I should have German Subtitles.

580

2012-01-09T17:57:00.000+08:00

Back to college here I go!

I've got mixed feelings on this one.

I'm going back to the land where studying is meant to be as important as breathing.

AS coming up.

Terrified out of my mind.

Kthxbai.

The things I did.

2012-01-02T21:32:00.003+08:00

Since a whole load of people are doing 2011 posts, I might as well. ('Amal, if a whole load of people are eating poop, would you?' 'No, writing a blog post has nothing to do with poop.') I meant that it's a good way to fill this blog up a bit.

(Photo credits: me, Nadia, Iman. That's it, I think. Leave a comment if I left you out.)

1. Baked the worst-tasting cake in the history of cakes.

2. Sat in a plane for 12 hours straight.

3. Took a picture in a London telephone booth. (Which smells like pee, by the way.)

4. Went to Canada with my family.

5. With the help of a lot of people, managed to make my brother a lot more stylish.

6. Went on the London Eye.

7. Went to college, met a whole bunch of awesome people and understood the true meaning of 1 Malaysia. (I also obtained more than 100 friends on facebook, people I actually know.)

8. Obtained the best pet family ever.

9. Played a makcik for a stage performance.

10. Created a collection of pictures of people sleeping.

11. Found ways to enjoy Malaysian Studies immensely.

12. Ate at Garden Seafood with some of my favourite people. (And then walked like a thousand miles to Secret recipe for some cake.)

13. Enjoyed a raya party for one of the very first times in my life.

14. Got my very first jersey with my name on it.

15. Made a bunch of super wacky friends.

16. Went to a mooncake festival and my foot caught a tiny bit on fire. (If not really caught, I remember it was super hot when someone's lantern burnt.)

17. Be in a sports team that actually wins. (I also played in the basketball game for like 5 seconds, and got second in a ping pong match.)

18. Went to Doha for transit and then Vienna for Raya. (And fasted for more than a day due to time difference.)

19. Went to a theme park on the first day of Raya.

20. And then got scammed for 70 Euros.

21. Had my second foot operation right before my term exams.

22. Ate Malaysian fruits out on a beautiful field.

23. Started dressing a lot better than I used to. (At least I think so. I've stopped wearing that stupid blue jacket as much.)

24. Directed a short film and got 2nd place out of 4.

25. I grew up.

Alhamdulillah, I had a good year.

I hope you had a good one too.

What do I do now?

2012-01-01T22:56:00.003+08:00

I'm sick, of all this course finding things. I know there are a whole lot of other people who have problems with magnitudes that are so much greater than mine, but to quote Stephen Chbosky, it doesn't change the fact that I'm still upset. Something to that effect.

All my life I've always been that artsy kid, destined to go to art school. Of course I'd love to go, more than anything, but then I've got to draw all the naked people and sculpt them, and who says I'm even going to get accepted in the first place? Plus, me going to art school won't benefit any form of society, except for my own satisfaction, and that's supposedly selfish.

I hate the fact that most stupid courses need math, and it's one thing (among many) that I suck at. Suck at big time. Math makes me cry. Math makes me want to slit my throat just thinking about it. And getting a U for my exam just makes matters worse. Dropping math isn't the best solution, I know, but I can't do anything else, because numbers hate me, and I hate them right back. In fact, I hate them so much I wish they were physical so that I could shoot them and smash them, shred them with my teeth and set the remains on fire. I know numbers are infinite, and so I'll just keep doing it. I'd do all the kids in school in the world a favour.

Dropping math is limiting a whole lot of things that I can do though. Which has me doubting my decision over and over again, but then I can't take back what I've already made my mind up on because my holiday's nearly over and I didn't do one bit of math and it's too late. I'm doing history, which I'm trying to like.

I wish I could just write a really good book, get rich and raise a family, forget about studying at all. But here I am, ranting on about how me, the little posh girl who can't make up her mind wants to leave school when there are so many out there who want to study but can't. This is depressing. I want to cry. I don't know what I want. I have all the opportunities and support but I don't know what I want to achieve.

It's depressing seeing all these people who've made up their minds, have their entire lives planned out, being happy about it, while I can't even decide on my subjects.

I don't mind doing architecture. The universities that don't require math require art, and there is absolutely no place for me to do that here, in a country that sees nothing in the arts. All engineers, doctors, lawyers, businessmen, accountants, blah blah blah.

'You're doing English Lit? What's that good for?'

It happens to be the one thing I enjoy, and my teacher left. So now I don't know if I like anything anymore.

I hate it when all these science students think that English Lit is a stupid and pointless and an easy subject but how much can I bet that they can't do it? How much can I bet that as good as they are at physics or math or whatever, it's inversely proportionate to how much they are incapable of writing an English essay? Asking me to do math is like asking them to write ten history essays and are expected to ace it all.

It really pisses me off.

2011-12-05T16:50:00.001+08:00

And it goes tick tock.

2011-11-26T09:04:00.001+08:00

The first semester is over. (Another cheesy saying coming up!) How time flies ridiculously fast.

Anyway, enough sounding old. I'm at home now, after taking a nice hot shower, something you can't do at KY. Nevertheless, I miss it already. I miss you, Nadia, if you're reading this! It's been one day. Another five weeks and six days to go, back to the hutan, back to all the love grass, fundraising and kiasu atmosphere.

There was Diwali Night, a few weeks ago. I was the MC for like, 10 minutes with Kumar and then Kayni and Amsyar took over. Take it from me, they were so much better than me. Just me, Kumar was awesome. Although he did tell a joke which no one laughed at, which was a fail.

I'm generally not very photogenic, and I've been showing my teeth in every picture I've ever been in since I started wearing braces, so please excuse me looking a little out of place.

I borrowed Pash's Punjabi suit because I didn't bring the one downstairs back to college. I wore Aly's long black shirt with the Punjabi suit on top, and put my long black tudung around my neck in attempt for it to look like a scarf. I say I didn't look too shabby; the way I'd normally look.

It was a great night. The dances were brilliant and well-choreographed. I was in the sketch, called, "Generation Gap", which was like a cliché Hindi movie, whereby the only daughter of a couple falls in love with a Chinese boy and the parents are having a difficult time. Kumar played the mother, which was hilarious. It was a lot of impromptu stuff, which is not a problem for Kumar, because he is too funny for words. I played one of Pravin's (the dad) gangsters, who have come to beat up his daughter's (Sonia) Chinese boyfriend (Dain). I had shades and everything. It was epic. I can't wait for next year's.

Spot meh!

And the next day I had three exam papers; Kajian Pendidikan Islam, Malaysian Studies and Bahasa Kebangsaan. I honestly do not know if I passed them. If not all I gotta do is sit for the exams again at the end of next semester, which I don't really wanna do.

That night was the End of Sem Dinner, in which the theme was "KY in Wonderland", and I say that the Student Council did a pretty good job in planning it. Me and Fatin both wore tops from Zara, because we cool like dat. I wore my grandmother's purple skirt with it.

There were a whole load of people, obviously, and there were only a few tables of food. I sat with Anusha, Fatin, Shaza, Sarah, Aly and Marissa. We had a plan. A strategy.
"Amal, Shaza, ambik desert."
"Sarah, ambik kebab."
"Fatin, ambik satay."
"OK? 3, 2, 1, GO!"
And we ran. literally. I did, at least. If I remember correctly. In five minutes we were all back to our table full of food. It was good. All was well. And then they aired my video. I didn't get to see the final product due to time constraint, and so, a few things went wrong. The worst thing that happened was when the narrator of my video said "other lady" and the person who made the subtitles (no name mentioning) put "ugly lady." And it was being referred to Prem. And my heart fell to the pits of my stomach. As soon as the video was over I ran to Prem and apologised. I felt bad, I really did. And then I gave the subtitle maker a piece of my mind. Before uploading it to You Tube, I made all the necessary amends, and now I'm satisfied. I put it up yesterday and today it's got 67 views. And I think I'm responsible for 5. Watch the video before you scroll down!

It was super fun to make, nevertheless, and I'm so grateful to all the actors whom I'd been pestering over the entire week to come to places to shoot and re-shoot and re-shoot. I officially love film-making. I got second place. First place was Topaz, and they deserved it. Editing was fantastic, and it had good flow.

Mom and Dad.

Olaaaaaaaaan.

It was brilliant fun, and having the power to be bossy and tell people what to do feels awesome. I love KY, and although the workload is a little too much, my friends help me out a lot, in the littlest ways. This semester has been great, the best school semester I've ever been in, for that matter. Next semester is when it gets serious, what with AS coming up and all that. And then before I know it, that would be over too. And all the seniors will be gone, and I'll be devastated. I love Garnet, and would never be in any other house, ever.

Because we are one, big, happy Garnet family.

2011-11-12T22:15:00.001+08:00

It was really hot the next day.

2011-11-11T23:20:00.001+08:00

First off; I have no idea whether I should be flattered that my mom, or in fact, anyone's mom reads my blog. (Hi Zoé's mom!) I know that it's definitely something I have to bear in mind while writing things here. There's no such thing as child-appropriate anymore, it's all about mom-friendly. It really is, if you think about how fast kids are being exposed to things they shouldn't be exposed to nowadays.

Now, it's all about avoiding a tell-off by your mother. In everything you do.

I know I'm not the most perfect child in the world, but I feel that I'm not that bad. I can tell you that I have never even touched a cigarette, don't ever dream of coming in contact with drugs with a 10-foot pole, and I will certainly never gain a boyfriend until I am sure that I shall be marrying him. No clubbing, no wedlock children.

Being at KY, I rarely use my computer, which is for me, a grand achievement. I didn't know it was that easy. All I have to do is lock it up. Because I am that lazy to take it out from its casing and open it and charge it and all that. It's a good thing. I study everyday now, perhaps giving the exception of random days when I am absolutely drained in every way. Other than that, inshaallah I do some sort of work everyday, and I feel great.

I've been made the director for the Garnet video for the upcoming video competition. I have eleven days to complete it, including today, technically meaning that I have ten left, because I don't think I can do much in 20 minutes, seeing as it is around 11:40pm, and that's less than half an hour till tomorrow. I've got rough ideas, which are all going down on paper tomorrow. The storyboard will be drawn, and this will finish successfully. Inshaallah.

Yesterday Zchii demanded me to draw an elephant on the spot for the Diwali Night invitations. It was a challenge accepted. I love drawing and I love putting it to use, especially in emergency cases like that. It's really awesome.

Today my Literature teacher told me that I could have dyslexia because I got a headache trying to do a word-search. She said that in England, if you have dyslexia, in an exam you'd be given 20% more time to complete your paper. In all honesty, as great as that would be to have more time, I feel that I just had a headache from the lack of sleep everyone experiences in college and I don't really like word-searches anyway. But I appreciated the concern. I really did.

Which brings me to the subject of how devastated I am that my Literature teacher is leaving. She is literally the best teacher I have ever had in my life. And now she's leaving. I have nothing else to say, except for that cheesy line; "Good things never last". Or something to that effect. I apologise for not knowing what the actual words are to that quote if those are not it, because I don't sit around reading cheesy lines all day.

I have found my love in playing tennis. I know I'm probably one of the worst players in the world, but I'll get there, inshallah. I've an excellent tennis buddy, Fatin, who plays like a pro but absolutely refuses to acknowledge it. The Bahasa Kebangsaan classes have finally ended and so, this Tuesday I am going swimming! Nothing can stop me now, inshaallah!

There was a fruit festival a few days ago. It was free, and there were a whole load of Malaysian-grown fruits. I love eating, I love fruits and I'm cheap, so I obviously went. Jambu air, guavas, mangoes, durian (which I did not have, because I do not like durian), pineapple and belimbing with asam powder. It's like tropical heaven. It amuses me how I, a local, do not like durian whereas I saw the British teachers devouring the creamy yellow things like it's the greatest thing ever. It was a gorgeous day, and the sun was being very nice. The sky was blue, the grass was green and inviting on the humungous field, and the trees' shades wee just nice, and the fruits were the perfect touch. Another cheesy line; it was a beautiful day.

Plus, the conditions were precise for an iPhone to take nice pictures. A 3GS does not have a very good camera, but it is rather brilliant when it's sunny, so I snapped a few, or rather, a few snapped some pictures of me.

My semester is ending soon and I absolutely cannot believe it. Exactly four months ago; on the 12th of July 2011, it was my first day at KY and I didn't know how to feel about it. Now I know that I'm glad my parents sent me to this college and how happy I am to be up and about, no matter how much I say I'd like a holiday all over again.

I'm taking 3 GS's all at once.

2011-10-01T01:12:00.000+08:00

I've been all right.

Classes and classes and more classes. Sporting events, Health Awareness Week, running, badminton, sleep, an enormous amount of Maggi consumption. Economics, Streetcar, Trigonometry. Bahasa Kebangsaan, basketball, Cafe food, paper lanterns.

You get the idea.

So many things go on all the time that I think they deliberately do it so that we'll learn time management. It's good for me, but very hard. The food's all right. Any time they serve something strange all we gotta do is call the burger guy. He delivers from 7 to 11 I think.

Sherry, Nadia, me, Beans and Ha.

They're honestly not that bad. Quite good actually. But the burger guy overloads it with sauce and it drips when I bite it, but, still good. My chalet isn't exactly the cleanest one there is, but honestly, there's nothing a girl can do about her rambut gugur right?

I've taken a real liking to badminton and I have seriously become very Asian because of this. Thanks to Marissa Malkitkat. My MS buddeh.

We tried cycling once, but we didn't even make it out the gate. My seat kept wobbling back and forth (and you can imagine all the trouble I had to go through just trying to keep it steady). Marissa's had the same problem and so she switched with Aly (chehhh) because Aly didn't mind the wobble so Marissa got the degil and karat bicycle that absolutely refused to move. And Fatin got the one with nearly no problems. All of them had tayar pancit. And then I switched with Marissa and then she switched with Fatin and as soon as Marissa started paddling that bike the paddle fell off.

Memang Allah tak izin nak pegi cycling that day. We got so fed up of the bicycles that we were so close to the gate we just decided to forget about the whole cycle-out-of-college-to-go-eat-pisang-goreng plan. After we put the blooming bikes at the shed we did this instead.

Tariq making Tin feel bad.

There was a Mooncake Festival the other day. Eric invited me to the event on Facebook and I think that was the first time I actually clicked "I'm attending". It felt great. The Festival was great. I took a bunch of lousy pictures on my phone but none of them are good, so mostly none of the below belong to me. They're Shaza's and Nadia's and Beans'. (There; I've given the photo credits.)

It said on the poster that it started at 8:30 so I was there at 8:30, but they were just going to have their briefing so I just sat down and pretended like I belong. It obviously began with a scramble for seats and before I knew it a bunch of us were engrossed in a conversation of bromance. It was pretty fun; there were carnival-like games and mooncakes and we were given lanterns. The lanterns were the best part. We put candles in them and walked around the college together. Zack's lantern caught fire and someone stepped on it so that it would go out and the sparks flew to me and Tariq's feet and it was sakit doh.

And then there was the Mini Olympics and boy how I wish I wore my jersey on the first day.

I wanted to be in this picture. But I couldn't, because my shirt was just red.

