10 (things I liked) and 10 (things I despised) for the year that was

With Christmas songs now being heard regularly on the airwaves and Prosperity burgers returning for yet another stomach-full reunion, it could only mean one thing. 2010 is coming to an end. Sniff, sniff. I thought it was just yesterday when I blogged about ‘Hits and Misses of 2009’ to welcome 2010. To discover that I will welcome 2011 within a couple of days is downright shocking and one that makes me wonder.

What happened to 2010?

This time around, I’ve decided to write about the 10 things I felt made 2010 a great year (and if God is listening, I’ve totally no complaints if some of them appear in 2011 as well. Thank you, God) as well as the 10 things which 2010 could have done without. These 20 items are mostly on a personal level so bear with me as I recap my life of the past 12 months into a few lines of words. Let’s begin the countdown now. Ready? Go!

What I liked about 2010 was (in random order without regard to its importance, lest I offend parties) …

1. my Australian family trip to Launceston, Tasmania. I’ve blogged about this before in ‘Going Lonnie’ with extensive pictures so I need not rehash the same old stories. But if I could describe it in one word, it is this - superb. I could definitely foresee another (could be more than one) trip to Lonnie to celebrate Syazwina’s graduation, God willing. She’s graduating in year 2011 and that’s next year! Hurray.

2. my sisters’ return to Malaysia during their vacation breaks. Syazana returned for a one month break in August 2010 (which was then followed by the family trip to Launceston) and Syazwina returned in November 2010 (I’m still a bit peeved that I was unable to join her for the Thailand-leg of the holiday). While they unfortunately could not be in Malaysia at the same time, their presence (though we could never get the usual gang of 3) does offer some resemblance to the close bond my family is blessed with. With them around however, I do feel my purse gets lighter at a remarkably fast rate. I think that’s the ‘penalty’ of being the eldest sister to two incorrigible younger sisters who are pretty smart when it comes to money! I shouldn’t say too much at this point because Syazana will fly back to KL on 30 December 2010 and Syazwina could be reading this paragraph in Tasmania.

3. the trip to Bandung with Syazana in August 2010. Although it was a short weekend trip (having taken Friday afternoon off from work) during Ramadhan, it was really enjoyable. We didn’t go anywhere much except for the shopping streets and we didn’t do anything else but shopped. We had one full day on Saturday to shop which was nothing short of a super marathon. We went to Pasar Baru (where I think I bought enough materials to last me for 10 Rayas straight) in the morning, spent the rest of the day on the street which has Rumah Mode and other factory outlets before ending the night in the artsy Cihampelas Walk Mall. For most of the shopping expedition, I had to cajole and even persuade Syazana to take ‘Angkutan Kota’ (the Bandung equivalent to the Thais’ tuk-tuks), the ubiquitous vans plying the streets at a very cheap rate. For a mere 60 cents, we get to where we want to go and if we’re really lucky, some street performers may just jump into the van and play a song or two. Syazana must have been furious at my cheapskate-ness when we could be travelling in comfort using the BlueBird cabs! We (I think it was mostly me) left Bandung with a heavy heart and a promise to return (I’ve to return. Have not checked out the other factory outlets in store!).

4. the reunion with my primary school’s classmates at Pelita. For my part, I lost contact with most of them since we left school in the middle of 90’s. Yet, when I met up with those who were present (there were around 20 plus but many more could not come), it was as if time remained still. We may have gotten slightly, note the word slightly, older but we could still recognize each other and remember the fun we had. Am so looking forward to the next reunion, whenever that will be.

5. my office’s move to a new and bigger premise. Although I’m sad at leaving my old room behind (which has also been blogged about in ‘My Fish Tank’), my new room in the new office premise now overlooks the Kuala Lumpur Court Complex as well as a few huge bungalows. Ah, perhaps this is to encourage me to work harder so that I may one day buy a bungalow myself (feel free to gag).

6. the many opportunities to try out new restaurants with my colleagues who are not only well-versed in law but are real foodies at heart. Despite the calories-laden food which we successfully consumed over the year, I believe none of us had substantially grown side-ways. Well, not yet. And there are more restaurants opening up at our office building so it’s definite what my 2011 resolution will be like – eat more and maintain weight. Is this the classic case of having the cake and eat it at the same time?

7. the personal discovery of several fantastic websites which allow me to watch my Korean dramas. Or if I don’t actually have the time to watch every episode, the quick recaps which are sometimes better than the show itself. By reading the recaps (and I know I’m cheating here), I would be able to gauge whether I should set aside some time to watch those good shows. If the shows are bad, then I do not have to waste my time in watching them. The time saved would be channeled to a better use, say sleep.

8. the rapid increase of my collections, be it clothes and the whole female works, music and books. You could read about my shoe-perb experience in “The Whole 9 Yards” to see just how much one can go crazy in a shoe sale. I kid you not. If there’s resolution to be added to my 2011 list, I am tempted to say “Let me know about the upcoming sales!”. Okay, that does not sound good, not when I know my parents would be reading this. So use your discretion if you ever come across notifications of sales and should you decide to let me know about it, I am eternally grateful. If I don’t end up buying anything, it would be experience at the very least. And didn’t some wise old men say that we have to learn one way or the other? Speaking for myself, I’m learning first-hand that there’s beauty in retail therapy J

9. that I’m still close to a group of friends whom I’ve known since we entered university. While we may not meet up with each other as often as we would like to, we do make it a point to meet up at least once a week, be it for a simple dinner or watching a movie together. And when the mood really strikes, we get our asses off to the nearest karaoke spots to vent out whatever frustrations we had.

10. the trip to Penang to attend a good friend’s wedding in E&O. Ever since I realized E&O’s important distinction of being a colonial hotel, I had always prayed for an invitation to attend a wedding reception at its grand ballroom. Obviously, I want to carry out my personal function (but then again, there exists a tiny problem which my friends would understand) there myself. Unfortunately, since I’m not a Penangite and my relatives are either here in KL or down south, there could never be reason to choose E&O for anything. So I was delighted when my good friend decided to tie the knot and the couple ended up choosing E&O as the venue for their reception. To prove how freakingly excited I was, I immediately booked my flight to Penang upon my friend confirming the venue. Crazy. Being in Penang also gave me a chance to hang out with another good friend of mine who was kind enough to host me during my stay. Her whole family’s hospitality was just charming and I could not ask for more. She was even generous enough to bring me to E&O’s Sarkies Corner for their famed weekend lunch spread after hearing my another unfulfilled dream was to have lunch there. Hahaha.


