freedom

not mine. not yet.

but this my boys' single "Freedom".
in FOUR languages, son. they got it. you don't.
take a listen here.

KLG SQWAD ~ LABOUR OF LOVE.

Ratta Taa Ta

i find sean ghazi's singing oh-my-fucking-mind-blowingly sexy. *groan

take a listen to his crooning on 'ku impikan bintang', you'll probably have to control your insides from making 360 degree flips and squirming like a handful of wormies in a glass jar. well, perhaps only if you're a female species or if you're gay. but then again, i trust he can make any straight testosterone charged male with a ding-a-ling turn gay anyway. dammit. why???

i'm turning cuckoo. help.

i counted how many weeks i have left in this place, guess what? EIGHT WEEKS!! yes, you can't believe it either. but now something else is bothering me more than scoring a B+ average for this term's exams. something more frightening than not scoring a B+ average for this term's exams. shoot me. now. before i keel over and vomit nasty things on your lap. bwahahaha~

i'm just being totally ob-freaking-sessed! my future is now in the hands of UiTM's automated degree application system. uhuh. yeah. i'll be fine, the computer will probably recognise me from this internet cafe's IP address and let me pass through the applicant sifting process. yeah. ROIGHT!

i feel nauseous. all the time. like an overbearing hangover that wouldn't go away. i feel like i need to be put on a staple diet of flu meds. those little pink ones they give you at the UiTM clinic. which does nothing to alleviate the flu, but just make you feel better because it tells your brain that you've taken something to help cure the flu. uhuh. yeah. i feel better already. (ps: i don't have the flu.)

i feel like a monkey with the hibbiejibbies. i'm constantly fidgeting. i feel agitated. i need something to calm me down. calm me. down. now. *gasp*BELLINI*gasp*

eight weeks, pash. just eight more weeks. have self-restraint. and control.

i'm acting like i'm having withdrawal symptoms from quitting medication cold turkey. lol.

my girlfriends are probably as much of a wreck as i am, them already doing their degrees and with a whole lot more workload than me but i'm sorry if i feel as if they're having more fun than i am. (maybe i just miss you girls...and can't wait to move in, but that's another story)

suddenly i write, and i write a lot of nonsense.

Blah.

not very articulate when it comes to titles. so whatever. i haven't been writing, and it's obvious. perhaps boredom inspires me more than everyday happenings. perhaps everyday happenings happen too often to be of any significance that i'd write about it everyday. or perhaps... just perhaps. perhaps whatever.

ultimately, i am fucked up bored to the point of running wild and spray painting foul words on all the security guards' 'kontena' posts. LOL!!! (i really wish i could, really...) but considering it's my last semester, i'm appealing for a fucking bed for me to sleep on in the residential fucking college, i'm also a part of the student representative council secretariat, i want to be a part of the contingent to this year's VC Cup, and i want a fucking B+ average so fucking badly, i shall content to swearing right here, right now. (as if it isn't already apparent that i'm doing it right now...)

what genius made me come back to campus on a fucking friday and spend the fucking weekend here in this godforsaken compounds?? good grief. it was my own genius. i wrote myself the exemption letter, necessary allowing me to register on 13th July, the very latest. was that just pure genius or just me being too kind to help myself. geez.

this semester, although will only see 13 weeks of class and daylight, has me taking 5 subjects to fulfil 15 credit hours. great. no, not really. but 13 weeks is. so that equals a whole lot of workload within the short span of 13 weeks. 13 fucking weeks and i'm over with this shit!!! isn't that AWESOME!!! for fuck's sake, let's get this all over and done with in the shortest amount of time and the least amount of drama from classmates and lecturers, alike. but on the other hand, if butt-kissing gets me ahead, why not. if butt-kissing and butt-kissing alone awards me with the grade i need to graduate with enough to apply for a degree in PR, so butt-kissing is the way to go. that is, if all else fails. but failing is not a bloody option. butt-kissing, on top of cute and super bright genius induced remarks in class and either one of my arms shooting up in the air fast like a bullet to answer all those stupid questions the others can't answer is definitely a better choice. now Pash, pretend like you're the A+ star quality student you've always denied yourself the liberty to be. (but only because you chose not to be the A+ star quality student with a crown shining on your head.)

what i need to do now, is get to Monday as fast as the earth would spin around the sun, get my fees paid, get to class and around campus (ehem, library, football field, cafeteria) ...and start looking for this semester's eye candy. one can't get over a semester without eye candy. and copius amounts of chocolate.

i also need an all-expense paid trip to langkawi, booze included. or that junior suite package at hotel maya. anybody?

