Another lesson forward

Time: 23:49


2007 has been eventful.
If I am to start listing it out...
It will be a long, long blog, plus well, I'm lazy and am stingy with my thoughts now.

To cut a long story short, it's the year I lost close to 20kg; the year I had a fallout with my collegemates, and didn't bother to pick it up; the year I found love, and yes, lost it too.

Eight months... it's not such a long time, but I guess it's not fair to measure time against feelings. It was sweet. I felt loved, right til the end, the ultimate betrayal. I blamed myself; why was I such a fool, why did I let the wall I've built crumble down, why did I go too deep when I've told myself not to, that it may well end before it begun. I did.

I told myself I was such a fool, over and over, til someone said, "No, you're being human." I micro-analysed, I went through every possible detail for signs. He was so good, he let on nothing. Either that I was so blinded. But I wouldn't change a thing. Because I still believed he is a good person, who made a very selfish decision.

I learnt a lot. About the person I am, and can be. I am a taker, a selfish, mean, inconsiderate person. Yet, I never knew I had such a capacity to give, and to love. I eschewed status, physical contact, security and held back from making demands, because I know he would've provided them if he had the ability to. He gave me a sense of being wanted and loved, a bolster against all the guys out there who didn't want me as a fat chick. It didn't matter what other people think; I have someone who loved me.

And then I lost that. I was hurt, and confused. I sobbed. Was I not good enough, could there be things I didn't do that I could have, is there something wrong with me. To my chagrin, I sold my pride and gave up my ego. I chased after an answer, hell bent on an explanation, a reason for me to cry to. A security blanket have been lifted up from me prematurely; I didn't know how to face myself, how to face the cold world and to go back to society as the new me. I know now why people in love resort to desperate measure to go after what they wanted. Love is dangerous, but the only way to experience it is to give freely.

I talked to everyone, sometimes saying things out of anger and sadness. And then the question came, "Was it worth all the pain in the end?"

One guy built me up, tore me down. Single-handedly. It still feel so raw, the wounds so fresh, but I smiled. Yeah. Yes, I wouldn't have changed that. The only regret I have is all those empty promises. The promise never to hurt me intentionally. The promise to be honest. The promise to be there. The promise of him. Once in a while, I hope he feel rotten and lousy for what he did. But maybe one day I may be able to tell him it's been one hell of a ride.

Oh well, it doesn't matter anymore. Whether I want to or not, I will learn to walk forward again.

We had a reunion dinner of sorts, and I told someone the conversation will revolve around weight and looks. That the skinny girls will start beating themselves up saying "I'm fat, I need to lose weight". And I was right, as usual. This time, I felt contempt. Their eyeballing me don't make me feel good; it was shallow, hollow and meaningless. I've truly learnt the lesson that the body doesn't make the person. I am who I am. I know now there are men out there who will accept me as I am, and possibly make me happy.

There's a funny quote I saw: If you can't handle me at worst, you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.

To be honest, I'm alternating between feeling okay, and feeling sad and alone. But never lonely, because I know I am loved. I have friends, and I can't begin to express my gratitude to them for coming through for me, even across the world. It will take time, but the wounds will heal. Maybe I'm still stinging, but it will take a while for me before I start trusting men again. Who knows, maybe one day it'll be my turn to get lucky once more.

Ling tak hei, fong tak tai.
(Picking it up, and putting it down)

Malaysia, my country.

Time: 01:11

I've all but abandoned my blog, but I can't keep quiet any longer.

I feel helpless, angry, sad, and near tears for my country.

I've been following the political news from Malaysiakini VERY closely since UMNO's AGM, the BERSIH rally on 11 Nov, and attended a Youth for Change event at the Bar Council.

I didn't learn anything I didn't know already, but it opened my eyes. I've never claimed to be "neutral" about politics, but I know a lot of people would. Latheefa Koya said, stop saying neutral, no one's neutral in politics.

Even if I decide to leave the country and live in an island, I've taken my political stand.

Instead, be "objective". Don't be apologetic for not agreeing with the government.

Azmi Sharom spoke of how the current regime changes the Constitution at their will; that he rather see a political party make clear that if they're voted in they will change the entire Constitution, than a party who claims to uphold the current constitution and yet changes it to suit their agenda.

The Hindraf rally further opened my eyes and ears. Though not all their actions are to be condoned, it reflects on the desperation, the plight and the issues faced by the Indian community.

And the rally provoked governmental actions I would not believe possible until they acted.

I knew about the Human Rights day march. And I agreed with this blogger.

How, exactly, did Malaysia celebrate it's Human Rights Day?
By arresting people marching for human rights.

"For me, this characterises a true Malaysian. A true Malaysian understands very well the impact of careless words and actions. A true Malaysian is acutely aware of who will be provoked into retaliation and who will actually suffer the consequences.

"Because of this, a true Malaysian will try to be judicious in word and deed, even when striving for change," he said.

~Abdullah Badawi (as taken from Malaysiakini)

Malaysians are retaliating against the injustice inflicted upon them by the very government they voted in, and trusted in. Yet, we suffer.

So what is the characteristics of a true PM? Stand aside and watch? Feeding lies whilst being fed with more lies? Living in your own world of denials? Don't even start on being judicious...when the constitution can be changed anytime.

AUKU, PPPA, ISA, OSA, Sedition Act. All gagging tools. State-owned media.

What's that quote again? Only when free press exist would there be true democracy?

I am sad. I am angry. I feel so helpless. Malaysians finally spoke out, only to be gagged, disempowered and denied their rights.

But I am hopeful still.

There can be a better Malaysia. There MUST be.

Malaysia can be saved, but it will start from you and me.

Do the right thing next elections; take a stand. Be objective, not "neutral".

If we don't do it...who will?

So I'm a fool...

Time: 23:32

The gums around my wisdom tooth hurts. It's been hurting since last Saturday. Extends right down my jaw to my throat. Chewing hurts. Swallowing hurts. Talking hurts. Wisdom is a pain in my ass. The tooth will have to go next week. I knew that for two years now; it's just never been this bad. Just delaying the eventual.

Its now the semester break, and I know I've bungled up a couple of papers. It should've been easy; it wasn't. I had distraction. Sitting in Starbucks studying and memorising and fidgeting, all I could think of were the sea, walks, movies, linking hands, warm embraces.

I am going to pay. Right now I don't care, but I'm setting myself up for something I can't even grasp or see. I can foretell, but I can't halt myself. Did the better, rational part of my mind flee, or am I thinking as clearly as I hope I am?

Commitment. That word encompasses everything. The honesty, hope, loyalty, giving, taking, waiting, anticipating. Of baring myself, being vulnerable, fear, risks, disappointments, hopes. Of insecurities and too many what-ifs.

I've made that decision, no turning back. Can't shut the feelings out. Not the ups nor the downs. I've already bought the long-haul ticket and boarded the ride. Now what?

Some say it takes two to tango. So far I felt safe and contented with being led, but right now, I feel forlorn dancing to the solitary tune. I'm being clingy and ridiculous, being the exact antithesis of who I portrayed, no, who I thought I am. It hasn't even been that long, and yet I knew now how it felt like to miss so much, it hurts. I fear the real thing, then.

All will be fine in the end. Trust. All I have.

Guilt

Time: 02:32

I wasn't going to blog...I know, I know, but I've gotten lazy.

In light of the missing girl and the sexually assaulted and murdered girl case, (If you don't know about it click here, here and here) there are many PSAs on the radio lately warning and reminding parents to look after their kids and never ever leave them alone and let them wander off in public areas.

It's a knee-jerk response, I know, but...it reminds me of something that happened years ago.

It was 1995 before the family went to Australia for autumn and we were shopping for winter clothing in Sogo. I remember my brother (I was 9, he was 6) and I were at the toys department and I was admiring Barbie dolls on my own for quite a while when my mom found me and asked for my brother. He was missing.

My dad...he told me it's my fault, there and then. That my brother has been abducted and that his limbs will be cut off and he'll be made to beg in Thailand. And it was all my fault. I burst out crying. My mom was angry at my dad for saying that to me, I remember, but she was more concerned about looking for him and went to the ground floor info counter. Some girl found my brother outside Sogo's main entrance and sent him to the info counter. All was well.

But...when missing kids like Nurin and Yin appear on the newspapers, that incident comes back to haunt me. I remember how vulnerable and small and innocent my brother was. Technically, I was innocent. What was a 9-year-old supposed to do? My brother was looking at Lego and I was looking at Barbie dolls. He wandered downstairs when he couldn't see my parents. If my dad never uttered those things to me, maybe I won't feel as bad.

But I do. And I'll always carry that guilt. It's not right, but I'll always remember the "all your fault" part. Missing kids always make me sad. And guilty.

willpower

Time: 12:08


I'm home from the very last class of this semester. Has it been 14 weeks already? There wasn't much time to breath; this semester was really THAT hectic and terrifying. There were so many moments when I felt like everything's sliding down a 90 degree chute and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

And then I managed to by the scruff of the neck and then hold on.

Weight loss update: At the beginning of this semester, I vowed to lose 10kg by the end of it. 14 weeks on, I'm down just that :D. In fact I've already pushed my goal to another few kgs down, but I am taking this moment to savour the pain and satisfaction of it. I feel good. Of course I do. Then again, I've gone lazy and went to the gym a lot less and I guess it'll never be enough. That I felt it's starting to pay off, but nowhere near the perfection I wanted. And to everyone who ooh and aah-ed and asked what did I do...it was a lot of exercise, diet and willpower, y'all. There are just no secrets. I was driven to do this out of sheer desperation, mainly to fit in. I've got other intentions of course, but not all of them are good either. And I'm going to tell you one thing: If Pui Yee can do it? SO CAN YOU.

