Sunlight.

Watched 'Breaking Dawn' this morning.

And truth to be told, I am one of those romantic hopeless, tearing up over little heroic acts and big, creative, moving lines. And that's exactly what Breaking Dawn is TRYING to be. If you've read one of my previous posts on Moonlight, I said something along the lines of, that film was attempting to be something it's not capable of. And I'll have to copy and paste that remark for this installment.

But thankfully, there weren't many nugatory happenings to the build-up, unlike the previous ones. In fact, they jumped right to the readers' favourite and audience's hyped about scene - D wedding. The wedding dress was different than what one would have expected and I shall not comment on that. I have my own fantasies about the best-looking wedding dresses. On a solemn note though, that formality was job well done. It was as if it was done by ticking off every component on the list of must-haves for a perfect wedding - parents presenting family's treasured heirloom to the bride, check; mom tearing up, check; dad's lukewarm treatment towards his son-in-law, check; never-before-seen kindred, check; the bossy bridesmaid, check; the cheeky bridesmaid, check; a little bit of the family feud in between, check; some man (or in this case, a werewolf), baulking with the news of the marriage, oh so check; a wide-ranging genre of toasts - some were farcical, some were felicitous, and some were frivolous, check; and of course, how can we miss the very touching lines enunciated by both the bride and groom, that one not so check. There was nothing I found creative neither was it moving. Oh, there was one and it couldn't even be classified as a novelty. It was just a recital of the stale we-will-remain-married-for-better-for-worse-for-richer-for-poorer-in-sickness-in-health-blah blah blah wedding vows.

Damn, couldn't comment on the highlight of the film - the bed scene! It didn't get pass our censor. Too bad. I thought, if there's one thing which will receive credit from me, that would be their bed scene.

But there really is something worth some credit. Bella's father! He was good. Good as an actor and as a father. In fact, he nearly stole the spotlight in the wedding. Tears welled up when he bid her daughter goodbye and quipped that there's always a home for Bella to return to if she's not happy with the Cullens.

I have a serious complaint to file in the dialogue department - Why can't you just say that Edward will kill Bella if they were to have sex?! Why the purposeful bereavement of the word, sex or first night or intercourse?! Is it because it's going to take the literary element out of the dialogue? Or is it that it'll make Americans sound smarter? I took a wholesome 9 seconds to figure what Jacob was mad about when he found out Bella wouldn't be 'transformed' on the night of the wedding. Or maybe it's just that I'm dumb. And that would give you a rough idea of how the entire script was written. They were talking about some things without mentioning that something in their conversation. That's not cool. I'm not saying the audience wouldn't be smart enough to figure it out but the dialogue was very contrived. Like, the characters want themselves or the scriptwriter or the author want the characters to sound smart which didn't come across as such to me.

Phew, that's only on the first half of the film. The remaining of the film, was the same old story. The continuation of the battle between the dogs and the bats. The battle scene wasn't even epic to begin with. We already knew what was coming - the vampires will be lose the fight but win the battle.

Huge spoiler ahead!

Bella turning into vampire. Really? It will then defeat the whole theme weaving ubiquitously - the romance between an immortal and a mortal. So now we're heading to another instalment of the same film but with a different theme?

The whole film was better than what I had expected. I'm dead serious here! - despite the impression elicited in the above paragraphs. I walked into the theatre watching Twilight, expecting something different but was pleasantly surprised. That paved a higher expectation for the second one and it was downright imploded. And then the third one was less annoying. So, I told myself to not expect ANYTHING from Breaking Dawn and I was once again, just like the first time, pleasantly surprised. See, the trick is the mental strategy you set yourself for. But for a film which has grossed so much and garnered so much hype for, it was simply not good enough. And it certainly is nowhere near the bar set by Harry Potter. Sorry for being so mean. When my brother asked why am I still willing to pay to watch it, I told him, "Oh, I'm just as shallow as any of the girls out there". And I bet I will still portray that sort of willingness when the finale comes out next year.

My First.