Kaveetha had just come back from a meeting and she wanted to be Mary Poppins, hence the Baju Kurung and umbrella. She's probably one of the most hilarious people I've ever known. It's a joy to have her as my neighbour. Also because she's got loads of food. No, but really, I love chalet L31. It's da bomb. Dead serious.

I'm in red house; Garnet. I cannot tell you how great it feels to finally be in a team that wins. We've got good runners, excellent badminton players, not-too-shabby ping-pong players (a.k.a. me) and fantastic support. The best part is that the people of Garnet are pretty super.

Me and the lovely Dee.

I don't know why; but this picture reminds me of like, a TV show poster or something.
Rageve, Mel, me, Dee and Beans.

Syafiq, Farhan, Olan and Kanda, obviously. The lost guy in the blue shirt is Bear.

So anyway, one more thing Garnet is super at is high-jump. Not Garnet, but just Tariq, actually. He's ridiculously tall and good at it. I tried to jump just for fun. I ran from far and as soon as I get to the palang, every time I will stop right before I'm supposed to jump. Because I don't know how.

And Beans is a ridiculously good photographer.

And I'm ridiculously jealous of all the people who can run fast, play tennis and jump high. I love playing every sport there is in the book but I'm pathetic at all of them. I know I gotta practice, yada yada ya, but some people are just like, 'Ohh, I'm so great at basketball and badminton and tennis and running and jumping and crawling and every little thing there is on the planet. I can even pick out your uban for you and not be disgusted.'

I'm exaggerating.

But still. These people who can do e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. How do you do it? It's you've got bionic muscles that are immune to all sorts of pain and any form of tiredness and they go at a million miles per hour. I want to run a hundred metres without feeling like dying. Someone even told me that one look at me could give the indication that I'm not a fit person. But I love sports.

But other than my insane jealousy of ridiculously fit people; things have been good for me, Alhamdulillah.

I hope they have been for you too.

I'm all right.

2011-09-18T18:49:00.002+08:00

What have they been telling you about Jungles?

2011-08-20T09:56:00.002+08:00

And so the homework and study pressures pile on.

I've made a ton of friends, some of whom ridicule me for my age, but it doesn't really matter. They can come up with real funny stuff about it, so it's all right.

My Baby-G watch has been put to question. Just a side comment on how the last time my friend wore a Baby-G watch was in primary school. Mind you, I wear that watch because it is 8 years old, and I like old, sentimental things. It used to be pink but now it's a weird shade of brown, but it's still good.

I currently do not own any other watch that works; and so my watch has been substituted with a black hairband that I tie to my wrist.

If you're wondering how I am, despite my grief of technically losing my watch, I'm all right, Alhamdulillah. I've survived the first month and week of college, which has been good. I discovered that I am not bad at basketball, and that I'd like to take up Squash. On the days I want to ride a bicycle, either the sky keeps pouring down with rain or Bahasa Kebangsaan classes come along.

The dining hall food is all right.

My lack of studying skills has made me pay the price of not being able to study with my friends, hence, I have to be a loner sometimes. I performed in a play. I wore kain batik on stage and giggled like a makcik, which was really fun, by the way.

I scrubbed the walls of the bathroom with a broom and poured coke in the the toilet bowl, because that supposedly cleans it out of all the grime. I don't think it works though. I wasted 1.70.

I climbed a plaster wall, which took a very long time due to the fact that it's blooming scary from up there. It took some time for me to finally get myself to drop on to the very soft bed.

Added a whole bunch of people on Facebook. I've even made a Twitter. And don't bother following me if you don't know me, because I get to choose who gets to see my Tweets. It's very useful for getting to know what we're having for dinner.

I killed a Beetle, and nearly vacuumed up a grass hopper. I've sprayed a couple of cockroaches to death. A cicak pooped on my flip flop and on a completely different occasion, I stepped on taik cicak. Twice.

I dropped History for Literature because I prefer Fiction over Fact.

I have to pass up a more-than-20 page folio on Malaysian Tourism in five days. I only have five pages.

Things have been great.

Me, Kaveetha in Tudung, sort-of, and Marissa.

We had this course about how to study effectively the other day. You know, the normal cliché things; mind maps, making up ridiculous stories to remember, nothing I've never learnt before. All my friends were going on about how mind maps don't work for them and how it takes up more time. Which, you know, I have absolutely no problem with.

I do mind maps, though.

I felt like killing the guy who invented them the day my mother taught me to do them, back when I was 7. I hated it, and I felt like they were useless because text books existed. That was back when my mind maps consisted of the entire text in the text books.

Anyway, I've learnt how to do them properly now, and I sort of enjoy making them because I like colours and I like drawing, so yeah.

I own a set of colour pencils, you know those Swan ones that come in a zipper case thing? Well, I've had it since I was 9. I even have like a little sticker on the case saying 'Amal Azman, Primary 4 Fadlan'.

It is not a good idea to bring that around with you in college.

Where people can see it.

My friend even tweeted about it. He's like 'Back when we were in primary school, Swan's colour pencils was the thing to have. Now it has absolutely no reason to exist.' Something like that, basically.

A few people commented on this lovely case of mine, and someone even said, 'Eee, you masih guna ni?'

Snapping point. I took out all the colours and took a pencil case and dumped everything in there. The Swans case now lays on the shelf in my room. I've no heart to throw it away; that thing is pretty old. Now if I want a colour I have to go through the whole pencil case, which was a problem I didn't have when it was in the Swans case, as all the colours were laid out.

Well, the pencil case hasn't proven to be much of an improvement, as it says 'Kid's Stuff' on it.

I failed.

2011-08-03T17:58:00.000+08:00

That is the face of someone trying to concentrate. Not concentrating per se, but very nearly there. It's not very pretty, is it?

I was very hungry, and mind you, I still am.

I wish I had a dozen kids.

2011-07-24T18:52:00.000+08:00

I haven't posted in a very, very long time, and it's ok, because no one owes anyone anything. Haha, I bet you I've lost just about the already very little readers I had, and that's all right too, because I don't think I'll be able to post anything in a while.

Busy times ahead.

So I'll leave you all with this picture;

Because swans are cool and there's no other reason for it.

And till the day I start to feel like posting again, I shall. For now, adios amigos.

One's a pill, the other's got brains.

2011-06-18T00:17:00.000+08:00

Vitamins are funny things, really.

They're real easy to swallow, and are pretty much tasteless.

And then they make you burp and you taste all sorts of things, and you're like, 'Woah, when did I eat that?'

And then of course you realise; it's that garlic supplement you downed just now after dinner.

Your throat feels horrible, and you need a glass of water.

But you're not bothered to go to the kitchen.

Later, your pee comes out too yellow and concentrated.

(Yes, this is possible.)

So let's just say vitamins are like manipulative people.

3. What's 3x9?

2011-06-15T15:14:00.004+08:00

People blog about their children. I blog about my dead rabbits.

Having nine rabbits and having to buy all the food and clean up the products of their bowel movements were not very pleasant. By then my mom had called our contractor guy to build a hutch that we could keep outside, meaning we never had to chase after them to bring them inside. Also meaning; my poop-cleaning days were over. If there's one thing I absolutely love about rabbits is that their poop is completely odourless and 100% smell-free, unlike dogs and cats and other domestic animals. The one thing I absolutely hate about rabbits is that they poop all the time.

Why were my poop-cleaning days over?
Because they were now living outside in their hutch, and the ground does it for you. I mean, it doesn't exactly sweep it all away, but it sort of dissolves in the soil and it's good fertiliser if you need it. And if the poop doesn't completely disappear, that's all right because they either just turn into little dry balls that look like Milo cereal that are harmless or the rabbits eat them. It's supposedly a sort of vitamin for them. Yes; ladies and gentlemen, rabbits eat their waste.

This is the hutch.

We surrounded it with these black fence things so they could run in a wider space.

So anyway, the rabbits. There are now nine of them in the story. The Original Four, Roly, Momo, Perry, MingTee and Rascal. They were all living in the hutch happily.

You can tell the difference between a male and female from their thingies, of course. But you see, rabbits are very fluffy, and it's hard to see what they are most of the time. Another problem with this is the fact that some "bloom" before others. We wanted to neuter them as fast as we could to avoid anymore of this happening.

My mother took all five of them to the vet to get their genders checked. The vet said that Roly was the only boy, the rest were girls. We were rather relieved, because of the cost. We only had to pay for one operation. The rest came home, looking all feminine from our new knowledge of their sex.

Not much later, I discovered that Rascal had balls. Off to the vet he went. So we had two boys and three girls. I'm guessing about a month later; MingTee had balls too. He went to the vet and went through the same thing all our Man-Rabbits went through.

About a week later, somewhere in November 2009, Ziz was walking past the hutch when he saw a little thing sitting amongst the big rabbits. He took a glance and thought it was a chick. But that didn't make any sense, really; why on earth would there be a chicken in a rabbits' hutch? He took a closer look, and true enough, it was a scruffy little baby rabbit. There was another one sitting around there as well.

Ziz picked them both up and put them in a box and towel. We were wondering two things; (1) who was the mother, and (2) where on earth did she give birth? On the ground inside the hutch was a burrow. So we guessed that that's where she did it. The only possible father was MingTee. To find out who the mother was, we picked up all the female rabbits and looked at their bellies. If it's warm and pink (the mother usually sheds the fur from her belly to keep her babies warm) and the tits are sticking out, you've got your winner. It turned out to be Momo, daughter of Ming Ming. It was funny; this made Ming Ming and Huny Buny grandparents.

We needed to be completely sure that there were only two babies. How did we do that? This is how. Ziz put his hand down the burrow. It was a deep, deep burrow. Ziz's entire arm couldn't even reach the bottom. But somehow Ziz felt around, and brought up two babies from underground. We put them in the box with the other two and put Momo in it with them.

Their fur wasn't so nice and smooth due to their living conditions underground, but that changed pretty soon among towels in a nice big cage.

Three of them were black-eared and one was brown-eared. I was getting bored of these colours, but what can you do eh? Nevertheless, they were still very cute and loveable. They had a skin infection or flees or something of the sort, but that was solved pretty quickly by a quick jab of liquid into their ears by the animal guy behind the zoo.

We named them;

Coffee. (Believe it or not this was my idea. And I hate coffee. The drink, I mean.)

Timothy. (Thanks to Yasmin.)

Socks.

Thumper.

And so, now we have a grand total of thirteen rabbits. It's funny how all this had happened to us; we never intended to breed. If possible, we didn't want to breed at all. But once they're there, you love the babies anyway. How can you not?

By this time, we had moved the hutch further up, blocked all the holes and drains and possible escape routes and let all thirteen of them run free around the house. No doubt; they dug holes, a lot of holes, but it was all right. So we were all happy and content. We obviously had to buy more rabbit food. There were the occasional disputes over whose turn it was to feed them, but that's normal, right?

On the 7th of July 2010, Socks' leg got trapped in between two wooden planks on the floor of the hutch. Ziz spotted her and freed her. He put her on the ground, and went to go get something to transport her to the vet with. She was pretty injured. When Ziz came back, Socks was gone. Ziz looked around, and saw that she had rolled down the dusty slope. When we brought her to the vet, we had been told that she had broken her hip bone and there was nothing that could be done; because it was too small and fragile. It either had to heal itself, or she was going to die soon. The vet said the dying had a higher possibility. True enough, at about 6 in the afternoon, Socks died.

Twelve left.

On the morning of the 7th of October 2010, my mom looked out the window at around six in the morning. She saw a rabbit lying down on the big, rusty metal drain cover practically every house has outside. My mom thought to herself; 'That rabbit must be enjoying itself so much on the cool metal.' My mom said the rabbit looked so relaxed. Later in the morning, when the sun was up, my mom saw the rabbit still there, in the exact same position. She went outside and realised that it was dead. It was poor Roly. He had ants crawling out of his ears. I have a picture, but I'm sure no one wants to see that. Cause of death was unknown.

Eleven left.

A month and a few days after that, on the 10th of November 2010, my mom spotted an unmoving rabbit among the tall grass behind our house. Dula and I had to go and get it. It had been dead for a while, and it had already started to smell. I took him and put him in a box. It was Rascal, my furry buddy. Here's something ironic; for all his life as a fur ball, I'd wanted to see his face at least once. Ready for the ironic thing? He died face down. And when things die in a certain position they go stiff and there's nothing you can do about it. I had learned how to detach myself and not cry when my rabbits died, so I didn't. Cause of death was unknown, again.

Ten left.

Three days later, on the 13th, we found poor Coffee dead on the cement next to the drain. I was wondering how on earth and why they were all mysteriously dying.

Nine left.

My mom, Ziz and I had come back from somewhere, and I went inside the house immediately. My mom was still outside when she saw a neighbourhood cat tossing around some small, white thing. My mom shooed the cat away and Ziz went to investigate. It was a poor baby rabbit, already dead. This was rather odd, where did it come from? Ziz and I went around the house and found another two, also dead. We looked some more and didn't find any. We buried the three poor things.

The next day I went to check to see if there were anymore, because there was a possibility. I went and I found one, on it's back, squirming to get back on its legs. I picked it up and yelled, 'THERE'S A LIVE ONE!' (Something to that effect.) We put it in a box and then we were off to look for the mother. It was Ming Ming again. It wasn't much of a shock because we hadn't checked what gender Thumper and Tim were. Now that they were in an opened space it was difficult to catch them and turn them over.

Bing.

So we put Ming Ming together with the baby and named it Bing. I think it had broken its leg or something, because it couldn't walk properly. Ming Ming didn't do much with Bing, she just sat there and did nothing. So we felt sorry for her and let her outside, thinking we'd catch her before night time so she could take care of her baby later.

We couldn't find her.

So poor baby Bing was alone. We could not find Ming Ming; she was missing in action. Bing wasn't strong and after a few days, he died. Later we found out that Ming Ming was in between our house and the neighbours. The neighbours have a brick wall, and there's also the green fencing, so there's a space in between where small creatures like rabbits can fit through. There's lots of plants and vines and stuff, so Ming Ming was completely camouflaged. We spotted her anyway, but couldn't get to her. She stayed there for a while. Or she came back during the day to eat; we don't know, really. But she's back for good now.

On the 8th of June 2011, a few days ago, it was discovered that MingTee had died. There were ants around, and it wasn't a pretty sight. Of course it wasn't. This was really sudden, I tell you. MingTee was completely fine, running around. MingTee's best buds with Perry and Huny Buny, and the three of them were like BFF's (so corny, Gosh) and they were always together. Always. Now it's just Huny Buny and Perry, but not really anymore. Perry hangs out with the big buns and Huny Buny has retreated back to his spot in the drain where he gets the cooling fan from the store room.

Huny Buny's spot.

Thumper has run away (or he might be in one of the burrows and never comes out). He was a rather eccentric rabbit, quite like his grandpa. There's now seven rabbits left; The Original Four-- Izzi, Shogun, Ming Ming and Huny Buny-- Perry, Momo and Tim. All the ones before them are dearly missed and if not, then just missed, and I'm sure they had a great time under my family's care ;) Truly the most spoilt and pampered rabbits in the world.

We have come to the end of this long and epic (It's not that epic, it's just that epic is a cool adjective) Rabbit Saga, and to those of you who actually read the whole thing; I congratulate you and say that now you know the entire history. To those of you who just dropped by and have no idea what this is all about; scroll down and read part one-- only if you want. I myself hate reading long blog posts and tend to skip them and only look at the pictures.

