My September weekend

I had a good weekend, better than the weekends that came before because after a long time, I am finding my sense of purpose. It was a little emotional as I am still trying to straighten out my curly internal conflicts and not get into any more conflicts while I'm doing this. Ever since I've come back from Perth, I feel like I've entered some sort of whirlwind, where I'm just moving in circles, and not in one direction but many, getting pulled and pushed along until I get lost, the strong wind carrying me and placing me somewhere unknown. It is funny how we wouldn't go somewhere foreign without a map but we fail to 'map' out or lives and specify goals and dreams unfulfilled. Friday evening finally came, a long-awaited night although the week had passed very quickly. I had been out everyday, there were many things going on in good ol' KL, like the KL Design Week which coincided with the London version (but it would be unfair to compare the two, surely). I felt like my mind was opening slowly but surely with all the new things I saw. I was fortunate enough to catch an audio-visual feat, created by the Light Surgeons on Wednesday and a series of images from local designers and artists at the KL Pecha Kucha Night that took place earlier on Monday. It was a powerful thing to imagine that this event started off in Japan and spread like wildfire to so many other countries in a few years. I would think there's no harm in looking elsewhere for inspiration, especially when it comes to life. On Thursday, I finished researching for a shopping survey I had to do for the new publication coming up in my company. I have to catch up on my writing since I've been out everyday of the office, but I reckon it was all worth it, especially when Friday did finally appear. I had tickets to watch Ahmed Ahmed, the dishy American-Egyptian comedian who liked to put on his Middle Eastern accent. It took some time to finally get to the ballroom where he was scheduled to perform, thanks to the wonderful mechanisms of Kuala Lumpur jam and my impeccable perception of time. I was the default driver (am looking into retiring soon or at least charging for petrol) and picked up the boys. We reached nearly half an hour after the scheduled time but thanks to GMT (General Malaysian Timing), the show had not started yet. It was a strange crowd, a mix of the eager media people, triumphantly smirking at getting free tickets and the glitzy VIPS who had perfect hair and six inch heels. I gaped rudely with my mouth hanging slightly open at the sight of the rich and famous. What is it about them that instantly reduces you to feel so self-conscious about your own slightly-lesser 3-inch heels and not so slight disheveled hair? Is it the bored, glazed and jaded look on their face, or is it the fact that they're so good-looking, you immediately feel an instant wave of ugliness? It is this prickle of inequality and that split second where you wish you too could experience the plush interior of a shiny silver Peugeot and walk down the hallways of Hilton in your silk bathrobe. Studies have shown that the less equal a society, the more crime, social ills and problems that occur in said society. If the average middle class could feel that painful prick of inequality, imagine what the invisible below the poverty line must feel. But all was forgotten when the lights went out and the comedians took the stage. This comic talent is one to be taken seriously, as I do feel that comic men and women are one of the sharpest observers of human beings. They would be a gold mine to sociologists, in my opinion. I laughed much stress and pain away and it felt good. I didn't even feel shitty for cancelling a planned bus tour the next morning because I think I needed the sleep I got Saturday afternoon - I lazed in my faded Backstreet Boys t-shirt (hey, they're still better than N'SYNC okay?) and didn't shower until 7p.m. It was a quiet night out with dinner at Restoran Ismail for the briyani and more lazing at Ash's house. Sunday morning, I woke up at 6.15a.m and thought I was dreaming. I have not been up this early in a long time and even though I only had 3 hours of sleep, I miraculously made it out of the house and was on the way to plant trees along the riverbanks of Shah Alam. Now, Shah Alam is not the kind of place one would recommend a person, tourist or local to go. The roads are complicated and for some reason, they seem to love roundabouts there. I have spent a good portion of my life at these roundabouts, going round and round to buy time to figure out which exit to take. The riverbank however, had its own charm and imagining all the trees blossoming and sprouting right by the surprisingly clean river made me smile. I wasn't sure what to expect with planting trees, having never picked up a shovel in my life so I was surprised that it was actually quite a simple process if you remembered what to do. We were given a demonstration and were told that it would be easier without gloves. Seeing other people getting their hands dirty made me think that it wouldn't be so bad. This was until I remembered that there are other species on the planet, like pretty centipedes and graceful worms (I'm trying to be polite but yea, I screamed like a bitch when I saw the worm wiggling out of some soil nearby). Having said that, the moment my hands touched the dirt was a memorable one. It felt like I was about to nurture something important and give life to an otherwise empty grass lot. I imagined a strong majestic tree with deep green leaves that would reach out and hug me when I came back to visit. Many of the holes were deep and filled with water which we had to drain out so that the soil wouldn't be too soft to pack in. Then it was all about clenching fistfuls of soil and leveling it into the hole. The young tree was then gently un-freed from its black wraparound and placed into the middle of the hole, with infant TLC. The hole was then covered with more soil and fertilizer, all the better to feed nutrients to this growing life form and then we moved on to the next hole, repeating the process again. I was sure that at some point there was sand falling into inappropriate places on my body and we couldn't scratch the itch with our soiled hands but it was an extremely healing experience. I had, without thinking, invited friends on Facebook to this event, not even considering that anyone would show up - but two actually did! It was a very pleasant surprise and a welcome change to my usual routine. I really needed a weekend like this and maybe with a bit more healing, the conflict will lose its flow altogether. Here's to dreams unfulfilled because no one said you couldn't create new goals and look forward to everything else.