Because I'm not the most motivated, dilligent, disciplined person. And I've came pretty far, haven't I? I hope so.

The world felt at this moment like it's on my grasp, that I'm on the verge of great, exciting things, and I'm standing on a cliff, hesitating to take the plunge. And I'm paralysed by fears and uncertainties.

I should concentrate on exams. Right now all I'm worried about is my GPA. I need to maintain it so bad, so bad. *Hyperventilates*

stresssss!

Time: 19:52

Arghhhhhhhhhhh

*Screams and waves like a monkey gone bananas*

Ever been paralysed by stress, fear and anxiety?

Here I am!!!!!!!!!!

Arghhhhhhhhhh

Sorry, didn't mean to go loony. Just that, well, week 13 of 14 of Year 3 Semester 1 is more than half over, I've got two more presentations before I can sigh for relief for a couple days, and these presentations are going to freak the shit out of me. Creative Strategy for Advertising under Lim Soo Jin's been a total stresshole. I know that man's intention is good, and that he does the whole tough love thing where he's being brutal and held high expectations so that we go beyond our usual and perform the best we could, but. The whole anxiety of waiting, waiting, waiting for him to slaughter us verbally is a pretty miserable time.

Exams loom, and I fear so much about not being able to maintain my GPA. Sure it's pretty great right now, but not good enough. Not good enough at all. And after this semester it WILL go down. After that, what? I know deep down I WANT to graduate with first class honours...who doesn't? But if it slips out of my grasp...bye scholarships, bye financial aid...bye dreams?

LSE's prospectus arrived and I saw a 2-year Masters programme ...Global Media and Communication and you know, I want it. I want it so bad. London. I will be eating air and drinking tap water for a year but. Yeah, yea. I know. I gotta believe. That I'm good enough, that I can. That it's okay to suck the life-savings out of my dad. I'm trying.

On top of that, the whole weight losing thing...Amelia's right. It will never be enough. I'm so near my first goal now, and I'm so tired, and I've gotta be on my guard all the time, and yet I'm pushing the bar lower. It was a few pounds more and now it's 10lbs more. Then I'll maintain. I know, sure, I look so much better now, but it's never going to be enough. I look in the mirror, and I compare with my peers, and I feel thick and big. That I still need to buy local Ls. That in people's eyes I will still look fat. And that I squeeze my middle and I can feel the love handles.

The motivation burns as bright as ever, but I slip and feel guilty and so tired...it's ridiculous because I feel guilty whenever I eat. I used to read about girls feeling guilty for eating a fried egg, but now I really truly know what food guilt is. I used to be able to eat mindlessly, now I still love my food as ever, but post-meal, gawd, the guilt. It's a bitch being a girl who cares about what people think of her. It's a bitch being a female, period.

I'm going to have an anxiety attack, I think.

Wise men say, only fools rush...

One step at a time.

Oh I've forgotten to add on my last post, watch Thank You for Smoking. Uses logic and rationale to influence people to smoke. Moral flexibility. Proving someone wrong meant you're right. Arguments, not negotiations make people win. BRILLIANT for critical thinking.

i blogeth

Time: 13:12

Oh yes, I blog. Maybe, soon, one day, in very near future, my blog will be scrutinised by my government, and God forbid if I said anything seditious, because then someone will be knocking at my door and taking me away for two weeks with no access to a lawyer and have my poor computer, modem and hard drive consficated and what will I do if they found my entire porn collection?

The talks of tightening the reins of blogging or expressing of opinions raise heckles. Internet is, and remains, the only freeflow avenue for my fellow Malaysians to say what they feel and rest assured, they will be heard. Not that I agree people should just say what they want, because we're all born with logic and I am still optimistic that we are all good and rational and with the right faculty and nurtured with the right tools, we all can criticise constructively, bla bla bla...but curtailing our freedom is absolutely ridiculous and if anything, will be a surefire way to invite unwanted international attention on the oppression of Malaysians and the freedom of expression. Yay, Malaysia!

Also, rationally, who's to say what makes a good blog and what makes an offending blog? Say, if I'm unhappy with a policy, and wrote it here, would that lump me together with Jeff Ooi? So how will they work out whose blog to ban and who can blog? How is that fair to everyone? Why would some blogs be banned for seemingly innocuous entries and some blogs with inflammatory comments be allowed to continue? And, why should bloggers be held responsible for comments left on their blogs by random people who had two cents and wanted to put it there? That's akin to A knocking into B's car which was parked nicely at the curb. Would you blame B for parking his car there and therefore vulnerable to being hit by an idiotic kopi-license holder?

And it curdles my blood further to hear PSAs on radio channels telling people what are blogs and what (not) to write and about responsibility and maintaining peace (status quo).

*Perky voiceover* "This public service message is brought to you by iTalk!" */perky voiceover*

I say, screw that.

Yes, yes. These past few weeks has been quite an emotional ride for me. It is also the end of Week 12 of 14 of this unmentionably horrific-please-be-over semester.

Dress code. More specifically, our new FAS Dean's new dress code. For the very rational reason of there being construction work (and therefore a nest of immigrant labourers) right outside our miserable, small and smelly faculty, female students are asked to wear more 'cloth' and because there were strangers entering and stealing stuff or harassing students in our faculty, we are all told to wear our name tags.

Here I am, thinking those uniform-and-nametag-and-white-shoes days are over. And then I turn and some balding DSA officer smiled saccharinely and grabbed my nametag and lanyard from my hands right outside the ICT where I just returned the LCD and projector and told me "You're not wearing your nametag; follow me". Blood boiled, I saw fire hot red and grabbed my nametag back not-too-gently and walked away. Question is, WHY. We can produce our nametags if you ask us (nicely). We do not need officers entering lecture halls asking to see this student or that for not wearing tags and interrupting the lecture, undermining the lecturer's authority, distrupting class and generally leaving a bad taste in everyone's mouth, or having them taken in the computer labs cos we left them beside us on our desks. If we can login to the computers, you can be damned sure we are fellow students who faithfully paid our fees and your salary for our education.

Then couple days later with a handful of files and an obvious fuck-I'm-late harriedness, I grabbed my nametag, shoved it in front of the security guard's face and ran in.

"OI! WOI! Pakai nametag!"

Yell at me like that 9.34am as my first human-to-human interaction of the day? By a security guard?

*insert obscenity here*

Ruined my day. Totally ruined it.

I'm feeling rather oppressed and caged and angry. Some of it has nothing to do with anything but being caged and angry, and stressed and frustrated over circumstances I cannot change and will have to learn to live and let live (or go).

On top of it was the NaMaWee (sp?) Negarakuku phenomenon. Look, he spoke from the very hearts of the Chinese-oriented people of this country and every single thing he rapped, we have said or heard of before. Really, nothing new there. The bribe-taking police force? The slow and steady government servants? The getting education overseas so that we can come back and contribute scheme? Check. Check. Check. I agree. Someone has spoken.

And yet...I lament the use of our national anthem. Sure, it made a huge impact and got all the attention he wanted, but look, the anthem is the anthem. He was pretty much flag-burning there, in my opinion. Negaraku...ku? Oh. Come on, have a little class. The 5am morning call's really just a fact of this country. It has been here and will always be here because demmit, over 60% of the population of this country ARE Muslims, say what you will. And third, had he thought of the consequences? The "Please don't sue me, I've got no money" disclaimer in the end was funny, but now we're talking facing the law and fines and embarassment and shame to his family here. His parents forced to go on newspapers and entertain those oily politicians and apologize on his behalf...had he thought of that while he was having a blast in Taiwan?

And with the forthcoming elections, we can be sure to being treated to the slick maneuvres and hypocripsy of these politicians trying to prove how 'capable' they are and winning the voters' hearts. I guess all I'm saying is, I not stupid. And yes, I'm cynical.

On a last note, noticed how this 50th Merdeka month, there are so much less flags flying on cars and buildings? Its jarring to see a flag flying on a vehicle than not and I remember years ago they used to give out free flags at toll plazas. So, what happened? Budget better used on more duit kopi? Or is it saying something about how Malaysians are feeling in general?

Food for thought.

Yes, yes. I am Malaysian. I love Malaysia. I just gotta think, at this moment, of why. Cos apart from nasi lemak and my friends and family, I really don't know why anymore. And could I, do I want to do something to change that? Be part of a paradigm shift and reformation, or skip the country entirely? Both are so much easier said than done.

Happy Merdeka, Malaysia.

Losing weight

Time: 02:19

When my favourite skirt start sliding around my hips, I got sad. That's my favourite skirt!

And when I can fit into Nichii clothes, I was beyond ecstatic. I don't feel so gigantic somehow. And I was so excited I bought a dress on a whim.

I've been trying to lose weight the past 3 months...and it's working...slowly. SLOWLY. REALLY slow. Some days its even went up the opposite way. It's been a painful, hurtful, depressing experience. And I'm only about halfway from where I want to be now. You know, all I want to do is to fit in. I don't want to be odd because I'm so fat anymore.

For every walk/jog/gym I didn't want to go, I remind myself that I have a mission, and every step will count, whether to burn calories or to up my metabolism. Every drop of sweat meant something. Some days I pushed myself not hard enough, and I swear and curse. Sometimes I punished myself enough for me to like myself. For that hour.

Until I look into the mirror and still see the fat girl in front of it. I wonder when will I start liking myself, when will I stop beating myself up and to measure all my self-worth against numbers on a scale. And when can I stop hating myself for that extra bite, for eating more than I think I should and for being human, and hungry.

And I remind myself, over and over and over and over, why am I doing this.

Eating me up

Time: 01:21

I've been bottling up too much anger at too many people. I remembered the things they said and did, and the things they did not say and did not do.

I've been very, very angry. And sullen and stubborn.