A toast to a first for me today. A first for hesitating to look forward to tomorrow and the days bound to come. A first for the desire that this day and this minute will linger around longer, the hunger for the hands in my analog watch to simply stop winding, and the desperate wish that the sun will not sink into the eerie darkness haunting the tail-end of the day. This is the moment I want to savour, to appreciate and to bask in, for all the entrapment I've endured since I could remember.

The sombre melody emanating from the MP3 given by my brother as a birthday present, protruding into my ears, felt unusually uplifting today. As I looked outside through the gigantic window panel in the bus, I urged myself to allow my lips to sport a broad smile albeit the risk of being mistaken as a fool by the not knowledgeable folks passing by as I may just miss the only time I can do so, so naturally. As I took that second to elaborate my lips, breathe in, and chest out, my heart was released of any sort of disgruntlement, dissatisfaction and jealousy. Just sheer contentment that was all in there. And I knew in that instance that the risk was well paid off.

I don't want this day to end, nor this year to end, nor this term to end, nor this college-going days to end. How can I prevent them all from coming true? For the first time ever, I'm happy with where my feet land on, with the scenic view my eyes lay upon, with the grueling tasks my hands juggle with. If there is a trap I will fall for and be trapped in forever, it is this bubble of happiness I'd beg for. It may not give much, not enough for me to stand with my own might, not enough to reach the sparkling stars clattered in the mighty sky. It matters not to me, not now - as finally, there is something, a result of my own-doing, that makes me feel I am worth of a place on this planet Earth. And cheers to that.

Just realised what I'm worth to them. I'm nothing but a tool for them to maneuver around.

Believe in what you see, not what you hear.

I was wrong. She was bad after all. Moral of the story - do not judge a person by her demeanor.

Don't Get Me Wrong.

I hate her. She's not a bad person. I just hate her, that's all.

Without realising, I have spent one third of my life accomplishing nothing.

$$$

Things haven't been running on a good note lately. Effort invested hasn't been reimbursed in any bit. Conflicts arising within the domestic clans. The deprivation of financial luxury has become more prominent than ever today.

Nothingness.

Doing nothing actually makes you fat. No, to be precise, having nothing to do makes one fat. And I am a living proof to that theory.

Esteem Redeemed (Continued).

So! The results were out and I scored ... Very thrilled with the sight of it on my computer screen, a far cry from how it looked last year, same time. I was contented with the evasion from having to revise and revisit the same thing all over. The scores could have been better, I reckon. It would have eased the intensity I couldn't help but to encounter the rest of this and next year. I was pleased with my result, not least to say. The mere thought of having to endure the devastation I was drowned into last year was a nightmare I feared would materialise one day and injected chills into my glands of fear. Failure would only magnify vulnerability in the weak. Only the strong, tough, passionate ones could turn that into a source of strength. But I am no strong, tough nor passionate. Neither am I smart (I used to arrogantly think I am), bright or intelligent. I am just a hardworker often left lurking, praying for outcomes worthy a compensation for the effort I invested in.

So, thank me that I could kick start the second half of the year on a decent note. Not a bright, sparkly one but a decent one.

Attached.

Completed my attachment 2 weeks ago but was just plain lazy to write about it. I dreaded going to work from Day 1, in anticipation of cold colleagues and arduous tasks. But the people there proved me wrong. The people were as nice as any kind people I have seen in my life. They were just plain nice, downright friendly. It had always felt like a home in the chambers, a place we played, brood, joked, bantered around and getting right down to the business. The duration settled very little on my future path but it mattered very little, really. It's the people and the warmth which I learnt and that was all it took to assuage me.

My mentor was however, an exception (along with the silly, often joke-of-the-day Mr.Ong, the IT guy) to that general notion. He was distant and a tinge of sarcasm could be detected from his mild chuckles and naughty smirks. Somehow I have a feeling that he did not take me seriously as I look like a kid (particularly with my overhanging bangs). But that will be plunged down easily into the lost memory storage somewhere in my brain by the greater and happier things I experienced during my time there.

