Raped wedding

It's imperative to start something new with the right footing. Anything, whether you are pushed into it or it's something you want. More so if that something signals a totally new and important chapter in your life. Like your marriage. Makes perfect sense, right?

I had, in my short lifetimes, been lucky enough to be invited to be part of quite a handful of traditional weddings. Mostly weddings of friends and relations. So far, all had been interesting, creative and very happy and joyous occasions. Until yesterday.

It was really something I didn't imagine would happen in a wedding. A stomping groom! If I had a gift of starting over a day for anyone, I would do it for them, my cousin, her groom and my relatives. It would be the lowest point in any weddings to lose your temper during a wedding, especially if it were yours.

I couldn't really comprehend nor recall clearly what had led the groom to such a state. I had been in the bride's room, together with a few others, keeping her company. I had used the time to capture some photographs through the wire mesh at the top of the wooden wall as best as I could of the 'orientation' going on outside. My, it was not easy. I had to climb on the dresser, which was against the wall, and stretched my hand up, to take random shots, and hope that some of them would come out clear. While wearing a fitting knee-length skirt.

The groom was outside of the door, in the midst of the final round of negotiations when he started kicking the door. I didn't think much of the kicking in the beginning, thinking that it was just a jest in his part. In fact, I had gotten down from the dresser by then as I didn't want to get caught in such an embarrassing location when he managed to get it. The kicking did gain momentum and force, I noted, as it continued, until my younger cousin, the bride's youngest sister, raised her eyebrows.

I was already on the ground when she said that he wasn't joking, that he was angry and ready to break down the door. The kicking had, during the short period, persisted, getting more aggressive with each kick. Yes, it did cross my mind once or twice that the door might not be able to withstand such downright abuse for too long.

The sound judgement of the younger cousin, a very perceptive young lady, was right. The moment she released the lock and the door opened, the groom, face full of anger, came stomping in. In long strides, he walked up to the bride, my cousin. The expression on his face was so dark. I made my way as quickly as I could, out of the room.

Once out, I realized the whole congregation outside was as silent as the grave. No one said a word for the briefest of moments, until one of my aunts spoke out, though not directly into his face but definitely to him, how one should behave as a guest, what more as a groom on such an auspicious day. One could feel the tension everyone else was feeling. How wrong it was to feel as such on a wedding day!

Slowly, everyone tried to behave as normal as they could. It was really hard. It was supposed to be a joyous occasion! A wedding, not a Fight! The guests were there on invitation, but had to bear witness to something so harsh, so ill-tempered. Her brother inlaw surmised it best, however unhappy the groom was, he should try to do his best to stay calm for that was but their first day together as husband and wife. It should start with all the right and happy things, not like that. She had chosen him, he had chosen her. I tried my best to bring back my enthusiasm, but I couldn't. I felt sorry for my cousin.

The bride was better than me, dutifully not shaming her groom further. I had heard, heard only for I wasn't there to witness it. It seemed that the groom had, in following the traditions to open the veil of the bride, instead of doing it gently with tenderness, love and affection, flipped it over so roughly over her head. I hoped it wasn't as bad as it was described, for hearing that broke my heart. Love should have been there, overriding the anger. She sat, in submission. Or humiliation? I hope it was in obeisance to us present.

Today is their second day as husband and wife. I really do hope that today and the rest of the days will be better, much better. All the best, cousin. I know I cannot be like you. I cannot stand being raped, for whatever conditions.

Silly things

When you have nothing to do, you do funny, and sometimes, silly things.

Right now, I am chatting with a little boy, about nine, teaching him about cute skype emoticons. In other words, taking him away from his responsibility of completing his homework before class tomorrow for something meaningless! Please forgive me, little boy's mother, I plead guilty as charged! (smile)

And I myself is doing something silly, googling away for something totally unnecessary!

And here is what I found out..

mel [mɛl]

n

(Medicine / Pharmacology) Pharmacol a pure form of honey formerly used in pharmaceutical products

VIN

abbr.

vehicle identification number

lee

n.

1. Nautical The side away from the direction from which the wind blows.

2. An area sheltered from the wind: in the lee of the boulder.

3. Cover; shelter.

adj.