And I've been avoiding having anything to do to resolve or undo the anger. It's become toxic. It's eating me up inside.

Maybe I should let go and forgive. I've been angry at far too many people for far too long.

bad weekend

Time: 21:23

Headed to what's starting to look like the worst semester ever (made Year 1 Semester 2 a breeze) and then hit by THE worst weekend I had as far as I remember.

Started innocently enough...went to the gym after classes on Wednesday and when I came home, felt extra lethargic, which I didn't think much of. Got hit by fever and really, really achy legs and slept early to shake off whatever I had.

Thursday morning no classes and I took some fever pills so it felt like its gone. Then the fever returned that night and didn't go away. I had an assignment to pass up on Friday and a two-hour lecture and I don't know what compelled me to do so but I shivered, tossed and turned and not listen to a single word for two hours before handing in the assignment and ran home. Hid under the covers til I went to see the doc in the afternoon. He said I should do a blood test in the morning if the fever persisted.

After another less horrible night, the fever broke Saturday morning and I felt fine until that evening. I went to the doctor again and he gave me a referral letter to an A&E Dept for blood tests. He said I should not wait. It made me nervous. The worst medical emergency I ever had was when I scraped my knees really badly. That was 13 years ago and I didn't even need stitches.

But I've never felt that weak and desperate and my hands and feet were numb and I can't move without pausing and feeling like I will faint and every time I turn my head I can feel my brain was not registering the sights as fast as my eyes are, and my legs gave out on me a few times...so I told my mom I can't take it anymore. She took me to Sentosa Medical Centre where I spent another few hours on a cot covered with my jacket and blanket awaiting my blood test results and the good people even inserted an IV needle already, waiting in case they're admitting me.

Negative for dengue.

They sent me home. I still feel a little under the weather but a hella lot better than 24 hours ago.

What a fun weekend, huh.

What I've learnt in Bangkok...

Time: 16:45


Bangkok, Thailand.

Do Malaysia make sense as a country?

How do I, as a Malaysian, answer that question? Of course it does to me! I’m a Malaysian!

But the question was posed by an English boy who majored in American History at University of Edinburgh on a sweltering Monday night in Bangkok after what must be his third or fourth Tiger beer.

That question disturbed me. I still hear his London accent repeating that question again and again days later.

China made sense as a country. Its people and its land are one, said the Brit. There is no doubt to the Chinese that China is them, and they are China. 5000 years of history ensured that.

Thailand made perfect sense to me, too. The Thais do not even learn English; they are so self-sufficient they have their own language and their own dates and a pride in their land, culture and customs. The paddy fields and the wats and the monks and the food embodied a sense of originality, of being as old as age itself in Siam.


Aerial view of paddy fields outside Bangkok

But Malaysia?

It’s a hodge-podge of immigrants and colonization and a short-short history and a botched job trying to preserve whatever historical relics we have left and rapid modernization with lots of leakages and bocor-ness and a fragile unity (when it is convenient, and an exclusive Bangsa Malaysia when it is convenient too) between the races and a crappy Malaysia Boleh! spirit that inspired the biggest ketupat on the planet and patriotism agenda…and a love for my country whose love for us is conditional at best and doubtful at worst. Of feeling misled and cheated, a realization of how blinded and how brain-washed we were during our school days.

How do I even begin to explain this, while maintaining that Malaysia is where I was born in, where I grew up in; and my love for her will burn eternally, for I am a Malaysian. I know we could do better than this, though. That our government should be less short-sighted and truly learn from our neighbours instead.

I couldn’t express myself.

For once, I, Pui Yee, felt abashed. I was so ashamed by the sheer knowledge of these people. I felt embarrassed finding out that I know nothing, really. Put me beside a fellow journalism student from, say, England or China, and I’ll be the ignoramus country bumpkin. It disturbed me to know what we learn in university…is in reality, not much. Today after returning to campus I saw written on the white board, “tailoring an education for students that fulfill the demands of the job market”.

Yes, true. I will vouch that 90% of us will graduate with enough skills to find decent jobs. But beyond that, really, what else do we know? Why were we in university? Did we receive an education for knowledge’s sake, or was it so that we can get a degree (which I know now must be a whole lot easier to obtain) to get a job?

The limitations are frustrating.

“You know, in England it’s rare for anyone to study journalism for their first degree. It’s usually a general degree like English or Archeology or History. They’d do something specific for their MA, perhaps,” added Edward the English boy.

He then continued to tell me he was a student journalist and is now pondering should he go to law school.

Intrigued, I asked him, do USA make sense as a country to him then. His answer was pretty long and detailed and if I were to put it here it’ll probably take a lot of words, but needless to say, I was charmed. By his intellect, intelligence and analytical skills.

I explained a little about the origins of Malacca and the three races and the British colony and Malaysia as it is today, but the more I explain the more I realize I really don’t know much.

I gagged for guys like that to walk into my life in Malaysia, but…well. Not to be. I guess. It’s just refreshing and mentally a turn-on to be the less knowledgeable one and be on the listening end and then question their logic and opinions. I’m starving for more.

Next thing I know, I followed him and an American into the streets of Sukhumvit at 3am (STUPID, STUPID, stupid behavior on my part) where we sat at one of the roadside food stalls, them smoking and drinking more beer sold illegally (in Thailand they can’t sell alcohol after 1am) and me just sitting observing the infamous prostitutes doing their job and the farangs who love them.

Would you ever pay a male hooker?

Edward popped that question very unexpectedly. I guess it was the beer talking.

What if it’s the best sex of your life? Would you do it for the experience?

Nope, I said. He looked at me as though I’ve lost my mind.

They discussed a lot more about the prostitution and the sex trade and the guys who’d pay three hookers (what do they do with them? Do one and get the other two to watch?!) and at this point, I must say I’m rather disgusted, well, okay, maybe disgust is a strong word, but I definitely begun to feel a lot disenchanted and disappointed with men. I mean, is that all there is to it? Just doll up, dress up and wear some thongs and sit provocatively? Just being skinny is good enough?

I’m not saying I am comparing myself to girls who depend on their bodies to make their living, but it was there and then that I concluded men are just animals.

Anyway I must thank you for your patience if you reach this stage of my post.

I was in Bangkok the past week, with Gianne on a backpacking trip. And as per joked, I vowed to do this when I blog about it.

What I’ve learnt in Bangkok:

1. Nong roi!!! (said in a drunken British accent)
It actually meant 100, as in 100 baht (RM10) and it’s the going price of about everything in Khao San Road – from a bottle of fruity alcohol to souvenirs to whatever. It was being repeated again and again by a drunk Sean, who’s with a huge group of Brit students on gap year.



We met about 5 of them on a street next to Khao San when I realized the hostel I booked, called Shanti Lodge, is not as near to the road (therefore not within walking distance) as they’ve led me to believe and we followed them to an Israeli-ran noisy, stuffy, dodgy motel on top of an Israeli restaurant and after nay-ing a smelly, musty airconditioned room, we settled for a double room with fan next to windows facing Khao San road for 350 baht a night. Big mistake. Big, big, BIG mistake.



Khao San Road


It was helluva stuffy, I really need to give it to Bangkok, it’s just a hella lot more humid and warm and stuffy there in May and best of all, the music did not stop blaring and people did not stop laughing/yelling/talking down in the streets til 6am. There was a brief respite before the morning traffic begun. Oh Gawd.

I woke up at 7.30am or something after some fitful sleep (well there was a funny episode of me asking what’s underneath us – in reference to the non-existent mattress – and Gianne jumped cos she thought I said what’s underneath the bed). We dashed out of there, dumping the Brit gap year students and ran to Shanti Lodge to discover that it is a beautiful Thai place with woven mats and woods and open air showers and toilets.



The pros: It cost us 400 baht for a double room (RM 20 per person per night) in a clean, air-conditioned, quiet, beautiful room. Thai massage was available for 200 baht for a one-hour session and I made use of it.
The cons: It’s a distance from everything else and the most convenient way to reach the city and BTS station is via its Chao Phraya Express boats (13 baht each time for any destination)

We stayed a night there and I looked forward to the day we move to Sukhumvit, and I was pretty convinced by then that Sukhumvit will be a lot better than Khao San will ever be.

Chatuchak
The weekend market, only a short walk away from Mo Chit BTS, definitely put me in awe. That place is just so fucking HUGE. But apart from that, considering both of us did not bring money to shop, it’s just a labyrinth of stalls upon stalls selling similar things – of which you can obtain in KL anyway.

Clothes, bags, souvenirs, food, pets, woodwork, and of course, penis replicas. I love me some Thai products when it comes to penile decors. Rows and rows of engorged, erect shafts are sold right next to miniature Buddhas. One would get numb after being poked in the eye repetitively by those things. Good stuff. (Was that too graphic? Sorry. Ha ha ha!)





We did buy huge backpacks (now I can officially say I’m a backpacker!) for 1150 baht each.

2. Ping-pong show
We were offered repetitively, even grabbed and stopped by Thai men with small pieces of papers asking us if we want to watch ping-pong or Tiger shows. Now, I’ve heard of ping-ping shows, but I do not know the specifics. After some explanations from the Brits, I admit I’m curious enough to watch some action, but they aren’t free and I don’t fancy spending money looking at any va-jay-jays. If only it’s free…I don’t mind learning a thing of two about pelvic muscles at all.

On another note though, I felt surprisingly safe in Bangkok, I was pretty careful about holding onto my pouch for dear life, but there was never one time when I felt threatened or scared of the Thai, even in the middle of the night in the streets. The ping-pong show men did grab my arms which annoyed me but that was minor.

