Pessimist or optimist?

You know the test to test whether you're an optimist or a pessimist? The water in the glass test? Yep, that one. What if I have two answers for that? If the water has been drank half of the content, it is half empty. But if the water is poured in half of the glass, then it is half full. I don't think I'm making much sense. Although if I were to self-analyze me based on that, I guess I'm half pessimist and half optimist.


What was I about to do just now?

A few post earlier I mentioned about having a slow processor inside my brain. Well, apart from being a slow learner, I also have short term memory lost. Well, perhaps long term memory loss too. Actually I don't know what I have. What I don't have is a strong memory. I don't know why but I just can't remember some of the times when I was a kid. Or the times when I was a student. I wonder, is there anyone who can only hold his or her memory for only several years only? Like the archive system in my company for instance. The records will only be retained for 5 years. After that, it will be deleted. My memory system is kind of like that.

It is not fun when I forget things I want to do in just a short time. But it could be because my mind keeps wandering to one thing after another that I find it hard to focus on the thing I'm supposed to be doing. Only that doesn't explain my lack of memory for what happened when I was much younger. Sometimes it feels like I lost part of my childhood. Argh, it frustrates me a lot!

Some people suggested writing. Some people suggested taking vitamins. Is there any other way to make me remember? I'd really like to try that.


I'm currently sitting on a chair in my living room, trying to figure out whether I should go out and do some much needed grocery shopping, or eat a sandwich or two for dinner before vigorously clean up my apartment. It's not so much of a difficult decision to make if I were to look around my apartment. Even without my glasses on, I can still see the dirtiness and the messiness. The last time I peeked at the second bathroom, I almost fainted. This is the price I have to pay for having two undoubtedly heterosexual males as my housemate. I should have advertised for two fun-loving gays for housemates. At least even if they don't help me keep the place clean, I have someone to bitch to about something. Instead I get one gym addict and another, perfume addict who by the way, always makes me feel light headed. And not in a good way. But back to the subject, what is it about men (at least the men I know) that make them thing cleaning up is a woman's chore?

When I was growing up with two sisters and two brothers, our mom made us the girls helped her did the housework. I was appointed to do the laundry, sweep the floor and wash the dishes. Unsatisfied with how the boys got to watch TV and went out to play with their friends, I ended up hating doing housework. What rights do they have to avoid doing housework? I want to find out and use it for my own purpose. I believe no matter what chromosomes you have, housework should be divided equally among your siblings.

It could be in the culture too. I grew up unfortunately, in an environment that placed men on a throne like a king and they're supposed to be doing a huge responsibilities to feed the family and care for them that they don't need to be bothered with mundane things like housework. Bullshit. Housework is as important as much as earning for the family. Imagine not having clean clothes to wear to work. Or clean dishes to put your food on. Or food to eat. When you live as a family, it's all about sharing. Sharing the food, sharing the same house, sharing the shower foam...why not share the love and respect equally? Why not share the housework? Right? Right? The extra X chromosome in women doesn't spell 'house worker' or as an excuse for men to bail out on housework. Perhaps I should remind my housemates about that. Hmm...

But seriously, men out there, doing a laundry or dishes don't make you gay. Lots of women love men who help in the kitchen. In fact, I'm going to find me a man who knows how to make me happy. A man who'll help me doing housework without me asking him too. The only problem is, like a friend once said, if I were to find a man like that, I might end up falling for a gay man, or not falling at all.


Let's get nuts

I reach home early today from work and just had egg sandwich for dinner. Sitting in the living room, I channel surfing trying to find any interesting program to watch. Failed at that, I watch absent-mindedly at what's showing on HBO. On impulse, I get up, head to the kitchen, open the fridge and take out a box of chocolate covered almond. My obsession. My downfall. My Pandora's box. I just can't resist. As I am savouring the combined flavour of chocolate and almond, it suddenly reminded me of one lecturer in university.

When I was in university with half baked ideas of what I wanted to do when I grew up, I found myself taking odd unconnected subjects every semester just to see which one would catch my interest. Even though I majored in Mass Communications, sub-majoring in Public Relations, I never think of myself ever working in this industry. I am not an ideal candidate to be chosen as a bridge to connect one human being to another. In all honesty, I myself need that kind of bridge to communicate with other human being.