So I hope you've enjoyed reading this (provided that you did). I wrote this thing because I got asked by someone by the name of 'Parker' on how many rabbits I've had altogether. Oh, and I still haven't answered it. I've had a grand total of 27 rabbits, and 16 of them are buried in the premises around my house. We can proudly (not really) call my home a Rabbit Graveyard.

Can you just imagine ghost rabbits hopping around, demanding the living for carrots?

2. How were We supposed to know She was Male?

2011-06-15T09:22:00.003+08:00

Okay, so where were we?

The current rabbits in the story; Izzi, Shogun, Huny Buny, Ming Ming, Choco and Genghis.

They lived on my balcony and could run out of their cage to roam around on the blue tiles whenever they pleased. The reason I didn't really want to get Huny Buny and Shogun was because I knew I was the one who was going to end up cleaning after them, because no one else wanted to do it. (Despite the proposal and all the signatures.) At one point, I asked a sibling of mine to fill the food but that sibling claimed that he/she no longer wanted the rabbits and I felt like pulling all my hair out.

Anyway, we had the six of them for a while, until my mom's friend (Hidayat's mom) said that she was looking for some rabbits. My mom was thinking why not give her two of ours, because we had six. Four was a handful, so we decided to give Choco and Genghis away.

Last I heard; Genghis escaped from the premises of his new house and was never to be found. But Choco is still well and alive. He lives with my friend Hidayat. It's funny, because after Choco was gone, Hidayat got another two rabbits, and those two rabbits have died, and Choco is still standing.

Izzi, Shogun, Huny Buny and Ming Ming are now called "The Original Four". We had them for a few months, just them, and it was fine. On the 9th of January 2009, Ming Ming was acting a little moody. We found five, pink, squirming things on the white drain cover on the balcony. She had given birth, and that was when all fingers were pointing in Huny Buny's direction. We cut his off too, and now no one was laughing.

I can't really tell who's who here.

It was fun, "raising" these five things. It brought back fond memories of bringing up Kiko, the half-ear rabbit. This time, it was five times better. They were so nice to hold in your hands, because they were tiny but heavy, warm things. But I kept getting annoyed at the fact that whenever I brought one downstairs it would pee in my hands. The first time I thought it was an accident. But I believed otherwise when it happened another two times.

We only named them once they were big enough to be differentiated. Three of them had black ears and two had brown. They grew alarmingly fast, and they were so cute. What was funny was; out of the five of them, one was quite ugly compared to the rest. His fur grew at a slow speed. When everyone already had furry heads, he still had a quite pink one. But when he grew, he turned out to be the furriest of them all. Their names were;

Perry.

Rascal. (The Furry One.)

Roly Poly Mingoli Ravioli. (Iman named him.)

MingTee.

Momo J.

So we had these bundles of joy who grew too big to fast. As of now in the story; we have nine rabbits.

Here's a hilarious fact about Huny Buny.

When we bought him his ears were like this;

And then one sort of dropped and he looked like this;

And then the other one dropped and now he looks like this;

We just thought it was some growing thing that he was going to get over with pretty soon; but apparently not. He's a full time, lop-eared rabbit now.

To be continued..

1. When all the Poop Cleaning began.

2011-06-15T00:56:00.005+08:00

Like I've mentioned a million times before; I've got like, a gazillion rabbits. (Not anymore, really. They're mysteriously dying, and I don't know why.) So anyway, for those of you who wonder how many I've actually got; read on. If you're bothered at all. I just think it's something to write about. I've got to fill up the numbers for June.

So anyway, it all started with Hidayah. Yes, Hidayah, it started with you. Hidayah's a good friend of mine, ever since we were 6, and I have no idea how that happened. Well, Hidayah had 3 rabbits; Frisky, Violet and Snowy. Violet died suddenly one day, and a few days later, a dog kidnapped Snowy. Frisky is still well and alive to this very day, and is very old and territorial. He likes to watch TV from underneath a wooden bench at the back of the kitchen.

Just the fact that Hidayah had rabbits had triggered this whole thing in me; wanting rabbits. And my brother, Ziz, wanted a rabbit rather badly too. So he asked for a rabbit and my parents told him to write a proposal of why they should get a rabbit for us and who will clean up after it. So Ziz whipped out a paper and started writing down all the reasons of why we were so deserving of a pet. We had had cats and fishes before, but that went bust when we migrated from one place in KL to another just for ADNI.

The Rabbit that started it all; Zara.

The proposal ended up with reasons like; "Because the rabbit is nice and fluffy and we can cuddle it when we are sad" and "We promise to take turns with the cleaning up" and things like that. (Meaning more lame reasons. But you can't blame us, because that was about six years ago, and we weren't very smart.) All four of us signed it; Iman, Abdulaziz, Amal and Abdullah. The proposal was being considered and every time we passed a pet shop we'd walk in and check out the rabbits. I was wondering when we were actually going to get one.

One day, on the 13th of June 2005, finally, we drove up to this random place and our dad finally agreed to buy the rabbit. It was actually supposed to be only 35 bucks, but the lady said the rabbit was pregnant, so she charged us an extra 15 bucks, making it 50. We were thinking; since the rabbit's pregnant, might as well only get her and no need to get another one. (We were thinking about the 'lonely animal' thing.) So anyway, we went home, jolly and excited; we'd finally got the rabbit. It was a she, white with brown spots and "pregnant".

I was so excited about owning a rabbit. I had daydreams in class for a few days. I literally did not listen to my science classes. But that was no surprise, really, I hardly listened anyway. It took so long to come up with a name for the rabbit. One day I came home, suggesting the name "Sarah", for some strange reason, and Iman came up with "Zara". And Zara it was. Iman even cut out "Zara" from the Zara paper bag and stuck it on the cage.

Zara was so sweet and let everyone pat her without running away. We bought her a leash, you know, to take for "walks", but apparently, rabbits can do that by themselves. She chewed the leash and we never bought another one again. We were thinking she was going to have babies popping out of her soon, but that never happened. Rabbits are only pregnant for a month, and we waited for so long, and we got nothing, and we were scammed 15 bucks. She was fine alone, really.

A few months later, we got Chi Chi. (Oh God, this is going to be a long one.) We got her on the 15th of November 2005, from the neighbour at our kampung. (Okay, it's not really a kampung, but we called it that anyway, because everyone had one.) The nighbour had a goat and rabbit farm, and said we could have one of their rabbits. I trotted next door with Toni and we got Chi Chi. The unfriendliest, most hostile rabbit ever, that had black teeth. I'm not kidding, she had black teeth. But a few carrots and some growing got her some white teeth after a while. She was a difficult one; a complete contrast to Zara. Zara even started running away from us sometimes when we wanted to pat her. It took so long to catch Chi Chi every time we let her out.

A few months after that, I was just sitting at home, when my dad gave me a call, and said he wanted to buy me a rabbit; which one should he get; the male or female? I was speechless, because (a) my dad was not very fond of the rabbits and (b) what was he doing in a pet store in the first place? At first, I told him not to get it but he insisted, so I said female, because we didn't want to breed and Zara and Chi Chi were female. My dad was there to buy guppies for Iman's biology class, but that didn't really make sense, because Iman didn't take biology. But that didn't matter when my dad came home with the cutest rabbit I had ever seen. It was so cute that my dad bought it. That's how cute it was. It was white with black ears and eyes, and so, so, so fluffy. We named it Lulu. I came up with it, because I remembered Mariah had a rabbit named Lulu once, and this fluffy thing definitely looked like a Lulu.

A then in May the next year, 2006, when my mom went to go buy rabbit food at the place we got Zara, the shopkeeper told her about a blind rabbit going up for sale a 10 bucks. If they didn't sell it they were gonna feed it to a bunch of snakes or something. So we got it. It was all black, very, very cute, with blank, blue eyes. The entire eyeball was just blue. No white, no iris, nothing. Just two, blue eyeballs in the sockets. The guy said it was a girl, so we named it Coco Chanel.

When I was playing with them one day, I discovered that Coco Chanel was in fact, not a girl at all. We gave him away and I was very sad about that. On the 8th of November 2006, Kiko was born. It was a product of Coco and Chi Chi. Chi Chi was a rather non-sympathetic rabbit and had no desire whatsoever to take care of her child and ended up biting half of Kiko's ear off. He grew up with one and a half ears, with clear bite mark on his left. Coco died with his new owner, and Kiko never got to meet his dad.

From left; Lulu, Zara and Kiko.

Zara and Chi Chi.

They have a whole new definition for "relaxed".

On the 27th of April 2008, dogs broke into their cage and gave them all heart attacks. They all died. Chic Chi and Lulu died around the cages. Zara died at the edge of the slope, and Kiko was found in the empty house next door. I was devastated, and so was my mom.

It had been a while since we had no rabbits, and it was really sad, no doubt about it. On the 29th, my mom drove down to Carrefour and bought the last two rabbits. They were the cutest things I'd seen in a while. (When rabbits get bigger and older, you tend to forget how cute the used to be.) We called these two Chiku and Kiwi.

Kiwi.

Chiku.

On the 6th of May 2008, Chiku died. It had only been a week and a day. It was so odd. That morning he just couldn't get up. He was lying down with his legs stretched out behind him. He couldn't move that well either. We put him in a box and were on the way to the vet when he died. A few days later we went back to Carrefour and bought another two rabbits, to keep Kiwi company. She was lonely, and we could tell. We got Momo and Izzi.

A few days after that Kiwi died, and we had no idea what was going on. We took the dead Kiwi, Izzi and Momo to the vet to have them checked out, and the vet said they were all sick. True enough, soon after that Mom died, and we had to take good care of Izzi. My mom said if Izzi died too, that would be the end of our rabbits, but that obviously wasn't true.

Izzi.

Momo.

My mom wrote an email to the Carrefour rabbit distributor telling him that the rabbits he were selling were sick and that three of them had died. He wrote back, apologising, and said that he would replace them with another three. So we got three, free rabbits. That was when we got Choco, Genghis and Ming Ming.

Choco.

Genghis.

Ming Ming.

My mom spotted two very, very cute rabbits and wanted to get them, but they looked quite sickly so I said it wasn't a good idea. The very next day, my mom tricked me into getting them. Huny Buny was immediately Huny Buny (we thought he was a girl) but Shogun's name took a while to get.

Huny Buny on the left, and the black one is Shogun.

So now, at this extent of the story; we have six rabbits. All of them were men except for Ming Ming (and at that point, we were thinking; Huny Buny too) and so they were sent off to the vet to get their things cut off. The very last piece of their manhood completely stripped away from them. (If you're wondering why we didn't neuter Ming Ming the female, it's because when the men get their thingies taken away, they're much calmer and less aggressive and territorial over females or something like that I think.) The one who was looking the most girly was in fact the only one left with his diginty; that scrawny little Huny Buny.

I apologise for the bad photo quality, because a long time ago, we didn't take that many pictures, and when we did, we weren't very good at it. I honestly wonder who is actually reading this. And not just this sentence, I mean the entire thing. Nevertheless, I shall continue this is part 2, the second generation of rabbits. (Oh yes, there's a third too!)

Till then, to be continued..

2011-06-14T09:33:00.000+08:00

Mickey's smarter than that!

2011-06-11T23:36:00.000+08:00

Look at the side of my blog. Look at the list of months, and the amount of posts there are in each (in the brackets). From the bottom to the top, notice how the number decreases and decreases with every passing month. (Yes, sometimes they increase but notice how fast they decrease again.)

How on earth did I manage to write SO MUCH? Or if not like really write, how was I so rajin to post up like, a lot of things? When old people say 'Do things when you're young and have the energy!' my post count is actually proof of how when you get older (I'm not saying I'm old at all, I'm saying older. When I used to post all the time, I was like 12, 13 years old) you have less enthusiasm for things.

You Grow Old with it.

2011-06-11T22:50:00.001+08:00

Everybody grows up watching something.

You know, like an all time favourite TV show or a movie that they can watch over and over without getting bored. I used to know someone who still watches their favourite kiddie TV show with the sing-a-longs and story times. That was quite a while ago; but I knew we were too old to be watching that kind of stuff. I haven't talked to that person in a while, hence I do not know if that kiddie show is still being watched. But it doesn't matter. It's okay, really, to watch things like that. If it makes you feel better, then why not? Unless it's porn, that is. Porn is not good. Porn is bad. Whoever invented porn was sick in the head.

(Speaking of which; I think Malays should get a better education of what the word 'porn' means. Once, I saw a little girl wearing a shirt that said 'PORNSTAR'. I am not kidding. I am not messing with you. I am not lying. This shirt said PORNSTAR, and a girl was wearing it. She must have been what? Like 7 or 8?)

Anyway; watching things. Shows, movies, whatever. I've been in a long search for my most favourite movie, and I think I've found it. It's Yes Man. It's hilarious, and makes you feel good, and at the end of the movie, the idea of being a Yes Woman myself doesn't seem so bad.

The one show that I have been watching ever since I was puny, is CSI. If someone told me to kill someone, with my conscience and good soul completely switched off; I think I could do it without leaving a trace. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am a complete CSI freak. I am not joking. Any other crime shows that came out after CSI (like NCIS and Bones) I am not so huge on. Because CSI's the best. Criminal Minds is quite good, but I noticed that it's always quite the same. The team discover who the serial killer is, tracks the killer's movements, happens to know exactly when the killer's about to strike and makes it just in time to save the next victim. At some point, it's all a huge cliché. Nevertheless, quite good. But still. CSI rocks my socks.

I'm not a science geek in any way; if possible, if I dare label myself that, it's an enormous insult to all the actual science geek people out there. I don't know squat about complicated science thingies, and half the time I'm not exactly sure what's going on in CSI, but I manage to follow what they're talking about. What's got me hooked is the fingerprint analysis and my amusement for how these people, these normal people with normal eyesight, manage to see everything. Even tiny, microscopic fibres and torn pieces of cloth snagged on the most mundane and invisible things.

I know these are just super-observant, fictional detectives, but they're fascinating all the same. And the people who portray these characters are perfect, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I have an empty glass, a bottle of powder, glue, lip balm, cotton buds, Sellotape, coloured paper, scissors and a mini vacuum on the floor; I'm trying to see if I can manage to extract a finger print off from the glass. I have not been successful yet, but as soon as I'm done with this I shall be trying again.

So yes, all the things on my floor is what motivated me to write this pretty useless post. I figured it was something to write about. Also because I haven't updated my blog since the demise of my poor MingTee.

I now have 7 rabbits and the 8th one's missing.

2011-06-08T14:54:00.001+08:00

R.I.P.

MingTee

9th January 2009 - 8th June 2011

You will be dearly missed especially by Huny Buny and Perry.

The Terrific Trio has been downgraded to the Delectable (not really) Duo.

Dula flushed one down my toilet.

2011-05-31T23:34:00.000+08:00

Okay,
honestly, if
ecology and
the eco system and
food chains and
all that
didn't
exist,
I wish
that
ALL
the stupid cicak
in
the
world would
die.

It's like they have no life.

Tau
berak dan
kacau orang
je.

Looks are Deceiving.

