It stops today

You know what's the most amazing thing I saw in the mirror today? Besides my face, that is.

My teeth! My bottom front row teeth! It was actually considerably straight! All this time it had been crooked to a point where the pair at the center seemed to be shouldering each other to snatch the best seat for the panoramic view of what's beyond the balcony of my lip; the other two on each of their sides were cowering behind, so half their bodies were in the shadows; while the rest just stood according to the line drawn by the gum, though they didn't bother to align themselves.

But this morning I could actually see the whole of one of the tooth-in-hiding. Hallelujah. I know I used to say I didn't care how my teeth look, but damn this feels good. And I didn't even suffer from any pain, besides the merciless mockery of friends/lecturers on my spastic speech. Retainers disciplined my teeth, man, by ass-whipping them with metal wires into queuing properly.

Who wants to see me smile?

A midnight bottle, gonna ease my pain

Meet Blob; my new fluffy addition to the growing brood on my bed.

I told Eu Chern I bought it coz I was too obsessed with the puppy I got him. Well, I lied. Partially, at least. 

I kept it because it reminded me of my grandma; because it was something she would have loved, seeing how she was as inanely infatuated with soft toys as I am; because it was a perfect little picture of what I would miss a lot, and celebrate, about her. 

I want it also because, above anything else, it proved that no matter how bizarre things would get, no matter how off-axis the world would spin, no matter how monochromatic your palette suddenly seems, there would always be something that keep you centralized and grounded, a familiar symbolic figure that reminds you of beautiful gone days and makes you smile. 

(:

I swear I'll love you right, little dog. 

How can I change the world, cause I sure can't change your mind

Motivation is the driving force which causes us to achieve goals.

I think Wikipedia needs to refine its definition of the word.

Because the strength of motivation is highly dependable on the goal itself; whether it is a sculpture carved out of passion or just some hasty portrait of incentive. 

Tell me honestly, when was the last time you ever did something for the simple reason that you want to, that you love doing it, that it makes you happy so? If you need to scratch your head for an answer, whoa, you are screwed.

I remember the audition that I rode out back in October on a wave of adrenaline rush, the one that would get me a place in the choir for Christmas caroling. The funny thing about it was, despite my horrendous singing, my perplexing ability to go off tune even with an accompanying instrument, Tian Yi never once flinched. But when he posed the question of why I would want to be part of the group, and I chose to be frank by shrugging and going, “For the experience,” he looked as if I just offered him a lap dance.

“For the experience? Not for the money?”

“Yes, for the experience and not for the money.” I could hear my conviction crumbling under his arched brows. My voice even sounded deflated to my ears, as if his incredulous expression was heavy enough to weigh it down.

I couldn’t help feeling annoyed and frustrated. What does that mean? That my wanting to join for any other reason than a stack of green notes is not a strong enough motivation? That I would just sag and surrender when I think I had stopped absorbing something new?

Probably the materialistic ideal has degraded us to such a stage where we are now squirrels running an endless stretch of treadmill, with cash in place of acorn, dangling in front to lure us forward. You tell me to wake up and be realistic; I tell you to live life and not punish yourself to a slow death doing things you hate and get all hissy pissy over.

The train of motivation could only transport you so far if the fuel is impure; the way only a pure diamond could cut through another.

Take myself for example.

I love music, but I have a passion for writing. I would put the same amount of effort and work into perfecting these two mediums of expression; if I poured a tablespoon of sweat and blood into one, then the exact ingredient would go into the other. They both churn out equal dosage of joy and fulfillment for me. But here’s the thing: I view music as a rainbow and would always expect to find a pot of gold at the end of it; writing, on the other hand, is like scaling a mountain, the only things I look forward to are the beautiful sunset of my completed article and the burst of endorphins over my success.

But I can figure out why. I play a specific kind of music because I was asked to, obliged to, even forced to; and most of the time I did it for marks. So I ended up with high expectations in terms of reward for my hard work instead of trying to take it as learning process. 

The sad thing is, I used to treat writing as a doorway to the room of materialistic rewards too. I would write, but only so that I had a chance to win grand prizes, to milk some cash out of it, instead of thinking whether it made me happy (you have no idea how many essay competitions I joined). But it didn’t last long; I never got anywhere, except going down the steps of self-esteem. Then I decided to change my perspective. I would write only because I wanted to, with no external temptations; because I love how it gave me a freedom to express no other medium could; because I could not imagine a life without this gift. And things began to change as well: I got recruited for the prestigious journalism camp, aka BRATs, by the Star; I had a chance to cover events, working alongside people with a similar passion; I had my article published on the newspapers; my work got recognized.

It made me see things differently from then on. I did not want to slump back to my shallow point of view, the way I apply new techniques I have learnt to play a certain song, rather than stick to the old ones and not gaining an inch in perfecting the tune. Human evolve to have a better life; I want my mentality to do the same.