What I despised about 2010 …

10. my non-existent travel plans for end of 2010 because of a trial which was fixed in April 2010 for 27-29 December 2010. By the time the trial was suddenly postponed by the Judge (and this was like end of November 2010), my leave was too little for any grand get-away to anywhere. To Greece and Paris, pleeeaassee wait for me.

9. the bouts of vomiting and diarrhea thanks to food poisonings. Interestingly enough, I could never recall having vomited in my younger days. My astrology did predict that I would have issues with bowel movement but to have that translated into episodes of vomiting does not exactly appease the soul.

8. questions being posed by relatives, friends and even strangers on my lack of personal life. For the record, let me just repeat myself for the umpteenth time. I’m fine with how I am at the moment so please, worry about some other person. Thank you very much.

7. the passing of my maternal uncle. I’ve yet to blog about this though. For now, it suffices to say that while I did not share a close bond with him in his lifetime, the sudden passing did catch us by surprise.

6. the impending demolition of Pudu Jail. Okay, this is totally random. I don’t know if it’s just me but I feel there’s a strong need to preserve our heritage. Though Pudu Jail could not be described in the same breath as 5-star hotels or mega shopping malls, it is an important milestone in our country’s history. A country which does not respect the past and remnants of such era, I believe, will not go anywhere. It was constructed in 1895 so for a building that has stood more than a century and ‘welcomed’ many colourful figures, I am just devastated it has to bid farewell in my lifetime.

5. the car accident which I was involved in (find it under ‘If my car could talk’). Until today, I still do not know what went wrong that fateful drizzling morning. The car has since been sent for inspection and nothing came out of it. But as a precaution, I will always treat the bend in the road that leads to Jalan Duta with caution. I’ve been in a spot once and should it happen again (touchwood), I do not know whether my luck will run out of me.

4. the country’s politics are still the same, being run by the same incompetence and complacency. Just today, I read a local daily which reported that my country’s prime minister spent around RM8.7 million on his overseas trips and he has been away close to 300 days. Heck, can we exchange jobs please? I don’t think the top job is that hard if all you need is to raise 1 finger up in public speeches, coin some cheesy phrases (Malaysia is great when it comes to phrases. If Greece was founded by the Gods, Malaysia must have been a breeding ground for advertisers) and do nothing when prices for essential items are hiked-up. Even worse is the fact that we’re an oil producing company, petrol prices are increased and we’re left with a reduction in subsidies. How cool is that? It is damn cool because my fellow Malaysian seemed to have accepted that while the country is moving nowhere, the leaders are free to travel everywhere using our hard-earned money.

3. the frightening number of fatalities caused by buses on our roads. Only recently was there a bus crash along Simpang Pulai (a route often used by locals and travelers to Cameron Highland) which claimed 27 lives, out of which 25 were Thai nationals. It’s sad that 2010 has to end on a very sad note. It is even sadder that this is not exactly the first bus-related accident that have snagged headlines. Previous horrific instances were blamed on drivers who were speeding or did not even have the necessary permits as well as roads which were not safe for motorists. Based on what I’ve read in the papers, the survivors from the Simpang Pulai crash claimed that the deceased driver was not speeding and that they smelled something burning before the fatal crash. Regardless the reason which led to the accident, there must be more firm and reactive action taken by the government. Frankly, I am tired with the whole ‘we will study the report’ or ‘we must find a holistic solution’ nuisance. It seems that ‘studying’ is all our leaders do and yet, reports of accidents and fatalities keep increasing. We must have exceptionally ‘intellectually-challenged’ people sitting on the pedestals of power for them not to understand the value of life. And since I’m ranting on this issue, I have one pertinent question. Why is it that in Malaysia, no one has ever resigned for the fatalities? In fact, let’s be honest here. No one in Malaysia’s corridors of powers has ever resigned for anything. That must say something about the level of accountability in this beloved country of mine. And it’s a glaring omission especially when we hear leaders from other countries who would resign even when there’s only a hint of impropriety thrown against them.

2. I still could not control my facial expressions, especially when I’m furiously angry. Dad suggested for me to wear a paper bag over my head but that’s too bothersome. Would Botox then be a good idea? This is definitely a solution to be considered…only if I have the money. By the way, you do know I was kidding right? I could only hope it is so.

1. I’m a year older! It won’t be long now before I hit that big 3-0. Hmm…I think I’ve to start peering closely at the mirror on a daily basis for those fine lines which will no doubt announce their impending arrival soon.

For the year that was, it is time for me to reflect and hope that 2011 brings with her, joy and blessings for all of mankind. Even if there is the unavoidable sadness, we must be guided that every cloud has its silver lining. With that, I wish everyone (particularly your good self for having spent some good minutes of 2010 to read this entry) a happy new year!

An observer of life...or part of it

It started with a question from someone I know.

“What does it mean when a girl allows a guy to touch her hand and shoulder?”

He wanted to know my views as I belong to the feminine gender.

For a simple question, I have to admit that the answer was hard. I had to think carefully before replying. After all, I may either unlock one of universe’s greatest mysteries or add further confusion to the one asking.

“Girls are complex beings. The ‘easy’ ones do not mind being touched at those places and even more. For the rest, allowing a guy to touch the hand and/or shoulders could be read as signs. Yet, the signs themselves may vary in meaning and weight. They could either mean that the girl is comfortable enough with the guy whom she sees as nothing more than a good buddy or she is trying to drive home a certain romantic message into the guy’s brains.”

Even I couldn’t understand what I was saying. Judging from the listener’s expression, he was also trying his best to make some sense out of it. But I guessed he must have found some pearls of wisdom because we continued our conversation. Although he didn’t initially identify the ‘guy’ in his question, I had my suspicion proven right when he let slip in his subsequent responses that he was the subject matter. And what made the conversation more interesting or insightful was that the ‘girl’ in the question was not his steady girlfriend. He confessed that he was starting to get bored with his girlfriend and for lack of better terms, was thinking of playing the field again. He wanted my views on whether he should mend his ways or break what he has with the girlfriend.

It struck me as odd that I’m always the receiving ear (pun intended) for these issues. Despite my lack of experience, somehow friends would end up telling me their relationship problems. Perhaps it is because I’ve always been the observer whose eyes have not been clouded by affection or overwhelmed by the dust from the battlefield. Alternatively, I could be an ‘Aunty Sue’ in the making where the only thing lacking now is a column in a local daily. Either way, I’m never one to shy away from giving my opinion if I seriously believe it would help others.