2011-05-28T23:43:00.003+08:00

Fact; I love baking - I hate eating cake.

First off; this post has pretty crappy photos, due to the fact that I was baking, and most of the time my hands were either covered with shortening, food colouring, sugar, and all those weird slimy things you come across when making a cake. You must be a real pro to be able to tap the button to take a photo on an iPhone without messing your phone up real bad.

Anyway, I started off my day by visiting Iman's blog, and she made rainbow muffins/cupcakes (what's the difference, really?) that she made from seeing her friend, Hilary, make them first. They look really cool, so I looked up the Martha Stewart cake batter that was linked on Hilary's blog, and there and then it was decided; I was going to make a rainbow cake today.

It's like it was meant to be; my mom wanted to go to Jusco in the morning. I wrote a list of things I needed, went there, took the trolley and started piling up all the stuff. I got home, went out with my family for a few hours (to KLCC, duh, where else?) and when we came back; I was down to business.

All the things on the kitchen counter, I got working.

"1. Cream the butter and sugar."

I spent an unusually long amount of time doing this. The sugar wasn't dissolving. It was as grainy as ever, and I think I mixed it for a good 20 minutes or so, when I re-read the instructions (I did this a lot, and I mean, a lot, throughout this entire process) it didn't say anything about it being smooth or anything. I just had to add the egg whites and be on my way. So there was a lot of time wasted.

So basically, it was just making cake batter the Martha Stewart way. I had to divide the batter into six bowls, and add the colours of the rainbow to each and every one of them. Pretty fun stuff, I must say.

Haha, senduk nasi! So, after I did all this and threw them all in the oven, this is what I got;

Just in case you can't see, the one that looks like it's black is actually purple.

Here, I was thinking that I was definitely going to succeed at making this cake. Because apart from the fabulous chocolate cake I make (you should really try it) I will always fail at something when I bake. When I made apple pie, the pastry was too crumbly, and I couldn't get it in the platter bowl thing because it kept breaking. During the countless times I've attempted to make meringues, I've went wrong each and every time, except for the second time I made it with Mariah. That was not bad, but a little burnt, but not bad.

So here, I'm about to tell you how the rainbow cake went wrong, just when I was feeling so great, ready to prove myself wrong, I could definitely do this.

The icing.

The dreaded, stupid, lemon icing.

The lemon stuff on Martha Stewart required too much time, and too many eggs. So I went about venturing the internet for a simple, 5 minute recipe. After quite a while, I found this particular one that seemed very easy. And then I found a video. So I read the recipe on that website and watched the video on the other one, and decided to use half of the first one and half of them second.

The first one said use lemon juice. The second one said use lemon extract. So I went ahead and used the first recipe, and used the measurements for the lemon juice on the lemon extract. It looked good, and I was so ready to finish this cake and celebrate in triumph. I began slathering the frosting/icing (again, difference?) on the purple layer, the first layer, and then I put the blue layer on top of it, and some of the frosting got on my finger.

And that was when I licked it.

And tasted it.

And realised how disgusting it was.

The lemon extract was too much, and at some point in my mouth, it became so bitter, and gross. I have no idea why it didn't cross my mind to taste it before I put it on the cake. And so, I began improvising. I put milk, I put more sugar, I put water. Still gross, but now it was watery. It was less sharp and bitter, but still gross, but it was something. It was slightly better than before.

I was in a rush, so I thought; what the heck.

I put the frosting in between the cakes and painstakingly stacked them up. They were crumbling, and I was feeling like I had slapped myself in the face. I came up with this;

Yes, indeed, it looks pretty darn good. Which it is, except for the stupid lemon frosting. Ziz tasted it and said it wasn't bad. And my mom said it's always the cook that thinks his food is bad, so I guess it's not as bad as I think it is, but still.

I cut myself a slice, wanting to taste it if it was really as bad as I thought in my mind, which it was. But then I felt a little better when my mom said it was only my first time making a cake like this, and when Ziz gave me a 5 out of 10, and when Dula didn't shoot me down with insults.

But I was feeling sick and I felt like puking just looking at all the things I used and the cake itself. I had put my finger in my mouth too many times. What I dreaded the most though, was the fact that I had to clean up everything. And trust me, when you bake six layers, it's no clean job. I began washing the dishes, when the memory of the disgusting lemon taste floated back to the top of my mind, I felt miserable, and wished I never began baking this thing. I was crazy, baking this; I knew I wasn't going to eat it. No one else would either, there would always be something wrong with it.

There was too much sweetness and colours, like my mom said, 'Too rich for someone my age.' I felt sick and was in need of anything but sweet things (and gross, bitter lemon stuff) so I stopped washing the dishes.

I was literally licking salt off my hand next to the sink. I had taken the little glass bottle and put a lot on my palm. If you were to ask me if I could eat out of a sugar jar or a salt jar, I'd say sugar. But as of just now, I would have said salt a million times over.

The moral of the story; rainbows don't taste like Skittles.

Little Boys.

2011-05-25T00:39:00.001+08:00

Honest to God; kids annoy me. So bad. They really do. Especially when they just don't sit still and keep tugging at your underwear and scream their lungs out and have things running down their nose; I feel like just running away, far, far away and never coming back. Ever.

I used to think that I could be one of those people where kids automatically warm up to, and at the sight of me they'd all just stop crying and smile. Because I'd have this I-Love-Children aura that I'd wear all the time.

But I was clearly wrong.

I was in a house FULL of screaming little girls the other day, and they were running, and chasing and screaming and tagging each other, and there and then, I knew that it was not written anywhere, that I was ever going to be a kindergarten teacher. I was in a happy mood, and I turned into a bad one so fast, that race horses could have lost against me. I would have made a million people lose their bets. I don't know, it was just the fact that they were so loud and annoying, that it made me want to literally pull my hair out.

And I wasn't even the one taking care of them.

I truly respect and salute the parents of all the little annoying girls in the world (my parents included). It's a tough job; being a mom/dad of little excited and squealing females who want everything pink and perdy, frilly and princess-like. I guess that's where I helped my parents out a bit, I wanted to be like my brother, and I hated my sister, just because of the fact that she was a girl. I wanted my hair short, to take my earrings off and not wear dresses.

But I love babies, though.

That's because they do nothing. All they do is stay there and look fat and cute and smile at you when they feel like it. I know there's a whole lot more to it, like the poop and things like that, but I'm not there yet, so what do I care as of the moment! (I'm joking. I can't be more terrified.)

My baby better look like this.

It's not that I hate all kids, just some of 'em.

I might be saying all this about kids, but the very idea of my own children is what I love. I want my own kids, and do whatever I want with them. I want to dress them up (God so help me, if I ever have a child like me, I am going to force her into a pretty dress and super-glue her into it if I have to) and buy them pretty clothes and tiny little shoes and read to them and hug them and bathe them and stare at them because they'll be the most beautiful things ever. Because they'll be my kids.

I know it's a hard thing to do, raising children, but I'm female. It's natural. I don't like kids in general, but I'll be loving my own more than anything else (except for you, mommy).

I think my sole purpose for looking for a husband is just so that I can get kids. Everything else, eh. ( I say this now, because I don't know any better. Don't judge me. If you're a guy and you're interested in me, wait six years and then go see my mother.)

I can't wait to go baby-clothes shopping. I get all mushy and long for a child of my own every time I walk through the baby section of any store, really. I pick up the tiny shoes or the tiny bridesmaid's dress and stare at it and can't wait. I become a money-less, child-less Becky Brandon (neé Bloomwood) each time.

My baby's gonna love me.

Because I'm gonna love him.

An Ode to Green Beans.

2011-05-22T22:16:00.001+08:00

I'm going to be writing about something very near and dear to my heart.

Kacang Buncis.

It may seem very odd to you as to why such a random vegetable is so important to me. Well, I must say it is odd, my fondness for green beans, but it is true. Whenever kacang buncis is mentioned, I am immediately reminded of the times when I was a little child. It was the only vegetable I would eat. No sawi, bayam, kangkung, I would not even hear of it, eating those things. Buncis was the only vegetable I would give permission to to enter my mouth.

Cooked with bawang and kicap masin and all that, with its weird crunchy texture, it is a rather good side dish. Why I am writing about beans (oh God, it sounds so silly) is because it's nearing the end of May, and as you can see on the side of my blog, next to May only says (2), indicating that I only have two posts this month, and it's rather shameful for a so-called "dedicated" blogger.

Also, I had kacang buncis for dinner just now, and it has been a long, and I mean long time since I've had it. So it struck me as something to write about. Just to let the world know that I have been deprived of kacang buncis for so long. So, I am going to stop writing about beans, because now this looks like a stupid post. I think I had a rather green day today. I read Pride and Prejudice, the little green Penguin Classic version. And then I watched The Princess and The Frog. Frogs are green. And then I had kacang buncis for dinner. And to shake off all the green, I'm wearing blue PJ's. So yes. To finish off this weird post, I'm going to give you a picture of a rainbow Dula found on his wall.

I can conclude from here that I will never get any readers anymore.

Due to the fact that I've scared them all off by writing about

beans.

2011-05-20T11:55:00.000+08:00

Why do I wear black, ALL THE TIME?

2011-04-28T18:27:00.002+08:00

Ok, somebody take a wild guess at how old I am, and give me your first thoughts in the comments box.

Someone once said I'd gained weight "in a good way." (?) Someone else said I was "big", and wouldn't be seen as any younger once in college, so I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult. But it doesn't matter, really. My mom says I look my age, but that's because she sees me everyday. I'd like to know what you think. Not because I'm paranoid or completely self conscious, but because I'd just like to know. Even if anyone does reply pun, I'll most probably just shrug my shoulders and say OK. So, how old does this perdy face look like to you;

Anyway, that's the picture I took after trying out the numerous styles of wearing the hijab on YouTube. I checked out Maria Helena, Hana Tajima and someone else that I didn't quite catch the name of.

It all started this morning when Iman was gatal, wanting to try out a new tudung style. She played the Maria Helena video and started following her steps and was soon poking pins everywhere on her head. She went out like that and decided she liked it. I thought she looked quite nice, relative to that Munawwarah tudung she wears all the time that chokes her.

Yes, this one.

(Look who's talking. But in my defence, I wear tudung lilit every Thursday, and I occasionally wear that brown striped one that isn't too bad. Well, I think so.) My mom thought it was really interesting, and thought I should watch the videos and try them out.

So I did, and it was quite fun. The next time I jalan-jalan, I'm trying it out.

My mom knows about Hana Tajima, and she said "Look at how she dresses." I know that meant, "You should dress better. A LOT BETTER." I know I should, but I'm not bothered, and I have practically a level zero in my sense of style. If you don't believe me, which I think you do, especially if you've seen me around, you know my infamous blue jacket with the red sides and my black tudung. That says it all.

Recognise this? I bet you do.

I've been threatened several times about that jacket. If I didn't stop wearing it, it'd be burnt. With fire. (Duh, what else, dumbo?)

But now inshaallah I'll be going to a school where I have to dress properly, hopefully it'll give me that push where I'm forced to look presentable.

Ps. Remember to guess my age.

This is the brown striped one I'm talkin' about. Shoutout to Kaser :)

I wasn't born with that set of beautiful teeth, by the way.
Oh, and I need to learn how not to slouch while I walk.
That's hard.

I'm starting to take a liking to Malay Tumblr things.

2011-04-06T21:36:00.000+08:00

Because they're so true.

The Ugly Line is your Fishing Rod.

2011-04-04T22:47:00.002+08:00

This had me laughing so hard;

I got this off Syahirah's blog. Too funny, and too true.
Inspiring me to write a blog post off the top of my head just from looking at this.

This putting up highly inappropriate, vain pictures of one's self on Facebook and putting the caption, 'I look so ugly', is a very stupid thing to do. It's basically a someone who loves him/herself too much, and it's just another way to fish for compliments.

I actually salute those who put up those highly inappropriate, vain pictures of themselves, and puts in the caption as, 'I think I look pretty, and that's all that matters.'

But, I agree, some highly inappropriate, vain pictures get beyond highly inappropriate, and I draw a line there. I don't salute you any longer, I'd shoot you if I could. Dead serious.

I won't say I'm a complete cam-whore, but I do like taking pictures. The only problem there, is that I don't look nice in them. It's a rare event that I do, and when I do, it stays on my profile like, forever, until that rare event happens again.

I love taking pictures on Photobooth, no denial there. Some are vain pictures, I admit, (I delete them almost instantly, I only keep the really nice ones. Like I said, it's a rare event that that should happen) but the rest are me doing silly faces or using the super cool Photobooth effects. Here are some samples;

So yes. Those are the majority of the pictures in my Photobooth. This is the rare picture;

Well, I had another one, but I decided it leaned more towards looking creepy so I decided about a second ago that it doesn't fall under this category. Anyway, this picture up here remained my profile picture for quite a while. It was after I'd just taken off my braces. And now I remember, I'd already posted this picture up here.

Now that I think about it, the pictures above this one with Aqeela in it, I've posted them up too! Oh God, Awesomeamal Picture Shortage.

Anyway, my point is, don't go about taking pictures of yourself which you obviously think is of you looking gorgeous, and then post it up, and then tell people you think you look ugly in hopes of them saying, 'Oh no, you look very pretty. In fact, prettier than Cindy Crawford and Megan Fox.'

My advice to you if you do this; Stop. Get a life. (I mean this in the nicest way possible.) If you think you're pretty in it, go ahead, post it up if it makes you feel good about yourself. Don't say you look ugly. Because that makes you a liar. Plus, people who have pictures of them looking ugly and they really know that they look ugly in it, they would never, in a million years, post it up, whether in their right minds or not. That's their friends' job.

If compliments is what you want to make you feel good about yourself, all you gotta do is go to a Children's Home with a sock puppet. There, you'll get what you want, and you'll do some good for the kids.

It's a Win/Win.

2011-03-30T00:04:00.002+08:00

2011-03-26T11:30:00.004+08:00

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines he wrote a poem

And he called it "Chops" because that was the name of his dog

And that's what it was all about

And his teacher gave him an A and a gold star

And his mother hung it on the kitchen door and read it to his aunts

That was the year Father Tracy took all the kids to the zoo

And he let them sing on the bus

And his little sister was born with tiny toenails and no hair

And his mother and father kissed a lot

And the girl around the corner sent him a Valentine signed with a row of X's

And he had to ask his father what the X's meant

And his father always tucked him in bed at night

And was always there to do it.

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines he wrote a poem

And he called it "Autumn" because that was the name of the season

And that's what it was all about

And his teacher gave him an A and asked him to write more clearly

And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because of its new paint

And the kids told him that Father Tracy smoked cigars

And left butts on the pews

And sometimes they would burn holes

That was the year his sister got glasses with thick lenses and black frames

And the girl around the corner laughed when he asked her to go see Santa Claus

And the kids told him why his mother and father kissed a lot

And his father never tucked him in bed at night

And his father got mad when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook he wrote a poem

And he called it "Innocence: A Question" because that was the question about his girl

And that's what it was all about

And his professor gave him an A and a strange steady look

And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because he never showed her

That was the year that Father Tracy died

And he forgot how the end of the Apostle's Creed went

And he caught his sister making out on the back porch

And his mother and father never kissed or even talked

And the girl around the corner wore too much makeup

That made him cough when he kissed her but he kissed her anyway because that was the thing to do

And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed his father snoring soundly.

