Oh what a day

Today has been the best and potentially the worst day of my life. OK-lah, that's pushing it abit because it would exclude the day I fell in love, the day I successfully seduced pre-marriage Hubby and the night the dour heavily bearded Bengali family doctor confirmed that I was pregnant like he was rattling off my temperature and all I could think about was the lots of hairs on his hands. So, let's re-qualify it as the best and worst day of this week.

One: My car broke down!

On the way to work, I suddenly realised that the needle thingy in the whatever thingy (the one with the 'C' and the 'H' - cold and hot, I know, but what? radiator? barometer? odometer? temperameter?) had gone way past the H. Like, way way wayyyyy past until it hit the side of the whatevermeter. If there weren't any side, I am sure that the needle would have been in China by now. Now that cannot be good. Then came the awful sound. I sure don't know zilch about cars and their meters, but I sure can recognise an 'oh oh this is deep shit kinda trouble' engine noise. My poor tiny little Kancil was wheezing and coughing, the poor old thing. Switched the aircond off, turned off the radio and let the air and the gas fumes in. I also prayed hard that the car wouldn't break down in the middle of the highway. I must have done something right (like not arguing with Mother, heh) for my prayers to be answered because the car only died once I parked it at the office. I swear, it died the second I parked it within the marked yellow bay. Thank God with a capital G.

Turned out that my car was running on no freaking water and oil (or whatever the correct English term for minyak hitam is). Anyway, I fixed all that. Added about three big bottles of water and bought minyak hitam (which by the way, was most definitely not black when it was poured from the container) (But never mind, someone told me later that the oil will indeed turn black - something like that batu at Kaabah lah ye, was my response) If I can say so, I am extremely chuffed with myself for figuring it all out. And oh of course I had Mr GQ's help - listening to my woe, accompanying me to buy oil, had decadent lunch after (and managed to slip in a man-ogling session) and pouring the oil for me. But he doesn't count because he knows just as much about engines and motoring and grease as I do.

Oh Mr GQ, you know I don't mean it. Thank you for your help, you're da man.

Two: The man being ogled said hi to me!

Much to Mr GQ's despair, the man that we were both ogling (Mr GQ at the man's lovely and expensive striped shirt and me at the man wearing the said lovely and expensive striped shirt) recognised me and said hello and started a conversation as we were about to leave the restaurant. Imagine that. I thought the man would never recognise me. Although he has been to our office many times on official business (he's one of our advisors), the last time he saw me was last year when I was waddling in my 9th month of pregnancy and looking extremely bloated. I had always admired his wit and humour in the meetings and social dos that I organised. Now, I'll just add one more to his list of accomplishment: graciousness.

There is another high-profile businessman (in fact one of the richest man in Malaysia) who also has the same humility. He may have wined and dined with the rich and famous, and own extremely very tall buildings, telco, broadcasting etc etc but he truly had me impressed one night 5 years ago when after a performance at the music hall where I worked (which was technically his), he warmly thanked me, mentioned my name, shook my hand and smiled before leaving. I have worked for royalties, prime ministers, ministers, the heir to the Sultan of Brunei and Grammy winners at that music hall but none had enquired my name (not that I really expect them to) and remember it 3 months after. Even my boss then had never made his appreciation known, until I had left the organisation.

Three: Iyam is coming!

Hubby called all the way from Singapore (even took time out of his meeting because he knows that I have been waiting for this news for the past 6 months, so sweet) to tell me that my maid will arrive tonight. The agent picked her up at the Johor port this afternoon, and driving to KL as I type. I am soooo excited because this means: (a) Mum will start talking to me again (b) I can go back to my own home and (c) Hubby and I can stop making out like a bunch of illicit teenagers at Parent's House. hahaha. But seriously, alot of things can still happen before she reaches our doorstep like mini tsunami, roadcracks, car breakdown etc etc that I have been touching wood every one hour.

Four: I've made my decision!
Actually it was made 2 days ago, but what the hell, I might as well lump it in today just to make my day even better. After thinking and thinking and thinking and talking to just about everyone about it in the office (when boss had indicated that this is P&C) and telling them not to tell anybody else (by now, I am sure that the entire building would have known of the decision I had been asked to make), I have decided that...........I will take the offer. I wish I could say that it was because of all the wonderful advice I received on this blog and in the Real World (soooo many wise people out there!!!), but if I were very honest, I think what really pushed me to decide to change my job and move on is that I want to buy a corner house opposite a field and a playground so that I can grow my own mango tree.

So, here's to mangoes everywhere. Cheers.

Fathers and Men

There's something about a grown man crying over his children that never fails to drive me to tears. Like on Sunday when I finally managed to catch an episode of The Contender (after weeks of nagging by the radical reality tv voyeur). I don't know much about boxing nor do I like watching it - I find it violent and have always wondered why men and women would want to get hit repeatedly and hit others, all in the name of sports. The only names I know are Muhammad Ali and Mike Tyson. And I have never watched any of the Rocky shows in their 3 (4?) sequeled entirety, so I don't know why they keep on repeating the eye of the tiger to Rocky. Nor did I know that Sylvester Stallone is quite capable of talking coherently and is also quite a lovely bloke on TV.