The final day of my attachment can be summed up with one word - poignant. I (and the other attachees) begun our final day like any other normal day we would - breakfast in the 7th floor, chatting time in the chambers and just fooling around. 2 of the attachees were busy snapping photos of memories. And we spent most of our time clicking away in the Solitaires and Zombies vs Plants. We were caught red-handed by Mr.Ong - that was perhaps the only ordeal we encountered that day. But when the time to say goodbye came, it struck me that I am leaving that this is the end. The hugs, handshakes, wishing 'good luck's and 'all the best's made the emotion deep down inside more grueling than ever.

And it was raining! Not perhaps the best weather to endure when you're in heels but it's got to be the best farewell gift the heaven can break for your last day at work. My umbrella was shared with another attachee and together, we four braced through the culminating rain with Jack screaming all-across about the damp weather and his soaked shoes.

The monorail ride was egregious - huge crowd, a blend of furious, impatient and forceful folks but it was fun to be sandwiched among them and don't ask me why. It was inexplicable. In my dad's car, a song was playing. I have no clue of the singer nor the title but the chorus contains a line which goes, "nothing compared to you". The traffic on the road was equally bad but it was perfect because it allowed me to reminisce over the beautiful 2 weeks of my attachment I underwent and it was truly nothing compared to that. Thank you SLB! I wasn't lying when I told my mentor that I had a great time attaching there. I really did!

Esteem redeemed.

A Cat From KK - Meow!

I have a friend. She is from Kota Kinabalu, Sabah. She is a law student. She insists that I must write up an entry about her and there you go.

P/s: I do miss you. And I have grown so fat that I am barely recognisable.

A proper channel has been set up for solutions to be drafted. Why adopt an informal route to seek solutions? Why create another problem in search for a solution? Why the need to project a gruesome image to the not knowledgeable ones? Why?

Logic

Men are always contradictory; our hearts don't seem to correspond with logic.

We want to ride on high waves when our lives sail smoothly in an ocean which has nothing but serenity. We put colours in an unstained sheet of monogamous-coloured paper. We choose to defy the odds, turning our backs against the routes predestined for us. We bring ourselves close to what was called the mistake by our ancestors without any confidence in rewriting the history, silencing the onlookers. We drive deep into the dark, knowing of the slim chance of finding the light at the end of it.

This is the nature of men and this is the logic about our nature.

SYLVEA!!!!!!!

I couldn't find Sylvea on facebook (not to mention, MSN). So, I was left with no choice but to pray and hope that she will see this - My attachment is starting from 2nd August till I don't know when but it'll only be for 2 weeks.

Dear, Sylvea.

It seems that this friend of mine, is thirsty for attention. Too bad that she's chosen the wrong stage to be at simply because this is not a popular stage - not frequently visited.

Anyway, an update on my current life - Whilst it is true that stress is seeping in slowly but surely into my head but my heart ain't pounding hard n my palms ain't sweaty at all. In fact, I'm more worried on how on earth can I get home after the paper without having to resort to a cab service. And even if I do, where should I fetch one?

I woke up at 6am this morning but was lazing around until 9.30am - very sleepy and was dozing off every time I flip the pages of my notes. Had this wistful thought that watching the tele for a brief moment and browsing through the internet could rejuvenate my spirit, executed them and still found myself falling asleep and had this really sweat dream (I kissed a guy!) that I wasn't mad at myself for dozing off at all.

And could you believe it? - I hadn't had a single serving of frap ever since Starbucks announced their promotion!!! I am determined to have it today jugak. And I really want that McDonald's coke glass. My bro went there trying to get a hold on one but they told him, "sudah habis stok". My heart was torn apart. AHHHH.... I know! It'd be nice of this attention-thirsty friend of mine to get me this as a birthday present. I want the charcoal one so badly but today is the last day to get the charcoal glass. Well, I think pink is not bad either.

Backwards.

It seems like everyone else is doing so well and I'm the only one left behind, struggling to keep up with my position.

Hi, Sylvea.

