Ain't It Funny

For many reasons, the title of Jennifer Lopez’ song hits the right note for the things which have caught my interest or those which I wanted to blog about.

First, my updates on my dancing class last Sunday. Before anything else, my parents forgot that my Sunday afternoons are now taken up by my new interest. So, they were somewhat caught by surprise when I came down dressed in silvery tights and loose top, picked up my handbag and rushed out of the house at 11.15 a.m. Unlike the previous week's class, I reached the dancing school well ahead of time. While waiting for my instructor’s earlier class to end, I took the chance to mentally go through the series of steps which were taught last week. And thank God I did that because this time around, the class was slightly different. For starters, we couldn’t face the mirror and practice those steps. The instructor wanted us to actually move around and not stay rooted in one place. The seven female students (including moi. May I take this opportunity to lament the dearth or non-existent male dance students?) stood in a big circle with the instructor sitting by the DVD player at the side. Once everybody was in position and JLo’s song comes blaring (which is what I’m using as background music to write this entry, by the way. It’s really killing two birds with one song, as I try to write and do a mental Samba), we started dancing. Well, I would like to believe we were dancing. It's much better than telling you about flailing limbs and dizziness as we tried to twirl across the studio. But one thing's for sure. It was really great to be able to dance with the instructor. Now, I meant it as a seriously platonic comment. Samba is, after all, a dance meant for couples. To dance alone, despite knowing the steps, just doesn't seem right. And with a partner (nevermind that he's my instructor. Am pathetic, I know), it actually made the steps alive and breathing to the music. To show how inspired I was, I even played JLo's song on youtube and tried to dance in my living room. Mama was my sole audience and as I tried to retrace the steps, I must have looked downright funny. My legs were definitely moving but my arms had to 'rest' itself on an imaginary partner's shoulders. Think it took everything of Mama not to laugh or make comments that may just scar my dancing shoes. Well, I think I've now learned the complete series of steps for beginner's Samba. So, who knows...I may write another entry on my next class as I hopefully progress to more complicated steps. I just hope my limbs are able to withstand the music.

Second, a recent facebook chat I had with a friend who's currently studying abroad. I may have initiated the conversation because I asked him about possible accommodation in Kota Kinabalu for a friend's wedding. The conversation however took a different turn when he asked me whether it was possible for him to ask me on 'something'. That 'something' turned out to be him wanting my views on the recent controversy surrounding 8TV's Ramadhan advertisement. That advertisement has since been retracted but people are still in opposite camps as to the message behind that particular advertisement. He started the ball rolling by telling me what he thought of it. In short, he was offended at the thought of how a certain race was offended by that advertisement. He was of the view that it was just a case of making a mountain out of a molehill and that people should just chill out over a non-issue. He agreed it was a stupid ad but to call it racist was unjustifiable. I was left perturbed. And I had to disagree with him.

To be fair, I did not watch the advertisement. Probably the main reason was because I hardly watch local tv programmes nowadays. My time is a bit too precious to be spent on listening to government propaganda or their one-sided attacks on the opposition. Well, I have digressed as usual. Anyway, I told him that even if I did not watch the actual advertisement, so much have been discussed on it that it's almost as if I had seen the ad on tv.

To me, it was simple. For an advertisement that wishes to highlight the holy month of Ramadhan, surely there are much better premises to pick from to convey such messages. It obviously doesn't look good to do so while harping on other people's faults. I agree that there are certain quarters of the society (including the Malays themselves) who would go about eating at the Bazaar Ramadhan without scant regard to those around them who are observing the fasting month. But one should never narrow it down to a particular race as indicated by the features of the actress in question. When it happened the way it did, I find it to be racism. Although it may be subtle and mild as compared to the anhilation of Jews by way of gas chambers, it is still nonetheless, a form of racism. I tried to point out that wouldn't it be funny if Malays are depicted in a negative light instead? After all, Malays are themselves, not perfect. If that really happens, we would have the political leaders up in arms for attacking the majority race. The same voices which said 'chill la' will also be the ones yelling themselves hoarse to kick those 'ungrateful ones' out of this country.

My friend pointed out that there was in fact an advertisement showing how a Malay man refused to give up his seat to the elderly in the LRT. Well, point taken. But I had to remind him that there was a consequent uproar which resulted in the removal of that advertisement. So it serves my point. Especially when one takes the holy month of Ramadhan into consideration, there should be more sensitivity to the angle of the intended message. And just as Ramadhan is not only a month for fasting, Ramadhan is also a month for us to reflect on our faults and redeem ourselves. It doesn't serve anything if we stop our mouths from eating and drinking but allow our tongues and minds to criticise others. God is not stupid or blind or deaf. Most importantly, I'm a believer that you teach others best by your own conduct. It is pointless for us to preach on the moral high grounds when our behaviour denotes the extreme opposite end.

