Precious Sundays

I like my Sundays coz I experiment with a new recipe for lunch, potter around and have a 3-hour CSI marathon on Astro's AXN channel in the afternoon. After watching CSI, I take a nice, leisurely drive to the KL Memorial Library where it's nice, quiet and cool from the air-conditioning.

Once a week, I get to revel in my book geekiness; strolling in and out of every book aisle, checking out the book titles. And the best thing is I have zero expectations in finding the right book that suits my current mood, psychological need and emotional state. Most of the time, I'd end up with books that I'd almost bought in the past but didn't because of the pricey tag. By the end of evening, I leave the library, pleased as a peach, with an armful books which equals to a month's worth of reading.

Mr. J, on the other hand, complains that his Sundays are boring as hell. Ah well, what do you expect? He still hasn't grown out from the clubbing mode and has to recuperate on Sunday. I've been trying very hard to not morph into a nagging girlfriend. So, I've pretty much left him to his clubbing lifestyle while I live my weekends in absolute domestic peace and happiness.

Gals, here're some very important lessons in a relationship:
1. Never go into a relationship expecting to change your man.
2. You gotta do your own thing which feeds you.
3. Being in a relationship doesn't necessarily brings you happiness as quoted by Candace Bushnell, author of Sex & the City.

Anyway, here's some of the great library finds from yesterday:


A collection of essays on why we're all caught up in this modern social condition aptly named status anxiety .


Read the first chapter last night- beautifully written with with a sense of foreboding.



Katharine Graham was the most respected & powerful woman in America's newspaper industry. She rebuilt her late husband's Washington Post paper to become America's most powerful political paper with exclusive reports on the Watergate Scandal, Nixon's downfall and other important American political events. I'm not a fan of American history but am curious about Mrs. Graham who knew nuts about running a newspaper publication which she took over, after her husband's death.

Making my pick

3.2 Megapixels or 5.0 megapixels?
I guess I'll settle for a Canon IXUS 30 and not the IXUS 50. After all, I'll be taking snapshots and not postershots. Plus I'm mega-broke to spend RM1,500 for a IXUS 50.

Studio or 2-bedroom apartment?
Studio for me coz I have always had this vision of living in my very own "Carrrie Bradshaw" apartment. Plus I wouldn't have extra space to clean or be petrified at night imagining "noises" coming from the other room.

This is how I like my own space to be. A very lived-in apartment. Not too big. Just nice for me. Lots of quirky artpieces and one-off furniture pieces and a nice, solid bookshelf for my ever-growing collection of books, back-dated magazines that I can't seem to throw away and out-of-place files for mundane daily stuff.

* Carrie's apartment photos from HBO.com

Though I really like the space arrangement in Carrie Bradshaw's apartment, the colours are rather dull and a little too urbane. I'd enliven the space with colours. Living- ochre yellow walls and white cushion covers. Bedroom - light green walls and crisp white sheets. Kitchen- white & ming blue colour theme.

Ain't no more kreteks

Ever since I discovered those damn kreteks, I had a bizarre croaky throat condition that'd suddenly flare up, usually on the day after I puffed a kretek or two.

It's not an ordinary sore throat where your throat feel painfully swollen and your glands get all red and inflamed. Instead, what I'd experienced was a very dry throat and a croaky voice. My voice dipped a pitch lower that people couldn't recognise me over the phone.

Eh, don't bluff lah. You're not Cupcake Queen. You don't sound like her.

Wey, it's me lah. Doesn't your screen say my name and number?

Hold on, lemme check ... Yeah-oh, it's you. Why you sound so old?

Tired of always explaning of my bizarre throat affliction and downing$ copious glasses of water to combat the extreme Siberian throaty dryness, I've decided to quit smoking last week.

Yes, once and for all. No more kreteks. No more Cartier Vendome.

In a ceremonial mode, I burned all my cigarettes and flushed away the ashy remnants down the toilet bowl.

And you know what. My skin has never looked better. I feel a whole lot better. Yes, I sleep better and think clearer.

Sad to say but I gotta say this.

Boys and gals, ladies and gentlemen. Cigarettes are bad for you.

Do you have a blog?

Uhm, no. Why? I peered nonchalently at Mr. J from the book I was reading.

Nothing, just wondering coz you're always writing in your little notebooks.

Well, he doesn't know about Cupcake Queen and I'm going to keep it this way. None of my friends know. I've never mentioned blogging to anyone. I've never spoken of blogs in my conversations with people.

This is my one and only secret.

Here to stay

Last Sunday, I attended a wedding at a fancy restaurant, off Jalan Ampang. I knew the newly-wed couple from my uni days.

All year long, I've been waiting to attend this wedding, as my old mates from uni were going to be there. Yep, they actually flew down to KL (from various cities scattered globally) to attend the wedding. When I walked into the wedding canopy, my heart leapt with much joy and happiness. It had been a good 8 long years since I last saw them.

The first thing they said when they saw me, "Oy farking hell, you've never changed! Not one bit! You're still the same! What the fark did you do to look forever young?" "Ah, well, blame it on my asian age-defying genes", I replied with a wink.

