I check out other guys as well. It’s a relationship not a blind camp outing, for crying out loud. You need to understand it like this: it’s like they’re checking out the super smokin Porsche and feeling like homaigod, but come home to their beat down and well loved secondhand Satria.

The only time I was a bith threatened though, was this time when a friend bought a lady friend that was a combination of beauty and brains. She was pretty, a lawyer, and damnit, comes from Kelantan as well. Over their own dialect, I watched them joke about Malaysian laws and what not. Since when did he ever talk about laws, I thought.

Maybe I should rephrase: I am not jealous over sexy girls. I do, though, over girls that have some substance, like someone who aced Trivia Games or is good in basketball. Even without a boyfriend. Who wouldn’t?

The movies have got it all wrong. Pre-meditation is only a term to add drama. Most of the time the victims happened to be someone unlucky enough to catch our eyes.

I have not been successful for a while now.

I do not know how it happens, why I choose the girl I choose. All I know is the moment when it feels right. It could grow from a glance to a week’s observation, but mostly I knew it from a mere glance. I knew her, from a glance. It doesn’t have anything to do with physical or the mood I am in.

Sometimes I pass a few girls I deem as worthy before settling on the one. I wonder if the girls knew how close they came to being killed.

I saw her when we went up the stairs. I think I might have seen the back of her in the train but I didn’t take any notice then. Climbing up the stairs, for no reaosn I jerked my head back, and found myself looking at her. She looked at me as if she knew her doomed fate, and then continued up the stairs. She had no idea what just happened, what will happen.

I walked ahead of her, my whole body buzzing with a sense of purpose. I did not look back at her. There will be a lot of time for me to do that later.

there’s nothing easier than telling a lie. but you know that so well. no one asked about your mother, they assumed that she’d be just fine, taking it all in. I had expected this from you – knew one of these days you’d be driving full speed into a crash, terminating every single thing we represent. i have no idea what to feel. but something just strikes me as funny when i heard you broke your clavicle. of all the things, it is the collarbone that got the best deal; shattered so badly that pieces from the bone embed themselves in your meat. only your mother could make it sound like dinner is being prepared.

My favorite girl is writing again and my toes are curled with the possibility of devouring her words on a daily basis. Sometimes I think she is writing only for me, although I doubt she knows of my existence. I don’t really enjoy female writers as much as I do male, but with her I make an exception. She has balls the size of Texas. I am deprived, and I don’t even realize it. My body fat percentage is higher than average – 28% – and it was because I was consuming complete filth and crap off the Internet. Junk food, like Twisties Cheese and Double Decker Chicken, both my favorites. I could imagine the two of us sharing a pack while we talked about random things that piss us off. Or maybe not, since I don’t make friends with my fantasies. I just don’t want them to turn out to be ordinary and I would be devastated.

This picture was taken about 3 years ago in a secluded strip in Indonesia. My cousins thought it would be funny to drag us along in their hunt for ’susu berjemur’.