The thing is: Bangkok is safe. All those unwarranted and preconceived fear and paranoia after the military coup and New Year bombing was silly. We even get advice like "Don't go to areas with white people!" from well-meaning relatives (there's no way to avoid the throngs of visitors in Bangkok). Their public toilets are surprisingly clean. Or have I gotten used to the disgusting state of Malaysian toilets?

But, the cabbies and tuk-tuk drivers and people coming up to us supposedly helpfully tell us which wat (what wat?!) to go to and what time the palace is open irritated me to no end. Its like a horrific world of scam men and liars and price hikers and dishonest people and it reflected really badly on Thai people because they are the first people most travellers encounter, really.


Sleeping Buddha in Wat Pho. We walked into it pretty accidentally while trying to look for the entrance to the Grand Palace.


The palace. My souvenir from the palace: Sunburn.

3. Pork!
Pui Yee is a happy eater in Thailand. Practically every stall on the streets sells some form of pork or another. Bangkok is very, very pork-happy. That makes Pui Yee very, very happy. True, we get pork in Malaysia, but just not like in Bangkok. We went to quite a few supermarkets (there was a 24-hour one across from our third – and favourite – hostel, Suk 11) and pork was sold openly everywhere. Lay’s Korean Pork Bulgogi chips! Pork spaghetti sauce! Pork strips! Pork chops! Pork tenderloins! Fried pork! Just. Pork. EVERYWHERE!



We walked every food shelve with me chanting “Pork! Pork! Pork!” and throwing pork-related food items into my basket happily on our last day. I even evilly told Gianne I’ll put a pack of pork-flavoured chips on top of my backpack and if the customs officer were to inspect my bag, I’d relish telling him, “Encik, lebih baik jika encik tak sentuh benda itu *Insert evil laughter*”.

Mai sai phuong churot
Nah, it’s not a dirty phrase telling a guy to come hither. It really meant “No need to put MSG”. The flip side of Bangkok eating is the amount of MSG they put into your food. Which translates to: Scary.

Every place we go to, even restaurants and food courts and the corner satay place, I’d vehemently say “mai sai churot!” while gesturing and shaking my head wildly. I didn’t the first night and the pad thai made my mouth go fuzzy like I’m sucking on dry cotton and I rushed to the 7-11 in Khao San couple times to get drinks.



However, the best noodles I ever eaten there must be the pork instant noodles we had in Kanchanaburi. Served with pork balls, ribs and fried lard, that thing was just portioned enough for me to want more after I finished and honest enough to taste the simplicity of it.

Plus, I love their fruits. It’s pretty amazing how their durians don’t stink for miles around where they’re sold. Its just pretty odourless. My fav gotta be their coconuts. Sold for 15-20 baht each, they’re so damned cold and sweet and refreshing after all the sweating and sunburn I subjected myself to.

4. “At least in KL, you get lost you can read the road signs. Here, all the road signs curly-curly one!”
As far as I remember, I said that in the taxi on the way back to Sukhumvit in Bangkok after arriving at an unfamiliar bus station from Kanchanaburi. Most Thais don’t speak English, which is not a problem because in main tourist areas of Bangkok there are signboards and roadsigns in English. BUT, once you’re away from city center and try to find your way around, it could be frustrating.


Thai baby on board the bus to Kanchanaburi

All the roadsigns are in Thai and although we boarded the bus to Kanchanaburi in Mo Chit station, we ended up in Southern Bus Station when we come back to Bangkok.


Mo Chit Bus Station

We were so lost (think we were somewhere in Silom) and tired, we just decided to get a metered cab to take us to Sukhumvit. Problem is, he could be bringing us anywhere (even sell us to the meat market) cos the roads were all in Thai and we have no idea where he’s headed to. At all.

For RM25 a night, Sukhumvit is great though. Being right in the heart of the city, the location is ideal for us to travel anywhere in Bangkok and in front of our hostel Suk 11 is the Ambassador Hotel where we sneaked in one day to swim. BTS Nana is only one street away.


Suk 11


5. Sawadee ka and Kap koon ka
Say “Kap koon kaaa!” to any Thai and you’re guaranteed a sweet, amused smile. It’s Thai for thank you (feminine form) and we say it to most cashiers and officer and vendor. I like the Thais (at least the ones involved with tourism). The guy at Suk 11 was so tall and cute and adorable and shy that everytime I look at him and he notices, he go “mmph!” and turn away. Sooo CUTE. It’s like teasing a little shy boy. It’s a good reason to go back there, just to look at him and watch him glance away. And the bartender in the pub next door (called Pickled Liver, by the way) named Lak looked all rough and tough but he’s soft spoken and shy and funny as well.

Kap koon ka to all the people I’ve met on my trip.


6. AirAsia and kiasuism



AirAsia is amazing. With it, now everyone can fly! That include businessmen and students and ordinary men on the street and..well..unsavoury characters. True it’s a mere bus in the skies that’ll bring you from Point A to Point B and thou shalt expect nothing more from it, but I find the free-seating policy annoying. People shove and run and rush huff and puff to the plane (not that I didn’t, I love my window seats too) but it is pretty awful to know that with this policy, he who is more kiasu, wins. I did talk about this point with some travellers and they said they were amazed how polite-looking people suddenly “rawrrrrrr!” the moment they announce you can queue up for boarding.

7. Kanchanaburi, buses and BTS
On Monday we went over to Kanchanaburi on a public bus departing from Mo Chit bus station. We took the BTS to the end station and took a cab to the bus station. BTS Skyway is our equivalent of monorail, I suppose, and it is a lot wider and more comfortable than our monorail and Star and Putra LRT. Their ticketing system is done in such a way that fares are standard for 6 zones and they label each station with a number so that you press on it to pay with 10 baht coins. You can change the coins from the counters but they do not sell tickets. I find traveling by BTS an expensive affair as the fares vary between 20 baht and 40 baht. If I can complain about RM 1.80 fares in KL, you can bet I’ll whine about RM 4 fares in Bangkok.

Their buses however, are cheap. Public buses to say, Siam Square is only about RM 0.70 and for a 3-hour ride to Kanchanaburi, it cost us just a shade under RM 10. There we bargain (not very successfully) for a trishaw ride to the JEATH Museum of War, a memorial cemetery and of course, the Bridge over River Kwai.


JEATH Museum


View of Kanchanaburi town on top a trishaw

It was a pretty profound moment when we stood there, knowing more than half a century ago, countless men suffered and died for their country, and the fight for peace. Many armed men perish during the building of the bridge, but even survivors and their next-of-kin questioned about the tribute given to civilians – many Malayans of various races – who suffered in worst conditions and whose deaths went unrecorded and unnoticed.


Bridge over River Kwai

I rationalize with Gianne that it would be easy to know which soldiers died during the building of the bridges as they had proper records and dog tags on them, but the civilians had nothing on them. Even as I take in the terrible weight of it, I felt the injustice for those who died unnoticed.



At the memorial cemetery, rows upon rows of stones bear names of soldiers who died during the war. Messages like “deeply missed by mom, dad and sister” or “loving husband, father and son” moved me but one made me damn near cry.

It said, “Til we meet again.”

8. Chao Phraya
During the boat rides on the river, we passed by houses, shops, piers and wats. The water looked muddy and dirty and full of vegetation (and fishes) and it’s nowhere you wanna be in if you want to swim. But I wasn’t prepared for the breathtaking sheer size of the river. I was in awe.


Trewet pier near Shanti Lodge

This river is where Ayutthaya and Bangkok and many other cities had its roots and civilization begun right here, right at that spot, centuries ago. I just can’t wrap my head or grasp the history and I just couldn’t stop imagining how centuries ago kings and queens and Thai people must’ve lived their life on this very same river, traveling on it, surviving on it. I was in awe.

Suddenly I realize how inadequate and small I felt and there are greatness in the world that I can only see by traveling outside Malaysia and my comfort zone and I want to embrace it all and see it for myself, that no words on a screen can justify and how much more you actually learn about yourself and your country by looking at another country.

I am humbled.

On the plane home, we saw more of Chao Phraya where it snaked languidly over Bangkok city (the sight is breathtaking too) and I know I’ll be back to do a proper backpacking trip.


Chao Phraya on a rainy evening

A week in Bangkok, heat rash, horrid sunburn and smelly sweaty days didn’t do it for me.


Gianne’s mysterious welts. Theories: Heat rash, allergies, bed bugs, scabies?

I’m always leaving a trip wanting more it seems. Sigh.

But what’s a trip for two Malaysian girls without some camwhoring?



And…



AND



Cheers, Bangkok, and kap koon ka!
(Gianne if I could get away with selling you for 10 baht, I WILL XD)

Updating...

Time: 15:19

So, I have to do this.

It's my 21st birthday tomorrow and....*drumroll* I'm not sure yet how I'm celebrating. Not sure if there's even one...I guess no alcohol's involved too. Oh well. No big deal, right? I'm going out with my friends though.

*fingers crossed*

Got back from Wen Xin's parents' house in Klang yesterday. We had homemade steamboat where there were alot, alot, alot of food. Did I say a lot? There were 7 of us girls, and food enough for a party of 10 guys. We walked in the park (her house's in Taman Botani) and it's only 30-35 minutes from here to there through LDP and Shah Alam highways.

And the next day after Bak Kut Teh, the girls surprised me with a chocolate fudge cake. I'm 21! And I'm so happy and grateful to them...thank you, thank you all of you. 10 bucks to whoever who guessed what birthday wish I made, heh. After that we came back to Kepong where they ate prawn noodles and I was bushed from the lack of sleep and the heat (it was so humid I felt heat emitting from the mattress!) so I went home.