So like I said, I was jumping from one class to another, testing the water to see whether it's enticing enough to tempt me to take a dive. One semester I was taking 'Feminist Movements' but decided I'm not much of a feminist and not really interested to learn how to be one. Another semester I was learning Criminology and dreamed about interviewing death row prisoner. I was clueless before as I am now about my purpose in life. And so that was why during one semester, I found myself in a Finance class. As weird as it may sound, it's a true story.

You could consider me a nerd since no matter how boring the lectures were, I forced myself to open my eyes wide and actually studied for the paper because I didn't want a bad grade. In the end, I did pretty well but as you might have guess, decided it wasn't my cup of tea. I long forget what I learnt in the class except a few bits here and there of how to balance my monthly budget. But you don't need to attend the class to know how to do that actually.

Anyway, we had few lecturers for this class, teaching different topics and they were all nice. But up until today, I only remember one lecturer from the class. I remember because he was one of the nicest lecturer I've had class with, but his classes bored me to tears and then, snores. Not really a good combination if you ask me. Oh, and not really on the snoring part. But I actually nodded off in this lecturer's class and couldn't be bothered if he saw it. This is coming from someone who never slept in class. Ever. I told you. I was a nerd.

I think the lecturer realized that his class was boring and tried his best to keep us from falling asleep. He would tell jokes just so we'd laugh and stay awake which was funnier than the jokes because he didn't know the difference between lecturing and telling a joke. We ended up confused and frowning, trying to find the humor part of the story, while he would re-tell the story, trying to make us understand it. It was quite painful to see him telling one joke after another and didn't get the laughter he wanted to see.

One day in class, as usual we listened to his lecture and after one hour, we stopped for a short break. Some students went out for toilet break and perhaps to splash water on their face. I stayed in, and as I predicted, the lecturer started telling us about one Clinton's joke. Some laughed half-heartedly, while some like me, weren't really listening. I laughed a little just to be polite, but I didn't even know what the joke was all about. Failing at making us laughed he decided to tell us another joke. Students were still like bees buzzing to each other and not really paying attention. It was after all, supposed to be a break time.

So he proceeded to tell us the joke and I appointed one ear to listen while another got a rest. It was about a very caring priest visiting an old lady from his congregation who couldn't attend the mass the previous Sunday because she was not feeling well. When the priest arrived, the old lady was in the middle of doing something, so she asked politely for him to wait in the living room. "Make yourself at home Father," she said.

Being an old lady, she took quite long to finish what she was doing and soon the priest grew a bit restless. He got up and picked up a book, flipped several pages and put it down again. He sat down and looked around. The house was neat with pretty decorations. In front of him was a coffee table with few magazines on top of it. Then the priest saw a bowl of almonds on the table. He reached for the bowl to take the almond, but stopped halfway. He should asked permission to eat it, he thought. But the old lady told him to make himself at home, he argued. He figured she must've meant that he could have some of the nuts. After all, the bowl was put on the coffee table. The old lady must've put it there for her guest, he reasoned with himself.

With that, the priest reached inside the bowl and took one almond and ate it. This is a very tasty almond, he thought. But he resisted taking another. The old lady was still not done with her works and not long after, the priest eyed the bowl of almonds again. Finally he caved in and took another one. And another. And another, until the bowl was empty. The priest felt guilty and ashamed. When the old lady finally came in the living room, the priest apologized profusely to her for finishing off the almonds.

"I am really sorry to eat all the almonds in that bowl. It was really delicious I couldn't help to eat them," he said all the while blushing like a schoolboy being caught at doing something naughty. The old lady kindly smiled and slowly walked into the living room using a cane.

"Oh, it's okay," she said. "I can only eat the chocolate."

I gave a startled laugh when I caught the meaning. It was the only joke that got all of us laughing.

Still grinning with reminiscent of the past, I look down on my chocolate box. The box is still full with chocolates, but the almonds are now missing.


Rain, rain, come my way

Water Day15: 1.7 litres. A dozen and a half trips to the bathroom.