Kick Punch.

i've always had this feeling of punching someone. in the face. well, actually i've got a few people i'd punch in mind already but then again, it's because i can't get away with violence with no justification. so someone, make me mad so i can sock you one in the face.

i actually was talking to mawar about punching anwar. funny how their names rhyme, but they're from two different planets, of two different biological make-ups. anwar's an ape who would interrupt a discussion and say 'fuck you' in one breath. and mawar's from the sisterhood. she thumped anwar on the head. go figure. i wasn't there to witness female aggression in its most subtlety, i'm begging for a chance. please!

Oh Em Gee!

dude, i cried at the ending of The OC! i'm such a dork, whatevs. and i also can't write much nowadays i don't know why. it's like, ew. i'm such a ditz! ehmagod. too much reading wikipedia and bbc.com maybe. maybe.

i've come to this conclusion, for no reason: i'm a loser. haha!

shidot's home. am i happy excited or am i happy excited?? duh!




*just imagine me being partly blonde. it's my ambition. lol.

Dwoh!

i am uninspired. thank you.

but absolutely loving Joss Stone's "Tell Me What We're Gonna Do Now"

piss off.

Okay Something More.

contrary to my post previously demeaning skinny ass skanks, i think i'm gonna starve myself until i lose 5 kilos and weigh only 45. really. watch me. i've been 50 kilos since FOREVER and still can't find a decent pair of jeans with a fit that flatters me!!! HELLO??!! i'm on the verge of throwing a fit and cutting up my thighs!!!

AAARRGGHHHHHH!!!!

be a bitch and just tell him, pash...

Glob Glob

it's sunday. again. like it is every week, every seven days. duh. i've been reduced to diggin for Vanilla Ice lyrics and memorising them for Masters' Night. LOL LOL!! Dan and the boys are planning some parody shit to perform that night and since i'm a motormouth and the only one capable of rapping, i've been given the honour. *smirk*
but seriously, i'm sorta kinda psyched to do this with the boys. i'm just gonna be zonked out of my head before i take the mic. *grin

so sunday's boring. tell me something i don't already know.

gonna go watch The OC now. let me know if you think he's close to being my boyfriend. i'm SO dying already. pfft~

Dark Deep

i've figured out the secret of those super stick thin tall as lamp posts all skin and bones no flesh type-a models. not even a 15 degree curve of hip or ass. boobs are non-issue, we all heard of hormone pills and silicone. the findings...are not so shocking. just never talked about: THEY ARE MEN!

that's right. men, with (or used to have) little wiggly things between their legs we ladies call a dick. anatomy-wise, a penis. whatever.

the point is, we girls now don't have to starve ourselves sick just to be a size 6. because those who normally do are naturally petite, it's their DNA. or, they don't have all that ass and flesh because it's not their DNA, i.e. they are the lucky species of males who don't grow pot bellies and facial hair.
although i almost burst out in tears if i have to ask for a bigger size than 8. but 8 is always better than 6. because it means you got humps that can't possibly fit in a meagre size 6. ya getting the drift so far?

then this also questions the gender of other models in the market. i'm talking local fashion industry here. the female man is becoming more and more sophisticated in the sense that it's almost difficult to really be sure of its birth gender. yes i refer to them as 'it'. because they are neither him or her, nor he or she. therefore, 'it' best describes them.

so what if i'm anti-transgender. God only made 2 genders.

Do I Need a Title?

aa it's been nearly more than a week since my last post yes? too many things in my head (as always), too little words (as always), i feel like i don't have enough fingers to type out words on a keyboard which letters are scattered in such a way that it was bestowed the name "QWERTY". lol.

you don't understand do you? go away. i don't want to talk to you. (not now anyway dah-ling...)

*** today's just a bunch of randoms ***

i want dots, hams and baby. come home, please. NOW?!!!

propose to me with a white 3-door A 200 Turbo Mercedes, i don't dig Harry Winston or Tiffany rocks.

i miss pigging out on ramly burger and super ring, and PS2 sessions with baby.

suddenly i wanna do a video of my school and my girlfriends, with parodies about our teachers. "passsshaaaaaa.....where's your homework? last week oso never pass up horrr....!!" lol. add math classes i used to skip.

i think gwen suddenly grew boobs after having a kid. verdict: throw silicone out! let's make babies.

the CLV single i'm featured on is out and getting airplay. "Menarilah" featuring Pashionate and Caprice.

my brother got kicked out of uni. so stupid, but i'm so proud of him. *sob

currently diggin Beyonce's "Upgrade U".

if i can super fast forward to next year, i would only fast forward school so i can get out of Johor faster faster!!

get me a super rich super stupid but super good looking guy just so i can leech of him. haha!

i also want the new Samsung phone. not a fan of Samsung at all, that's saying something.

I think Diddy should stick to rapping and let Nicole do the Zinging.

I also think Paris should do a fashion shoot while in prison. that will be UBER HAUTE COUTURE!

i'm allergic to cigarette smoke. because it makes me feel like going to the jamban. lol.

i love Love LOVE... nothing.

i can go on.

and on.

and on.

you do realise.

i'm not saying anything at all?

good.

so why are you still reading this?