But why can’t others?

Because we were brought up that way, our society and culture shape us into mental moulds that think hard work comes hand in hand with reward, especially in Asian culture. A classic example would be of primary school days, whereby good grades and top positions in class or achieving remarkable accomplishment in competitions would garner gifts from parents. We were lured and pushed into working our asses off, not for the benefit of ourselves, but for the presents awaiting us on the other side.

No? The line “If you get 1^st in class this year, Mummy will get you the PSP you’ve always wanted” doesn’t sound familiar? I could see your nose growing longer.

Fine. There are exceptions, like my dad. While my mom used to go about finding new ways to tempt us to slave harder, my dad would be, “See this as a self-improvement, study because you want to learn, not because of what present Mummy is going to buy you.” I had always uhmm okay-ed insightfully and nodded fervently in agreement, but it never did get past the part of my brains where it was choked with fantasies of what mom would reward me with for my effort in mathematics.  

Guess that explained a lot about my peeps’ behavior. Our parents may only be doing that as a form of encouragement, but we kids saw it in a different light; and this would turn into the darkness that haunts and determines our actions. They became addicted to the drug of incentive, that the only motivation they know was the benefit they would attain from carrying out a certain activity.

So I won’t blame them, nor will I their parents. It’s the society and the way we react to the sociological shifts and influences.

“Was blind, but now I see.” – Amazing Grace

Me, I want a hula hoop

They say we should always choose gifts for friends the way we would for ourselves.

Well, there are two faults in that. One, we are individual in our own rights, so they can’t bloody expect my friends to love the things that I do. An owl ring may be all good and suitable for Amanda and Jo, but I doubt many people outside our circle would appreciate it as much. Then again, they might mean knowing you friends well so you wouldn’t screw up in getting the wrong presents. But, taking that into consideration, there is still the factors of taste, favoritism, relevance, and whether he or she already has the object you have in mind.

Two, we would probably love the present so much that we end up getting an identical one to satiate our obsession; which explains why I have exact versions of Eu Chern’s and Amanda’s gift each, sitting on my bed and in the jewelry box. Aha. And I will confess, this isn’t the first time it has happened, nor can I assure you that this will be the last.

Huh. Buying gifts could be such a strenuous activity. Unless, of course, you simply don’t give a damn about it.

Make them go ah, ah, ah

I just waved and said bye to Adibah Noor. Cool.

Hey, don't write yourself out yet, it's only in your head you feel left out

What the hell have I signed myself up to?

The question was a goldfish swimming in the aquarium of my head, its pitifully short 3-second span of memory depletes the chances of boring it to the point of leaving. Still, I sat through the awkward silence that only being in an unfamiliar company could bring, watching as more strangers trickle in, and waiting out the grace period.

But why sociology, an elective subject that sounds so far-fetched from my music path, at least theoretically? I needed time-out; that was what I remember telling myself. I wanted to tend to my rebellious nature, to proof I don’t have to be enclosed in purely a music world simply because my peers expected me to; I yearned for diversity, if anything but to enrich and equip myself for the future; most of all, I desperately wanted to break free from my comfort zone, to strip away any sense of familiarity. So, I challenged myself to pick a subject no one else chose: sociology.

Fair enough. In fact, I was pretty gungho about it, this braving myself up for a one man war. I even spent a mamak session with Jing Hua and Joanna discussing about the 6 degrees of separation theory. The concept, also known as the Human Web, paints the idea that everyone is on average no more than six steps away from any other person on Earth, making it plausible to connect any two people in the world in six steps or fewer. Jing Hua said it was covered in her psychology class, but if you asked me, I would say that fell under sociology.

Still, it got me pretty hyped up regarding my courageous choice, like I was doing a stint for Home Alone, though this would title ‘Class Alone’….till the moment I stepped into class. It was relatively empty and the space was considerably large (compared to those in the music faculty) that I felt naked and acutely self-conscious. I was never good at new environments and meeting new people, though I was narcissistic enough to pride myself so.

Then Ms Yap spoke. I know it sounds crude, but it was like she just farted, because she blew me away. Probably because of her cultured English, but she introduced the topic and explained about the difference between anthropology and sociology in such a zest-induced way that I sat up straighter. I can’t really recall her words as my nocturnal mind didn’t function at such an unholy hour (11am IS despicably early, as far as holiday-mood time zone is concerned), but a quick click of mouse tells me that anthropology deals with human culture as well as the physical and social characteristics that create that culture, whereas sociology studies the functionality of human society including origins, development and organization. In simpler words, anthropology is viewing the sphere of human society on the outside while sociology is from within. Of course, I will later on alter and refine the definition parallel to my understanding of the subject.