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag he tried another poem

And he called it "Absolutely Nothing" because that's what it was really all about

And he gave himself an A and a slash on each wrist

And he hung it on the bathroom door

Because this time he didn't think he could reach the kitchen.

-The poem that Charlie didn't know who wrote, an Excerpt from The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

2011-03-06T14:39:00.001+08:00

It was All a Strategy.

2011-03-04T18:32:00.000+08:00

Satan called a worldwide convention of demons. In his opening address he said, "We can't keep Muslims from going to Mosque."

"We can't keep them from reading their Quran and knowing the truth."

"We can't even keep them from forming an intimate relationship with their Allah and his messenger Muhammad."

"Once they gain that connection with Allah, our power over them is broken."

"So let them go to their Mosques; let them have their covered dish dinners, BUT steal their time, so they don't have time to develop a relationship with Allah and his messenger Muhammad."

"This is what I want you to do," said the devil:
"Distract them from gaining hold of their Allah and maintaining that vital connection throughout their day!"

"How shall we do this?" his demons shouted.

"Keep them busy in the non-essentials of life and invent innumerable schemes to occupy their minds," he answered. "Tempt them to spend, spend, spend, and borrow, borrow, borrow."

"Persuade the wives to go to work for long hours and the husbands to work 6-7 days each week, 10-12 hours a day, so they can afford their empty lifestyles."

"Keep them from spending time with their children."

"As their families fragment, soon, their homes will offer no escape from the pressures of work!"

"Over-stimulate their minds so that they cannot hear that still, small voice."

"Entice them to play the radio or cassette player whenever they drive."

"To keep the TV, VCR, CDs and their PCs going constantly in their home and see to it that every store and restaurant in the world plays music constantly."

"This will jam their minds and break that union with Allah and his messenger Muhammad."

"Fill the coffee tables with magazines and newspapers."

"Pound their minds with the news 24 hours a day."

"Invade their driving moments with billboards."

"Flood their mailboxes with junk mail, mail order catalogs, sweepstakes, and every kind of newsletter and promotional offering free products, services and false hopes."

"Keep skinny, beautiful models on the magazines and TV so their husbands will believe that outward beauty is what's important, and they'll become dissatisfied with their wives. "

"Keep the wives too tired to love their husbands at night."

"Give them headaches too!"

"If they don't give their husbands the love they need, they will begin to look elsewhere."

"That will fragment their families quickly!"

"Give them story books to distract them from teaching their children the real meaning of Salat."

"Keep them too busy to go out in nature and reflect on Allah's creation. Send them to amusement parks, sporting events, plays, concerts, and movies instead. "Keep them busy, busy, and busy!"

"And when they meet for spiritual fellowship, involve them in gossip and small talk so that they leave with troubled consciences."

"Crowd their lives with so many good causes they have no time to seek power from Allah."

"Soon they will be working in their own strength, sacrificing their health and family for the good of the cause."

"It will work!" "It will work!"

It was quite a plan!

The demons went eagerly to their assignments causing Muslims everywhere to get busier and more rushed, going here and there.

Having little time for their Allah or their families.

Having no time to tell others about the power of Allah and his messenger Muhammad to change lives.

I guess the question is, has the devil been successful in his schemes?

You be the judge!!!!!

Does "BUSY" mean:

B-eing
U-nder
S-atan's

Y-oke?

I've a Strange Friend.

2011-02-28T18:50:00.001+08:00

I was keeping a knife in its drawer just now when I had a sudden flash back.

The St. Ayms were cooking lunch together, after having a science class. Sumayah was holding a knife, and she was looking at it. We had a brief conversation. (Note that this was quite a while ago. These weren't the exact words. It was just something of the sort.)

Sumayah: I wonder how it feels to kill somebody.
Me: Yea, it must be a horrible feeling, taking someone's life.
Sumayah: No, I meant with all that muscle beneath the skin, it must be hard to stab someone. For the knife penetrate, it's difficult.

Sumayah, only you would think like that.

2011-02-28T16:49:00.000+08:00

He is officially my most favourite baby ever.

The Kuaci Man sat next to me.

2011-02-27T18:45:00.004+08:00

I honestly talk too much.

Outside at the waiting area, I'd made friends with a girl from Malacca. We were waiting to go in the the stadium, or whatever it was, for our turn in Kumite. I'd told her my age, she told me hers, she talked about how even though she's been for tournaments countless times, she still feels scared, and I told her I was scared too, which was a big mistake.

She turned out to be my opponent.

Which wasn't that bad, but she knew I was nervous. I knew she was scared too, like she'd told me before, but it didn't seem like it. Because when we started to fight, she just kept punching me. So I did the same. Punch high, retreat, punch low, retreat again. Just what Kak Sham told me to do. But for some reason, I kept turning my head away. I did the exact same thing last tournament. I kept looking back. Like a reflex, when a swinging arm is coming at your face. I shouldn't have, but I kept doing it. Out of my free will. It was my great downfall, apparently. She managed to punch me in the nose and she got a foul for that. She got two fouls, eventually, giving me a point. I got one foul. I think.

I lost, 2-4.

And then it was Yasmin's turn. I was waiting up in what they called, "The Viewing Gallery". I sat on a chair with my bag on the chair on my left, leaning forward on the rails. And then some strange man eating kuaci with a lisp and bad, bad grammar sat on my right and started talking to me about how he wasn't a participant and was just there to support his friend and asked me what dojo I was from and stuff. He just kept talking, and I wanted to watch people fight. I saw my golden opportunity when his friend or coach asked him for water or something, so he got up for a little while, leaving his little kuaci packet on his chair. I moved my bag and I sat on the chair my bag was on. I was contemplating on whether to put my bag on the chair I was sitting on so that he couldn't sit next to me again, but I thought that it would be rude, and he would know that I moved because of him, and so I left the chair empty.

Big mistake number two of the day, the guy seemed to think that his kuaci packet had magically moved a chair to the right or something, because he couldn't take a hint, and sat down right next to me and started talking again.

I just nodded and said yeah, yes, mhmm, and it was awkward when he asked me something and I just said yeah, when he was waiting for me to answer him, and I didn't even know the question. By some miracle, he left, and the next time I turned to my right, an Indian girl was sitting next to me, so that was settled.

Yasmin finally came out and they had to wait some more for the refs and judges to come out. So what seemed like another century, it was finally Yasmin's turn for real. I started shouting 'GO YASMIN!' before anything really began, just for fun. And then Muhammad started yelling something in Arabic, something about Yasmin being able to shake the earth because she's strong or something like that. It was really long.

Yasmin won first round to a Malay girl who was black belt. Happy times. Unfortunately, in the second round Yasmin did not have the same fate as the first. She got a tough, experienced girl who kept kicking her head. She lost. But all in all, she was really good. You honestly were, Yasmin.

And then there was the trip back. Low petrol, unable to find a gas station. Taking wrong turns, wasting that petrol. We found one. Yasmin went down and bought Zip and Peanut Butter M&M's, which were so good. While waiting in the car, I read a disturbing article in a Reader's Digest I found somewhere in the car about an internet addiction camp in China, where parents send their internet-addicted kids to a camp that only looked good in ads to get de-addicted. This man sent his son there, and he was a little overweight and was asked to run like a billion rounds or something. At round 30 he collapsed, and one of the guys monitoring him started hitting him with a chair or something. He got up to start running when he collapsed again. The guy hit him with the chair some more. He bled through his nose and ears and everywhere. At three in the morning, they sent him to a hospital in a cab, and he was pronounced dead later that day. His parents were of course, devastated.

Anyway, we made our way back, talking in the car and eating chocolate.

Today was better than yesterday, because I didn't have to wait so much, and also because I got to eat chocolate. And Polo.

So you can see that I clearly have got nothing to write about on this blog, taking note on how I described every little thing on my little Karate Tournament adventure.

Which wasn't really an adventure at all, if you come to think of it.

I've never won.

2011-02-26T23:40:00.000+08:00

As ironic as this sounds, today was an eventful, yet uneventful day. (Yes, I am writing about my day, back to being a corny blogger, because I've nothing remotely interesting in my mind as of right now. Apart from my eventful/uneventful day. Which isn't even that interesting.)

I got into a car that was already reversing out of its parking space. Eventful in a way that I actually managed to get into a moving car, and not so eventful at the fact that it was merely reversing at probably less than a mile an hour.

On the way to the karate place, (we were going for a tournament) we passed three tolls. We got stuck at the second one, because Muhammad (yes, I finally met the guy. Not through blogger comments) went into the Touch N Go toll when we had a card with not enough credit/debit/money whatever it is, in it. So we had to borrow Aunty Nisa's card (she was right behind us) and we got through, only to discover a few seconds after we beeped it, that the card can't be beeped twice in a row, meaning that poor Aunty Nisa was stuck behind us.

The third toll was another problem. You see, when you go into the second Wang Tunai toll, you'll get like this ticket thingie, which you have to give in and pay for at the third toll. (I have no idea what this ticket thing is all about, really. Never heard of it. Until today, that is.) We didn't have it, obviously. So we spent a long time at the toll, again. Not exactly a long time, but it was a large amount of time for someone to be at a toll. Explaining to the toll lady, with Muhammad's language barrier and shoving six bucks in the lady's face while she sighed in frustration. We got through. Somehow.

What's eventful about the toll mess-up was that it actually happened. Uneventful; I was merely a passenger in the car. It was like a real life sitcom in front of me, in a car full of kids dressed in Gi's.

Farhaanah won Bronze for her Kata category. And that's about it. Eventful. (But the girl in red equipment in this photo down here is Sumayyah, though.)

My Kata category, on the other hand, was filled with highly skilful and experienced kids, who could actually kill you with Karate moves if they had to. I, on the other hand, was nothing compared to these kids. Apparently, I had an advantage. My name was in the second round list, meaning that I had to fight whoever won the first round, making me ahead of people. But of course, the girl who won the first round was what you call in Malay, terror (extremely good. English word gone bad), and did a HIGH level Kata, making me look smaller than plankton, while I was doing a basic Kata.

Here, my friends, is not an example of eventful/uneventful. This was uneventful all the way. I lost. Nothing unusual there, but it'd be nice to win sometimes, ya know?

Yusuf was pretty good in Kumite. He won the first two rounds and the kid kicked his head and all that. In the third round the kid punched or kicked or did something to his chest, giving him ultimate chest pains or something. A bunch of medical people put him on a stretcher to give him a check up. Hanim said to me, 'I can just imagine him saying, "Yuthuf punye chetht thakit".'

Uneventful; Yusuf lost and then got hurt.

Eventful; He won two rounds and got put on a COOL ORANGE STRETCHER!

I was part-time Bag Watcher and Seat Caretaker for the rest of the day. You would not believe the amount of baggage a small group of people can have. Uneventful? I'd say yes, because how much more fun could it be, watching a bunch of stationary objects? But it wasn't that bad, actually. I had a clear view of everything and could yell out the appropriate names of all the kids who were having their go at the tournament at the appropriate times. I guess I could say a tad eventful there. I also test-drove the macro effect on the camera in my phone, and it works nicely.

You see, it was an international tournament. So people from Iran and Uzbekistan were there. Uneventful in a way that they were beyond good at Karate. Meaning more chances of us losing everything. Eventful in a way that some of the boys were pretty good looking, and the little ones were so cute. Just say they were nice to look at. Some of them.

I'd waited, done my Kata and lost in the first round (I had zero votes from the three judges. None. Nada), waited with a bunch of bags until the near end of the day for my turn at Kumite, only to find out that they were pushing it to tomorrow, because it was already night time. Uneventful/Uneventful.

So yes, I have to go back there tomorrow, for something that I might lose at in the first round again and wait some more. It's ok, I guess. It's not like I've got terribly important urgent businesses going on that I have to manage. It's boring, sure, but it's something to do.

Hanim lost in the first round at her Kumite, but the bright side was that we got to go home. Finally. 8:30 in the morning till 8:30 at night. In the car with Yasmin, Hanim and Muhammad, we were in Shah Alam trying to get back home without a guide all the way. We had a guide in the beginning and then we had to separate; we were going different directions.

Take it from me now, even if I say I know the way, don't listen to me. Because roads look all the same to me, and no matter how many times I've been that way or gone there, I never seem to know the difference between the right road and the left. I get lost in Bukit Antarabangsa, for crying out loud. We missed a road, thanks to me, but a few turns, went here and U-turned there, we made it, Alhamdulillah. Getting lost at night with a complete Road Idiot with you is not such a great thing.

So yes. I'll probably be repeating this tomorrow, maybe not. But let's just pray that it turns out eventful in a way that I'd actually get past the first round.

Even a punching point would do.

2011-02-07T23:06:00.000+08:00

Show me a cuter baby.

2011-02-02T23:53:00.003+08:00

You'll freeze to death, Mariah.

2011-01-31T22:32:00.003+08:00

Yea, yea, you all already read about it on Yasmin's blog. But I'm gonna write about this anyway, because I'm not Yasmin. I'm Amal.

So yes, probably the entire world knows that Mariah will be shipped off to Kedah, the land of rice and makciks for several months, before being shipped off again, to a more foreign and very cold land. Russia. I think it's so funny. Russia. Russia would be the last place on earth for anyone to be studying at, let alone Mariah, doing Medicine. Let's picture it; "Doctor Mariah Zaini, please report to Ward 607, there's a dire emergency. Someone's heart is leaking, you need to come quick." Imagine that being said by an annoying lady on a loudspeaker. In a hospital. Picture it. Now. Never in a million years. Ever. But it will happen, Inshaallah, and my heart will probably be the leaking one in Ward 607 so that I could give Mariah her very first job. See, I'm a good friend like that.

I'm telling you in advance, Mariah, I'm never going to visit you in Russia. I'm too afraid. I'm probably pretty in Russia, and you know, the Russian men might kidnap me and force me to marry them. No one wants that to happen. Or do they? I don't, that's for sure.

Mariah was meant to go to Egypt, but, you know, she doesn't want to, die. Mariah leaves for Kedah this weekend, so we had a little outing, just the four of us. It would've been six, but two of us aren't exactly present at the moment. It was just ordinary food court lunch at KLCC, how much more exciting can life get? LRT, Giordano, the people with the scary Chinese masks that freak me out, you know, all that. We were browsing through the electronic stores when Sakeena needed to betulkan her tudung, and that's how we found our spot.

Tudung lilit has got to be the most annoying sort of tudung in the history of tudungs. Unless you're great at wearing them (which I'm obviously not) you'll look like a train wreck. Sakeena is actually pretty good at wearing the tudung, it's just that she needed to betulkan, that's all.

So anyway, she slipped into that room thing, and we went in after her, just waiting. And then Yasmin said, 'Hey, this is a good spot for pictures!' Noting the nice, white painted brick walls and the fire hose box things. And then we started the timer and didn't stop. Funnest time in KLCC, ever.

OK, this picture up here, I find it so weird. What we wanted to do was to take a picture of a picture, like our successful attempt in the photo above this one. But this failed one, Yasmin accidentally pressed the button on my phone, which she wasn't supposed to, but she did, and you know iPhones when they take pictures they'll close like that right? It's so funny how my face is like, right there, smack in the middle. It's creepy. But cool.