Sunday Jazz

it's sunday and i'm home, bored as hell. where goes my regular sources of entertainment? hm. i've got none. it figures, since besties are all abroad. one's in london shopping and shopping, one's in czech dissecting bodies and spending taxpayers money (more of it, apparently they got a pay rise), my favourite cousin's battling A-Levels in Cheltenham... *sigh. sundays just shouldn't be spent at home, waking up late and pigging out in front of the tv with a huge bottle of Frost root beer and mom's kuih gunting. parent's are out, i was supposed to follow them to a wedding or something. but i really can't be bothered enough to go to a stranger's wedding. should i even care who's getting married with whom when where and what food they're serving?? (shakes head) exactly. besides, the invitation was for my father. so let him go with his wife, why drag me along. but yeah, i'm not at the wedding so there's really no need for me to keep whining. except, this is for the other innumerable times i have been dragged to unknown people's weddings and find myself wondering why i'm at this table eating this plate of nasi minyak and if my being here made the wedding any more memorable.

my insides are screaming because i'm suppressing my want to throw a tantrum. just because i feel like it. plus the fact that no one listens to me, or even if they do, they don't understand me, so makes the conflicting inner parts of me rage with even more gusto. actually, it's probably because i don't talk to anyone about anything and so causes myself to be sick and tired of listening to myself. there. that makes more sense now doesn't it.

what i'd rather be doing on a sunday is going for a movie, caramel frappucino at starbucks afterwards, a walk around the mall (window) shopping, digging into a 5-scoop Baskin Robbins sundae, talk about philosophical things like why people think i'm a snob (lol), browse the shelves of MPH flipping through cookbooks and heiress autobiographies, pizza for dinner at Italiannies, and curl up with a book and mug of hot chocolate. and i'd love to do this with...someone. =)

oh, here comes the parents. they're home and brought lunch for me (i hope). turra!

Dear Life. Or Death.

The news clip from News Straits Times, dated 1st May 2007, which incidentally is Reshween's birthday and day of death. To read more, click here.

Reshween Sonia Kaur, 1988 - 2007

"though we only met in school, but because we were in school."

Uhuh. Yeah. Whatevs.

i should really be blogging more, now that i'm on holidays and since i've also caught myself talking to myself (ehem) more than the average time an average person would talk to themselves on average. so, yes. conclusion made, i should be writing a lot more now. i have the time. (right) and i have all that i want to say to myself that i can say to other people. (uhuh) and plus, i've been so preoccupied with thoughts, this, and that, and...*mind trails off* (yeah) so i really do think that i should be blogging more. right? (whatevs) so anyway... (where was i?)

"you need to read to impress, especially if it's something someone is reading..."
location: MPH Midvalley
date and time: 27th April 2007, between 12.30 - 1pm.

a highschool junior of mine died early this morning after celebrating her birthday with friends and her boyfriend. 3 of them died actually. the boyfriend is in ICU. they were all drunk. the accident happened somewhere along the highway opposite the Carlsberg brewery, just before Subang Jaya. ironic? you think. was God being cynical? i thought so. but He can't be that mean. can He? we've been told and warned countless times of the dangers of driving drunk. nothing seems to make an impact. it's as if our ears are impertubable. but having a close example occur when no one was expecting it, feels like a splash of icy cold water smack in the face. it still seems surreal to me. her death. i couldn't recall her face when i was told about it, but i knew her name was familiar. then i saw a picture of her, and yes. i do know her. i remember her. we were in the school pageant together. now i can't forget her face. a lesson learnt. next time when you're drunk, get a cab back home.

Some 1. 2. 3.

currently i is listening to this lady rapstar, PSALM One, straight from Southside Chicago. fookin dope, she's no Eve Lil' Kim whatever. check track 8, 'Rapstar' from her album "The Death of the Frequent Flyer". released by Rhymesayers Entertainment.

Shush.

i'm not in the mood for writing. somehow, things just aren't going too well. with this and that and everything else whizzing through my mind...where's Calm when you need it? where's Company when you want someone to talk to? where's Clarity when you're confused? where's Courage when you need to say someting? nevermind. don't mind me. nobody ever does. just be quiet and walk out the door like you never saw or heard me.

if there was one thing i want now, it's not a thing. it's more of a presence. a feeling. that little tick that makes your heart beat just a little bit faster. again, nevermind.

14 months an elaborate affair. too much too handle? you would think i'd had enough already. well, i have. i've had enough of something i didn't need. much less want. but then didn't i want it? maybe i did, just a little. so now i changed my mind, will you punish me for that? what punishment do i deserve for wanting a little bit more, but refusing after waiting too long? life's too short, and the world a bigger place. so let me live and release me from the confines of these four walls and glass windows.

just shut up and let go. i'm sick and tired of bouncing back and forth. just shut up.