Now I'm planning, planning, planning my trip to Bangkok. I paid RM446 for AirAsia tickets and Gianne and I are thinking to go to River Kwai and Ayutthaya for day trips so I guess we'll live in Khao San first 2-3 days as we can get buses and packages there easier and then move to Sukhumvit our last couple of days which is in the city centre to facilitate travel around Bangkok city itself since it's near their BTS. We're going to Chatuchak and the Grand Palace and Wat Pho and the Canals and Silom and a million other names I can't remember how to spell or pronounce. And to eat! Tom yam! Green Curry! Mango salad! *salivate* Okay I should do more homework to see where else I should go.

It should be fun, yeah?

Everyday's an adventure!

Time: 12:21

I need happy pills, attitude adjustment, tolerance and a pipe tightening. And more things to do. I, Pui Yee, am no longer capable of enjoying an idle day at home without going berserk. And going berserk actually meant losing my temper, getting paranoid, sobbing and tantrum throwing.

*Hangs head*

I know. I should've just extended my industrial training some more.

Funny of all funnies though; this was what happened today.

Pui Yee (PY)
Lean Chiew (LC)
Shwu Chenn (SC)

Part I - MSN Conversation
PY: I'm bored. I wanna go out. NOW.
LC: Come to my office!
PY: Where?
LC: Taman Desa.
PY: I have no fooking idea how to go to Taman Desa. I don't even know where Taman Desa is on the map.
LC: It's near Midvalley. Why don't you go there and buy movie tickets and I'll join you after work around 6pm?
PY: Okay. I'll drive. Should be fine before after-work rush.

Part II - MSN Conversation
PY: Eh, that day the road we took to Bukit Jalil...it can go to Midvalley right?
SC: CAN!
PY: Okay.

Part III - On the road
Thought 1: Maybe I should use Jalan Maarof. I'm so much more familiar with it. But..there's RM1.60 toll. Federal should be fine...I know my KL road directions.
Thought 2: *On Federal Highway* Okay...I see Midvalley so I should be turning of right about.....*turns left and go gaa-gaa over the signage telling me I've missed the turning*
Thought 3:Okay, take the next turning....it should let me double back to Midvalley right? *30 seconds later* OH. Shit. Isn't this the same Seremban highway I took to Bukit Jalil? *10 minutes later, phone call to LC*

PY: Um, I'm LOST! I missed a turning! AGAIN!
LC: Shit, where are you?
PY: I'm at mosque with a sign to Desa Waterpark.
LC: WHAT?! I THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO GET TO TAMAN DESA?!
PY: I still don't. But I'm here.
LC: Okay, go to Shell station, I come direct you to my office. You can sit at a café til I finish work, then I'll direct you to Midvalley, ok? And how DID you end up here?
PY: What can I say? I saw Taman Desa and I followed its directions like a lifeline!

Part IV - One hour later.
PY: Okay, direct me to Midvalley.
LC: Take this flyover up, there's a traffic light, we can U-Turn there.
PY: *Looks at speedometer* LC, we're on Kerinchi link. Which takes us straight to my office in Section 13, PJ.
LC: Um. Is there a u-turn?
PY: NO, it's a highway.
LC: Uh, what now?
PY: I tell you what, I'll show you my office, then we go to 1Utama or The Curve and eat our Manhattan Fish Market, ok?

Epilogue: After meal, I took LC to my house to peruse some old photos, used the MRR2 to send him back to Ampang and took my dog with me as company, took Jalan Ampang all the way to Jalan Sultan Ismail out of fancy, onto Jalan Kuching and homeward bound after.

Sypnosis: And I thought I'd do some clothes/retail therapy in Midvalley waiting for LC to finish work and join me, and I ended up in Taman Desa, picking him up from his office and took another wrong turning which led us to PJ and we ended up in The Curve and instead of sending him to Kelana Jaya LRT I drove him home to Ampang and it became a joyride through the city at midnight after.

Sigh, another day in the life of Pui unable-to-be-unlost-first-time Yee.

the end of another end

Time: 14:55

I've never thought of rabbits as good pets - you can't let them roam your house and they don't really listen when you say "sit!".

Two nights ago I was walking my dogs down the next street when I saw a lump of something furry on the road. My first thought was another cat. But this one don't resemble a cat at all, so I thought, a soft toy, maybe? Or..a dead rabbit. When my dogs start sniffing, I drag them both away before they decide soft toy or rabbit meat, fur and all, is a gourmet delicacy and decide to maul it up. And last night, as I pass by the same spot, there was a big bloodstain on the road and, will ya believe it, another loose rabbit running away from my dog into a house nearby. I do not understand how rabbit owners can let loose their rabbits two days in a row when there's already one casualty.

Monday was my last day working in The Star and I haven't gotten about blogging about it, because I don't want to. I've had a last byline-less assignment at the Pos Malaysia main office and the weather to do. My dinner partner gave me a raincheck and by 7.30pm I've run out of excuses to hang out. On Sunday there were plenty people around and I left about 9pm.

So I did my rounds saying thank you and farewell to all. I've came to love that place, politics and bitches and all. I've got a lot of gratitude to the editors especially, as they're the ones who've taught me most of what I've learnt in the industry. And all the other people, for their drinks and meals and talks and advice and jokes.

And as I leave The Star, night was falling and I glanced up the building at the huge, lighted signboard on top of Menara Star. And then a sad song came onto the radio. Poignant. That was that.

I'll write more some other time I guess.

Remembrance

Time: 12:39


Allow me to indulge in a moment of extreme narcissism.

Okay. If I die tomorrow...
How will I be remembered?

A good daughter, sister, friend and person?
Intellectual?
Funny?
Witty?
Kind?
Loving?
Bright?
Loved?

"Her smile lightens the whole room", bla bla bla?

Had I made a difference in someone's life? Shaped who they are? An important aspect of their perspectives? What impression had I left those whose lifepaths had crossed mine?

Or will people only remember the ugly side of me?

Isn't it a little too late to pile accolades on people...posthumously?

Do we receive enough hugs, love, words of encouragement and affirmation of who we are while we're still alive?

Sometimes, I wonder.

After V Tech, and after an accident I saw on the road with a man in a pool of blood, I told myself, I will not go like that. But you never know. We're not invincible.

Life is as such.

I hope I will be remembered well.

work or not work?

Time: 11:08


I've always been pretty gung-ho about work and had extended my internship from April 7 to April 30.

I've had half a mind to extend it til May 20...and that thought came to a haaaaaalt this morning when I woke up at exactly 8.55am. Work starts at 9am.

Not only do I sleep at the general hours of 3-5am, I'm a wreck in the morning. I'm tired. I'm not enthusiastic. I'm unproductive. And as of this morning...I don't wanna work no more.

I'm also mulling over something so complex, I don't wanna begin to figure out how I feel. I'm pretty numb to infatuations and crushes at this point. Hard for me to even wanna fall for someone. And no way I'll do it through the Internet. True, behind the screen names are real people. But real people who're far, far away and whom I'll probably never meet. Therefore I should learn to keep a distance. Don't fall hard cos it'll be my own knees that's going to be scraped and bleed.

V Tech shooting - dying for nothing

Time: 15:43


Why? Why? Why?

That's the question ringing in everyone's minds. What was the hatred, the despair, the anger that drove 23-year-old Cho Seung-Hui to act the way he did? Why were the laws so lax, a young man could purchase firearms, no questions asked? How was he allowed to kill two, trek across an entire campus and kill another 30 and injure scores of others?

Why in school, a supposedly safe place for young people congregate to gain knowledge and to better themselves and the world.

In fact, how can a country, in the name of freedom, allow the legal sales of firearms to literally anyone when it is precisely this freedom that imprisoned people in fear? Fear of knowing guns are everywhere and fear of not knowing if they will be shot today, for five dollars, for looking at someone's girlfriend...for nothing, not a reason.

Thirty-two people had died for nothing...my deepest, sincerest, heartfelt sorry to the victims, whose lives had been cut short at the brink of achieving their hopes and ideals; and to their parents, family, friends and everyone associated with them. To the instructors and their knowledge annihilated forever. Think of those parents whose darkest, deepest fears are realised; whose children will never go home, the convocations and weddings and career advancements they will never see, let alone live through. To them. All the victims who died, and the people who were hurt and scared, and everyone left behind to deal with the pain, grief and trauma.

No anger, no hatred can justify a fellow student opening fire at random people who've never crossed him. Nothing justify it. If he felt he needed to die, he should've had jumped off a building alone. Such irony of a country that advocated all the counseling and freedom of expression and resources available to its people to seek help. Irony of a society that encouraged individualism. Irony that one felt so compelled to express one's anger in the most expletive, obscene way possible to make himself heard and to make a mark and a statement.

But as a student of the media, and having watched CNN for the past two days, I had mixed feelings about the coverage. The repetitiveness couldn't be helped. Insufficient "meat" to fill in alloted airtime made 9/11, Katrina and Iraq War news repetitive in their own days. The tribute given to the victims was touching; an aspect I respected of CNN and American journalism that allowed audience to comprehend that the dead weren't just numbers; they were someone's child, a friend, a loved one, a person who had a life, a somebody.

What I despised was the way Cho was both demonized and glorified. His murder weapons and MO was mentioned over and over; I wondered why. It's glorifying him to place his mugshots over half the screen while they interview someone in a small window. Copycat crimes, anyone? And he was demonized... by the way he was described, by the interview of his roommates whose claims and potrayal of him, I'm sorry to say, I am skeptical over. Cho is dead; anyone can say anything about him now. He had mental problems. His writings worried his lecturer. He was a loner. He was quiet. He was a boy with so much pent up pain and a streak of violence that ended up in such tragedy...demonizing Cho, making him sound like a hopeless, trigger-happy mental case. What of his parents? Were they not interviewed? They went out of their way to interview neighbours and even the postman, but not the parents or his friends?

