And on and on...
On another note, I'm now obsessed with this song from the Ocean's Twelve soundtrack. It makes me feel like I'm in a Fellini film. As one of the extras of course, I'm no Anita Eckberg.
L'APPUNTAMENTO
Roberto Carlos / Erasmo Carlos /
Bruno Lauzi
Ho sbagliato tante volte ormai
che lo do già
Che oggi quasi certamente
sto sbagliando su di te
Ma una volta in più
Che cosa può campiare nella vita mia
Accettare questo strano appuntamento
E stata una pazzia
Amore fai presto
io non resisto
Se tu non arrive
non esisto
non esisto, non esisto
Sono triste tra la gente
che mi sta passando accanto
Ma la nostalgia di rivedere te
è forte più del pianto
Questo sole accende sul mio volto
Un segno di speranza
Sto aspettando quando a un tratto
Ti vedrò spuntare in lontananza
Preciso acabar logo com isso
Preciso lembrar que eu existo
Que eu existo
Que eu existo
Luci machine, vetrine, strade,
tutto quanto si confonde nella mente
La mia ombra si è stancata di seguirmi
Il giorno muore lentamente
Non mi resta che tornare a casa mia
Alla mia triste vita
Questa vita che volevo dare a te
L’hai sbriciolata tra le dita
THE APPOINTMENT
I've been mistaken so many times by now that I already know
that today is almost a certainty
I've been wrong about you
but once more
that you can change my life
to accept this strange appointment
has been a madness!
Love, make it soon,
I don't resist
if you don't come,
I don't exist
I don't exist, I don't exist
I am sad among the people
that are passing nearby
but the nostalgia of seeing you again
it is stronger than weeping:
this sun shines on on my face
a sign of hope.
I am waiting when suddenly
You appear in a distance!
It is necessary to finish with this soon
Necessary to remember that I exist
That I exist
That I exist
Car lights, shop windows, streets,
everything seems so confusing
my shadow is tired of following me
the day dies slowly.
Don't leave me to return to my house
to my sad life
this life that I wanted to give to you
you have crumbled between your fingers.
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Oy, I need more sleep.
Ok, It's On.
I have finally figured out what this blog really means to me. Catharsis? Display of gross narcissism? *Insert pop-psychological explanation of the post-modern individual's need to stake a claim for her 15 minutes of fame*?
None of the above. This blog is merely where I go to for my bouts of creative procrastination. And since I have a monster report due oh, at the end of the day, here I am, flouting all corporate rules and indulging in wilful dooce-ism.
(Should the Head of Corporate Communications be reading this, I am not who you think I am and you can't prove it either, so there.)
I suppose this is where I insert all redundant excuses for my leaving this blog to gantung-tak-bertali until the iddah period has long passed and it can now go on to join the ranks of the jandagediks(TM soon to be registered by Dina), and since I have a pathological need to please people, here they are in more-or-less chronological order:
1. I was looking for a new job.
2. I left old job in relative haste, thanks in large part to new boss telling soon-to-be-old boss that I was joining old organisation before I'd tendered my resignation.
3. I was thrown into new job, and have discovered that sometimes you do need to remember what you learnt in university, and mentally kicked myself when asked to prepare a report that was word-for-word similar to an essay I'd done in second year, which I'd gleefully thrown to the four winds. Oh, the karma of old essays and notes.
4. Because I am also a sucker for self-punishment and there just isn't enough stress in my life what with working 16 hour days and being head slave to Her Royal Cuteness (the Terrible Twos are here, people, with a vengeance)- I signed up to do my CFA. Whoopee.
5. Found out that Head of Corporate Communications in new organisation is part of the 21st century and reads blogs. And he *may* have read mine. Can we say 'dooce'?
Also Mr. Nads showed this blog to his friend (I'm looking at you, Shankar) who proceeded to show this blog to his workmates who now know me as 'the angriest woman in Malaysia'. Firstly, you ain't seen angry yet. And second? KL is far too small.
And how have you been?
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Budu started this School Meme aaaages ago and as flattered as I was to be asked to do a meme by the creator of the meme (yes, I'm sad that way, didn't you know?), I wasn't flattered enough to do it right away. Then Chi asked me to do it since we both went to the same fascist all-girls secondary school in PJ. Plus she kinda begged. Kan Chi, kan?