I should end this entry with a few parting notes -

(a) I just realised we're already in the second week of fasting. How time flies. I wish to wish fellow Muslim brethren a 'Selamat Berpuasa' and hope that this holy month brings you great satisfaction and improvements in all aspects, be it spiritually, emotionally, mentally or physically;

(b) on a personal level, I'm happy to say that this year's terawih prayers have been the best for me. For those who know me, I'm not actually what you can describe as the devout faithful. Well, miracles are made each and every day, right? Hope it continues for the rest of the month, God willing; and

(c) as usual, I've successfully lagged behind on my blogging. This entry was supposed to be a Sunday's script but considering it written on a Wednesday, I guess nothing much has changed in that aspect!

Believe it or not

After what must have been one of my most hectic Saturdays (a wedding lunch, a religious prayer in the afternoon and a formal evening dinner which I was Mom’s escort. I was also Mom’s driver for the day), I was planning for a laid-back Sunday. You know, the kind of Sunday where I would do nothing but eat and sleep. Given that it was also the last Sunday before the start of Ramadhan and Sunday night would mean the beginning of 30 nights of terawih prayers (Insya Allah), the ticking minutes and hours of the day were indeed precious.

Well, I’ve to say the plan started out quite well. I woke up around 10-ish and since I’ve done my laundry as well as the bulk of my ironing the day before, I felt quite relieved. Yes, I’m a bit of Monica (from Friends. Not Lewinsky) when it comes to house chores. Anyway, it was 11 a.m. after I was done with a quick shower and ironed a few more blouses. Mom was already in the kitchen reheating the briyani leftovers for brunch and I thought I was set for a lazy Sunday. But it was here when Mom reminded me of a meet she had with a former teacher of mine a few days ago. Mom persuaded me to call my former teacher and despite my apprehension, I was soon on the phone with my former teacher.

The call was short, more of taking up from where we had left off. Since I last met my former teacher when I was in Standard 6, we had quite a bit of catching up to do. Obviously, she basically knows the 101 of my life since then, thanks to my parents who must have filled her in with the must-know essentials. I didn’t get to ask her much about her life though, especially when she informed me that she’s currently in Singapore! On my part, I felt I could wait to ask her personally if that means saving my phone bills from reaching the ceiling! But before we ended the call amidst promises to meet up pretty soon, she asked me to drive to Taipan before 11.30 a.m. The clock on the wall was already showing 11.20.
Lunch was regrettably an abrupt event, with mere spoonfuls of briyani rice. With a barely full stomach, I was on the road.

I arrived at my teacher’s place a little over 11.30. Call me silly but despite my teacher’s absence, I could feel the trepidation as I walk up the two flight of stairs. It was strangely a case of my 27 year-old self disappearing and replaced by a tiny (perhaps some of you would say ‘tinier’) long-haired girl of 12 years old. As I made my entrance, I really felt time did not pass and I was sucked into my past. It was no longer 2011 but somewhere prior to 1994.

For the first time in 15 years, I finally returned to that once-familiar surroundings. With walls lined with full-length mirrors, brown wooden flooring and wooden bars where I used to hold while doing pliés, I was definitely back in the ballet studio. As I stared at my image, the childhood memory of wearing leotard, soft pink leggings with ribbon-strapped ballet shoes and long hair that’s neatly tied in a bun came for a fleeting moment. But the vision was only briefly for it soon made way into my present, me with short hair and casually dressed in jeans and tees. And in the place of my former ballet friends who were of the same age as I was, were three other girls who must not have been an inch more than 14 years old.

The male instructor was not surprised to see me there. Without much ado and no introduction, I was asked to join the three girls as they move about in the studio. One of them was wearing strappy sandals while the other two were barefooted like me. I tried to follow their steps but coming in at the end of a cha-cha-cha lesson was sheer bad timing. I was just moving my legs, trying to coordinate them to imitate what I see with scant regard to what is right and left. Well, it was to my enormous relief when the instructor said that he will teach us how to dance the Samba.

That relief was short-lived. The images I had of Samba from movies were exciting. Dancers would be dancing along to the infectious rhythm and enjoying the time of their lives. Well, time for a reality check. In the one hour that followed, all I could feel was sweat trickling down my spine as we tried to follow the instructor’s moves. The excitement was left forgotten as my befuddled mind tries to remember the different sets of steps. There was the infectious song all right but as the tune was stopped time and time again when we commit errors, the song became something of a broken record. The hour ended with the instructor asking us to practice those steps before we return the following weekend.

