It has been blistering warm in Port Dickson lately. Today, it is slightly cooler by the sea, but we know that by the sea, even a low temperature is still quite warm — 38°C, with 65% humidity. No rain means everyone can party their souls out. I’m staying indoors. I easily melt at anything above 22°C.
O no, I had to go to the Telco Store to pick up the new modem. I have French TV now. At least for now, I won’t miss Paris too much, so I was glued to the French news, en Français … chouette.
Melt! Melted! Gone …
The idea of meeting up with friends will always see us coup up in an acclimatised restaurant or café, and in Malaysia, it means we’d have to be literally daft to consider that we can actually hear our excited conversations. We forget decorum — there’s no such thing amongst friends. Least amongst lovers, and strangers. Thank the fabulous sea breeze, that in the campagne, its a pleasure not to shout like unruly civilised hominian with a brain capacity of at least 1400 cc unless one is attending a wedding, or a Dangdut karaoke on the hills of Sendayan.
Welcome to Malaysia, the Land where the rich-on-paper becomes insulted by everything apart themselves, and the middle-class poor, richer in credit with a forever lasting debt that never seem to end (the abyss it seems is floor-less); where an aircraft can, in a blink vanish in thin air and taxpayers are getting treated as servants and politicians as masters, and the bucket list never ends … whilst I prepare coffee, toasts and bask in the sunshine.
O j’adore ma vie … mais il y a toujours place à l’excitation, se précipitant à la vie sans être personne, et puis il y a toujours une option pour l’amour ou plutôt l’idée de l’amour — L’idée est toujours fabuleux n’est-ce pas ?
“Haiya! Cannot cannot. 我不记得. Sudah tua lor.” she muttered, waving a piece of purchase order above her head, her eyes darting towards mine. I smiled. I almost burst out laughing. The lady at the Kopitiam is always fun to watch. She made me laugh. Her tee shirt is always worn back to front, and her shorts, shorter than what most young Chinese girls arrange … high above their navels, leaving gapes to delineate the form their derrière meet, to usually their shorter frame legs. All the same, one can already imagine why even adult women dress that way … it must be the humidity. It can get sticky in this region.
And we women dislike stickiness, unless its to do with breaking cellulites — the things we do for looking pretty. Asians are quite fashionable. Sometimes you can spot secretaries in their nightgowns, or sparkly slippers early in the morning, rushing off to work, or coming out of their BMWs. One wonders in a world of manifestation and appearance, what these young minds must be thinking — surely there are office suits, or a one size fit all black dress in there somewhere.
One of my male friends, make me laugh too. He’s funny when he’s serious and that makes him beautiful in many ways. I recently asked him why we never argued. Mature men think differently, especially when they don’t think of answers when being questioned on the spot. And that’s the best time to get him to answer. Some men rarely answer emails.
Whilst the other is adamant at hating me for whatever reason (hate-lah hate, mati jugak nanti), forgiveness is blest. Don’t friends argue? On silly things? Children do.
He had earlier asked, if I listened to the words, in a song or songs being aired on the radio or pipe music at malls. I looked at him, and smiled. “Lyrics, you meant?” I almost giggled. Greg, a programmer friend who never plays a Computer game in his life to date, Chinese, literally translates everything from Chinese to English when he speaks. He’s funny that way, and simple in his ways. Like a child in a man’s body. He also walks like a little boy, his feet are pointed towards each other. We used to argue on every single issue, from why a loop should be a loop through things that didn’t matter like why I must justify to him that I don’t fancy Mamak food, when he does.
Aku sesat okay, bukan Mamak. Gujerati yes, Mamak not.
Despite being Asian by a drop somewhere, I dislike spicy food. I’m flavourless like a wallpaper. Some would argue that I’m often diplomatic. There are ways to stir something off-balance. There’s always another way to just switch things off. But one never, ever switches off Love. I’d like to. And take a sabbatical. For what’s worth of the journey, despite what many believed that the Universe is shaped as a dodecahedron, I shan’t touch on that. Or rather, I’ll attempt not blogging about the universe and how thinkers ought to think.
There should be well-paying jobs for Thinkers — We are a rare breed. It is a full time non-paying career nobody wants to do, yet our thoughts shape the world, and create convenience for others who are paid heftily.
I want to relocate somewhere. Where? The world is such a small place. One is bound to bump into a
hobbit human somewhere. I’ve also dropped a short email to PM Najib, and HRH Prince Waleed. I do hope they reply soonest. Time is of the essence. Although its not the end of the world yet, there are signs showing otherwise for some like suddenly the world has tilted to intense subnormality. Things need to move ahead, like a thousand years ahead. No, the blink of an eye is not a curse imbecile! (1st Corinthians 15:52,53). Why must everything in the mundane be misconstrued?
The twinkling of the eye is the speed of how things materialise in the above!
It is no longer my jurisdiction, and I shan’t entertain the mind and focus on those. My reality is too complex as it is already, despite being told off by someone that I deserved all these because I never went to school, or that I’m a disbeliever — Whatever suits them, so long as they’re happy at bashing me, by all means, continue with the insults. O ça me fatigue les cinémas … Tomorrow, they might wake up on the other side of midnight, and I won’t be there to welcome them.
Not my funeral, nor my business.