I had a good time.

Tyler Durden said this.

2011-01-29T01:35:00.003+08:00

Sticking feathers up your butt,

does not make you a chicken.

I'm writing this on behalf of all the people that go through this.

2011-01-19T23:23:00.003+08:00

Over here, in Malaysia, the first three things that comes to the minds of people when they hear someone speak English is;

Belagak! (Show off!)
Anak orang Kaya (Rich kid)
Duduk di negeri luar (Raised out of Malaysia)

This is really irritating, seeing as I am none of those. Neither are my friends. And there's a reason behind it. It's simply for the fact that we just speak it, and it's a preference, we speak it with our families, and that's that. Heck, if I didn't have to think for five minutes before I actually say something in Malay without accidentally saying something rude, I'd speak it more often. I do speak it, with certain people. There are just some people I don't speak it with, and if you have a problem with it, then don't talk to me.

I really do have to construct my sentences in my head before saying them in Malay, because I'm scared it doesn't come out right. For instance, I wanted to say, 'My mother isn't letting me get on that bus, because she's afraid it'll go off the cliff, because the bus is big and going to Genting in a bus is dangerous.' What I said, was, 'Mak saya tak kasi saya naik bas itu, kerana dia takut bas itu terlanjang.'

For those of you who don't know, because I didn't, "terlanjang" means naked. The word that I was looking for, was "terlajak".

There was another time, I wanted to politely say, 'I heard you lost your job..' but instead, I said, 'Amal dengar kamu takde kerja.' You see? I do not do this deliberately. I probably need to be sent to live in a kampung in some godforsaken Kelantan area for a year. I can be the main character in some movie about a city girl who learns all about rural life in her dad's old village, and I change the perspectives of hardcore makciks and at the same time, I learn some culture too.

Hah. never gonna happen. Even if it does, I'll probably die in the first week I'm there. The makciks shall all conspire against me and come at me in the middle of the night and stab me to death or something. First of all, there's a HUGE language barrier. The makciks would probably already have this whole picture of me being some stuck up city girl who thinks she's better than everyone else and they won't bother talking to me and only say one word at a time to me, like, 'Makan' and 'Solat' and 'Tidur'. Also, I wouldn't understand the whole Kelantan slang and accent. If I try to talk like that, they'll think I'm mocking them, so, it's a Lose/Lose situation.

Anyway, I guess I should put in more effort to speak my mother tongue. (But Mama, if you're reading this, and I'm sure you are, I'm not speaking Malay with you. That's just too weird.) I do try. But sometimes, like when I'm ordering fast food, honest to God, I intend to order in Malay but then English comes out. It's so frustrating. And then the shopkeepers look at me like I'm a Gagak Belagak. (Wait, is that even an expression?)

So anyway, my point is, to let you all know, that I speak English because I speak it best. I won't lie, I do do things half-assed sometimes, but speaking and writing is not among those things. I can't write a BM essay to save my life. It's horrible, I know, bad Amal, you're a freaking Malaysian for crying out loud.

If you want to know what made me write this, it was this;

Some person went on and accused Yasmin of being Gagak Belagak. (OK, Amal, you gotta stop the crow thing. Not cool.) I get this quite a lot, so I know exactly how it feels. And Yasmin has a great point, she isn't Malaysian. So I went on and wrote this (its starts from the bottom);

Now that I read it, it doesn't make sense, really. But what the heck. I stuck up for a friend in a chat box. How much more heroic can Amal get?

So in the end, I'd just like you to know, that if you ever think that I'm belagak-ing because I'm speaking English, you're wrong. But if you wanna believe that, it's all right. I don't really care.

Because I'm an onion and I have layers. And I'm Malaysian, whether you like it or not. So if you think I hate being Malaysian and you think I wish I was British or Canadian or something, you're wrong, again. (Although I admit, that would be quite nice. Not as many quick judgements I guess, but I don't know, really. So scratch that.)

So, I hope you understand, and can leave us be now.

You look happy to see me.

2011-01-18T22:21:00.001+08:00

Harassing people to update their blogs should be made absolutely illegal, no exceptions. And for people who I have done this to before, I apologise. (You better accept this one, because it don't come like no running water.) (Failed hood slang attempt.)

Anyway, because people actually love me, (heh) ok, not love me in particular, but love what I write (double heh) I shall do you all a favour and write something. ("People" refers to; Sakeena, Yasmin, Tee, Sumapyah, Mariah (who doesn't exactly read, it's just that pictures amuse her and my Mom.)

I'm not going to say my usual line, 'I've got nothing to write about..' and then go ahead and write an entire textbook. That's so, like, awesomeamal.com cliché. (I deliberately missed out the "blogspot" because awesomeamal.com sounds so much more awesome than with "blogspot".)

So today, tonight, whatever, I've already decided what to write about, not just random rambling about things I do in my life. I'm going to talk, write, whatever, about Good Company.

My idea of Good Company is a bunch of people, who have absolutely different personalities and interests, but can still stick together, because that's their Good Company. Good Company is whereby there can be a cynic, optimist, sarcasticist (is that a word?) all in the same room and they won't kill each other. Because they're each other's Good Company.

(If you think I'm rambling on right now, because I keep saying Good Company all the time, well, this is what happens when I suddenly decide to stick to one topic.)

This is exactly why I love sitcoms. Friends, How I Met Your Mother, The Nanny, The Big Bang Theory. They all have their own little Good Companies, and they all hang out all the time and are such good friends. They've got their hang out in a coffee shop or something. They're funny, sarcastic, and all the characters just fit together, and it's a nice little happy, non-blood-related family. I love how whenever they get into trouble, all they have to do is give one of them a call and they'll be there immediately to help. Or if they get into a fight, they always work it out.

I love sitcoms and I'd love to have this sort of Good Company.

But here's the catch; life's not that easy.

People fall out. People fight and hate each other. People never talk to one another ever again. Good Companies split up. People die. That sort of stuff.

But; we could always pray, though.

(Ok, this was a boring post.)

2010-12-31T21:21:00.001+08:00

I used to write about literally EVERYTHING that happens in my life on this blog. I'd write about even the dullest of the dull.

Now I'm absolutely not bothered in the least.

Growing up?

I think so.

I'm completely drained out.

2010-12-31T18:38:00.000+08:00

I'm not old, and I'm not lonely. I haven't had a lifetime of experiences and I don't have a whole lot to look back on. Ergo, I can't do one of those touchy, emotional memoir posts. I have absolutely nothing to write about, and was thinking of doing one of those touchy, emotional memoir posts, when I realised that I absolutely can't. Because I'm not old, or lonely.

(I just repeated the same things twice in the same paragraph, didn't I?)

I secretly like The Simpsons.

I'm not gonna write a New Year's post either, because what is a New Year, really? It's just another day in a another year that's got a different last number. That's about it.

If you want me to write about this year, I still can.

I completed an exam with a really fancy name.
I studied more this year than all the times I've studied in my previous 13 years of life combined before this year.
I became great friends with 3 Singaporeans, a half British half Malay, and a Canadian.
I learnt how to cook Spaghetti by myself.
I almost finished a story, which I've abandoned, by the way.
I've drawn numerous amounts of stuff.
I deleted my Facebook account. (And got it back the next month.)
I've become a blue belt in Karate. (Well, the grading results haven't come out yet, but let's just assume the best, shall we?)
I've painted my room.
I've buried countless rabbits.
I've eaten at least a hundred and twenty sandwiches.

So what else do I write about?

That's just the thing.

I don't know.

(Oh my God, I'm becoming one of those bloggers that I get annoyed with. You know, the ones that write once in a blue moon. Shoot.)

Ps. I like low-budget Christmas movies.

Just a thought.

2010-12-28T21:29:00.000+08:00

The 5 guys I would marry;

Marshall Ericsson
Luke Brandon
Alex Stewart
Chandler Bing
Andrew Paxton

If you don't know who they are; then go ahead and Google them.

Notice something? They're all fictional.

Ergo they're not real.

My titles don't make sense anyway.

2010-12-27T22:17:00.002+08:00

This is a poem I wrote a while ago. Since I've got nothing to write here, I thought I just might fill it up
with an old something of some sort.

People are born,

and everyone sings.

Nothing could be better than an adorable baby,

better than princes, princesses, queens and kings.

Children then go to school,

they meet friends and play.

Their imagination runs wild,

Quiet and still; they shall not stay.

And so those children become teenagers,

all blinded and think they are cool.

Music, pop stars and movies are all there is;

whereas at this stage; they are simply blind fools.

They become adults and realise,

how time flies and how lame they were.

How small, gullible and innocent,

Now responsible, wiser and a tad taller.

Old age then comes after a while,

their own kids have kids of their own.

Smiling, missing them and thinking;

what a life I had, and in my life, what had I shown?

Here's a funny story;

2010-12-19T23:34:00.000+08:00

My general ringtone is the song Money.

The ringtone for my mum is the song Naive.

I've only ever heard Naive. Although Money did ring once, but that was because I hadn't changed my mum's ringtone yet.

And she's telling me she reads now.

2010-12-15T00:12:00.001+08:00

If there's one thing I learnt after the whole exam thing was over; it's that things are not as fun to do if you don't have to fight or sneak at some godforsaken hour to get to do it. I mean, yea, they're still fun to do, but not as fun, you know?

While I was studying for the exams and stuff, I kept thinking about all the things I wanted to do; finish my story, start an art business, all that.

It's been exactly an entire month since the exams ended. Have I finished my story? Nope. Have I started the art business? Nope. Have I painted my room? Nope. Have I painted? Nope. (Yes, I have, actually. This is the only accomplishment. I began painting again.)

I guess you get that thrill of doing something when you know you're not supposed to. It's like it's worth it. (An illegal kind of worthy.)

I haven't gotten to finish my story because I haven't been getting a really good writer's roll lately. It's when I just get this excitement when I have the entire story worked out, and I just sit down pour everything out and get a good 10 or so pages all in one go. I had a lot of these when I had to study and they were so irritating because I knew I couldn't do it then because of Chemistry. Now when I have all the time in the world, it's either they come for a couple of seconds, or not at all.

So yes. The art business I meant to start was mainly for people who wanted to buy paintings and greeting cards and tote bags and stuff. I sat down, came up with a cheesy name, made an incomplete mind map on the business and got up and forgot about that piece of paper. (Seriously, I don't know where it is.)

I haven't bought the paint for my room yet.

So now all I do is paint people in this small sketch book my mom gave me. Painting's fun. I guess it's keeping me occupied for now.

I haven't been reading lately. Haven't been in the mood for quite a while. Heck, I've taken a Reading Hiatus for such a long time that even Mariah has (sort of) started to read. (Actually, reading to her is like a sleeping pill. She just needs it to get her eyes droopy.)

If you're wondering why I drew 3 pictures of people smoking, actually only 2 of them are. The other one's just cold. But I like drawing the smoking people because I get to draw the foggy stuff which is pretty fun. So yeah. Check out my artwork blog here.

I think I'm gonna bake a chocolate cake tomorrow.

2010-12-08T22:43:00.003+08:00

I'm gonna sound old in this one.

2010-12-07T23:19:00.003+08:00

My mum's favourite movie is Ever After.

You know, the one nearly exactly like Cinderella, Dad dies, evil step mother with two daughters, handsome prince, glass slipper, all that. Ever After's got Drew Barrymore, Anjelica Huston and Dougray Scott.

I know that this isn't her favourite movie for the mere fact that the prince is handsome (I wish I could cut his hair, though) or that the Cinderella marries him in the end or anything.

It's her favourite movie because everyone gets what they deserve.

The main character, Danielle, is the daughter of some rich guy, who's wife has died, and so he marries this awful lady who has two daughters, one who is just like her mother, and the other; not so much. Of course, Danielle's dad dies in the start of the movie, and so the Cinderella cliché begins.

The evil step mother puts it in Danielle's mind that she inherits none of the father's fortune and is made to work as a maid and serve her step mother and sisters. (When actually Danielle is the rightful heir for everything.) And so the prince arrives, and the step mother does everything in her power to make her daughter the prince's wife (which of course will make her the princess). The prince, of course, inevitably falls in love with Danielle and sees her in secret. She in her mind thinks she's a maid and keeps wanting to tell him who she really is but he keeps cutting her off. The step mother finally exposes her true identity publicly at some fancy ball and the prince feels betrayed and all that, when she's been meaning to tell him all this while.

Oh bla di oh bla da, life goes on.

Whatever it is, in the end, she marries the prince, which made her the princess, giving Danielle ultimate power. So what she did was send her step mother and the evil step sister to a place where they were made to work, and Danielle's command was 'To treat them exactly how they treated me.'

So yes, Danielle, who worked hard her entire life for someone who had no right to treat her that way, finally got the big break she deserved by marrying the prince. And because she was simply being herself, the prince liked her for exactly who she was. Her step sister that was kind to her got to stay in the castle with her whereas the evil one was sent off to work with the mother.

So what I'm trying to say here is that it pays off, being good hearted and having good intentions, no matter how harsh the world is to you at the moment. Maybe today the world throws bad tomatoes and rocks and hurls insults at you, who knows tomorrow it'll throw you lemons?

But the lemons won't be enough. You're the one who's gonna have to make the lemonade.

So make it just right.

Mooses have Antlers.

2010-12-07T17:19:00.000+08:00

It's been exactly 16 days since I put up anything here. And I'm not really bothered. Some people completely freak if they haven't done anything for a couple of days. So I guess that makes me not crazy.

I've been painting. Just simple animals with watercolour. I've decided to use the unused notebook paper from the million notebooks Adni got us to buy but never really used. We've got a whole box of them. My mum and I dedicated a whole hour (it felt like an hour at least) to sitting down in front of the stairs and ripping out all the paper from their weird brown covers that say Adni on them. So yeah. If only one household has that many papers, can you imagine the entire world? Poor trees. (Just to make it clear, I'm not some environmental activist who goes completely nuts when a tree is cut down, but I do feel the remorse.)

I drew a moose. Painted, actually. One of the many animals I painted. While I was drawing the moose I felt funny, you know? It was like, Haha, Amal's painting a moose because she's got nothing better to do! (All this being yelled to the world from the moon.) So I thought it'd also be a funny Facebook status.

And of course, none other than Mr Collin had to comment on that. It scares me how much I can hear his voice in his written (typed, to be more precise) words. What also scares me is his Chess Obsession. (The C and O is capitalised, yes.) So I rushed and got my measly painting and took a picture of it and put it on Mr Collin's wall. To prove I was definitely NOT playing Chess. (Do you know that he gave me a complimentary absolute beginner's chess book written by him? He signed it too! I guess knowing the author kinda thrills me, and that he actually signed it, despite it being a Chess book. I have a thing for knowing book authors.)

And then I was feeling pretty good about the moose thing. I think moose is a cool word. If you're wondering what the Head Antler thing is all about, well, I was feeling pretty (and) funny too.

And yes, that's the end of my moose story. (Thank God, you're thinking.)

Speaking of Facebook, I have a theory that the kids of the 21st Century have this Facebook skill and the fast-learning-for-new-technology-products skill planted within them ever since their births. Because every kid on the planet has a social-networking account and knows how to use it, and it kinda scares me, because I didn't even know what Friendster was just a few years ago.