So that was how I spent my Sunday afternoon (and how I will spend the rest of my Sunday afternoons in the near future) with aching limbs. In case you’re not able to understand what I’ve written thus far, let me put it to you gently. I’ve begun attending social dance classes, believe it or not. I figured it’s much better than gym and I still get to lose some weight, fingers crossed. And if there’s any social function which may require a spot of dancing, then I may not be that hopeless a case. But then again, it takes two to tango. So I may have to continue looking for the other half who wouldn’t think a request for Waltz as a craving for ice-cream!

Finding the right pair

I drove my parents to Subang Parade today (in a desperate bid to break the Sunday monotony. I do realise that I prefer to spend the weekends at home but there are times when one suddenly gets the urge to head to the nearest shopping mall and today was such a day).

Having left Abah at his most comfortable spot (either Speedy or the sofa set in front of Speedy), Mama and I strolled in and out of Parade's shops. Alright, if you do not know this fact before this, let me tell you a lil secret. I've recently become somewhat a shopaholic. Although I have not exactly reached the level where I can converse with the mannequins, I do weaken at the four letter sign (read: S.A.L.E.) And without realising it, I've collected a fair collection of shoes, handbags and whatever that a person of the female gender requires. Well, the story started with having the need to get a pair of sandals and before I knew it, it became a classic search of finding the right pair. I'm still searching for the perfect pair of sandals/shoes and along the way, I've found the good ones, the better ones, the expensive ones, the affordable ones and yes, even the painful ones (but heck do they look good!). In the process, I learn how to manage my depleting bank accounts, discovered the art of juggling expenses (especially when it comes to end of month) and yes, the heartburns when the credit card bills arrive on my doorstep and the digits seemed to be longer than I had expected, haha.

Anyway, I'm proud to say that I did not buy anything major today. Mama bought two pair of shoes (which is amazing considering she rarely buys shoes nowadays) and I settled on a few picture frames which were incredibly cheap. I mean, those frames were made of solid wood and were on 50% discount! Before I knew it, I took four of those multiple picture frames with the determination of finding the appropriate pictures to be inserted and time to actually put them up on the walls =)

But there were just so many things that caught my eye today. The b.o.n.i.a handbag which Mama agreed was attractive months ago and btw, costs a cool half K is still around with a 20% discount tag on it (mental note: perhaps I could get it when my current handbags are spoiled). There was also this black canvas handbag from Guy Laroche which was pretty cheap (considering the brand) and could be a great travel companion for my travels (did I say I'm headed to Australia this August? Good reason to buy. I could stuff everything inside without worry=p). Sandals were aplenty with various designs from the different brands. While trying them out and imagining how the colour would match some of my outfits, it took sheer determination to return them to their shelves with the consolation that there's either something wrong with the heels or the general design altogether (they should still be around in a few months' time though. Either that or they could be cheaper or the brands would have better designs). While I know I have at least 5 pairs of working court shoes, it did not stop me from trying out the shoes on sale. My stand is that one can never go wrong with black shoes so what's the harm of trying out (and buying more) black shoes? Haha...my friends would lecture me over this.

That is why I felt so proud of myself today. I came, I saw and I stopped myself from buying anything that remotely resembles shoes or handbags! And seriously, I even tried this pair of sandals which costs around RM500, felt good wearing it and sigh, had to put it down. It was either the price or Mama giving me the glare and the 'you better not buy that pair unless you're meeting the Agong' signal from across the shop. But then again, I bought 3 pairs of shoes yesterday (from my outing to Pyramid) which if I may put up a defence, were incredible bargains from good comfortable brands.

Well, perhaps I could make a resolution not to buy anything else until I'm in Australia. Until then, I've to keep the RM on closer watch so that I have more AUDs later =)

What do you do on a Sunday?

Sunday is usually my 'let's stay at home and do nothing' day.

Unlike Friday night which one would feel up to do anything or Saturday where there's a sense of relief of having another day before Monday, Sunday is well...the prelude to Monday blues. And how did I spend today's Sunday?

Woke up early as my self-imposed punishment for not doing laundry yesterday. Obviously, if I was lazy to do laundry on a Saturday, it necessarily means my Sunday morning is gazetted for the ever thrilling laundry-related activities. For these moments, I wished I have 10 white shirts and 10 black bottoms (be it skirt or pants) hanging in my closet. That way, I would be able to put my laundry on hold and still have my trade clothes for the coming week!

