When things unsaid need to be said
Yup. 3 entries in a day. Having no-brainer assignments and your bosses stuck in meetings is conducive to blogging isn't it? Anyway, I wanted to say this now, before the spirit I wanted to capture was lost. My sister just called me today, and after the call I became so incensed I began, as always, to rant to myself. This is of course, bad for baby. Let all my vitriol be spilled on these pages rather than into my unborn child. I don't want him/her to come out already angst-ridden, do I? But this has to be said:-
"Say all you want about him, but when it comes to your (or your kids') weddings, your lost passports, your stranded-in-discos-when-your-car-has-been-stolen moments, your parents' funerals, the loans when your parents can't afford certain essentials like education despite buying you lot cars and designer clothes, despite the fact that all of you insist on calling him a tight wad I might add, and all these other favours for which he neither expects gratitude nor receives them - who do you go to? Bapak aku jugak kan? He doesn't want or need rewards or gratitude, but at least attempt to show him some modicum of respect."
Parents Say the Darnedest Things
Wow, 2 entries in a day. A working day, at that. Oh well, I'm going to plead that updating my blog hones my writing skills which in turn enables me to churn out better (yet still alas, redundant) reports and working papers.
Addendum: I'm well aware that the entry earlier is chock-ful of typos. I don't care, didn't have time to edit. Wanted to go with the flow of verbal incontinence (aren't I just full of body-fluid metaphors today?)
Father's Day. I'm a procrastinator so my Father-related post is of course, belated. I wanted to post about this sooner but I was (and could still be) suffering from blogging ennui so erm, I didn't. Anyway. My Dad. People have no idea how funny he can be. I think even he doesn't know how funny he can be, in a sitcom-clueless-Dad type way. Note the following exhange:
Scene 1: Son-in-law (Mr Nads, Duh) had been 'kindly asked' to assemble a piece of Ikea furniture for Youngest Sister with the assistance (able or otherwise, of Dad). Note that youngest sister is still referred to as The Little One by Dad, despite the fact that she is all of 15 years old, and not that petite (by which I mean, she's average, with normal 15 year old parts etc, ie not so little). This implies that my father, decent parental unit though he is, is stuck in a time warp, which will be amply demonstrated later. Anyway, I am sitting around reading a parenting magazine dropping hints about stuff we should get for baby (read: stuff parents should consider getting for Eldest Grandchild) because I am unscrupulous that way. Mother and Middle Sister are somewhere around as well:-
Me: What's the average price of baby cots nowadays? (Read: What kind of cot are you thinking of getting your Eldest Grandchild?)
Mom: (Obviously showing that she's not swallowing the bait taking the hint) I dunno-lah. Your cot was about RM200, but that was then la kan.
Me: Those Ikea cots don't seem to bad (*hint*hint*). They convert into junior beds, you know
Mom: (Putting on pseudo-Brit accent, which she does when she wants to be sarcastic. Which is often) Ohh, of course we didn't have anything like that back then.
Dad: (Obviously not taking the hint at all) Eh, I think your cot is in a box somewhere in the store room! Can restore what! (Note: Said cot was one of those late 70s/early 80s jobbies with cartoon characters made of fibreboard. In all probability the pieces of my old cot that are still around are thankful that they have not been digested by termites)
Scene 2: As above
Me: Eh must ask my friend (that would be you, Ms Honey Ryder!) which breast pump I should buy.
Mr Nads: (Feeling smug with the knowledge of the function of breast pumps, having been instructed by me the day before which came after my explaining that a contraction was NOT quite the same as food-poisoning pains) Yeah la, must get the right one...
Dad: Eh (wait for it!) I think your Mom kept her old breast pump!
*Cue stunned silence by all followed by cries of "EwwWwwwWWwww!!!!" (Mom, Middle Sister, Me), "Do you know what a breast pump is, Pa?!"(Me), "EwwWwwwwwwwwWWwww!!!!!!"(3Ms, as before) and "Breast Pump tu apa?" (Little One)*
I therefore think that yes, my Dad is stuck in a bit of a time warp, also evidenced by the fact that he's still surprised that you cannot get a 50 sen packet of decent Nasi Lemak in KL anymore, and Scenes 1 and 2 above. I think Middle Sister put it best when she said, "Nads, Papa can't even get over the fact that Bils (aka Little One)
isn't 3 anymore, and you expect him to be prepared to be a Grandad?". I hope that's it, otherwise his lines in Scenes 1 and 2 above put a whole new spin on his Thrifty Banker traits.