1. Nautical Of or relating to the side sheltered from the wind: the lee gunwale.

2. Located in or facing the path of an oncoming glacier. Used of a geologic formation.

[from www.thefreedictionary.com]

A totally unexpected find! But yes, it just proves, anything goes. So if you have an idea out there, don't dismiss it even though it may just seem totally ridiculous. Just try it. You never know what you will get, if you just try. I got amusement :D

Exploring Edward

Exploring Edward for Expansion.

My first date with Edward, a real date.

Not the introductory type of date.

A real date!

woo-hoo!!!

Better late than never.

Better to know than to wonder.

Again,

WOO-HOOO!!

I hope he helps me, even in the littlest, slightest of ways!

** Winks!! **

Profile Count

Who view me? Who would want to view me? I wonder, at times, what is so interesting about reading ramblings from my inconsistent mind? Out of curiosity, I would sometimes come over this page and check the count of my profile views. Most of the time, it just increases by a mere one. That one climb, of course, is supplied by myself.

Yet, not once or twice, more than that, I have noticed that the increase would be more than one count. Anything more than one, meant that someone else had, in between my logins, viewed my profile. I would get excited with that thought. I cannot fathom why but I do. Perhaps, I just cannot believe that anyone else, people unknown to me, of me, would be interested enough to stop by here, and be coaxed enough to view my profile.

I am not stupid. I know that those detours does not point to being interested in the posts. They might be just like me, clicking the 'next blog' button' and mine happened to be it. Simple as that. Or perhaps, google came up with the link to my blog during one of the searches by it's devotees on some subject which I had touched and defaced. That could also be it.

But profile count doesn't increase with those, if I'm not wrong. It increases only if your profile page has been checked out. This puzzles to me. I check out other profiles because, upon stumbling on their pages and reading excerpts or viewing some lovely pictures, I would wonder who did all those interesting posts and thus, my fingers would just automatically click the profile view. I am that 'kaypoh' or busybody, yes. If it doesn't hold my interest, I don't. Instead, I go for the next blog, and the next, and the next. You get the idea.

So, back to the topic again, an increase in my profile count meant that someone actually viewed my profile page. Which translates to someone out there had actually been interested enough to know what kind of person upkeeps this blog. Or perhaps, they were just exercising their fingers. Or perhaps, they were just like me, busy-bodying, fiddling around. Or it might be worse. I shudder at that possibility. Keep it simple.

To be interested to know the who, you have to read what the who wrote. Maybe not all but at least, a sentence or two. Which meant that someone, unknown to me, read me. Read my writings. They were, of course, either, one, bored and uninterested, or two, very bored and very uninterested, for none of them brought me along as their daily escapades, so far. It's expected, I'm not heartbroken.

I know. It's like being in a cafe that looked nice from the outside. Once you ordered and the food came, you wished you had gone for the one opposite, instead. The food were too stale, and the drinks were just too watery. And all overpriced. Isn't?

Still, it is my pleasure to say thank you for the stop. No money collected, so go along, why not? Smile and have a nice day!

Heh-Vee!!

Interviewer : Hi, lovely morning, isn't it? (smiling brightly, sun shining at face)

Interviewee : Yes, indeed. It is a lovely morning morning today. The sun had decided to be friendly today and share it's warmth! I love you, Sun. Thank you for kindness. (smiling broadly)

Interviewer : I can see you are in a good mood. Today has been good, I presume? (looking at Interviewee. Both are still smiling)

Interviewee : Well, you could say that the lovely sunny morning has made an otherwise bleak day better. You see, I had woken up feeling slightly under the weather. I felt oily, hard and my body's crumbling. And the worse was, I don't smell anymore. (an overcast enveloping face) Don't get me wrong, I still am feeling all those, but yes, the weather's helped lift up my otherwise lowly spirits slightly. (satisfied feeling coming over face)

Interviewer : Oh, oily? Hard? Crumbling? What do you mean, if you don't mind telling? As you can see, I am little lost here. (face showing a bewildered look)

Interviewee : Hahaa.. I don't reckon you would understand that right away when I told you. Ah, let us take a seat first and I will tell you the whole picture on how I came about to be that. Sit there, that seat on the sofa is the b est. Yes, there. It's nice, isn't it? You comfortable now? That's good. Okay, let me sit down, too. (sit's down, adjusting self into most comfortable position)

Interviewer : Thank you. I hope it's not too much trouble to you. And yes, the sofa is very comfortable. (easing in the seat, enjoying the cushion) What's the interesting story then?