The internet's so great now, you know? You can do anything, absolutely anything at any time, anywhere. (This is true, because even the most godforsaken places have wireless. Scary thought.) And now people take advantage of the easy accessibility that if the internet's being taken away for just a couple of hours, lives can actually change within that time. Using the computer to just play spider solitaire used to be such a privilege. Who cares about stupid card games now? We've got Miniclip!

Adults learn about how to operate technology really slowly. I don't blame them. First of all, they're old (sorry!) and secondly, new stuff are usually smaller and adults tend to can't see words because of their ageing eyeballs. Third of all, it's because during our parent's age, a grandfather, his son, and his grandson all lived the same lifestyle. Now, it goes like this; a grandfather and his son lived a similar life but his grandson doesn't even know how to pull water out of a well. (It may sound smart and all, but actually Ziz said this in the car.)

And I shall now conclude this long, boring post of mine about trees, paper, a moose, the internet and Mr Collin.

They made a new thing yesterday.

2010-11-22T00:04:00.002+08:00

Long gone are the days when you had to wait for what seemed like an eternity for you get your photos.

No more having to lug your humungous film-using cameras to the store to get your photos developed. Not only do you have to go there, you have to come back home, wait for centuries, and then drag your feet back to the store to get your Kodak moments back in print.

I was six when my parents had this huge camera that we brought around everywhere. Once I had an end-of-year kindergarten party and my dad took a picture of my friend and I, and my friend wanted to see the picture my dad just took on the screen.
And I was like, 'What screen?'
That's how rare and expensive the digital cameras were. Even I didn't know about them.
There was another time when my dad had a program with his friends, and at the end of the day his tech-savvy friend had put together a slideshow, and I noticed that the pictures in them were of the stuff that they had just done that same day.
I was like woah, the store he goes to is super fast at developing.
Nearly everyone has a phone, and some genius decided that if packet drinks can be 3-in-1, so can phones! A whole combo; the phone, a music player and a camera.
Bottom line is; Pictures are so simple to take now.
You see something you'd like to remember or have as your background; you whip out your phone and it's there for as long as you don't delete it (also for as long as your phone doesn't get all messed up).

Once, Iman found a spelling mistake in the paper and wanted to take a picture of it and send it to The Star, to point it out. We didn't have a camera, and she said to my mum, 'Oh, if only we had a camera phone.' This seems very funny now. There was another time when we saw Dawud Ali Wharnsby and we wanted a picture with him but couldn't get one. Because we didn't have a camera.

Now, it's so different. The quick leap forward in just about everything advanced just like that. The scenarios above were approximately only five years ago. I'd just like to sit back and relax and think, 'What's next, huh?' The next thing you know, people shall be walking out of your screens.

Nevertheless; cameras could never capture the beauty of things as good as the eye can.

2010-11-19T19:08:00.002+08:00

An ode to Age

As people grow old,

they look at everything differently.

Going to the park

is no longer an adventure.

The sky is just the sky.

Not a big piece of blue bubblegum.

Mum and Dad

no longer heroes.

Just two people

whom they’d like to get rid of.

Running around

playing in the dirt.

Having fun.

That’s all History.

3 Years Too Fast.

2010-11-15T20:15:00.000+08:00

I cannot believe the 15th November finally came. And it will eventually be gone once 12 o'clock strikes. But yeah. 15th November actually came, and it will leave in 4 hours.

It came.

Well, now, I feel kinda relieved. Happy. Like my mum said, how you feel after you've pooped or something. You know, outta the system. My IGCSE's (and one O-Level) are done. My first big exam. Checked off the list. Next stop, A-Levels. Whopee.

You may think by reading this that I'm not so happy, but I am in fact VERY HAPPY.

I'm just not very expressive. I think.

Ok, now I sound a little depressed. Let's change the direction of this post.

WHOPEE, I'M DONE WITH MY EXAMS. NO MORE CHEMISTRY OR MATHS OR HAVING TO TEXT CLASS TIMES TO PEOPLE. NO MORE HAVING TO FEEL GUILTY WHILE WATCHING THE TELLY. WOO HOO!

As of now, I'm a Free Woman. Sorta. It's called Temporary Freedom, where you're entitled to do anything you want, until your results come out.

I'm in that period, which I hope will go very slowly. ;)

I'm going to watch all the SAW movies later. THAT, I'm not so thrilled about.

2010-11-13T10:31:00.000+08:00

R.I.P.

Coffee Ming

15th November 2009 - 13th November 2010

Short of two days to becoming a one-year-old.

Why are you all dying?

2010-11-10T19:22:00.001+08:00

R.I.P.

Wizard Rascal Ming

9th January 2008 - 10th November 2010

A Eulogy;

You Furry Thing.

I always wished to see your face before you died.
That never happened;
you died facedown.

2010-11-09T20:21:00.002+08:00

OH 15TH OF NOVEMBER, JUST COME ALREADY WILL YOU?

2010-11-04T22:55:00.002+08:00

Early Development.

2010-11-04T22:36:00.001+08:00

To be completely honest and frank; I don't believe in romance and love crap. You know, falling for the right guy, he knows your favourite flower and colour, he's your perfect man, you were made for each other... bleggh. I'm not being a tomboy; I'm being a realist. Yea, you can dream and all, but you tell me what the chances are.

Everybody goes on Tumblr (here we go again..) and you know, they have all those little messages that girls indirectly make and post it up to show how desperate they can get. Here are a few examples I got from this one site.

(You can definitely stop your tears. Just stop crying!)

(I'd so much rather fall in chocolate.)

(How do you break a heart? I mean, if it's broken then you'd be dead within less than a second, not giving you any time to even write this down. Heck, a tiny hole in the heart can kill you. You're lying.)

(He won't be there; he's probably already forgotten you and has got another girlfriend. I don't think he's remembered your name, either.)

(If I were the guy the girl's crying over, I'd push her off me and run away. I mean seriously, it's like your personal rain cloud.)

You gotta get real. Movies portray love and marriage as a honeymoon, a fairy tale. (Yes, I, Amal, do feel giddy when there's this handsome guy in a movie, I'm still a girl, remember that.) But personally, and it is very general; I know it's a responsibility. I'm just saying, all these apparently 'timely messages' are, in fact, untrue. They are an illusion about love for desperate girls who believe there is such a thing as falling into it.

Well, I guess I wouldn't know. I've never exactly "fallen in love" before. Heck, I'm 14. Who needs this stuff? Go outside. Fly a kite. Read a book. Write a book. Paint some walls. Do graffiti. Watch movies. Go to a theme park. You worry about all this crud later. Not now. Now, you be a kid. All of that comes later.

This is just my opinion of it all. If you disagree with me, please leave a salutation.

Don't be rude.

CRAP, their tails detach too.

2010-11-04T20:09:00.003+08:00

If there is one species in the world that I could wipe out completely, make it extinct, no longer on the face of the earth; it's cicak. (If you don't know what this means, I think it's gecko or something. Look it up in Google Translator if you're Mexican or Greek.) Oh to heck with all of them. Baby ones, adult ones, pregnant ones, huge ones, long thin mutated ones, all of them.

First of all, they make loud, scary noises which makes you know you're not alone. They make you feel as though you're constantly being watched. And, here's the catch; you are being watched. By them. They squiggle and have their sticky little feet things crawling/walking/slithering (what do cicaks actually do when they move?) all over your walls.

They live just about anywhere. I've memorised all the hotspots in my house. Under the washing machine, under the dustbins, in the airconds, behind clocks, behind blinds, behind curtains, at the aircond vents, inside the drawers and little coffee tables, and many, many, many, many, many more.

I have a feeling that cicaks constantly have diarrhoea. Nope, not a feeling, I know they do. Thanks to them; I can never have dinner without having to take tissue (which I hate doing) and to wet it (which I hate even more) to wipe up cicak crap (which I hate most). You know what, if my mum doesn't do it and if I don't do it and if nobody does; there will be; with out a doubt, a sea of cicak crap coming up to your ankles in my kitchen, alone. It's like once every five minutes you'll have to hear me yell, 'BEWARE OF CICAK DIARRHOEA EXPLOSION!'

Every once so often I'd see little ant colonies working their tiny butts off; carrying cicak corpses back to their little ant holes so they can have dinner. I wonder; who kills the dead cicaks? If the ants do it, then, well, cicaks are pretty pathetic now, wouldn't they be?

Something I don't understand is that why do cicaks seem to only exist in Malaysia and no where else in the entire universe? Sumapyah said that before; the only place she could see lizards and all were in zoos. When she came here, she was like HO-LY (in the Sumapyah way). Now, she doesn't fret when she sees cicak, but she still hates them. Once when she was sleeping, a cicak was making so much noise, she woke up, killed it and went back to sleep. Even I haven't done that.

I took this picture. It's to illustrate how disgusting cicaks look from beneath.
I think Dula already killed this one.

I hate the little encounters you have with cicaks. Once, there were TWO on the wall that my bed happened to be against. I didn't want them falling in my mouth when I went to sleep, so I called Dula to kill them (I was against this at first, you know, everyone and thing deserves to live and all that, but at the end of the day; the cicaks' gotta die, ya know?). Dula failed. One ran away to hide in the aircond, and the other one, well, fell on my bed.

I slept on the floor that entire week and half of the next.

Just yesterday I sort of stepped on one. My dad and Dula were trying to kill one, and it fell to the ground and they couldn't find it, and, well, I did. I tell you, cicak-coloured carpets should be made illegal.

Long, long ago, when my mum was pregnant, a cicak fell on her tummy and fell to the floor. My mum, obviously not able to see the poor cicak (yea right!) stepped on it. And of course, killed it. (I think this happened twice. Did it, mum? I wouldn't know, I didn't exist then.)

So the bottom line is; I wish all cicak were extinct. Like dinosaurs.
(Blooming hell, cicaks existed during the dinosaur age. Why didn't the cicaks die along with the dinosaurs? Just their luck, I guess.)

2010-10-28T20:36:00.000+08:00

Here's a question for ya; is there a rewind button in life?

We should all get pepper spray.

2010-10-21T21:37:00.000+08:00

Before I finish off the last of my math homework, I'd like to post this up. Because it is beyond the valley of funny. My mum is forever sending me emails- all kinds, from religious ones to roll-on-the-floor-funny. This is a hilarious one.

This was seen at the Canadian National Park. Now, squirrels getting to the bird house seem to be the least of your worries!

What the hell is that string made of?

Read this till the end;

Tee hee!

All my clothes are black.

2010-10-20T19:29:00.001+08:00

I'd like a pair of dungarees and a yellow shirt.
And throw in a pair of blue converse shoes.

This is fun Amal speaking. ;)

ps. I was serious about the dungarees (note me in the picture wearing them).

2010-10-20T18:10:00.002+08:00

All you bug-catchers should come to my room.

2010-10-19T10:13:00.000+08:00

I didn't kill him. I swear.

Losing your hair.

2010-10-17T17:34:00.000+08:00

I don't write anything here, because I've nothing to write. And I say this all the time, and yet, write anyway.

Now, sometimes I see no point in looking forward to the weekends because I have class, just like on weekdays, and because there's always that little annoying bug in my head telling me to go study.

I have become a professional in ignoring that bug.

But I listen to it most of the time. I ~~have~~ had 8 papers, now only 7 to go! I mean, I felt so good after walking out of the exam hall after that one paper, I can't wait to see how I feel after I'm done with the 8th and very last.

Do you realise, that as you get older, all people ask you about is, 'How's school?' 'What form are you in?' (I just say I'm in form 5. Not bothered to go into the I-homeschool-and-yes-I-do-have-an-exam-and-it-is-called-IGCSE) and 'When's your exams?' and 'How's your studies?' I'm so bored of these questions. Aren't you?

I can't wait to just finish these exams, and have a nice long break where I have the permission to finally kill that bug in my head. But you see, it's only a few months. That darn bug will come back to life from the dead once I have to go and start a whole new series of exams.

If your whole life since you were small, you've been having to go to school, have exams, pee, poop, eat, pee and poop again, once you graduate, what on earth do you do after that? I mean, of course, you continue eating and peeing and pooping, but what about the rest of your time? There's no more school and no more studying. You get a job?

And so, for instance if you get a job in a factory, then your life would be pee, poop, eat, do some factory thing, pee, poop and eat. Sounds pretty boring.

And then the whole start-your-family starts. What if you haven't met the person you want to marry? I watched this Oprah where there's this woman who's 40++ and she's still not married. I continued watching, and I saw why. She was the most picky husband-chooser in the planet.

She listed an entire list of criteria she'd like in her future husband, and they were pathetic, I'm telling you. One of them was; 'He must not drink from a straw.' See?

Anyway, you get on with your life. Spouses, kids, monster in-laws, family outings, Hari Raya, all that. You will grow old, you will still pee, poop, eat, attend to kids, give some money to an old lady with no leg and 10 kids, attend to kids, go to the doctor because you have arthritis, pee, poop and eat.

Your kids grow big and start their own families. You're left to deal with your big old empty house. You still pee, poop, eat, go to the doctor because you have knee pain, eat lunch, go back to the doctor, you have more arthritis, pee, poop and eat.

You'll continue that, and have a nice, relaxing life, watching your grand children grow, and if you consider this a lucky thing; your great-grandchildren grow. No more studying, no more 'How are your exams?' no more assignments, no more deadlines, no more having to go to school because your kid got into trouble.

You'll simply pee, poop and eat.

And then you'll close your eyes.

And die.

How funny, is that?

2010-10-11T17:35:00.002+08:00

They can't sing.

2010-10-09T21:46:00.000+08:00

I went to a kenduri/ Raya open house today.
I find it funny, how Malays take Raya. There's this Raya-satu-bulan (Raya-for-one-month) concept, which is quite hilarious. It's like, 'Owh, I fasted an entire month, I get to celebrate it for another!' That kind of stuff.

But I guess it's sort of a Malay culture, and I, an insignificant, unpatriotic citizen, can do nothing about it. And I don't mind, really. Whatever makes them happy. Today, is, as a matter of fact, the first of Zulkaedah, making it no longer Raya, if you really think about it in the Malay way.

So even if you're a hardcore, one-month celebrator, Raya is done! And I can rightfully say that!

But, never mind. At least there's free food. I've had just about a million of them this month alone, and I am not complaining. Raya sort of saves money, if you're not the one hosting the kenduri and buying baju raya for your kids.

So yeah.

The kenduri I went to today had this karaoke thing going on, and boy, if there's one thing I learnt today (not learnt, had revision on, I guess) was that not many people can sing well. They had like this little telly with a bunch of karaoke videos playing, and people queueing to get a chance to sing.

What was worse was that there was this really, really, loud, ear-deafening speaker, which, mind you, the entire neighbourhood could hear from. People were singing off-tune, and this guy couldn't get to the high note he intended to get to, and he just stopped mid-way.

I must say, I was very, very tempted to pull the plug from that speaker.

I Tak Suke.

2010-10-08T18:14:00.001+08:00

I find myself often talking about a few things, over and over. And they're things that I really hate. I probably have this attraction to dwelling over things that I dislike hugely.