I told him frankly that it was unfair for the girlfriend if he’s to continue with the relationship when he has lost his will and heart. It was better to break up now when she is still young (and have more chances to attract potential suitors) than to string her along for a couple more years before using the flimsiest excuse not to settle down. As I’ve witnessed from those around me, the girls will always, and always will be the loser in the end. As it is, I pointed out that the guy had already been with his girlfriend for a couple of years. Even if he vows not to jump into the ‘couple’ scene right after the break up, it wouldn’t affect him one bit if he pursues another girl once he’s a free man. There would somehow be no ‘record’ or ‘trace’ of his previous relationship(s) which would be adverse to him.

Yet, the same thing can’t be said for the girl in question. Having been seen by society at large as the guy’s ‘girl’ for the past years, her value would be somewhat diminished. And while nothing could have happened (or nothing actually happened) during the period that they were together, it’s not wrong to say that most of the society’s members will still raise an eyebrow in disbelief and ask “Are you sure nothing happened?”. Sigh. Society’s unfair in that way.

He just looked at me in silence before telling me that I sounded like his mother. His mother!

Apparently, his mother had given the same advice – to break the relationship now to be fair to the girlfriend. While I’m still reeling at the thought of being told that I sounded like someone’s mother, that didn’t stop my tongue. I told him that his mother was being fair and was not only looking at her son’s interests. In fact, I had the unfortunate privilege of knowing mothers who see the world through rosy-tinted windows where it concerns their sons. To them, it is a divine right for their sons to play around with girls’ hearts and leave them broken like a crushed flower under someone’s heel. They forget that before they became mothers, they were once girls too.

It was a long conversation between us but I did manage to ask another question which I’ve always thought as important.

“Why did you choose her in the first place?”

He started his answer by saying that they got together during their student days. And his answer ended at that. I looked at him, sipped my drink and paused.

“You did it because of peer pressure”.

It may very well be a revelation. The sadder part was that he was not the only one. There are too many of us who are afraid that we will be viewed as ‘unpopular’ or ‘tak laku’ if we don’t snag a girl or boy to be our other halves. Rather than waiting for the right person, most of us just settle down with ‘second best’ or worst, ‘total rejects’. It is ironic that some of us are willing to be seen with people who are bad for us just so that we’re seen to have some ‘value’. I’m not sure if I’ve written this before in my blog but it has always been my personal view that choosing your other half can be likened to picking apples. You can easily get one bad apple from the many rotten apples wasting away on the ground. Yet, if you want to get a good apple, you must persevere in climbing the tree and weathering the uncertain weather before you get to pluck the fruit of Eden.

I told him that while the society is guilty of exerting social expectations (and if I may say, worthless pressure to settle down), the individual is equally guilty too. He (and there are many more like him) needs to think that the society will not care when your relationship breaks or your personal life shattered to smithereens due to a nasty break up or divorce. This could be the very reason why there would be many notices pasted on signboards announcing impending wedding receptions but there would be no notification when there are divorces or custody battles.

Whether it’s me looking at the glass half-full or half-empty, each of us will cry alone. If and when we cry, let it be because of a reasoned decision which we make (and we thought to be the correct one at the moment) and not because we were merely caught in a tide of nothings.

Respect does not come with age

Although the event which I’m about to blog about happened a month ago, I feel that the entry is a must. It is at best, my recollection lest it’s forgotten over time. It is at worst, a tale of how there are people who are unashamed in demanding respect when they are clearly not entitled to do so. By the way, it’s going to be a long entry so feel free to exit now. The choice is yours.

It happened on a Friday morning, 26 November 2010 to be precise. Now, Friday morning was supposed to be the start to a beautiful weekend (unless of course, there’s a need to clear the backlog of work on weekends. Shudder). That Friday morning, however, was something else. My two bosses were unfortunately stranded in another Court for hearing of a judicial review application. Their absence basically left me alone to attend ‘mention’ of a contempt application instituted by our client. What happened later though caused me to wonder whether their absence was the heaven’s way to make me sigh (or make a mental wail) “What have I done to get stuck in this?”.

A ‘mention’ should have been easy and one without complication. If a trial or hearing could be likened to a woman giving birth, a mention could be seen as, well, a pre-natal check up (Not that I have any experience in giving birth or attending a pre-natal check up though. Somehow, that picture came to mind the moment I’m left to wonder how on earth could I describe a ‘mention’ to a lay person). Further to my digression of thoughts, let me just state that mentions are usually for parties to either get new dates or inform the Court of the status of their matter. Well, this particular mention was not meant to be anything ordinary thanks to the contentious (some would even say scandalous. Gasp.) nature and the personalities involved.

Having obtained leave to commence the contempt proceedings against the Respondent (the party that my client is seeking action against), we had to serve the cause papers on the Respondent personally. This we had to do, failing which, the Respondent is entitled to say that he was not aware of the present proceedings. In our attempt to carry out the personal service, we wrote to the Respondent’s solicitors and counsel. Despite the numerous letters sent and telephone calls made, we did not manage to serve the papers on the Respondent. What we got instead, was a barrage of attacks disguised as correspondence from the other side. In their series of letters calculated to further frustrate us, they made several allegations which if read by people not privy to the facts or aware of the actual position in law, would have the probable effect of putting us in a negative light.

As they alleged that our client was, among others, being secretive and picking Magistrates when those were obviously not the case, we had enough of their nonsense. Big boss asked me to show the letters to Court so that the Magistrate may see for himself what we had to suffer at the hands of these people and have our objections recorded. That was all. On my part, I thought it was a no biggie as I did not think the other side’s extremely senior and learned practitioners would be present for a mere mention. To expect them to come would be akin to asking a heart specialist to administer a flu jab. Seriously, forgive me for my medical references. I do not know what has gotten over me.

But come they did. This was minutes after I informed the Court interpreter that the ‘other side’ has been informed of the mention by way of our solicitors’ letter. So these two gentlemen (believe me, I am being very polite. There are many other less appetizing words currently running in my head that I’m so tempted to use) strolled into Court and sat right in front of me. Without any sign of acknowledging my presence (or my boss’ absence), it was a telling sign of the impending showdown. As for me, there was no way I was going to say ‘hi’ to these people.