I almost wished today rained heavily. Weird how the rain calms me down even when each thunder and lightning make my heart thuds faster. Rain washes away my worries, even if only for a while. I'd take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing the smell of the rain to seep through my body. It makes me feel...clean. And happy. And I am a kid again, running around the house while it's raining heavily. Clothes drenched to the skin, teeth chattering, yet refused to get in the house to take a warm bath and change into something warm. I almost could see mom yelling at me for being so childish. Always there to remind me how I should behave. Girls can't do this. Girls can't do that. When I asked why, she said "Because I say so." My young mind rebelled at such answer. Then I'd run to the other side of the house so she wouldn't see me. I just wanted to spend some time under the rain. What harm could it do to others?

Today I want to be that kid again. So carefree and doesn't care a thing about what other people think. So full of dreams and life. So innocent. Life must be so much simpler if I were that kid once again. I'm too young to be cynical. I'm too young to be jaded. I should be burning with dreams and hopes and faith in myself, not doubting my chances at ever be happy, content, in love with life and that someone special.

I have so many things I have yet to do. I haven't learn how to make lasagna. Or roast a turkey. I need to learn how to cut things like the way the chefs show on TV. That's so cool. If it's too much to hope for someone with little understanding about what should be done in the kitchen, then I guess I need to learn how to not cut myself when I'm handling a knife.

I still need a few hundred dollars to add to my saving so I can buy a SLR camera. I want to learn about cool photography tricks. Learn about Photoshop and other photo editing techniques. When I'm good enough, I want to enter Photography contest and meet other photographers whom works always inspire me.

I still don't know how to swim. I haven't try sky gliding yet. I haven't learn to let go. I've never fallen in love yet.

So many things to do, yet I give myself excuses after excuses and leave all the dreams withered, dry and die. I say, wait until I save enough money before I can buy a camera. Wait until I get the next bonus before I can enroll myself in a cooking class. Wait until I lose a few pounds, learn how to dress myself nicely before I'm ready to put myself out there. In truth, it's all excuses just to avoid from getting disappointed, then hurt. Too many insecurities to worry about, hiding behind a facade of indifference, not allowing other people to get closer to who I am. Blaming everyone but myself for the crappy life that I'm leading when in fact I know I just have to do something about it and it will turn for the better, even just a little.

If only I know how to be that kid again. Full of life, full of hopes, full of faith in her self.


Just another Friday. Just another confession.

Water Day 5: Did anyone else ever forget to drink water? I did. Only 1 litre today.

I am just finished with work and packing up my things to go home. Right before I close the email browser, a new email notification pops up. I ignore it and close the browser anyway. I am a girl on a mission. And I am late. A friend told me that a brand new computer shop just opened yesterday at the mall near our workplace and like any other new shop, they're offering big discounts on almost all the items. It is such a perfect time for me because I need to get myself few computer things without jeopardizing my monthly budget.

I rush to my car, fire up the engine, stop for a while to wipe off the smudge on my glasses and get the car in motion. The traffic is not that bad considering that it's Friday and I reach the mall in about 10 minutes. Knowing my inability to decently park a car, I begin to worry a little bit. I swear it, if I can't find a parking space away from other car, I'm going straight home. I'm not paying for another car's paint job again. Once I enter the parking area, I see a few empty slots to my relief. After making sure that I locked the car, twice, I head to the computer shop.

The place is quite okay, though I soon found out that they don't have much varieties. I leave the place in less than 30 minutes after buying a new 4gb pendrive. On the way home, I pass by the carwash place near my apartment building and reminded that my car needs a bubbly bath too. Oh, well. It's getting late. The landlord's coming to collect the rent in 30 minutes.

As I head to the elevator, the door's just closes. Fortunately it is going down to the first floor. I hope it moves back up again. I almost have to wait for so long every time I want to use the elevator. Whoever set the system is probably slow too. There are three cars and I still have to wait for a car from a floor further up even when there is another car on the floor nearer to the one I am waiting at. As I wait for it, an older couple with a kid join me waiting. I take a glance and recognized them from being in the same elevator several times with me before. The dad looks like a teddy bear with white hair. While the mom always looks serious which is such a shame because she is beautiful. I think she'll look even more beautiful if she smiles once in a while. They have three kids who are always laughing and playing around everytime I see them, which is a pleasant to see, despite the stony faced mom they have. I wonder where are the other two.