Sometimes I think titles are just redundant.
Disclaimer: Utterly self-indulgent post ahead. Then again, my space, my fingers on the keyboard
This is such a cliche I know, but when I first started this blog, it was as if a dam had burst- I had all these thoughts and emotions stoppered inside and writing here was as if I had taken off the plug and all these words which were pent up inside for so long had gushed out. I seemed to thrive on the interaction in the guestbook, such as there were. It felt as if I almost immediately obtaining responses to my internal monologues beyond "Why are you talking to yourself?" I couldn't wait to update. Everyday, multiple entries a day (very sad, I know). I remember saying that writing here was so liberating, so cathartic. I was 'suffering' happily from continuous verbal diarrhoea.
Now, about two years on, it feels as if I'm going through a prolonged thought drought- nothing seems original (I'm not saying my thoughts ever were, it's just that they seemed so to me), every sentence I think of is just another cliche and I sometimes literally see the cobwebs growing in size in my mind. I'd say I had verbal constipation, but that implies that there is 'something' that needs to come out but just can't. This...this feels like there is nothing there. There is a void. And I cannot figure out the whys and wherefores. Perhaps I've lost my 'voice'? My sense of self (apologies for being New Age-y)? Reading past entries (admit it, everyone does that- you know you do) I feel as if they were written by another, slightly more carefree person with a bit of a twatty British accent and some semblance of wit (yes, I've got a bit of an ego, everyone knows that). Maybe I can't quite figure out who I am anymore. There are all these different voices and they all want a say, but none of them knows what words to use. No, I don't think I'm turning (or being) schizophrenic either. I know I don't (and never did) speak the same way that I write- in person, I'm less articulate, I make grammatical errors that can't be deleted or backspaced, but surely that just means that my 'inner world', which I choose to display here is just different from my outer persona. I mean, I'm not too keen on anyone from Workplace stumbling across my blog- the person here is not the 'pregnant (not-so) fresh grad sitting in her cubicle pretending to do work when she's actually ranting about writers'/bloggers' block who laughs at stupid jokes'. Is there something wrong in that? Some members of the 'blogosphere' (*cough*cough*) have been ranting about some bloggers using other people's 'voice's in their blogs, and how everyone needs to find their own voice as a writer (whether for good or ill or mediocrity), but what if you had one, and then lost it? Do you start over? What if you don't like your new voice? Am I starting to confuse anyone yet?
I don't think I'm being afflicted by extreme self-censorship either. Yes, one of my 'Rules' (I'm a Capricorn, we thrive on Rules. Plus I'm a tad obsessive-compulsive- that combo does not make for a very non-Conformist spirit), anyway one of my Rules is that I don't want to say anything here that I wouldn't say to people I care about (namely, Mr Nads, although he doesn't normally read this blog unless I tell him that he's been mentioned), but that hasn't stopped me from writing anything before. We have a pretty honest relationship which can get pretty ruthless at times. I tell him everything (almost) and he does the same. This has so far not resulted in any violence, when it does it'll probably give me something to write about. But, I disgress.
Actually, maybe I have been self-censoring in terms of what I want to write about. There have been times when something has happened, or a thought has occured when I think "Oh, I have to write on this". This thought however, is always followed by "Eh, too lazy", or "Eh, not worth it". Perhpas I should stop doing that. I have to be more rajin or whatever creativity or talent (*ahem*) that I thought I had will suffer. I can't draw, I've been told to stop singing becaus it seems I am tone deaf, I think I have two left feet- so 'words are all I have' (*cue Bee Gees song alert*). Perhaps I should stop taking what other people think about what I write into account so much (of course I do that sedikit-sebanyak- couldn't you tell from the fact that I have a Guestbook, a Tagboard and a Comments box that I like affirmation, especially when it's positive? And hello, this blog does not have restricted access). I mean, yes, I do write mainly for me- like I said, I need to flex my writing muscles or they'll atrophy- but I'm only human- I like it when someone says they like what I wrote.
Anyway, the point of this completely long-winded utterly berbelit post is that I'm going to have to try and write about anything and everything again- interesting, boring, profound, shallow. grammatically correct or otherwise (although I think Ms. HoneyR would go into convulsions if I wrote an entry worthy of BOIW herself *grin*), whether people care to comment or not- I'm just going to write.
And that, as they say, is that.
nads went at 18:48