Our matter was finally called by the Magistrate after other matters had been disposed off. As it was my client’s application, I rose and introduced parties who were present. Immediately thereafter, I took out a stack of letters exchanged between parties and proceeded to hand the same to the Court. As I was under the instruction to guide the Magistrate through the chain of events, it was necessary that the Magistrate has a copy of the letters so that he may understand what I’m about to tell him. It was at this juncture that the Respondent’s older senior counsel (whom for brevity’s sake, is to be referred as ‘A’. Hmm…it is also pertinently interesting that a perusal of the dictionary would find a part of the human anatomy explained under ‘A’ as well) stood up and fired the first salvo at me. With a raised voice (I do not see why A had to raise his voice. If there’s anyone in danger of losing hearing due to age, he would have better chances), A accused me in open Court and in the presence of audience in the public gallery as not having the courtesy of giving him a copy of the documents which I had given to the Magistrate earlier.

Perhaps A thought he could intimidate me into submission by raising his voice. After all, I was just a young female lawyer who’s alone in the open Court. Well, he was obviously wrong because I only enraged him further. In a firm voice, I told A that there was no need to give him a copy of the letters because he would have it anyway. The letters were meant for the Court to know exactly what has been going on and that’s that. Having the opportunity to reflect of the event, I should have been scared. I was alone and there were no partners to shield me from the verbal attacks. Yet, when A raised his voice at me for the first time (and this would repeat countless times for the next half hour or so), something inside of me just snapped. While the ‘snap’ did not materialize in an outburst that could match A’s raised voice, I felt another foreign force was taking over my being. At that moment, I was not bothered that I was alone (my solicitor only came in the middle of the fun) or that I was in open Court or that our David-Goliath exchanges were being enjoyed by those sitting in the public gallery. What I focused on was to make my points, stop their nonsense and break their barrage of accusations.

Not only did A raise his voice, A also repeatedly told me to sit down. I refused. To me, it was unfair that A gets to interrupt my submission but I’ve to sit down when he’s uttering his load of bollocks. It was time for this old man to be taught that size and age does not matter when you do not play according to the rules. Another thing that really rankled my nerves was that A continuously made reference to the fact that I was young and did not have the courtesy against someone like him who had 40 years of experience. It was as if being born decades after him gave him the God-given right to bully other lawyers. Perhaps other young lawyers but not me. Cowing at the mention of ’40 years’ was not an option. It only made me more resolute that A must be taught (which is a pity, considering his 40 years’ experience. Clearly, he takes a longer time to learn what can be learnt in a day) that respect has to be earned. Respect is not something which you can expect from me just because you’re older. Respect does not come with age.

In my subsequent replies to them, I pointed out that any confusion alleged by them was only their own making. I could very well say (having been reminded of the 40 years’ crap time and time again) that the confusion which they ‘suffered’ from was because they’re delusional. Either that or an onset of Alzheimer’s disease which they’re not aware of. I refrained. Not giving in to temptation, I merely pointed out that there was no way a confusion could have arose as A and his sidekick (which we can call as B. Now, there are also descriptions of the lower part of the human anatomy in the dictionary under ‘B’ which would serve the same purpose as the earlier definition of ‘A’) had been present in all related proceedings for both the lower and higher courts.

A said so many other things which if I’m to write about it here, may go on forever. Also, I do not wish to put in public domain, the sheer ludicrous points which A brought up and would be a total affront to his 40 years’ value. In the end and bored to death with his continuous reminder that I was not even born when he started practicing, I couldn’t stop myself. With a straight face, I told the Court that while I may not have 40 years’ experience or born 40 years ago, those have no relevance to the facts which are clearly present. Since they were umbraged by us seeking their assistance to serve the cause papers on their client and in their eyes, reduced to mere ‘messenger’, I asked the Court to place on record that –

(a) we had done everything possible but was unsuccessful in effecting service;

(b) their allegations in their letters against our client were clearly unwarranted in view of the facts; and

(c) we will serve the cause papers on their client when parties appear for the trial proper.

Even this was objected to. A stood up and said that I have no right to ‘direct’ the Court to place on record. Clearly, age has gotten the better of him. If I was in his position, I wouldn’t know where to hide my face when the Magistrate said there was nothing wrong with my request. With a foreseeable successful service of cause papers on their client, I then asked the Court to fix a hearing date for the contempt application. Again A rose on his hind legs and objected. And when the Magistrate actually fixed a mention date for the application and despite the theatrical performance one would not have expected of a ‘senior’ practitioner, both A and B continued to surprise us further. They had the audacity to stand and requested to be excused from the next mention as they’re not representing the Respondent in respect of the contempt. If that had been the case, then they should ask themselves this – Why do you even bother to attend when you have no right to do so?. It must be mind-boggling to a man with 40 years’ experience.

If 40 years gives you the ability to lie through your teeth or intimidate your juniors when you’re clearly in the wrong, I don’t think I should stay in the legal profession for that long. I’ve seen for myself in Court that day, that if that is the case, I am nothing more but a stubborn stretch of rust that lines the drain and pollutes the water.

What about you?

If my life can be divided into parts, then this is the part where irritating questions are flung at me.

Just the other day, I was out having lunch with my boss and a male pupil whom I should just identify as 'X'. Boss suddenly got into a gossipy mood (perhaps it's a way to kill time because the service was unbearably slow) and started to ask me questions about a certain colleague's love life. I only informed him of facts which I knew were already open secrets and X then told us about his own personal life. X went on and on and on about his girlfriend and that was when it came, unexpectedly.

"What about you, Raja?"

Wow. The question was short but strong enough to make me feel as if I've been punched right in the stomach (or at least, the pain as I can imagine it).

Boss was also taken aback at the very direct approach which X may have unwittingly used. For me, it was a pretty uncomfortable moment because I do not like being put under the microscopic lens without notice. Another factor was because I view the answer to the question posed as one of a personal nature. It's not the kind of things which I would answer in the presence of others apart from my family and close friends. And to answer such questions in front of my Boss during lunch break before we resume with trial is not exactly appealing.

In the end, I sputtered on my Coke and gave some sort of dismissive response. I managed to get X to promise that he'll provide my car with 'detailing' (seriously, I do not know what that entails or how much does it cost) as a way for him to atone for his grave sin. But I'm not that evil. Because I made sure I told him that while he's not the first to ask me that question, he would not be the last.

I'm beginning to see that that question seems to be very popular nowadays. Everyone, from my parents' friends I met at wedding dinners to friends I hang out for yumcha sessions as well as younger cousins must have something in common. I think they do have a check list of questions which they felt was their responsibility to ask me. And the first question must be -

"What about you?" or

"When is it your turn?".

I've a wedding dinner to attend tomorrow night. One of my Form Six friend's reception. I can just foresee the Question being posed again and again. I wonder whether I have the patience to muster a secretive smile (which may cause people to jump to the wrong conclusions) or just retort remarks which may burn a few friendships!