Interviewee : Hmm...actually, it is not an interesting story. It is very depressing actually. Just that you got to know the what had happened yesterday to make me such, today. (nodding, slowly) I tried, you know, to be the best, but there wasn't much I could do. I could only scream and shout, and tried my best at the end, to help out. Hahaha.. you are probably thinking, 'what the heck are you talking about?!' Hahaha.. okay, here goes!

. . . ~ . . ~ . . .

I was okay, I thought, I really was getting on fine. My rise was good, I felt fluffy, soft and smelt very nice. The pungent was really there, you could not miss it. Really, I thought I didn't disappoint. I overcame my first obstacle rather well, if you want to put it that way.

Punched down, repeatedly, I couldn't understand why she had wanted to shower me with so much of that white powdery stuff. I was not hungry, yet, she kept on throwing those things all over me. I had no choice. I grew fat, getting heavier and heavier. I tried screaming at her to stop but she didn't listen. I think she couldn't hear me. It was bad, she kept going on like that way for a while. I could feel myself doubling in weight. Oh boy, was I Heh-vee!

When she finally stop, I was panting. I wanted to hold on to her, but I couldn't anymore. Getting heavy meant that I lost my grip. She, on the other hand, seemed satisfied with that. She made me, placed me on my oily bed. It was too slippery for my liking, if you want to know.

Anyhow, I can't say much. I just wondered why she didn't shaped me. She then took my bed, with me on it, and slowly put me into my bedroom, all warmed up and cosy. She left me there, with a curtain hanging above me, all damped up. I knew that was the cue for my second performance to start. I was feeling a little sleepy, really. The warmt was making me drowsy, instead of waking me up.

I grew slowly, too slow. It didn't help that I was heavy. I felt like a failure. But I didn't stop growing. I tried to grow up, but couldn't. My weight was pulling me down. I stretched at my sides instead.

Then, slowly I felt my bedroom getting warmer. I felt more lively. My drowsiness left me, slowly. Active, I wanted to grow up but I still could not, I was heavy, . Too heavy. I dried up, too much. My skin felt too oily, too hard. My body smell left me. I knew, somehow, when the 'Ding came', although I had performed, I had somehow failed, too.

I saw her face, she wasn't happy. Yes, she was curious, and anxious. Till this morning. I am still the same. Or, maybe worse. (pauses slightly, sighing) Slightly harder, oiler, more crumbly. My smell has gone, totally. Luckily, the sun's here today, else, I think she would have been more depress. (waits for a comment, but none comes. Interviewee turns slowly towards Interviewer, and sees him sleeping. Interviewee shakes his head and smiles. He closes his eyes and then snores could be heard).

~ END! ~

Durian bread

Is there such thing as durian bread? I think there is, there should be if there isn't yet, and there will be, as I am making one right now. Or at least trying to make one, as this is being written. Now is the moment to wait, for the rise of success, or the un-rise, which in other word means only, fail!

Didn't wake this morning with the intention to do this experiment. Instead, the idea had been hanging around my head for quite a few days, dangling like bait meat on the cast, waiting for bite. Yes, the bait is the idea, the bite will be provided by me! This is the bakergirl, or at least I try to be. After all the durian had been sitting there for while now, almost a week. Taking a bite into the pack, I was suddenly spurred to turn them into something, and so bit the bait. I did reassure myself that since I plan to go to the supermarket later to get some supplies, well, I could also get the replacement of that pack then.

Reassurance done, although it didn't need that much of convincing to do, I got into action. Well, this isn't the first time I was making bread, it wasn't that intimidating or confusing. But since this is the first time I am trying to make durian bread, a little apprehension did surface. But of course!

The first rise went not that bad I guess. The whole base of the pot was well covered, from the initial one big lump in the middle. It grew about triple it's size I guess, although without much hold. Soft, instead of firm. Insufficient flour or too much liquid? I am not sure, but I know from that at least the amount of yeast I decided to put was enough to grow my dough! That's good enough for me for this round.