It was so good to be around friends who completely understood my then (and still) mandatory daily listening dosage of New Order. Friends who taught me how to bake a "space cake." Friends who have always been my creative buoy. Friends who shared my divine moments in the past- skinny-dipping in the sea on a cold wintery morning, the "midnight high" picnics at parks, the late night coffee haunts, showing up at one of the bunch's poetry reading/photography show/art exhibit/flea market stall.

Yes, they are my wildly creative buddies- John, Drew, Heng, Olivia and Natalie. After years of not seeing each other, we've kept in touch via email and MSN chat. Every now and then, I'd received a letter or postcard in the mailbox, updating me of their lives - who got married, had kids, made it good in their respective careers. They taught me to live life with passion, to always seek and to develop interests in life.

I was running on a high that night. Yes, they always get me into a bizarre sort of high. This time, sans the pot-smoking and manic drinking. At the end of the night, when most of the guests have left, they even got me into singing New Order's "Here To Stay" with background synth music by them. :)

Sigh, I wish that moment is here to stay.

Creative Writing 112

When I was a uni student in Australia, I opted to take Creative Writing as one of my electives. Yes, I was (and still am) an aspiring writer who dreamt of writing my book one day.

In retrospect, I was surrounded by people who read immensely and had profound respect for writers, thinkers, artists and any creative individuals. Having such people in my uni crowd influenced me greatly to read widely and explore other form of writings and to discover new and old writers. Nevertheless, in my final year, I automatically signed up for an elective in creative writing.

The year was 1995 when I enroled in Brigid Lowry's creative writing class. I still remember the building where the class was held- Communications 501 building. The moment you step into the building, you are immediately transported back to the 70s. Formica chairs and tables that had a strange, dull, plasticky scent. The musty green carpets. The grey concrete block-like walls of the hallways. It was a bare, functional, sparse and industrial building with a strong utilitarian feel. Not surprisingly, it was freezing cold inside.

Brigid, however, was a contradiction. She was a wonderful teacher with warm, brown eyes and a deep, earthy voice. She was a true creative spirit who radiated much joy to those around her. Her clothing were always colourful - deep purples, vivid blues and brilliant greens. It was apparent that she loved teaching the class, from the way she gently prodded us to stretch our creative self and reminded us to get a grip on the truth when writing.

I still steal time to write every now and then. Especially when I'm alone, when I'm waiting for someone in a public place, when I'm waiting in airports, when I'm bored at social gatherings.

Here's a peek at my work which I did exactly 10 years ago, in Brigid's class.

Face Value

"Don't ever do anything to lose face," says Aunty Bo, respect the elderly, watch how you talk and act.

Must follow the rules,

must follow the tradition,

must not talk back.

Swept the floor on the

first day of the Lunar Year,

stony glares and silences

and sharp elbow protests.

Disobeyed therules.

Shame, shame, shame.

Broke the tradition,

can't go back there,

lost face and

myself.

The beginnings of a skint life

Ever since I've made the decision to buy my own place, I've been watching my money like a hawk.

Strangely, I enjoy this keeping a tight watch on my wallet whenever I buy something. It feels so good to put aside money for a purpose. Now, I think really hard before I buy anything- Is it a need or a want? And I don't do the mindless shopping anymore.

Today, I needed a hair trim and discovered XCUT hair salon at Midvalley. Ever since my last hairstylist, Moses left for Australia, I haven't found another hairstylist who is as good as him.
Moses, I hope you read this :D

It was a no-frills haircut. RM15 for a 15 minute haircut. I had only wanted a trim to tidy up the ends, and relayer the sides. When the hairstylist asked if I'd wanted to trim the fringe. I told him to leave it as I trim it myself.

"Wah, so geng. You trim your own fringe."

"Hai-lor. I cut it myself," I replied with a smirk on my face. And I'd wanted to add - I could cut my own hair if I only know how to.

In Cantonese
geng = wow, amazing
hai-lor = yes

Holiday Plans

I booked myself a plane ticket to the place-which-I-shall-not-name-for-now. And I'm looking forward to the 7-day trip. Even bought myself the Lonely Planet "local" phrasebook. Just so, I can speak the local language and get about on my own.

It's high time I go for a holiday on my own. The last solo holiday I did was in 2002 when I went to visit LY in Sydney. I had a fabulous time exploring Sydney on my own. I even did the Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb!

I love going to places on my own. You needn't worry about your travelling partner. There's no comprising on what to eat, where to go and what to do. I love going with the flow and trusting my instincts to take me off the beaten track. I follow the pace of the local people there. I listen to local dialects. I savour local delicacies. I buy things at local prices. I observe the local life. And I try very hard not to forget everything I see, smell, hear and touch.

In the meantime, I regretted not getting a Canon IXUS camera during the Mega Sale last month. And I need a travelling sling bag and luggage. Sale or no sale, I shall go get them and bargain them to the sale price.

I'm so excited.

His handsomeness

Under the influence of
Belgian Hoegarden Cru beer,
he wraps his
arms around my waist,
and gazed at me
expectantly.

I readily parted my lips,
and paused
with
much glee,
and kissed the tip
of his nose.

The prominent tip
of his
handsomeness.