I think I must put something on my forehead that says "Thanks for your concern. I only ask for one thing from you. Don't ask. My life is more than providing you with an answer".

Eid Adha

As I was driving back from office yesterday, I had to pass by this mosque in SS3, Kelana Jaya. On a normal day, I've to admit that there would be nothing to look at while being stuck in those dreaded traffic congestions. Yesterday, however, was slightly different. Given that it was also the day before Eid Adha, the nearby trees which lined the roads now had company. There was a cow tied to every tree in preparation for the Qurban today.

Being a Muslim, I was taught that the Qurban was in honour of our Prophet Ibrahim's (or Abraham in the Western world) act of sacrifice. If my memory serves me right (based on my religious lessons) and my sincerest apologies if my facts are wrong or distorted, Prophet Ibrahim had badly wanted a son and asked God to be blessed with one. I believed when Prophet Ismail (or Ishmael) was finally born into the world, Prophet Ibrahim had spent years waiting for his son. Then God tested Prophet Ibrahim's devotion to Him by asking Prophet Ibrahim to sacrifice Prophet Ismail. God wanted to see whether Prophet Ibrahim's love for his son could be outdone by the Prophet's belief in carrying out God's words and faith. Being a true servant of the faith, Prophet Ibrahim agreed to sacrifice Prophet Ismail. The Prophet had already prepared to kill his son and that was when God sent the angel Jibrail (or Gabriel) to commend the Prophet for his display of true devotion. Jibrail relayed God's message to Prophet Ibrahim, namely not to kill Prophet Ismail and instead, slaughter an animal in his son's place.

So that was how the Qurban (sacrifice) or Eid Adha is celebrated by Muslims every year since. Eid Adha is also commonly referred by many Muslims as Raya Haji as it is intended to celebrate those pilgrims who had successfully performed their Haj. As a Muslim, we are to ensure that we carry out the 5 pillars of faith (which is akin toMoses' 10 Commandments) in our lifetime, the last one being the performance of Haj. Haj is, based on my understanding, the complete submission to God by carrying out a series of religious requirements in the holy lands of Mecca and Medina. Once a Muslim has performed the Haj, he or she is expected to be free from worldly desires and become a devoted Muslim in preparing for the afterlife.

Although I laud the remarkable act of faith by Prophet Ibrahim (how many would have the courage to do what he almost did) and enjoy the Eid Adha celebrations, my heart does go out to those cows. Before you call me a hypocrite and start to remind me of the many beef patties I have consumed over the years, let me explain. Cows, like chickens and lambs, will most probably end up on our plates in various forms, sizes and dishes. That is a fact no one should deny.

Notwithstanding the above, I do however feel that there should be a better (or humane) way for animals to die. Like those cows that I saw yesterday (which by now, would have been nothing but plastic bags of meat distributed to houses), I hate to put myself in their 'shoes'. Imagine you being tied at tree no. 13 and together with you are cows tied to trees no. 1 to 12. From where you are roped, you would be able to see how a group of male humans would start to slaughter cow no. 1. Then, they would move on to cow no. 2 and the next and the next. You could see them inching closer to you with every cow slaughtered and yet, you're unable to escape. You know you will suffer the same fate but by the time it's your turn, you would have 'died' repeated deaths.

Perhaps it's just me but I think animals have feelings too. They may not have the brains to think about world policies but they're able to grasp the concept of mortality. Even if we're to slaughter a cow in the name of Qurban, a religious act should not be an excuse for us not to be humane. Would it be so wrong for the cows to be slaughtered in a closed tent far from the eyes of other cows? Why must it be done in the open and cause massive heart attacks to the cows which are still living?

Religion is also about compassion and I believe in that, strongly. We're taught to be compassionate not only to fellow mortals but to all beings. After all, every single thing on this Earth whether living or non-living, is a creation of God. I don't believe God wants us to be cruel in carrying out His commands. But somewhere along the line, we must have erred. In our bid to perform an act of faith, we closed our eyes and hardened our hearts. That, I must say, is a pity.

Selamat Hari Raya Aidil Adha to my fellow Muslim brethren.

Private Number

Just a quick entry, really.

I find it extremely annoying when my mobile phone rings and the caller is only identified by "Private Number". For the record, my boss has also changed his phone number to the same mode but I guess I'm used to it already. After all, my boss has good reasons not to disclose his number and he would always introduce himself after the initial 'hello'.

Today, as I was grappling with a written submission that's due to be filed this coming Monday, a call came in and all I know of the caller's identity is merely 'Private Number'. Thinking it was my boss, I dropped whatever I was working on, used my right hand to grab a pen and used my left hand to pick up the phone receiver.

I said 'hello' and instead of being informed of who exactly I was speaking to, the caller immediately launched into a one-sided conversation. With my mind still engrossed with work, it didn't take much for me to be irritated. Ignoring whatever the caller has been saying for the past minute, I only said 'Who is this?'. My voice must have come across harsher than expected as the caller suddenly became silent. After a slight pause, the caller introduced herself and she turned out to be my cousin. Anyway, she requested for a relative's phone number and after giving it to her, that was the end of our conversation.

To me, it's fine if you don't want your number to be listed. Yet, it is only fair that you cannot expect people to know who you are if your number comes up as 'Private Number' and it's not followed by a quick introduction. As it is, the fact that my mobile phone shows 'Private Number ' has already denied me the right to vet my calls. Alternatively, I could choose not to pick up the call because I wouldn't know who it is from and this action may include calls from relatives with 'Private Number'. If that happens, then you definitely do not have the right to be angry if your call is suddenly directed to the voice mail box.

It's Friday night and here I am ranting away about 'Private Number'. Perhaps it is because I've had a long day at work and Saturday only means yet another day in office. Hope I'm going to have a good weekend or my next entry will just be another rant!

Nanny

She was to me, 'Nanny'.

Dad and his siblings called her 'Che'. Well, her name is Che Puteh Asmah and perhaps she was not used to the idea of being called by any other name. According to my parents, even her grandkids would have called her 'Che' but in the end (and to avoid us from being seen as bloody rude kids), the adults thought it was better if the grandkids called their grandmother something else.

So that was how 'Nanny' became what she was. Personally, I thought the term 'Nanny' was in reference to her being around and taking care of her grandchildren. Mom however, said it's a variation of 'Granny' and one that would not have made the grand old dame feeling old.

This space was originally meant for a picture of Dad as an infant with Nanny.
However, Dad has requested me to remove it due to its...err, inappropriateness.