Waiting for the hopefully successful second rise, while having teh tarik, instant, of course. Heart's a little apprehensive, mind's a little jittery. Who wouldn't? It's a measurement of one's success. It's goes into one's resume of the experimental home cook/baker. And yes, of course, it's not that difficult if one were to follow the recipe and the science with precision, accuracy and patience.

Yes, baking is a science of precision which I so diligently decide to ignore every time. It's always a estimate game for me, and this round isn't much different. I just hope that this dough will morph into a bread, and not give the finger and tongue to me, if it can!

Good luck!

Coward!

I need to focus on the what I need to do. Anything positive is good,but it has to be specific.

Vagueness brings excuses and thus laziness. Yes, I do try very hard to adopt a positive attitude in life, now. Inspiring reads like the secret, tuesdays with morrie, who move my cheese, the seven habits, etc never fails to aspire me to a better person, to spend the days in a more meaningful and effective way to yield a more productive me. I really do feel inspired by them.

Yet, I think my failure to fully adopt these pointers to a greater life is simply that I do not spell out my goals clearly. I refuse to see my goals in print.

No need to crack my head over the reason, for I know it damn well. Fear to fail. My own fear to

fail. I can write down everything, or almost everything that comes to mind, published or not, but yet, so far, in my entire short dwellings in this planet, and even shorter as a polluter here, I've not yet push and force myself to jot down what my goal or goals are, at various stages of my life.

I always analyze my other things, my work, my interactions, my characters, my happiness, my sadness, my surroundings, never my goals. I always get intrigue with the others' characters, behaviours, idiosyncrasies, thoughts, way of lives, words, wisdom, interactions, or just plain living, yet never got myself intrigue enough with my goals.

My focus is always diverted to somewhere else. There is always something more interesting, more important, more urgent, to focus on. If excuses are tangible things, I think mine would have rivaled the height of Mount KK if I were to put them all into a heap!

Yes, my failure as a person, a successful person. The inability to focus on my setting my goals, or more accurately, the fear of setting goals for fearing to fail! Coward!

The eXtra length

If you needed going the extra length to get something you badly want, would you consider murder?

I am watching a very highly rated crime investigation series, and today's about a homicide investigation of a young teenage mother, whose body was found in the bonnet of a car in a dumpsite or somewhere like that. She was pregnant when she died, but her baby was not found. In the end of the investigation, the viewers are told that the dead girl was actually banished from her family home due to the out of wedlock and got herself a into a deal that might secure her baby's future, and that later, she changed her mind and wanted to keep her baby, instead of giving it up to a childless couple. She, heavily pregnant then, accidentally died when struggling with the couple during a confrontation, falling down from the stairs. The terrified but desperate husband saved the baby and dumped her body, the only way out, or so they thought.

This made me wonder, would I go the extra mile of resorting to murder to get what I badly want? Have I so far wanted something so badly that I killed for it? I could safely answer no to this but in a future where everything seems more grey than black and white, I really cannot be sure. Although I hope that I would need to resort to that, accidental or not.

Pray to the manifestation of self-control for a better life, better mind.

More in than out

When intake is more than outgoing, when consumption is more than abstaining, when eating is more than burning, it's not a wonder if I am growing heavier and bigger!

Today, again, I went up to the most top floor to utilize the gym room. Again, the treadmill was my target. Again, I was walked, and I ran, and walked, and then ran, and then walked, again. The digital timer didn't even show pass the half hour mark, and already I was panting!

Yes, I panted! Barely running for 5 minutes and already I felt my legs transforming into elephants legs. Boom! Boom! Boom! The poor treadmill shook at every step that I took. Luckily there was no one around to be witness of this abuse. The one lady who were there when I came in left about 10minutes after that. So the elephant leg girl could not in her defense accused anyone else if other occupants complained of slight tremor felt in that building all the while that she was there!

I ended the session with a walk, yes, a walk. I just couldn't run that long. My goal of wanting to achieve a non-stop half an hour run seem like an unachievable dream.

That aside, I could feel myself getting a little dizzy. Looking at my reflection then in the mirror, I saw that I was slightly pale and my whole body was drenched in sweat. Correction, top half of my body, only. Elephant legs and hips was not stressed enough to induce sweat, I guess.