The answer comes right when the elevator arrives. Apparently when the door closed just now, the other two kids went in thinking that it's going up. Kids. They must have planned to race the parents to the front door of their home. Looks like the plan's been backfired. I hide my smile while seeing the kids laughing and panting, no doubt they were running just now. As usual, I walk straight to the far end of the elevator and keep my back to the wall.

The two kids are now talking to their dad while the youngest is busy eating MSG laden tidbits. Dad certainly likes it too because he tries to get some, much to the protest of the little boy. I peek a glance to the mom. While dad and kids are joking around, mom is still maintaining her stony feature. She even looks back disapprovingly but is ignored by the other crews. It looks like dad is everyone's favourite. I can understand why.

It leaves me wondering whether I'll be that kind of mom too. The one who's always cold and strict, doesn't know how to have fun and her kid hates her. I'm an emotional retard who don't know how to express my feelings. I act nonchalant when I like someone. I keep my distance when someone shows interest to be a good friend. Or more than that. I become mean when someone gets too close for my comfort. Confessing my feelings to anyone makes me uncomfortable. I don't think that will translate well if I were to have a baby one day. But I guess that won't be a problem since I have doubts about marriage.

The elevator stops at 9th floor and it's their floor. The daughter playfully punches her dad and runs out followed by the other two. The lady is still not smiling. But they look like one happy family. Seeing how the kids are playful and cheerful all the time, maybe she is not as cold as I think she is. Maybe she was having a tough time at work each time I saw her. Maybe she's not as cold as I think she is. I am after all, a stranger who takes a look inside through a small window.

The elevator moves up again and soon it is my floor. No one is at home yet. Perhaps it is for the best because I suddenly feel so tired. Thank God it's finally weekend.


But I thought they live happily ever after...

Water Day 4: I managed to drink more yesterday! About 1.3 litre now. I'm slowly getting there...

Despite growing up in a non-English speaking household, thanks to Dad, my mom taught us few words of English here and there when we were a kid. My dad passed away when I was too young to remember most of the times I spent with him, but from his various English book collections, I'm sure he could speak in English fluently. While my mom doesn't speak English at all, she can understand some of the basic sentences in English.

Like any normal girl my age, I was instantly fascinated with fairy tales. Cinderella and Snow White were among my favourites. I watch them over and over again and never grew tired of them. In my young mind, I constructed an image of my very own prince charming, the day we'd met and fall in love, and of course, we'd live happily ever after.

Fast forward to today, I grew up and while I still love fairy tales and the happy ending, I doubt the fairy tales ending now. Whenever people around me get married and started their own family, I am filled with joy that they've found their knight in shining armour or fair maiden, fall in love and pronounce their vows to each other. For better or worse, till death do them part. The only thing that I didn't give much thoughts before was the life they're going to have after the wedding. I mean, fairy tales didn't prepare me for this. They never tell me what happens when they live together, leading a life as husband and wife.

Too bad for me, I found out on my own. For my eldest sister, they managed to skip the 'till death do them part' and proceeded to get a divorce. My sister is still alive. I had a friend telling me that her husband is short tempered and the only thing that keeps them from fighting is because she keeps quiet whenever the husband suffers from a yelling spell. Another friend got upset and cancelled a dinner plan with several other friends because her husband asked her to take their daughter along. It was as if the husband wanted to emphasize on the fact that my friend is a stay at home mom. Just last week, my colleague finished her works in a rush and hurried home to cook because her husband gets annoyed if he has to wait too long for dinner.

These happened around me, the girl who dreamed of her own fairy tale ending while growing up. Have all these people lost the sparkles of love in their lives I wonder. What happened to happily ever after? The true colours unfolding before their eyes and I bet they don't like it. What did they do to cause such changes? Regardless of what must have caused these changes, I hate to think that marriage might ruin everything.

Of course, some of the blogs I frequented, especially Pioneer Woman's, shows me that amidst her pile of laundries, there is still hope for a happily ever after. But I'm afraid that reading about other people's lives is just like reading a fairy tale. Another fairy tale, another doubt. Why is it that it always looks so beautiful in writing, yet could be so far out from the reality?