Nanny with her mother and Dad's two elder brothers

To me, Nanny was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Even in her twilight years, she would be quick to engage people in conversations, make those sudden quips and verbally shoots the unsuspecting party that crosses her path. On the good days, she would be (if I remember correctly) that doting grandmother with a joke to share. On those not so good days, her temper will get the better of her and woe betide anyone that treads on her thinning patience. But from what I could remember of her, she was the one whose shoulder I rested my head on when we went travelling long distance by car. She was the one who bears the faint whiff of talcum powder whenever she goes. She was also the one who was ever so concerned when I was down with fever at age 10.

Dad on so many occasions, shared stories of his childhood with Nanny. To this day, I will always find it amusing that Nanny invented the word 'homosakula' when in actual fact, she was trying to explain the word 'homosexual' to her kids. There was also another story on how Nanny visited Dad and my uncle who were studying in UK at that time. It was her first overseas trip and while the sons were fretting with worry in the arrival lounge, Nanny took her own sweet time before finally making an appearance. Mom also once recounted that during the early days of Mom's marriage to Dad, Mom's relatives would be afraid to approach Nanny for fear of the comments that would eventually leave Nanny's mouth. There were many other (fun, zany and downright unbelievable) stories about Nanny but let me just say some memories are best kept within the family circle for us to cherish.

As I'm older now, I too realised that perhaps my siblings and I have inherited more of Nanny's traits than we realized. Thanks to her being born a Chinese, all of us now bear varying degrees of Chinese features. If one observes Dad's family members, one could be forgiven for thinking that it's the typical Chinese family without any inkling of our Malay ancestry as well. Most of us are, like Nanny, rather reserved but quick to trade barbs when the mood strikes. If at all, we're the living testaments that while Nanny may no longer be with us, she's still in us.

Nanny with her husband and kids. According to Dad, this would have been the only complete family picture ever taken. They were holidaying in Penang back then.

Although Nanny passed away today 15 years ago, I felt as if it was only yesterday. I was only 12 years old when she died, too young to realise what it meant to have a grandmother (my maternal grandmother passed away even before I was born). Now, I could only look at old photos of her and reminisce about the snippets of memories shared with my Nanny whenever I see other people with their grandmothers. The 12 years I shared with her were far too short.

Lest anyone thinks Nanny had an easy life, let me confirm otherwise. She had her fair share of pain and sufferings but I think she overcame those with sheer tenacity that I could only expect from Nanny. Her end unfortunately came too soon with the onslaught of Alzheimer and Parkinson, reducing her to a shadow of what she had been earlier in life. But to the end, I'm proud that I've had the privilege of being her granddaughter. I could only hope that she's equally proud of my siblings and I.

Nanny was Nanny, no one could replace her. Not then, not 15 years later, not ever.

Incoherent Ramblings. More to come.

Dad has been asking me on what my next blog entry is going to be. Mom never asks although I know she's one of my few (silent) readers.

I do not know the answer myself. I know the blog is mine to be turned into a long version of 'twitter' or an online diary where every mundane event will be recorded (so that every one else will know exactly how mundane my life has been and will probably be for the next 20 years or so). It could also be an avenue where I'm the shrink as well as the patient without any fees being involved. I write about my problems and then, write about the solutions which I think may solve the problems. But then again, I'm perpetually apprehensive of friends who read my blog and yet leave nothing behind or indicate that they've been reading my rants and grouses. Worst is the feeling that some stranger in a distant location may now know some secrets of mine (if there are any in the first place) by accident. I've to say I'm now toying with the idea of putting the 'privacy' mode onto this blog so that whatever that I write will truly be mine alone.

At times, I would listen to the radio while driving and am often drawn to the interesting topics that were being discussed. Then, there were also moments when I'm working in my office or in Court when I found myself thinking "Aah...this is something that I have to blog about when I have the time". Naturally, that 'time' rarely comes. And when I finally have the chance to write what I wanted to write, the topic is for want of a better term, outdated. What could have been expressed in the present term often becomes a story of the past.

I wanted to write about an issue which I've jotted down notes in my notebook. But incoherent rambling takes precedence and I'm left to wonder why.

p/s: I know the entry doesn't make sense. Just to let you know I'm still around. Aren't you glad?

Life is about living

I watched Charlie St. Cloud ("Charlie") last week with Akmar.

Gosh, to think that I'm writing about something which happened last week on a day which almost marks the end of this week. But it could have been worse in the sense that I could choose not to write about it at all. So count your blessings, haha.

Honestly, I was not even contemplating to watch Charlie. In fact, I only got to know about it because there was the movie signboard advertisement that I have to pass by before I enter the Federal Highway on my way to work. However, seeing that it was a last-minute arrangement on a Friday night (thanks to my sudden crave to watch another movie barely two nights after having watched Step Up 3) and that Eat Pray Love was totally full (well, an available first row seating is not that appealing especially since my upcoming weekend will be marred by a stiff neck), Charlie was the next best thing.

Perhaps it was better for me that I entered the cinema hall with no high expectations for Charlie. I've been forewarned by others that the movie is nothing more than a bucket of tears based on them having watched the making of Charlie. And the lead actor, though others rated him as good looking, is not exactly one of my favourite leading men. With those factors in mind, all I wanted from Charlie was just enough entertainment to end a Friday night. In the end, I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised.

Before I go any further, let me just say that I've never been (and don't intend to be) a movie critic. There would be no spoilers (because I don't believe in spoiling others' share of entertainment) and there certainly will not be any 'The movie would have been better if the director did this or that' kind of comments. As it is, I am not planning on becoming a director or a script writer anytime soon. All I want to achieve from this entry is merely recording what I felt and what I think I've learned from the movie. After all, learning is not confined to the four walls of the classroom only.

Anyway, I thought the movie was profoundly moving. It had none of the 3D thingies that we have all been recently caught in. Neither did it have those complicated plots and level of thinking that makes us wonder whether the straight spoon we hold in our hands could be bent using concentration of mind power. Nope, it had none of those, thank God. There were only a few characters involved in a plot so simple one could be kicked in the head for not thinking about it earlier. There were also a lot of sea scenes which would have made Dad very happy if I could ever persuade him to watch the silver screen. It was in short, a story (albeit with a slight supernatural twist to it. Okay, I've said more than I should) about how the bond between brothers could transcend beating hearts and different spaces in time. But most importantly, it tries to convey a simple truth that life is about living. The characters in the movie were there to show us how that should have been one of the easiest concepts to grasp and that we often fail to do so.