I lingered on for a while in the room, catching my breath, sweating profusely in the mean time. I really felt tired, seriously tired. It was really bad, since I gathered that I didn't even reach the 200 mark in calories burnt.

Back in the hole, guess what was the first thing I did? Yeah, lunched on a big pack of instant noodles with an egg and 4 wantans. And then gobbled up 2 durians.

Now, do you wonder why I lament on how can I lose weight?

Open the Eyes

I must really learn to be unafraid. Or rather, not too timid. That no one's really bothered to look and stare at your dressing, that no one's really that bothered if you are not fluent, that you don't stand out that much, that you are but normal. Farang is but normal.

Walk, talk, eat, listen, do what you want. Open the eyes, smell the roses or perhaps the traffic, listen to the sounds or rather the noise, regardless, don't be afraid to open up. It is then only you would learn and live and learn to love.

Restraining oneself is, sometimes good. Too often, too much, though, it becomes a hindrance in growth. Self-growth, self-reliance, independence.

I am not timid, I mustn't be. The city's far too big, too interesting for me to be holed up here each day, unproductively whiling time away. There is just so much things to learn, to live in, to be part of, to influence and to be influence, than just supermarkets and restaurants and subways!

Neng, song, sam, si, haa... one, two, three, four, five.. open your eyes, open MY eyes!

tv babble

..tv babble..

rookie. can she use that to label herself? life's good, but always with a but somewhere in between. so cliche! every town has got a few skeletons in it's closet and some one has to contribute the skeletons. perhaps, it's her? the more guilty people commit suicide, the less crowded the courtrooms will be. money, money, everything is money for money. she was caused to be seem less to another or little. yeah, life's stinks!

YEAH! TV BABBLE!

October First, Save the Earth!

October First, Save the Earth!

October Twenty-first, Day for Apples and Nurses!

October Thirty-first, Let's go to BeerFest!

October first, Love's loveliest!

Dust, another day

The sun shines again, she thinks.

Her stands at the little space behind the apartment, slippers on her feet, to protect them from the grime and dirt on the cream tiled floors. The space is small, and fully utilize, although may not be efficiently used. If she stands right in front of the sliding that separates the kitchen and the little space outside, she can actually enjoy the breeze.

The tiny is like a cube, with one side open to have a balcony. It cannot be bigger than thirty six square feet, she estimates, although never quite believing herself whenever it comes to estimating things. The floor is tiled, cream-coloured, if she looks hard enough under all the grime, dirt and dust. To the right corner, right in front of the sliding doors, sits the washing machine. It's foreign made, a trusted brand in household equipments. Greyish, if she needs to describe it's colour, very dusty if she has to describe it's condition. Just like everything else in the little apartment, she thinks.

To her left, opposite the washing machine, against the orange wall, underneath the master room window, a little shoe rack lines a few pairs of shoes, though not orderly. It had been recently placed there, the shoe rack, she was told earlier. She wonders when the shoes, like the others, will start to get eaten by the dust.

She shifts her attention to the floor. Dust covers most of the floor, especially nearing the rectangular, green, plastic flower pot. Some of the earth from the pot has spilled to the floor, mixing with the dust of the floor, creating a thick, black soot-like layer of dirt. The pot sits where the sun hits most on the balcony daily, right under the grille of the open side of the cube-shaped balcony. The drain trap, she notices, is stuck with dead leaves and other things she cannot make out. Of course, she thinks.

The blue and white clothes hanger, standing firmly between the balcony grille and the shoe rack, is empty. Just nice that it is there, she thinks, slightly nodding her head in approval to where the hnager stands, very close to the window at the back. Else, it will sway and sway away, she lets her mind run, with all the clothes, flying around, swirling above and away, light Buzz-Lightyear! She chuckles and brings her wandering to a halt. Back to earth, she says to herself.

The string lines she made between the top balcony rail to the lower aircon compressor rack at the last visit still hangs there steady, although not as firm as they were when she first put them up, she notices. It still hangs, that is the most important, she thinks. The spoiled pans are still there, letting the packs of detergents stand on them.

Dust everywhere there. She heaves a big sigh out. Another day, she thinks, another day. She turns around and get back into the kitchen, leaving the space.