1.Twilight

I find myself talking about this one the most. You might say, 'Oh, Amal talks about these things so much because she actually likes them.' But I really don't. I am, 110% sure and confident, that I am a hard-core, Twilight hater. It is a really, really, pointless story, with no story line. (Stephanie Meyer, if you ever read this, which I doubt you will, sorry, I just really am not a fan.) Almost the entire book is about Bella describing how beautiful Edward is, and then one day the Vampire family decides to play baseball and then another group of vampires happen to come and want to eat her up in a ballet studio. And the fighting isn't even described in the book; the book is written from Bella's point of view, and she passes out before any fighting even begins. She wakes up in a hospital. She's too emo, and what the heck does a so-called handsome vampire see in her? She reads Wuthering Heights for fun for God's sake. Teenagers do not do that. Therefore, she is non-existent.

2.The way Edward Cullen looks

Are vampires really that pale? Hands down, Jacob would definitely be the best-looking. I mean, Bella, with the choice of a hunky, muscular, tan guy, and a skinny, pale, sickly-looking guy, chooses the latter. She must be blind. Edward Cullen obviously puts on too much talcum powder on his face, making his neck look literally pink. It doesn't help that he wears lipstick.

3. Typical Tumblr Blogs

You know, with all the reblogging stuff. The blogs whereby everyone just takes some pretty girl and handsome boy's pictures and put them up, wishing they were that pretty. To prove my point on me, talking repeatedly on the things I hate; I've mentioned typical Tumblr blogs quite a few times in this blog. Don't mind me, I'm just being Amal.

4. Skinny Jeans on Malay Boys

You know, I believe Malay boys try a little, no, very, very, hard to look "cool". You know, with their skinny jeans and their tight t-shirts and their skinny jeans and their hats balanced on top of their heads and their skinny jeans and their pants pulled down to the lowest and their skinny jeans and their horrible hairstyles and their skinny jeans. Oh God, their skinny jeans. Too disgusting to look at. So if you're at a random place and you see me, and you see my face with a disgusted look plastered onto it, look around. If you see a boy with skinny jeans on, you know why. I believe that Malay boys aren't that bad looking. If they just wore a pair of nice-sized (not too baggy, not too tight) and a normal polo shirt or something with their natural hair, they would look absolutely fine. Honest. Malay boys are already as skinny as they can get, and skinny jeans just show how toothpick-like their legs really are. (Tip to Malay boys who are skinny jeans-wearers, they are a huge turn-off to some girls. Oh yes, and I hate the way you wear your hats. You wanna wear one, wear it properly, or not at all.)

5. Malay Boys (fine, not all. But a lot)

Don't, get me started.

6. Malay Weddings.

Forget it.

2010-10-07T10:45:00.000+08:00

R.I.P.

Roly Poly Mingoli Ravioli

9th January 2008 - 7th October 2010

2010-10-04T23:15:00.000+08:00

Why I’d like to fly;

Flying means you’re up there, in the air, looking down upon everything beneath you. It gives you a sense of freedom, that giddy feeling that makes you realise that it is possible to do anything in the world. It makes you feel good about yourself, and nothing can bring you down when you’re flying.

Flying gives you vertigo, and it is like a sort of feeling that drugs give you, without having to actually take them. It makes you feel like you’re hallucinating, seeing the blue sky and the birds fly next to you, when you’re actually not; you really are seeing those things. Another thing that flying can really give you, that drugs only make you think you have.

You will feel like a king, flying in the air. Looking down will make you feel even greater. Everything will seem like tiny, insignificant ants that don’t matter, that you can easily crush for no reason; just because you want to. The tallest building on the planet will look tiny from where you’re gonna be. Flying will make it literally possible to spread your wings.

The wind will constantly be in your face, and you’ll love it. Your hair will ruffle in the wind’s direction, giving you a free compass. Your legs will dangle freely in the air, as you glide past the clouds and the sky itself.

-An excerpt from How to Fly.

This is Charlotte.

2010-10-02T00:06:00.000+08:00

I must say, she's a rather photogenic spider.

YES, YOU!

2010-10-01T23:39:00.000+08:00

You see that little map on the left side of this site? Well, it's a sort of counter-tracker thing, and it tells me how many people from what country comes to this blog. It's pretty awesome, I've got people from all over coming here, reading my stuff. I feel pretty good. (Don't tell me you're all Malays, who happen to travel a lot and you guys keep checking my blog at every country you stop at. Not cool.)

Anyway, I'd like you to leave a comment, whoever you are, wherever you are, and tell me if you like my blog and what's your country (and your name too!). I'd like to see who actually reads this and would actually leave the comment. If you say, 'I can't comment,' don't worry, I've abled the comment thing again. I'd disabled it for a while, because the people who loved to come here and trash my comment box was really irritating me. Well, they're gone now. I hope.

So yeah, please do leave a comment. I'd feel pretty honoured, being known in other places other than Malaysia. :P This blog's gone pretty boring too, so I guess this could perk it up a little.

If you're a great fan of mine (can I get any more big headed or what?) mention it in your comment, and I shall mention YOU in a post! (If you think that's anything special at all.)

I look forward to it!

(This happy, perky, friendly Amal thing is kinda weird. Let's see if I can pull it off.)

Cynically speaking.

2010-10-01T23:25:00.001+08:00

Movies. Films. Whatever you wanna say. They're never realistic. Well, some are, but a lot of them aren't. Let me put things in perspective.

Scenario 1
Movie:
You go to your basement. You're looking for some old school year book or something. You see it. You go towards it. It's stuck beneath a bunch of other stuff. So you tug at it, put in all your effort to get it out, pulling it like crazy, sweating like a pig. When you finally succeed, a whole lot of other stuff falls out along with it. You bend down to clean up the mess, and you get the year book, and you also find out that you're adopted or some crap. Your parents have been keeping it a secret. The drama begins...

Reality:
You go to your basement. You're looking for some old school year book or something. You see it. You go towards it. It's stuck beneath a bunch of other stuff. The stuff looks heavy, and you think, 'I don't really need it.' You're not bothered and you go back upstairs. You know you're not adopted anyway, you're an exact replica of your mum.

Scenario 2
Movie:
There's a really handsome guy in your year at school. You're really not bothered but all the other idiot girls are. They drool whenever he passes by, and they over dress just for him to notice them. But he doesn't like any of that crap, he likes you. Because of who you are, and because you're not like the rest. He likes the way you dress so oddly and carelessly, how you don't bother about him and all, and he will try his best to get you, but you don't really want him. But in the end, you actually have been liking him. It's all, 'I've been waiting for you for so long,' and all that bogus. Happily ever after, you both are madly in love.

Reality:
The guy likes all the attention from the over-dressed girls. He doesn't give two thoughts about you. He won't even know who the heck you are.

Scenario 3
Movie:
You see this guy. Most gorgeous guy in the universe. Lovely abs, tanned, muscles, great haircut, handsome face, all that. You see him once and you get that giddy feeling, and you somehow know he's apparently 'The One'. Right. So you go somewhere, and magically, somehow, you see him again. He notices you and remembers you and he thinks you're pretty, so he asks you out. You have a lovely first date, he happened to pick your favourite restaurant and happened to bring you your most favourite flowers in the world. You go on a another date, and another, and another, and you become a couple, and you're soon married. Happily ever after, a couple of kids running in your yard, playing with your big, loveable dog.

Reality:
None of that crap ever happens. Sure, once in a blue moon. Do you know how rare it is for two people to meet twice? It's like a one in a billion trillion chance.

Scenario 4
Movie:
There's always at least one bad guy in nearly every movie in the planet. You have some sort of school assignment and the bad guy steals your idea. You don't know of it and when the due date comes, you hand in your assignment and realise that the bad guy has copied you. The teacher accuses you, drama here, drama there, you come up with the most brilliant plan ever, you do it, bad guy is revealed, you're the hero, get the hot guy, you're likeable, you're everyone's best friend. Whoopee. The bad guy is left to make up for all the wrong he's done. The good guy always wins.

Reality:
Bad guys are smart, and they get away with things nearly all the time.

So yes. There are a billion other examples, but this is all I can conjure for now. I know, it's pretty cynical, but I'm pretty cynical too. Movies and reality are two whole different worlds. Also, in movies, when you know, the good guys who just saved a bunch of people, looking all awesome and cool, with their shades and stuff, walking slowly and dramatically with the building exploding behind them. In reality, you can't exactly do that. It's pretty impossible. There'll be this force, I'm not exactly sure what, but it'll knock the wind out of you, and you'll be blown away, literally, and land on the ground with a hard thud, and if the thud was really hard, you could go unconscious.
So yeah. I love movies, don't get me wrong, I really do. It's just that they never happen (apart from all those 'Based on a true story' stuff, but still, I bet you they still insert some fiction into it) and they create this sort of delusion amongst people. You know, like walking in front of explosions without being thrown aside can be done or you get the dream guy and the wonderful life without a single problem or all that.
But, still, the above was all typed by the cynical, non dreamer Amal. The non-cynical, dreamer Amal says, you can still dream and believe what happens in movies can happen to you.
I'm a very contradicting person. I've too many opinions, that often go against each other.
To end this on a happy note, I'll say, don't stop believing, I guess.

Yea, sure.

Hiatus; sort-of over.

2010-10-01T08:19:00.001+08:00

No, I'm not giving you an entire update on my life; where I've been so far, what I ate yesterday or what time did I go to bed last night. That's just wrong. People who have hiatuses usually do that for their big comeback, don't they?
I've a new Tumblr for all my artwork, click!
I feel as though Tumblr blogs are super-boring. People just reblog everything. Every Tumblr is exactly the same. Go ahead, see for yourself. And then you ask me, 'YOU have a Tumblr, Amal!' Well, you see, I don't reblog anything (I don't think I know how to, either.) I think the people who have Tumblr who actually put their own stuff on are pretty brilliant. There are billions of amazing artists. I like to follow them, so I got a Tumblr, and made my own site. We'll just leave it at that.
So yea.
That's just about all I gotta say, really. (I know people have stopped coming donkey's years ago, but still, I just thought I should write a bunch of stuff to not make this site so bare and stupid-looking. So I decided to just write about Tumblr, which I already have done once or twice. Or thrice.)
But just say whoever is reading this wants to know what I've been doing with my life, I'll just write a little update for you, despite the fact that I said I wasn't going to up there. Ready?
I've been;
breathing

sleeping

drinking

eating

writing

talking

reading

scratching

watching

coughing

sneezing

laughing

smiling

frowning

drawing

sketching

typing

wearing

tearing

peeing

and just about all the other ing-words you can thinking of.

(Yes, I did sit here and press the space bar till I got the words to be like that.)

Oh, and because I love you all and I missed you (you kidding me? I don't even know who the heck you are!) I shall put up the drawing of the bloody hand I'd drawn yesterday.

I know this is corny, but, peace out!

2010-09-18T22:25:00.000+08:00

HIATUS.

I whole-heartedly agree.

2010-09-18T13:32:00.001+08:00

Be a Man. Do the Right Thing.

2010-09-14T09:24:00.000+08:00

I learnt something.
I don't mean to sound old and wise and all, I just want to say, that we've all gotta forgive. If you can't forgive, you can't move on. And if you can't move on, you're done. You're stuck in that one place forever. You hold a grudge against him because he took your girlfriend. Or you so badly want to kill her because she's so much more successful than you are. Or you'd like to slit her throat because she won the lottery. Something to that effect.
I think forgiveness is key for the peace of the world. If people just forgave other people, and there was no kind of jealousy, 'War' would mean nothing. The murder of Sosilawati, the millionaire, I believe had everything to do with jealousy and how she became more rich than them and stuff. If those men had forgave her and moved on with their lives, and just accepted that the successfulness and money of her's just wasn't for them, a lot of lives could have been saved.
There was a time when the Prophet had told one of his companions that there was this particular man who was going to Paradise. That companion thought that this man would be some really pious man who would wake up and pray all night long. So the companion wanted to know what he did, so he could improve his own self. That companion stayed with the man for 3 days. And for 3 days, that man did nothing special. He ate, prayed, slept and only woke in the morning. The companion was really confused.
So on the day he left, he asked the man, 'What is that special thing that you do that makes you a man who is going to Paradise?' That man said, 'I go to sleep everyday with forgiveness in my heart for everyone who has ever done anything to me, and I hold nothing against anyone.'
So you see, I believe that no one would murder anyone if there was forgiveness. Sure, you slapped me once because I forgot to return your money, but if I forgive you for slapping me and you forgive me for not returning your 5 ringgit on time, we'd be fine, wouldn't we? I was still going to return it, I just forgot. And I bet you've got loads more other 5 ringgits.
So basically, I'm telling you, forgive everyone, everyday. That way you can feel good. Whether it's people bitching about you behind your back, or if it's someone stealing your things. Sure, if it's big, you gotta do something about it, but control yourself. Be civilised, and by the end of it, when the matter is settled, you should, you know, forgive.
For me, whenever Dula does something to me, I feel like ripping his hair out and telling on him. And then I just wait a while, and I feel as though there's no need for that, despite how much I'd want to. And then after that I'd feel good, although I'd still be a little grumpy towards him, I'd soon forget about it.
So yeah, forgiveness.

2010-09-09T14:33:00.000+08:00

2010-08-14T16:29:00.000+08:00

2010-08-11T20:33:00.000+08:00

A random fact;

There was once a CSI episode where this man:

Murdered a girl,
cut her head off
put it in a postbox,
shaved her head
took her long hair
and made the hair into a belt.

The CSI’s found out who killed her by looking a bunch of men’s waists. That’s really gross, if you think about it.

Wear the remains of someone you killed?

Yuck.

Food.

2010-08-09T22:07:00.001+08:00

I only have one (or two) days left to eat during the day.
Which is in many ways good for me; I eat too much. Chocolate's good. Apples are good too. Food is good. Anyway, you might be thinking why on earth would I be randomly saying (in my previous, 3 worded post) that 'I am Malaysian'. Well, I dunno, I just suddenly felt for one second (honestly, it was one second) really patriotic and happy to be Malaysian, even though the weather here is so stuffy and the roads are dirty. I don't know, I'm just happy to be Amal, who is Malaysian. I know no one would want to be Amal, and I just happen to be Amal, so I'm glad to be Amal and no one else.
I'm very, very glad and beyond grateful that I'm not some kind of random hippie that roams the streets and does prostitution for money and have my boyfriend be my pimp. (How can boyfriends bare to give away their girlfriends away to random men to do you-know-what, may I ask?)
On a different note, I'm cooped up here, learning about some ammonia gas that has quite a pungent odour. I have no idea what ammonium sulphate does or how it works and I have no clue as to how hydrochloric acid does what it does. Well, chemistry shall always be chemistry, and I guess I can handle it for a few more months, just some stuff here and there.

Oh, I remembered, I'm also glad that I'm Malaysian because I can live in Malaysia, which means that fasting is not as long as how it's gonna be in other countries that are having summer, for instance, Canada. 20 hours I think. Yikes.
This is a very random post, just like every other thing I write. I just thought I'd like to say to everyone, happy fasting, and no TV in Ramadhan! Be good! No McDonalds for Sahur; you might die early.

2010-08-08T16:18:00.003+08:00

I Am Malaysian.

2010-08-08T09:29:00.002+08:00