She also mentioned that sociology studies about being out of the norm, in addition to my point of it being in the norm. Now that was interesting, since I seldom see myself as one who fits in; less so in high school, but in college, it was startlingly obvious. I had always thrived to be different, and relish the fact that I am, like the time when it was a trend to pick up Japanese or Korean during the long break after SPM, I refused to, and learnt French instead. Then again, it might mean I was only being idiosyncratic, which everyone is, for that matter, or I was just plain rebellious. Still, it was something in sociology I would like to read more into.   

All in all, it was an informative class, and an intriguing one at it. I certainly don’t regret taking it, despite the heavy workload and effort I’m expected to put into it. Who knows where I’ll bring this skill to, in the future. Merging it with music and create something new of my own? Whatever it is, time and society’s effects on me will tell.

Meanwhile, I’ll just savor the fact that we have lots of reading materials in store and that more than makes up for all the assignments and sufferings ahead.

Don't wake me 'cause I'm dreaming, of angels on the moon...

...and of the days in Japan. My early red-and-gold Christmas. In no particular order:

1. I miss lying on the fallen autumn leaves at 2am in the morning, 5 black patches of winter coat-clad figures making leaf-angels and talking about everything under the moon. Smothered under a blanket of shining stars and cut out ones of yellowed leaves hanging off high branches, it gave us a sense of detachment from the world, a kind of numbness to the fears of reality. As Snow Patrol so beautifully put it, “Would you lay with me and just forget the world?” I loved the serenity, the sort you could get only from drifting on a raft in the stillness of a lake; or rocking to sleep in the arms of a hammock by the beach. We all did. And for some reason, I got a feeling that that moment defined our trip.

2. I miss being exuberant at simply anything and everything, the way a toddler is about the world. From the first step into my foster family’s home to the very last drop of Japan sunshine I tasted the second before boarding the flight, I was zinging with a wild energy that came to know as Sampatness or Kanasai-ness. I was obscenely eager to try every little thing, even attempting at puffing in a hyperventilating way that resembled a blowfish just to see my own breaths. Thank you, Azhar, for recording that embarrassing scene, though I could not bring myself to view it, thus I’d deleted it. Now I seem to be slightly deflated and uninterested in the workings of my daily life, I’d probably need a little more time to adjust back.

 That feet warmer thing to put under the blankets

3. I miss the food. Then again, which food-crazed Malaysian doesn’t? I miss the gnawing anticipation of the following meal, the next feeding, even if we just finished feasting and would need to trudge through a million more miles before lunch or dinner. Ah, those saliva-inducing breakfast at okasan’s; a bowl of miso soup, a cup of green tea, a plate of salad complete with greens, cherry tomatoes, raw slices of fish and the magical sauce, fruit, topped with a yogurt-like dessert. And those breakfasts in Tokyo too, with the usual table of me, Gan, Joelle, Seong Seong and Izzat, and the occasional Azhar, they were the best I’d ever had. Oh, not to mention the food in Disneyland! Of course, there were exceptions, like the Z-grade ‘bento’ we had at the embassy, that served cold rocks of rice, fried chicken that tried to be crispy but failed and vegetables that looked as if the cook accidentally splattered them on the floor then picked them up to stuff into the lunch tray.

4. I miss the weather; the crisp quality of air, with a blast of cool, at times freezing, wind now and then; the fact that we would have sun rays piercing into our eyes by 6.30 in the morning: Mother Nature’s way of pouring hot espresso down our throats to wake us up; the undisturbed line on the graph of beautiful days. And the scenery, my God, was breathtaking: stretches of mountains and fields that were a green, red, orange and yellow patchwork of magnificence, during my and Gan’s stay in Yamagata City; then blobs of colour along the road in Tokyo, shedding trees circled by tiny heaps of fallen leaves. It gave me a damn good reason to smile every day.

 The trees died on me boo >:(

Me and okasan (what we called our foster moms)

5. I miss Disneyland. And my previous posts have sufficiently summed up why.

6. I miss the company. I swear, I burnt more calories from laughing than all that walking. Granted, the perplexingly spastic ones had been mostly me (Ka), Gan (Na), Izzat (Sai), Joelle (the creator of Kanasai), Seong Seong (the manager) and Azhar (the ad/sign board translator). But the others had been good company too (: Our longest crap time had been that train ride; the 2-hour Shinkansen (bullet train) journey from Gifu to Tokyo, which was credited to sensei’s suggestion we (me, Joelle and Gan) spun our 3-seater seat around to face Izzat, Seong Seong and Ms Wan. All hell broke loose. Even Azhar and Khatijah joined in. It was like a cult group worshipping jokes of char siew baos and peeing dogs. 

 Go zoom in on the sign above our heads

Guy: Inilah kebaikan mempunyai anak!

Lady: Tetapi anak ini bukan saya punya! Saya mencuri anak ini!

Oh, did I mentioned my foster sister was adorable?

The photo doesn't do her justice though. Yes, Izzat, I hear you.