How many schools did I go to?
For some reason, Budu said not to include kindergartens, matriculation centres etc. But the best institutional education I ever had was at my A-Level college so I have to include it. Which brings the total to four - Primary school in PJ (no not Sri Petaling), fascist all-girls secondary school in PJ (no, not Assunta), MRSM (not as fascist as all girls school, believe it or not) and KMYS (now knowm by the more tongue-twisting moniker of KMYUEM)- the best A-Level College in the world, bar none.
Before I get clobbered by the stiletto heels of alumni of the all-girls school in PJ, let me present my definition of a fascist school- i.e., where individualism of any form was discouraged. I know all Malaysian government schools do this, but here're a few examples: That school didn't just have uniforms- in a happy mix of fascism and corporate oppression, they made you buy super-thin school-branded socks from the co-op. Hair accessories had to be the exact shade of the school uniform. The sizes of ear-studs were dictated down to the last milimetre. And yes, you may say that these were just physical manifestations, but most of the teachers (save for one Anne James, I think) actively discouraged individual thought of any kind. Heck, I was told off for 'being outspoken' in Form One. My crime? Asking questions in class. So there.
This was a complete contrast to the treatment at KMYS, where the teachers almost begged you to speak up. One of my fondest memories is of being hauled up by the Headmaster for insinuating that he was a cultural chauvinist in the school paper. At the end of the dressing-down session (which was more of an intellectual discussion on the need to present a certain image vs. being true to one's self, really) we were laughing and he began calling me a Radical as a term of endearment.
Man, do I miss those days.
Was I the studious nerd, or the last minute hero?
I think I had aspirations to be the studious nerd: God knows I looked the part, I had the colour-coded files and the down-to-the-minute study plans; but I always ended up being one of those people frantically going through crib sheets outside the exam hall, looking pale and praying for dear life. Last-minute all the way. One of the stories my ex-MRSM dormmates like to repeat is of me reading bloody Hamlet on the eve of Physics SPM.
Was I the class ‘taiko’ or the teacher’s pet?
A bit of both. No, seriously. You know those corrupted prefects who would close one eye when it comes to their family and friends? I should be in politics, really.
In MRSM I preferred hanging out at the English Department than my dorm. It was the only way I could continue speaking English without being ostracised.
As for A-Level, dude- I was a regular in the Staff Room. What can I say? I'd be having conversations with my Housemistress about her stint in jail after an anti-tuna demonstration and teasing my English teacher about his possessive Japanese girlfriend. What did I call her? Oh yeah, the Tamagotchi.
What was the biggest rule I broke in school?
I guess, above and beyond the usual skipping classes, being late and talking too much (surprise, surprise)- I once threw a belt buckle at the head of the school bully. I suppose I was lucky that they don't thrown 10-year-olds in jail.
Three subjects I enjoyed
English, duh. Yes, even in fascist all-girls secondary school. I did Lit for A Levels, loved that too. But I still don't know what a past perfect participle is.
History. Like Budu, despite knowing that it was mostly propaganda, I was reading the Form Four Sejarah Peradaban Dunia book in Form Two. A Level History was the best. Found out that History was more than regurgitating dates and boring facts. Plus Mr. Mellor let us listen to Sympathy For The Devil for our Sixties Britain lessons.
Then of course, there was Min's 'Hitler=Russian" debacle
Sadly enough, Add Maths. Add Maths is fun when you've cracked the code (spoken like a true geek). I still do functions when I'm bored in meetings
I need help.
Three teachers that inspired me
'Sir' Ibrahim- English teacher in MRSM. For some reason, MRSM kids liked to knight the male English teachers. Oddly enough, the same courtesy wasn't extended to female teachers. He used to send me to the library when he wanted to teach grammar with a "Eh, kau pegi library lah, hari ni aku nak ajar grammar". He's also the father of Malique from Too Phat, and even then was trying to promote his son's group.
I think he just taught me the utter importance of being young at heart.
Pn Ashariah and Pn Raha- Housemistress and econs teacher at KMYS. Strong, intelligent, women who were more than teachers- they were/are friends and surrogate mothers/sisters.
And now, back to work.
nads went at 17:02