And why was his Korean native background emphasised? He migrated to USA along with his family in 1992 when he was eight. He spent all his developing years there. Why do they use the word "resident alien"? It's so deragatory. Why did they point out even a resident with a green card can purchase guns? So if laws change and only lawful citizens can purchase guns...will crimes involving violence go down?

Why are the stories framed again and again in such a way that it exposes his Korean roots? Whatever was his issue and his pain and anger, it was bred and incubated and hatched in the US, not the land he was born in once upon a time.

Does it matter that he was Korean? Does it matter what sort of nationality or status he had? The point of the issue is - this young man, whoever he was, held guns and killed people - Why?

But from the way they angled the coverage... is the American media trying to say that the US had been kind and opened their arms for people to enter and live there, and now they've been stepped on, violated, by an alien? Or are they simply too quick in trying to say "Its not us, Americans' fault. It's someone else's and we're victimised." Is that why they emphasised he was Korean native? He lived in the States for 12 fucking long years, fer God's sake. They even felt the need to emphasised his green card was renewed in 2003.

WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT?

What if it was a 23-year-old white male who did it? Would they dig up his Irish/Italian/Jewish background? And if it was an African-American, would they frame it that blacks are prone to violence? If it was a Middle Eastern or a Muslim, would 'terrorism' be a catchphrase?

But no. Unfortunately, it was a deranged person who also happened to be a black-eyed, black-haired yellow-skined immigrant who did it. Someone labelled "Resident Alien".

Cohen's Agenda setting is a theory where the core principle stated that "The media does not tell people what to think, but what to think about". It is perhaps the first and most important concept in understanding, interpreting and analysing media content. Think about it. Why should you let the media tell you how to think?

And the agenda in this tragedy has been set. The stage has been prepared for a Korean/Asian-hating manifesto. I fear for the yellow-skinned Asians there now. Would they be looked differently? Harassed? Judged? Obstracised? Killed? Hated? And now Korean descents, whether they are Korean-Americans or Korean migrants (and other Asians with yellow skin) are leaving campus or huddling up together in fear of retribution.

Prejudice and discrimination exist and will continue to be reinforced given the opportunity. People who never admitted to this fact are either in denial or live in their own bubble. And now there is a new excuse to dig up old scars.

Objective newsreporting is bullshit, even in the land of the free.

Still working

Time: 18:05

*Groans*

Mmmph. I have a lot more off days now than previously and I'm fresh from another day off yesterday. Had an exclusive interview with a survivor from the Greek cruise ship Sea Diamond which sank on April 6.

How come I'm feeling rather harried and worn?

Must be that final report. And everyone around me have different formats for that report making me 100x worried and paranoid. I, afterall, am the only one under my supervisor. Everyone else was under someone else. And my supervisor was not much of a help because she's too busy with her students' final year projects and her own PhD work.

My training ended April 7 and my one thought was, how did three months pass us by this quickly? It's unbelievable we've gone through 14 weeks. FOURTEEN WEEKS, gawd. And never did I regret extending my training...I like working here.

*To be continued*

*Continued april 15 @ 11:55*

It's a Sunday and I'm at the huge office with the total of 5 people. Left rather abruptly on Fri to go home. I got a byline for my interview, yo. Anyway, I was saying, I like working in this line simply because with all the bad people I've met, I met really, really good ones too.

It's a blessing as I get to widen my social circles and see people I normally only read about in the papers or online. This fact was illustrated yet again when I came back from my first assignment and Lam sent me on my way to Jalan Gasing, PJ with Ivan to yet another.

It was to an emergency press conference by the Barrier-Free Environmental and Accessible Transport Group or BEAT, who were, well, "extremely disappointed" by Penang State Local Government and Traffic Management Committee Datuk Dr Teng Hock Nan's statement that RapidPenang will not introduce special buses for wheelchair users.

I'd use the word enraged myself, but mind you, I am not very diplomatic.

It's just yet another nonsensical reminder of living in Malaysia where human rights and equality is lip service. The thing is, you can't see disabled persons as people on wheelchairs, can you? They are like you and me...like everyone on the streets. Taxpayers! PEOPLE (with stories to tell), dammit! Same rights to get on a damn bus!

BEAT said despite assurance from other ministers that the needs and interests of disabled people will be considered and that new buses in Penang will be "disabled friendly", in the end, RapidPenang is puchasing 120 buses that are not for everyone.

And anyone who've been on buses like ours will testify to the difficulty of climbing in and out of the buses. Although I've been blessed with a car and do not take public transport as often, I remember with every single bus, you gotta make a huge step up onto the buses. And if you're as short, heavy and klutzy as I am, you've probably slipped once or twice heaving yourself into a bus. And there's no wide spaces for wheelchair users to park themselves and within the buses, there's another huge step somewhere midway across the bus to the back seats.

I do use KTM, LRT and monorail often, and I don't think I've really noticed if they're disabled friendly. I know awhile ago KTM Kepong built a ramp up outside the station, and the other side is strictly a slope; no steps. Truth be told I don't think I've ever seen a wheelchair user on trains, and to be politically incorrect, you'd notice them if you see them.

My friend in London said they're trying to make the city more disabled friendly, and in his words, "they can drop the front of the bus down to let wheelchairs on".
In reference to the tube in London, he said, "only has some newer parts of the line with wheelchair access. Jubille line from westminster > stratford [but] all the rest have little or no wheelchair access. its almost impossible, the tunnels are so small". Another in Singapore said, "they have spaces for wheel chair [in buses], but have steps so technically, wheelchairs cant go on unless they're folded".

Hmm, okay.

The BEAT statement was written by Peter Tan, a wheelchair user whom Darlene had blogged about. Darlene and Meikeng met him in Midvalley and I didn't see what was the hype until I met him at the press conference.

He is a charismatic man and an excellent writer.
And I, Pui Yee, do not, I repeat, do not throw those two compliments around. I consider myself honoured that I have had a chance to talk with him, albeit briefly, and also Christine Lee, BEAT's coordinator, a beautiful, soft-spoken woman (and may I confess I stared at and admired her eye-shadow application skills). I'd want to know and talk more with them in future too. The issues they fight for, their lives and who they are as people, as persons. Individuals.

Anyways, Peter wrote the statement and here's some excerpts:

BEAT would like to point out that wheelchair users do not need special buses. Accessible buses can take wheelchair users and the public at the same time. In the Asia-Pacific accessible buses are already widely used in Japan and Australia to serve not only wheelchair users but the general public. These non-step buses are also convenient for senior citizens, pregnant women and adults with prams as the floor of the buses are flushed with the height of the bus stops.

It makes no sense to deny wheelchair users the right to use public transport at a time when the country is celebrating the 50th year of independence and it is ironic that we will soon have a Malaysian in the international space station 250km above us but a wheelchair user cannot even go from his house in Gelugor to Gurney Drive in Penang that is only about 25km away.

It is noted that many barriers to transportation continue to exist, preventing the full inclusion and participation of people with disabilities in society. Willing disabled persons are unable to work because of inadequate accessible public transport in this country. By not providing these buses, wheelchair users are further marginalised from mainstream society.

Cost should not be used as a justification to not bring in accessible buses as by saying that, is Dr Teng saying that the needs of disabled persons are secondary?

We should learn from past mistakes. The disabled community protested the inaccessability of STAR-LRT to them. 13 years on, STAR-LRT is still inaccessible to wheelchair users.

BEAT calls on relevant authorities and RapidPenang to seriously reconsider their decision. The needs of disabled persons should not take a backseat. It is an apparent act of discrimination to deny Penangites [their] rights to accessible public transport, irrespective of the person's condition.

BEAT is a coalition of 16 NGOs of disabled persons in Malaysia advocating for the equalisation of opportunities for disabled persons

STOP THE DISCRIMINATION.

pY Masters Degree Fund

Time: 22:23

The past couple of weeks, I've been checking out universities in UK and giving my future a good, long thought.

Actually, many long thoughts, but yeah. And you know me. I love talking about myself.

I'm graduating in May next year, barring any complications. That's just slightly over one year before I enter the workforce irrevocably. But also at least I have a clue to which direction I want to bring my life to. It's slightly off the beaten track, so to speak, and of course I'm scared, cos I'll be alone and I'm expected to behave responsibly, be independent and make the right choices and decisions.

And I am 100% sure I want to earn a Masters Degree too, and most probably in International Relations/Studies from Sheffield University, UK. I've been asked, what, will that sort of Masters give me a job?

That is why I'm studying journalism and not follow my whim to major in Sociology in some shoddy institution today. I believe, no matter where I go, I will be able to become a journalist, because information is vital in our society today, and there is no lack of news for journalists to seek out.

Information is power, for pete's sake.

But, my interests have always been sociology, people and culture. Check out their International Studies programme, cos everytime I load that page my tummy goes a little warm and "bomp!" out of excitement.

I see these:

Democratization
Research methods in Politics and international Relations
Global Governance
Human rights
Advanced poltical analysis
Political thoughts and the rights of War and Peace
Social and Political Change in European Democracies
Nationalism
Multiculturalism and Democracy
Theories of political economy
US Hagemony
Theories and Issues in International Political economy
Development politics and policy
Gender and Globalisation
War, new wars and the Liberal State
The politics of Migration

...and my heart goes thump thump thump.
(No it didn't pop! if you know what I'm referring to)

Many Human Rights Officer posts in the United Nations require a Masters in this subject as well as related humanitarian work experience.

Even if I don't enter humanitarian work, it'll enrich my career as a journalist, and as a citizen of Malaysia, and the world, to study these topics in depth. And like I told everyone, if there's anything I am good it, its that I can survive academia.

So why am I so hesitant? First, of course, the tuition fee. It now stood at UK£9,850 for the academic year of 2007/2008, set to rise in near future. Can you imagine the figures in 4-5 years' hence? Of course I'll try to exhaust every mean possible to score me a scholarship or at least, a loan. Sell my car, sell my soul, something. Anything. But I need something concrete, to save up to RM77 000 in my bank account before I can even consider flying off. And RM77 000 don't drop from the sky.