Why Not?

I'm supposed to be writing about a spa in Seremban but I really can't be bothered reading up on candlenuts and papaya enyzmes. Sounds more like medicine than anything else really. Again and again I forget about this little place I have in the big open cyberspace and how nice it feels to write, about something other than products. Not that I'm not enjoying what I do, don't get me wrong. There are moments in the office when I feel truly useful and that yes, I have found my purpose. Of course, we all want more,because that's the only way to strive for a better tomorrow.

There's not much room for climbing the ladder here, if you want to get all corporate about things. I mean at my current job. But that is not what my heart desires anyway. Oh the heart. Such a strange beating bird. Mostly I'm staying in the office now to beat the jam (I make it sound like an Olympic sport...maybe it should be).

Life is mind-blowing sometimes, especially if you stop and think for awhile. This time last year, I was in Perth being a student and paying rent. That felt good. I can't begin to express how much I miss it all. The lectures and the lecturers, the lunch breaks, even the morning classes, over-spending money at the uni cafe once in awhile after getting sick of the average Asian stalls, going to work, complaining about work, eating dinner in my room, having Sonali bother the shit out of me, my housemates. I could go on for weeks to be honest.

And the thing is, I didn't actually mourn this loss. I sound like an absolute drama queen, but I really didn't. It was all quite rushed really, one minute I was planning out my life in Perth, I had even found a place to stay and the next I had decided to stay back in KL. I might have cried but I certainly didn't mull over my decision. Instead I decided to get enthusiastic about job-hunting and went for about four or five job interviews and then bummed around for two months. Which I don't regret of course. Then I started work in February and that was it. It feels like my whole life has gone by now, time moved by SO fast. Friggin' hell it's September!

Sometimes I feel like I'm watching my life go by, and if I listen properly I can almost hear the clock ticking. I don't know why I feel like I'm racing against time but I just keep thinking that if I don't decide and act upon what I really want, it's going to be too late. I don't want to think that I could have made a difference, and a change and I chose not to.

But the big bloody annoying question is what? Yea, I like my job, I like my life, I'm very comfortable...wait. That's it though. I am comfortable. It's too easy.

You know I was reading a book the other day called the Upside of Irrationality (thankfully my reading habit hasn't slowed just because I've started working...I have read so many things and I have so much to say...of course!). And there was a chapter called the IKEA effect, which summarizes that human beings generally tend to love something more, or get more attached when they've put in effort to build it. In fact, this is so true I would even apply it to relationships, but that's another story for another time. And you know, the way we live in KL, we don't do anything for ourselves. We have maids that we depend one, we have gardeners, we have it all extremely easy. And I have a niggling feeling that this is not the life that I want. I think I would feel more purposeful if I got up in the morning and made my own breakfast, like how I used to in Perth instead of having it made for me. I get a tiny sense of satisfaction when I make my own coffee, so I might be on to something.

The point is though, I feel slightly (okay, maybe a lot) useless because I'm not doing anything for myself, it's all been done for me. Of course there were moments in Perth when I wished and prayed so hard for a fairy godmother to swoop down from somewhere and help me do my laundry but I also remember feeling good, really really really good in Perth. I had a sense of accomplishment, a sense of calling everything mine. I had my own space, my own radio alarm clock, my own shoes, my own desk. And here it feels like its not really mine, like I'm living in someone else's room.

I should do my own shit, really. I need to stop living a borrowed life. And we really need to stop depending on the maid to do every single small thing. When the hell did we get so lazy dudes?

Alright, I'll start with a small goal: cook breakfast on Saturday. Mom will be happy too. Why the hell not?

Yea, next time you ask yourself why, counter yourself with WHY NOT. It's the best line I've ever used. Try it.