Writing

Writing - What it means to me? That's the question I asked myself when I somehow managed to flip over to the teen section in the paper this morning. One of them wrote that writing means a whole lot than meets the eyes to her. Wow! Amazed I was of her style of writing. At the mere age of 18, her suave writing was prominent throughout the whole article. Oh, and the other kids too. Yeah, they are kids to me, cause that's just how old I feel of late. I am certainly nowhere near their level and I'm 20, turning 21 2 months from now. Most of them it seems are avid readers and that, they attributed as the impetus for their matured level of English proficiency.

In stark contrast, I don't read a lot. That habit was just never been instilled into my upbringing. Book stores were and are still never a haven for me. Walking into the libraries, abundant with a variant colours of book covers never fails to intimidate me.

It is television which made up most of my childhood and teen-age. Television is my addiction and honestly, without it, life would be like McChicken without the mayonnaise, keropok lekor without the sweet chili sauce and of course a picture without its colours. It's the apparently insignificant detail but something which taints the supposedly perfection of life.

I love writing, I really do. I, in fact, have always wanted to make a living out of writing alone which explains my fantasy jobs like journalist, columnist, and author. But am I good enough to make them my rice bowls bearing in mind that even a 16-year-old can write better than me? Sigh... But beyond that question, I realise that my hunger for it cannot possibly match that of theirs.

So, what writing means to me? - Writing is an art. Constructing a sentence is an art. Selection of words to be fitted into a sentence is also an art. It's a way of drawing a picture with precision, pale from exaggeration and distant from voids. And so does TV. But is writing something I can't live without? No - I can live without the art. The same goes with TV too. But it's just that my life wouldn't be perfect, that's all.

So does that mean writing no longer carries the degree of importance I used to think it does? - Well, perhaps the hunger to write may backfire once in a while. You may get to unleash all hidden weapons at a go but that would also disrupt the balance in that piece. I would like to think writing is something I would do when something naturally inspires me and it is after all a medium to convey a thought, or a story or more accurately, a theme. It is the content of the piece of work which matters the most. The writing - as always, is an art which serves as a conduit to deliver the theme to its readers. With that in the back of the writer's mind would surely facilitates the flowing of the ink. We all love a simple love story, don't we? And writing with too many twists shuns away the fun and invites the whirlpool of confusion.

In a nutshell, writing doesn't hold the key to the centre stage in my life. It is something I do to release my emotional entrapment or just to share something with my fellow friends. I can live without it ... cause I still have got the 42-inch LCD TV fixated in the living hall (Fine, that's a lame joke I'll admit).

I'm not smart. Used to think I am. But no, I'm not.

A very well-needed update from yours truly.

Was initially inspired to write a lot of stuffs down here but it's all gone now. Something was distracting me.

But let's move on.

I've been feeling lonely lately. If you know me (or you think you do), you must be thinking, "What the hell, you've been lonely for a long while now, okay?". I don't know - this feeling didn't hit me before this and I'm serious when I said I had never felt lonely. I've always felt rather contented with myself, spending time with myself and no one else. But things have changed. A lot have changed actually. I don't know where to begin with. I guess it is true that people come and go. It's just too bad that the people around me go without any traces. I wonder if that's a good thing after all.

On a lighter note however, CNY preparation has been rather slow. Decorations are all still lying on the floor. My father was depending on me to hang them up but oh dear, there's just simply too much to do at this moment. I have not even ironed the clothes I'm planning to wear during the festive season. Oh wait, I don't even know how to match them - and I'm unsettled as to which outfit I should don on the 1st day and the subsequent days. My bro (sarcastically) suggested that I don't wear anything then. But trust me, you don't want to see me without anything on.

Today has been all about washing up - from Fye's cage to my clothes, from the stinky shoes to the filthy carpet.

Am I looking forward to D day? - To be honest, NOT REALLY. Do I want to go to Penang for the vacation? - NOT REALLY. Not of the fault of the location, but I just want to spend a peaceful day at home, watching DVDs all day. I haven't got the chance to do that since God knows when. Hmmph... that should be a perfect Birthday present for me this year.

Life has been ... frustrating, I suppose. Well, just an update. Tata.