Once I was done with laundry, I thought I would have the rest of Sunday to laze around. And that freedom was really important because I spent my Saturday accompanying my parents to visit few of my paternal relatives. Well, humans plan and God decides. My grand Sunday plan was not to be.

Abah was suddenly inspired to have our Sunday breakfast at Shah Alam's Tesco. And since Mama and I had no better venues to suggest, we just followed along. With Abah at the wheels and me having left my GPS sitting comfortably at home, what was supposed to be a minutes drive to Tesco turned into something else. Let's just say that with one wrong turn, we would have found ourselves on the way to Bukit Jelutong and some God forsaken areas. During the hunt for Tesco, we managed to see most sights of Shah Alam before we actually spotted Tesco's familiar blue and red signboard! And that fact is itself pretty funny because Tesco is so close to the federal highway. Perhaps it was our own folly for choosing to use the Glenmarie instead of paying a few extra bucks for toll. In any event, you won't see my family and I in any Amazing Race episode for sure.

By the time we reached home, it was close to 2 p.m. Barely an hour later, my parents then decided to head to Carrefour as we didn't buy anything in Tesco. I ended up following them and we had our tea in Dominos Pizza. I was craving for KFC's cheesy wedges but since Abah was addicted to Dominos' garlic twisty bread, Dominos is the answer. Tea was followed by a round of grocery shopping, reducing me to a sense of helplessness.

Surely there must be better ways to spend a Sunday than turning into an 'ahjumma' right?

Half a Sunday Gone

Woke up this morning at 10 a.m., a far cry from my intended 8.30 a.m. It's a bit of a dampener to think that almost half a Sunday is gone while I'm still tucked under my comforter.

But then again, I only started to sleep at 4.30 a.m. Went to bed at 1 a.m. but the head felt as if some invisible forces were banging it for all it's worth. Unable to sleep, I spent the next 2 hours or so turning restlessly for a position that would alleviate the pain. That idea did not work. Tried switching on the tv and E! came out. Even that was not a good idea because of the constant flickering of lights from the show that seemed to aggravate my pain even more.

I had no choice but to reach out for my Ponstan. Popped a pill and before long, I was fast asleep.

With my recent bout of headache, it made me wonder whether the body is trying to tell me something. Health wise, it has not been a good month. First, there was the bouts of dizziness. I would feel unstable when I walked, as if the grounds were bent on making me fall. I could not get up without feeling a sudden 'whoosh' and I had to stay still for a while before making the next move. Even when I was lying down and closed my eyes, the head made me feel as if the entire body is floating around in circles.

Went to the doctor and he said that I was suffering from vertigo. Funny thing is, I've never had vertigo before although I know several people who had or are suffering from it still.

Next episode of health was after my return from Australia recently. I do not know whether it was accumulated fatigue (as my friend puts it, my body just broke down) or food poisoning. What I knew was that during a dinner meet at a hotel, I was eating from my first plate (containing measly helpings of my usual favourite dishes) when I felt really funny. Went straight to the restroom. What I thought as the little burp wanting to escape turned into a violent gush of throwing up. So unexpected was the vomiting that I did not manage to aim it properly into the toilet bowl. I shall not delve deeper into the visuals because it is, in one word, disgusting. And for someone who rarely vomits (I swear, there could not have been more than 2 episodes in the past), that moment felt like I could not control either my stomach or my throat. Both parts of the anatomy were working together in flushing out everything I've taken upstream. I was merely the puppet or conduit between them and the toilet bowl.

I returned to the dinner meet and tried to put a normal front. Obviously, I couldn't tell the rest of the party about the episode. For the rest of the dinner, I only drank plain water and ate some plain sushi. Yet, I found myself rushing to the loo once more and again, I was reduced to a conduit. Threw up and to my amazement, the stomach continues to pump out what ever that was left in my stomach. My aim was better this time around so less time was needed before I left the loo.

As a matter of precaution, I took home several plastic bags from the hotel's fnb section. My bosses queried as to why I was taking home the plastic bags but I just said I needed it. My parents came to fetch me because they were afraid of the possibility that I might just throw up while driving. That night, I slept with a small bucket by my bed in preparing for the sudden urges to throw up.

In total, I threw up for another 3 times in the wee hours. And by the end of it, it was just water coming out. My stomach was already exhausted but somehow, it had the determination to continue pumping out nothing.

Finally, my voice became affected to what I think was because of the vomiting.

Enough with the health episodes. Am now waiting for mama and abah to bring home my kfc meal.