I don't know about you but I am one of those guilty ones who fail to learn, despite my age (don't think I'm going to spill the beans on my age here) that life is about living in the present. Whether it was a conscious choice or something that is just inherently built in me, it has always been to chase the future and once I've reached the destination or objective, to lament on the past. Nothing is ever thought of about the present when that could very well be the most exciting period. Dad said that to think about the past or things (or persons) you have lost or reminiscing about memories are not good. Nostalgia is a mental shackle that keeps you back from reaching towards the future. And the very reason for having nostalgia is because one feels that the present is not appealing enough, conveniently forgetting that today's present would be tomorrow's past.

Perhaps that is why I'm trying (although I can't say I've been successful much) to be more in the present. I think I want to be more receptive towards things which I would have rejected or dismissed in the past as frivolous. It means trying out 'possibilities', considering 'chances' and taking 'opportunities' instead of settling for 'decisions'. If I was shy in the past, that would naturally mean me having to take the initiative to approach people now (I think my fistful of friends would be rolling on the floor right now, laughing their asses off). If my taste in music was previously confined to oldies, I am now trying to acclimatise my ears to what people call nowadays as music. Unfortunately, that is still a failure despite my ability to automatically hum along whenever modern songs are aired. Last but not least, I think I appreciate people more than I ever did.

However, this does not mean that I'm throwing my life away or condoning participation in events or involvement with people that would give me a future to regret. I believe in life and that life is about living. I just have to tread this tightrope of choices carefully enough so that in my effort to live life, I do not actually waste whatever I've achieved these past years away.

p/s this is so totally random. And I've just noticed that I tend to define more as in "Charlie". This could be a serious case of work influencing the personal realm *shudder*.

The Whole 9 Yards

It started out as an ordinary Friday evening.

And what counts as ordinary is usually meeting my girlfriends for dinner and catching a movie. Well, those things happened (as usual) but the most important thing that became a reason in the last-minute change in my weekend plan (and the basis for this post) was what occurred before and after I met the girls.

What happened was that on Friday evening, I somehow arrived much earlier than the rest. As I took the escalator from Gardens' basement parking and made my way to the area that connects Gardens and Mid Valley, my eyes suddenly zoomed towards this one lady. Amidst the huge crowd of people walking past at a franetic pace and becoming a constant moving human barrier between us, I saw that she was totting two Lewre shopping bags. Not only did she have two bags but those bags were filled with shoe boxes. Being a shoe-holic and knowing very well that the brand in question is not exactly something the general public can afford to buy more than 1 pair at any one time, I became very curious.

With curiosity needing to be satisfied and time that is very much on my side, I quickly rushed to the store. And it was there that I was greeted by a sight that left me dead in my tracks. The shoe store which would usually be devoid of customers was now brimming with ladies trying out shoes. With boxes being everywhere and ruffled looking sales assistants trying to entertain multiple requests for sizes, it was like a shoe armageddon had taken place right in Mid Valley. I entered the store anyhow and saw the reason behind the madness - "Pre-Renovation Sale: 1 pair for RM30, 2 pairs for RM50".

I read the signboard once before reading it for the second time. In my defence, I think anyone in their natural state of mind would do the same thing. For a store that sells impressive evening footwear and quality shoes with price tags no lower than 3 digits (I know they are not Jimmy Choos or Manolo Blahniks but paying 3 digits for any pair of shoes I'm not going to wear often is not exactly good economic sense!), the sale was unbelievable. I wondered around in the store trying to find something which I would like to buy (although at that earth-shattering price, any reason is good enough to buy 'em). In the end (and after my numerous attempts to get my size out of the fast-depleting collection which was available), I gave up.

I then met the girls for dinner which I informed them ruefully that a shoe sale had taken place and by the time I found out, it was too late for me to do anything. We then proceeded to watch Charlie St. Cloud and I forgot about the big miss. By the time the movie ended, it was approximately quarter to 12 a.m. Together with Akmar, we then made our way to the ground floor for our respective parking lots. As we were coming down the escalator, I suddenly remembered about the shoe store and persuaded Akmar to just walk past the shop. Perhaps it was a small attempt to console myself but I wanted to show Akmar the shoe store that I was telling them about during dinner.

Although the shop has closed (as would any retail shop after 10 p.m. Seriously, why can't they extend the shopping hours?), I could not believe my eyes when I saw that the same ruffled looking sales assistants were still in the shop and they were busy ... restocking the shoes!!! I'm not referring to them merely arranging the few boxes on the floor which had greeted me earlier but it was way better. Although I'm standing on the other side of the store's grill (and a case of being so near and yet so far), I could see rows and rows and rows of boxes being stacked up against the walls. The scene was just beautiful and if only I could reach my hands out to pick out size 37... that would be perfect.

Akmar pulled me away saying it was already late and that we have to go home because we would be leaving for Malacca the next morning. My feet moved but my heart remained with the boxes. There was no way I'm not getting at least one pair for myself at such a ridiculously cheap price. With steely determination (or perhaps an unexplained bout of craziness), I turned to Akmar and requested her to wait while I ask the sales assistants who were still in the shop. I don't think Akmar believed that I would actually march up to the shoe sales assistants but that was just what I did. I knocked on the grill and having stopped them from restacking the boxes, I politely enquired whether the boxes by the walls were for the next day's sale. A female assistant nodded and I thanked my lucky star that a male sales assistant was also nearby. He looked tired but perhaps having been amused by the sight of me knocking on the grill in the ungodly hours of morning, he offered more information. Apparently, they will bring out different collection for each day of the sale and that I'm advised to be in front of the store before 10 a.m. to grab my size and preferred design(s). I smiled in gratitude, a plan already being hatched in my head.

I walked towards Akmar who was now laughing so hard. She swore that I must have been possessed for only a crazy person would actually do what I did. As 'crazy' is never an adjective one would use to describe me, I think I must agree with her. Anyway, I told her that we must simply make a stop in Mid Valley first thing on Saturday morning before we push off for Malacca. She said she'll inform the rest but in my 'crazy' mode, I fished out my handphone and immediately called another friend who is also going with us to Malacca. When Syahida picked up her phone, her sleepy voice did not manage to stop me from blurting "We MUST go to Mid Valley tomorrow morning" and "I HAVE TO GET MY SHOES". I ended our short telephone conversation by informing her that I'll reach their place latest by 9-ish so that we can race to Mid Valley and stake a place outside the store before 10 a.m.