My 5-year plan is this: graduate, work at least 3 years (5 being the absolute limit), and apply.

But even if I manage to put away RM400 a month, in 3 years it'll just going to accumulate to RM14 400. Meagre, paltry sum still. That is even if I manage to save that much a month.

I'm turning 21 soon and I'm considering telling my family members instead of buying me gifts, give me cash and bank it into my account straightaway.

Yes, I'm starting Pui Yee's Masters Degree Fund right here. All support welcomed. Freelance writing job? A permanent writing/editting job that I can manage while studying full time? I'm on! I'm on I'm on I'm on!

Talents and gifts

Time: 00:20

For once, there are a few things I wanna put in today.

Okay. If you haven't read my previous blog, please, do so. For some unknown reason, I cared about William enough to maintain contact with him by sending him a couple of SMSes, asking him to let me know if anything good turned out from the coverage he'd been given. He did message me today saying some people want to meet him but when I asked him how was the meeting, he didn't reply. I didn't prod though. I hope it didn't turn out badly for him. He's had enough.

About this blog-switching thing...I've been given some flack (and amazement) from people about the fact that I've put in effort to copy-and-paste 4 years worth of blogs. Some wondered why did I bother. Truth is, I didn't really read my older blogs from when I was 17, 18. There was a time long ago when I was embarassed to look at my own credits, my own words, my own bylines. Like I'm almost ashamed because I've bared myself and my writing to the world. I'm not sure how to explain that, it's an almost innate sense of shame and insufficiency, like, I'm not good enough, y'know? Before the reassurances start pouring in (I know I have lotsa good friends out there who believed in me) I guess all along I do know I am okay at this. At writing. I am constantly surprised to find out words do not simply string together and being able to spell do not come from looking at the words enough times - the very thing I've been doing for years. And I personally feel four years worth of wearing my heart on my sleeves' too good to be forgotten. To me, It'll be a waste to erase the records of my life.

Some people can paint, some people make beautiful music, and others yet can craft beautiful things out of nowhere, some other people can run and swim but I...I can string words together. And I'm at peace with the fact that I cannot draw a straight line, much less a straight stick figure. But I can put words together. The only self-doubt lingering in me is that..."But mom, so many people can write. What makes me special?" Til this day, I still downplay what I can do (and try not to reveal what I cannot). I don't want to turn out to be one of those people who have maybe a little talent and then toot their horns loudly everywhere only to be taken down a peg or two ...self-praise is no praise to me.

I've told an editor before, my shyness is an obstacle in being a journalist, indeed, I'm a writer more than a reporter. He told me what I already knew - that in order to be a good writer, one must know and have seen a lot of things so that one can put in depth and perception in one's writing. Eloquence and profoundness do not just appear out of thin air.

I'm not one of the most patient people on earth...in fact, exasperated friends of mine would probably tell you I am freakin' impatient. When I say "go!" I really mean go, and I hate waiting for anyone to dawdle...and I am still learning to not feel annoyed when lunch is beckoning and someone is bound to say "wait, ya...wait..let me finish this.." I would sacrifice better quality to speed of which I write my articles, check and send in so that I can be done and get out fast, which I realise is not the best way to write because I've left out vital facts and screwed up before. Like, I've written a long-ish article last night and quickly sent it in so that I can go home before midnight and today on the way home after work, I realised I omitted some stuff which will otherwise make that article even better. I swear, I'm going to learn to be a little bit more patient and detailed while writing my stories.

I had a 6pm assignment yesterday at the Australian High Commissioner's Residence and I was there an hour early to avoid the city centre congestion. Sitting at the kitchen watching the cooks prepare food, I watched the front gates from their vantage windows and saw people started pouring in. The gathering was for the 60th anniversary of a nursing scholarship set up by WWII Australian prisoners of war who were captured and imprisoned in Changi. It is in memorial of fellow soldiers who did not return home. They also wanted to thank the people of Malaya for helping them and risking their own lives while doing so. I went there intimidated (all these big, white people from the Australian High Commissioner! Me, a small minion of an intern of a reporter!) and not sure what angle I should approach from the story when Vivienne Pal, a reporter from Metro section, told me I could interview the two PoW who was there. One of them is 86, the other 84.

I was so humbled. And honoured. I wonder what is it like to be in their shoes, serving during WWII and being captured by the Japanese and incarcerated in Changi. What is it like to do bitter, forced labour at the Burma-Siam railways. My generation who knew nothing but peace and MTV and nothing else at all...that, and a few other things too long to write here is quickly becoming a turning point.

A fuel, a re-focus and a motivation for me to the right thing for me. I realise how influential the media can be...an entire nation reading about things I've seen and wrote about...and my feelings about human rights. I can't wait to go back to school, finish it, and embrace what my future will bring me.

I think I might have found my aim in life.

Have I written half a novel here? Opps.

Your Right.

Time: 23:33

Article 15 (1) of United Nation's Universal Declaration of Human Rights reads:

Everyone has the right to a nationality.

Article 15 (2) of United Nation's Universal Declaration of Human Rights reads:

No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his nationality nor denied the right to change his nationality.

And here is my story:

He has no name.

An alien in his own country, he could not hold a permanent job simply because he do not the proper documentations to.

He has no citizenship, no nationality and no identity.

He could not remember his parents or his childhood at all, other than the undeserved abuse he suffered.

His body still bears the scars, a grim reminder of his painful, unknown past.

15 years ago, when he was only a child of eight, he was left for death along Jalan Ampang after a particularly brutal beating. Just like a stray dog.

Police found him and sent him to Kuala Lumpur Hospital where he was warded for seven months. When he recovered, the welfare department sent him to an orphanage in Kajang where he was raised.

There, he was given the name William, and it is the only name he has.

With the orphanage's help, he managed to obtain a birth certificate at age 15. The columns where his parents' names should occupy were left void.

"Insufficient information," the blanks said.

He acquired a green IC (only applicable for working permit holders and foreigners born in Malaysia and is lower in status than the red IC denoting Permanent Resident status) in 2004, only to lose it after being a victim of snatch thief, along with his driving license, hand phone and cash.

It's as though his circumstances are hard to improve because the government stopped issuing green IC (too many forgery cases), and William was forced to carry his birth certificate with him everywhere.

He also could not replace his driving license without his IC.

Although he has applied for permanent residence in 2004 and citizenship two years later, the status of his application remains unclear.

Hardly surprising, knowing how slow the system works in our beloved nation.

To sit for his PMR and SPM, he had to obtain letters from the National Registration Department to submit to the Education Ministry.

Despite the odds, he finished Form Five and worked odd jobs to support himself after leaving the orphanage. He is a slight, average height and sized, articulate and polite boy.

With such a hard past, it is ironic William is currently working as an entertainer in Sunway Lagoon Theme Park, bringing laughter to the visiting crowds daily.

He said, he manned game booths, dressed up in costumes, make funny noises (he does amazing imitations of Donald Duck) and organise family days for corporations or groups of people in the theme park.

He said he loved making people laugh, and cited the ability as God's gift.

As a 21 year-old part-timer and earning only RM600 to RM700 a month, he is barely making ends meet.

Living alone, he has no criminal records and worked hard to support himself and contribute to the country.

All he wanted sincerely is to gain his right to be a citizen of the country he was born in.

If you can help William, please contact the MCA Public Service and Complaints department at 03-2161 8044.



I went to his press conference this afternoon where I learnt of his sordid story and found out he has no last name, cannot hold a job legally. has no voting rights, no insurance and no access to a lot of things we, as citizens of Malaysia, took for granted. I wrote his story with a degree of sadness and anger.

I felt very strongly about this issue – as the UN decreed, citizenship is one of the fundamental rights of a human being. He was denied even that. I feel our government has failed him, as he has worked hard to eek out a living without resorting to stealing, begging or depending on social welfare help. I feel disgusted. And sad. This is something I learnt from him. Never, ever, take something so fundamental, so simple for granted. Because there are people here that don’t even have that.

I want to help him, but I know there's only so much I can do. Shah, one of the editors, told me, the best way I can help him is to write his story, and write it so that it reaches out and touches the cold, indifferent, hardened human hearts out there. Wrote I did, though I'm not sure I've done him justice. I hope it is enough. Because he, as I, is a Malaysian and there is no question about it.

bidding adieu

Time: 18:21


295 blogs later...

664 comments later...

64,209 hits later...

For the final time, I blog from blog-city.

Started since 21 April 2003, it has served as the most basic of blogs, a wee space in the cyberworld to call my own, my whine-page, my vent-page, my sanity, my insanity, my thought, announcements and expressions.

Now almost 4 years later, with the announcement that blog-city will start charging end of this year, I've finally moved to blogger, of which I already have an account since 2005.

Day by day, with only 50 blogs allowed every 24 hours, I've patiently copy and paste texts I deem to precious to just see go wasted to my new blog (during office) hours. Now the tedious process is done and my business here is finished.

I beg your kindness and some time to change my blog URL to this and do visit me there.

I thank ALL of ya for the time to read, to share and to console me and I hope I will still have your care, love and time in days to come.

Again, my NEW BLOG @ http://stardancejive.blogspot.com/


xoxoxoxoxo
Pui Yee

what's going down with the world today

16 Mar 2007
Time: 10:44


There is one matter that I've not spoken about and will hesitate to mention to anyone. One evening at work few days, I passed by the editors' meeting where they decide what goes in to tomorrow's paper and saw something awful on the huge projector.

I ran to my workstation to load them as well. What I saw broke my heart and made me cry.

It was pictures upon pictures of dead Thais in a minivan.