Ouh Ah Uhuh. Uh.

the ad-libs at the beginning of Heard 'Em Say. hahaha. (mentang-mentang Kanye West in concert, he's the only thing on my playlist.)

the end is near, the end of semester i mean. i thought it'll never ever be over but finally it will. soon. and so 4 months or so in the jungles of Segamat has probably done me good. really, i mean it. things have been so-so gravy to the point that i no longer feel nauseous and home-sick as often as i used to. but then again it might be the fact that i go home almost every fortnight, and on the weekends that i don't go home, there's some event or function on campus that i'm involved in. see, so it really hasn't been all that bad.

dear friends, i have indeed been surviving the valleys of Johor. your worries have been diminished. *grin

exams are in april. term holidays start in may. i'll be home soon, people.

Love.

Return of the Monster

the nail-biting monster is back and more ferocious than ever. for the past 2 months the nails on my fingers have been thriving oh-so-wonderfully. and then out of nowhere, the monster decides to pay my poor nails a visit. now my fingers are bare of nails, forlorn and lost without it's crown. none of which is my fault, i refuse to take responsibility for actions not mine. perhaps it's some sub-conscious part of me that triggers this monster's attack. perhaps. but for now, i have to guard my fingers with a gusto. now where's that bottle of nail-biting monster repellant....

What Do You Call the -logue After It's Ended?

13 months an elaborate affair. short of a relationship, but running complications like balls of tangled string. memories flood and images run in a flurry like the wind chasing clouds. but it wasn't all a mess. it was a good run. like my hair blowing in the wind. superstitious to a point, maybe a black cat crossed my path mid-way. i broke a mirror, walked underneath a ladder. what else did i do and still not realise the omens flashing in my face like a hazard light?

Blank Stares.

(this should've been posted on friday. but, yeah. it's here now innit?)

***

First day accomplished. Second day breezed. Apparently I’m not required to attend Preservation class, which leaves me with Wednesdays free after 10am and Thursdays absolutely free. That’s awesome except, I’ve class early Friday morning. Yes, this one I’m sitting at right now. Dang it. Somehow I think my schedule’s a bit messy. It leaves me with a lot of idle time. And what am I to do with all that time? Town’s like aeon minutes away, through a jungle of rubber and oil palm tree plantations. The problem is, the only way there is by the consolidated yellow school buses (haha, yea. Laugh because it’s funny). The buses don’t leave until the driver thinks he has sufficiently filled up his bus and is worth the fuel and effort to navigate through windy roads. Cars for rent are expensive. RM6 for an hour? That excludes fuel, mind you. Besides, I’m crap at driving manuals and I do not want to end up in a ditch with a stray babi hutan. The good news is that KL is only 3 hours away. *grin* HOME SWEET HOME! *ehem* Roight.

I’ve been terribly homesick since I got here. With the only consolation of Bobby’s 2 hour phone calls, and various text messages from beloved people. I need to personalize my room. Make it homier. As it is, I’ve tonnes of food to last till next week. My table laden with books to keep me occupied and of course, the ever loyal rhyme book. But since I’ve been here, I haven’t had any inkling of inspiration to write. It’s as if I’m lost. I can’t find my way around this place, and I can’t find my way around my head. The library has always been a personal sanctuary. Yes yes, call me nerdy geeky, whatever. But I like libraries for the fact that it gives me quiet and people are expected to not bother you and give you quiet. However, the library here is akin to being in a marketplace. Even bookshops are quieter than this library here. Plus, it’s always infested with a lot of people. I mean, a LOT. It’s packed. It’s noisy. It’s uncomfortable. It’s not a library! It’s a chicken coop! Gaaah.

Internet’s not really a problem. Not really. Access is available, there’s an internet café on the ground floor of my college block. Not exactly my standard of speeds, but better than nothing I suppose. Obviously. How else am I posting this, right? Other than that I guess I can live. Until my first trip back home for the weekend, one week down, a gazillion more to go. *sigh*

Lots of love, loved ones.

Click. Vroom. Whirr.

I, have a new toy. *delirious laughter*
meet Ken, the juicer machine. Ken makes juices. *slurrp* ahhhh. yum.
well the said electrical appliance is not exactly brand new, but let's just say...it's only recently been unleashed from it's packaging. *grin*
now my fruit diet can really be in motion.
"Better Slim Than Dead" <--- repeat mantra three times daily before meals.

then have a healthy meal of rice and sambal goreng tempe and ikan bilis. *urrb*
tee-hee.

i'm not feeling particularly articulate today. thank you.

(something smells good...like, Dior Addict 2)

i love youuuu-hooooo! ;)
i do, but she's gotta go or i'll be on the verge of scratching her face-less and slashing her not-so-pretty head off her bony shoulders.