Thanks to Dad and Mum who were game enough to drive me to the girls' house before 9 a.m. and thanks to Sya who was already waiting to drive us to Mid Valley, I found myself with a sense of excitement. Unfortunately for Akmar, she could not join us for our great 'war' but she promised that she'll join us later. As I entered the car, Sya who was demurely dressed in baju kurung (which was logical as we were going for Raya visiting in Malacca and Johore) must have thought my attire was improper for the houses that we'll invade in a couple of hours. Compared to her, I was not wearing baju kurung after having opted for what I called as my 'bargain hunter' clothes i.e. knee length shorts, short sleeve tee and slip-on sandals. My baju kurung and kebaya for Raya visits remained properly folded in my overnight bag.

With Sya equally excited, we found ourselves with other equally excited females (young and old from different races. If not for the fact that each of them represented competition and a stumbling block in my quest to buy those shoes, I would have appreciated the scene more) standing in front of the store or waiting nearby (some were trying to be discreet in not wanting the whole world know that they're bargain hunters or beyond-help shoeholics) while waiting for our watches to show 10 a.m. Time was passing by ever so slowly and we spent the wait looking at the sample shoes being put on display. Sya and I tried to peer and see for ourselves, shoes that would soon read as ours (but mostly mine, haha). I spotted a few designs which I liked but judging from the comments and finger pointing that were happening around us, others seemed hellbent on claiming the shoes as theirs as well! And it doesn't help to ease my frustration when I see the sales assistants were in no hurry to let us into the shop. I remembered making a remark to Sya as we inched our way closer to the store's entrance that we were really no different than sprinters at the starting line. While we may not have to squat and wait for the pistol to rip its head off, we do need to reach the destination the fastest to win the race.

When the sales assistants finally opened the doors, it was indeed a sprint. Caught in a rush of human flood entering the store, I was at first left dumbfounded. I know what I wanted but I was disoriented as others lined themselves up against the counters, pitting among each other in trying to get the assistants' attention. Sya and I were separated as every (wo)man was for herself, haha. She moved to the other counter while I tried my luck with the counter nearest to us. Soon, boxes were passed around and exchanged between hands. Voices were beginning to reach a deafening volume as each was trying to outdo the other. Everyone (except for Sya though. She is really one of the most polite customers in the frenzied rush. I even saw Sya standing as if there is a queue when others, had they been soldiers in a war, would unashamedly flout every Geneva Convention known to mankind) wanted to get their shoes and had to yell out their sizes to the poorly outnumbered sales assistants. Even guys got into the action, doing the dirty biddings of their prettier halves. Unless they too have an affinity for sandals and everything that glitters, these men were clearly there to be their girlfriends' attacking forces. Those with long arms and height also held an advantage over those who, well, were not that generously endowed with lengthy limbs or towering stature. Obviously I belong to the latter but I too had a secret weapon, the ability to squeeze my body into the smallest of space. I squeezed myself well enough to land a prime spot by the counter where I then found myself with another challenge.

That challenge was how to maximise the full use of my two hands and multi-tasking to the max. Imagine, the counter was already crowded with boxes of shoes so there's absolutely no space for me to place the shoes that I have chosen earlier. I could not leave my shoes unattended as some one else (those who are members of the size-37 fraternity) may just take a fancy and grab my shoes while I was looking elsewhere. At the same time, I've to keep a good look out for shoes that I missed earlier and try to get the sales assistant to bring me those shoes in my size. Somehow, I managed to learn juggling between what I have and what I intend to pursue. With my left hand placed firmly (also as a warning to others not to touch my stuff or else) on the boxes that I've already acquired, I used my right hand to point to shoes that are still not within my reach. And when the right hand goes unnoticed, that was when I applied a high pitch voice and plastered my face with a perfectly trained polite smile to get the sales assistant to give me what I wanted. Without me realising it, I soon had 6 boxes with me. I've won a battle but no General is satisfied with a battle when a war is at stake.

There was also the necessity to ignore my youth and petite size while trying to beat those old (and in some cases, bigger) veteran bargain hunters at their own game. I learned the hard way that these female vultures do not have, I swear they have none to begin with, any sympathy for fellow human beings. One old lady had no qualms to grab a pair of size 37 shoes when it was obvious that the sales assistant was about to give it to me. Another saw a shoe which I was holding and grabbed the last available size-37 for herself. I even had someone who conveniently whacked the stillettos' heel against my shin as we were vying for the sales assistant's attention. She did say a quick sorry but that was the extent of humanity. Thanks to her, I now sport a distinct blue-looking bruise on my leg. Hell hath no fury like a female bargain hunter, grrrr.

Once Sya was done with her collection (she settled for 4 pairs), I got her help in watching over my collection as I dived yet again into the race to get closer to the counter. I eventually found 3 new pairs of sandals but I did not manage to get another 3 which I wanted so badly. Two of those that I missed were out of sizes thanks to the earlier female vultures which I had described. The last pair which kept me on the brink of insanity was the chase to search for the left sandal of this beautiful gold beaded sandals. I even circled the store with the right sandal in my hand looking like an absolute fool. I now know the feeling of Cinderella's Prince as he roamed his kingdom to find the other half of the golden slippers. He must have felt like a fool if not for the noble concept of his one true love!

After nearly two hours being stuck in a small shoe store with lots of people, I have to say both Sya and I emerged unscathed. Although Julius Caesar may not have thought how his immortal quote would ring true for two girls like us, I wish to let him know (wherever he is right now) that he had the foresight. We came, we saw and we definitely conquered. Between us, we bought a total of 13 sandals from the shoe store. Sya even received attention from fellow shoppers when she unwittingly helped to bring all 7 shopping bags full of shoes as I tried to put my wallet in my handbag. Being the good friend that I am, I just let her get all the glory, haha.

So that was the story of how I went the whole 9 yards for shoes. Sya kinda got her vengeance against me by never failing to inform everyone that we met (in both Malacca and Johore, mind you!) how I purchased 9 pairs of shoes on Saturday morning. The number must have been unbelievable to the listener as they did not say anything. And yet, when Sya announced that she herself bought 4 pairs, people were often left gobsmacked. It was only later that we found out that the people who had the privilege of knowing my purchases thought Sya was kidding. Clearly she was not but that's not my concern. In my books, I got 9 pairs for a price which on a normal day, may not even be enough to buy one decent pair.

I eventually bought another 2 pairs in Malacca bringing my weekend collection to 11 pairs. Adding that figure to those I already have stashed away in my room or in my sister's room or in the store room, you may now call me Imelda.

p/s: you would note that I did not post any picture in this entry. I wanted to but taking a picture back then would mean one less hand to guard my shoes. You do the math and in the mean time, I'll start thinking on when my next shoe purchase will be. After all, a girl can never have too many shoes, not even when I’ve run out of storage space!