They were Buddhists killed by Muslim insurgents.

Why? For what it's worth? Because they're of different creeds?

What did they do? What was their crime so bad that they were shot at the back of their heads, one by one?

In death, they look so vulnerable, so unprotected, so small, so ordinary. The pictures weren't gory. It was the pale, dead faces hanging from their seats, men and women with numbers tagged to their heads using bright yellow markers, being hauled and laid side by side on the road, with their legs and hands bloodstained and some without shoes on...and a pair of navy sneakers still worn by a white socked man.

The pictures disturbed me. I will not, and am sure I'm not allowed to post them here. The photos belonged to Reuters and no one in their sane mind should see what I've seen. It ate to my conscious, knowing such terrors grip people so near me. Nobody knows what will happen tomorrow, but I at least, can know for sure, no one will shoot me dead for my religion where I am.

I can still feel tears stinging at the back of my eyes whenever those photos float into my mind, and that's happening pretty frequently.

To add salt to the wound, I went and watch 300 yesterday. It was a gory, blood-soaked movie of King Leonidas and his Spartan war-hardened fighters battling against Xerxes, a self-proclaimed God King of Persia.

Every gross CGI-rendered drop of blood, flying head, tight torso, spear-stabbed army reminded me painfully that years ago, atrocities like this are probably real, and today is still happening somewhere else in the world. I tried to block the thoughts out of my mind, but truth is, I am sobered throughout the movie. And that evening, another terrorist admitted to slaying Daniel Pearl, an American journalist 6 years ago. How many people still remember Pearl for that matter? This morning, news of suicide bombers killing policemen in Baghdad rang on the radio of my car.

Nobody deserve to die this way. All of them, every single dead person, anonymous to our media-weary and hardened eyes, is someone's loved on, someone's son, daughter, spouse, child, friend. When will we start appreciating lives? When we have to travel in groups and watch our backs constantly?

Inside we are all the same. We all believe in our Gods and should be allowed this freedom to believe in what we choose to. For every comedy we watch on tv, every reality tv drama, every concert, every series, there are people out there whose lives are gripped by terror and fear.

Those thoughts are eating into my conscience so badly, so badly.

On the other hand: a person wrote to the Editor at The Star commenting about the two brilliant girls who scored 16A1s and wanted to be doctors.

He lauded them not for their SPM results, rather, their ambitions.

He cited passion as the moving factors in them gaining what they did. that passion fueled and nurtured them into single-mindedly pursuing their dreams. That they and everyone else should listen to their heart and heed the little voice in their heads.

That passion is the one factor that will move seas and mountains. Without passion, no driving force can lead a person to be where he or she wants to be.

And I agree whole-heartedly. That passion is what we all need to achieve our ambitions, ideals, dreams and the best we can be. Passion decides where we stand on this earth.

Passion drives us to work hard, to seize every opportunity and day, find a way to get what we want. Passion.

blog-city, you blow

11 Mar 2007
Time: 13:21


Blog-city announced recently they're going to charge users to use their software.

Gianne told me, let's migrate to blogspot or somewhere soon. But ...shifting 3 years worth of blogs? With each and every of them having sentimental values. And photos, of course.

I thought, okay, let's not blog anymore, and try out (seriously this time) blogspot and try messing with the codes and all to get a cop on how it feels like there. Afterall, there's nothing much I can do anymore about this. All I'm saying is: Will serve blog-city right when all their users goes off in search of greener (and free) pastures.

But this entry I cannot and will not resist:

In this age where honesty and chivalry are no longer expected from the public in general, I am extremely grateful to have some of my faith in fellow Malaysians restored.

On Saturday afternoon, I called in sick, (actually seen a doctor for Hep B jab) and went to Huang Ah Ma Restaurant in Taman Usahawan Kepong for lunch with my mom and brother. So being the usual me, I carelessly left my wallet on the table and left to pay for the meal at the faraway cashier.

I went home, slept, and watched tv with my mom til 1am, and with a sinking ehart, found my freaking wallet missing. 1am!

My ID, driving license, credit card and ATM cards! Deja vu from two years ago! I lost it inside Kim gary two years ago and no one bothered to even send me my IC, fucker.

Knowing it was already too late as anyone who picked up my wallet could've went for a shopping spree and maxed out my card already, all I could do was to pray, and pray hard that I would be able to at least get back my personal documents.

It was a skeptic's prayer and the hassle of cancelling my cards and getting replacements for my personal documents was an epic in itself, to say the least.

So imagine my surprise and gratefulness when I went to the restaurant first thing this morning and had my wallet returned to me after being asked to give a thorough description of my wallet and its contents. To the owner and employees of Huang Ah Ma Restaurant, I give you my deepest gratitude for your honesty and integrity.

And ehem, the food there is not bad. They're pan mee specialists and have a few kinds of pan mee to try...and their fried dumplings are yummy.

Their address:
16 & 18, Jalan Metro Perdana 8
Taman Usahawan Kepong, Kepong Utara
52100 Kuala Lumpur

They're beside Carrefour Kepong and across from Jusco Kepong.

So if you ever eat there, remember, the food there are prepared by honest people with integrity and sincerity.

Comments:
Jun Hoe made this comment,
Yeah, I'm peeved too. Blog-city really pisses me off now. Of all the times I ignored their bugginess and such.
Btw, I really like pan mee. Haven't had a good one for a long time now, and it's quite hard to find one these days. Maybe next time u could take me there? Hehe..

animals are us

7 Mar 2007
Time: 11:23


I'm breaking the silence.

If you've read the papers lately, a baby elephant was consficated from a local themepark and transfered to Malacca Zoo.

His ribcage and shoulder blades would be the envy of supermodels everywhere.

He weigh will make those models swoon further.

He was starved and weighed only 40+ kg.

Boys and girls, babies and elephants. While I am no self-professed environmentalist, things like this anger me. Apparently this theme park has a bad track record. One wonder how many animals died from negligence while passing through its doors. The leashes they tighten around the animals' necks sealed their death certificates.

They are animals in captivity, unable to fend and feed themselves. They were ripped from their homes and can no longer go back because their homes has been decimated and they are no longer capable of hunting or looking for their sustenence. Or they are born in captivity, never knowing what is it like to be free, roaming as generations before them had.

Sometimes, I'm disgusted with the notion of human life. What are we? Who are we? Watch the Discovery ad...each species in the world depend on each other for survival. Yet none of them, not a single one of them, need to depend on us, human beings, for existence. We depend on them. And look how we treat them.

By the way. The baby elephant was sent to Malacca Zoo directly from the theme park it was seized from. That theme park is not far from the zoo. Which one, ever wondered? Go figure, folks. Even their holiday packages ad repulse me now.


On another note, I've had writers' block trying to write my weekly report on internship. This is because last Saturday, I had a terrible experience on one of my assignments. I was sent to a cheque persentation event in the city and it was scheduled to be at 10am on the 15th floor of that building. I arrived at 9.30am, went straight to 15th floor and was greeted by an embassy...and men, all men on the other doorway. I backed out and ran straightdown. There was nobody manning the reception.

So, I called back to the office to double check (who knows, I got the building wrong or the timing wrong, right?) but demmit, I got it correct. So I looked floor by floor desperately and thank goodness, found a reception on the 4th floor. After making some calls, the lady informed me the function is there, but is at 11am. WTF. So I sat and slept at a corner and got up at 10.50am to check on the venue and saw a screen saying the event is scheduled for 11.30am.

@#$#$^&%@!!!!

At 11.25am, I hovered in front of the doorway but nobody gave me a hoot so I walked in and sat and everyone else was in blazers and dressed very nicely. Hooboy, what is this? I wondered.
It was one of those Multi-level Marketing networks, one thing in life I hate with infuriating passion. Hoo boy. So I sat there alone, miserable, cold and hating it and when the event's over, I thought I should approach the she-emcee to verify a few fact, cos she had the paper and the attending VIP list, right?

That she-satan thought I was late when I introduced myself and I didn't correct her. I asked if she could print of make a copyof the VIP list and she snotily asked "Why? You can't copy?" I asked if she said "expo" or "exhibition" and she condenscendingly exclaimed "Expo is exhibition lah!" Best part, she told me to go back to the office to do my homework. And then she demand for my name, and said "You better not misquote me, I have your name. I know where to find you."

I was already pissed about the hour and half wait, and floor-by-floor search and now this she-devil? WTF!

She proceed to tell me what I can and cannot put in my article, and even told me "no, you stay here, let me explain.." in a patronising tone, and I raised my hand, stopped her and told her I've got what I need. She insisted on explaining but my temper snapped, I stopped her again and turned to go. She called to my back, "Next time, please be on time!"

That was it. I turned, managed to smile, and said, "You know what, I was here since 9.30am because your people told my paper the event starts at 10am."

She was taken aback, paused and recovered quickly. And gawd, she even said, "Well, then, why do you approach me and ask me all those then? You've seen everything, right?"

Fook her! Pui Yee got screwed by a she-satan-emcee!

I was boiling but I couldn't lose it so the drive back to office, I try not to dwell on it and when I briefed my editor about my assignment, I turned and started...crying. I guess I was shaken up and angry and felt injustified (?) because it all started with the base assumption that I was late in that she-bitch's mind.

..That was a chapter in the life of Pui Yee, student journalist.

Crap.

Yesterday 12 European and Indian publishers visited our office (Ifra they call themselves) and thanks to my kaypoh-ness I followed them around and went to the multimedia department. Correction: I discovered the multimedia department exists! I saw a studio with cameras and a board and turntables...whoa. Insta-o..er...I mean, and then the dept head said I could go upstairs and learn from them if I want to.

Well the letter's been written and printed, I think I'm extending my internship too.

*Says a little prayer*