Anyway, back to fathers who cry over their children. On Sunday's repeat episode, Anthony Bonsante, who earlier drew the ire of his teammates over breaking some honoured boxers' code or something or the other (like I said, I don't know much about this sport y'all), went on and on in an interview about how much his kids mean the world to him and how they motivate him to keep on fighting for their better future yada yada yada [me at home, the judgemental reality tv viewer who thinks she's seen and heard it all: hmmmmm right]. So imagine my utter shock to see this big tough macho boxer with wicked tattoos and all breaking down like a post-partum depression mother when his two children came to surprise him in the dressing room hours before the match. Wha----t??? My daddy loves me, but he sure has never broken down quite like that before. Body heaving, short of breath, tears flowing and this singular emotional cry wrenched from deep within. Being the gullible reality tv viewer that I am, I of course cried along with him.

Later in the same episode, I of course wept when the Jesus loving full of faith (and I truly mean that in the sincerest way possible) boxer who lost to Ant wept heavingly in the shower. Oh, for another tough macho tattooed crying boxer. What was so interesting about this entire episode was not the fact that I cried when two men cried on a reality tv show (for crying out loud) or the fact that I must still harbour a mammoth crush on that angst-ridden anime character Crying Freeman; but the fact that the fight in this episode was essentially between two men motivated by one being a father and the other by the Father. What was Sly and Mark Burnett (the producers) trying to tell us? That the survival instinct of a man driven by his sheer love for his children could in the end fizzle out the fire of the highly righteous? Now, that is something I really never knew Sly could do.

Of Mothers and Daughters

Relationship between my mum and I are pretty strained nowadays. We've never been particularly close (I am more of a daddy's girl) but these days, we can be in the same room for hours and not even say a syllable. It's hard to keep a one-sided conversation going, when I ask her a question, she grunts a reply. Lately she's been upset with me for coming back late from work (we're temporarily staying at Parent's House sans hubby while waiting for my Indonesian maid to come). And when mum is upset, she bangs stuff, mumbles snipily to herself, and of course there are the inevitable Drama Minggu Ini lines like "ada anak pun, apa gunanya" (said in the context of were she to die tomorrow, she can't possibly depend on her daughter's deeds to tide her over to the next life - harumphf I say).

But of course, my younger brother and I were brainwashed to never argue against the Parents. Hell, I may be 33 years old but I still get butterflies the size of the Himalaya if I have to say "no" to my parents. My husband thinks it's terribly pathetic, and I agree with him, but I just can't seem to muster the courage to say that I don't agree with their views, I don't want to do what they want me to do, I hate the fact that we don't talk like normal families and I am an adult with my own marriage, husband and two children and sorry but I want to live my life the way I want it to be. Even if it involves a lazy ciggy smelling husband and lots of dust underneath the bed and children who draw floating happy Boo on walls.

What drives me absolutely crazy though is not the fact that we can't seem to talk as much as Hubby's family (even if I didn't love him I would still marry him for his family - especially mum in law. Love LOVE her.) Or that my mum favours my brother more than me (her voice changes when she talks to brother). I'm OK with that. What drives me absolutely mad is the fact that mum makes such a big martyrlike fuss about looking after my children (Baby Epi didn't sleep at all today, Baby Epi this and that, Lil Epi this and that and more sigh, sigh sigh the minute I walk through the door) but the minute I scold Lil Epi and ask the little boy to mull over his misbehaviour in the corner, mum the grandmother would turn it around and scold me instead and call me cruel. For what? Disciplining my son who you said was naughty just 45 minutes ago? I just don't understand it. And when I invite her to talk about her frustration anger whatever (better confront it than let it simmer and fester, I say), instead of talking to me, she'll be using this really strange m.o. of complaining of her tiredness etc etc to Baby Epi while I am in the same room. Like I said, I just don't understand all these passive-aggresive victimisation thing she's got going.

Of course I feel like a right bitch bitching about my own mother like this. Added to that the fact that she is looking after my two kiddies all on her own while I work. Hubby's answer is simple: let someone else look after Baby Epi (since mum keeps on complaining that Baby Epi tires her out) or place her in daycare centre until the maid comes. Well, guess what? I suggested that to mum and her reaction? Didn't talk to me for 3 days.

Anyway, the scary part is on another level, I can recognise myself in her behaviour. Sometimes when I'm pissed off with Hubby I'll be banging the pots and pans and muttering curses to myself, but sufficiently loud enough for him to know what I'm muttering (mostly arsehole, who the fuck does he think he is). I've now asked him to remind me whenever I get into these moods that I am just like my mother. I am determined therefore that this cycle will end with me.

I want both Lil Epi and Baby Epi to grow up not feeling scared or timid of voicing their opinions (no matter how crazed I would react) and for them to know what they can always talk to me, even and especially when they're in trouble or sad or angry or upset or in lust or in love or in spiritual confusion. And they jolly better learn that although their mother may say lots of potty words which they shouldn't really be hearing and may sometimes regress to banging the pots and pans and mutter-curse their father, their mother would always love them and have time to talk to them.

Why I have been pigging out this week

I've been asked to make a decision this week. Normally my decision making process is very simple: weigh the benefits of each option given and choose the one which my heart tells me to do. Never mind that it is against what everybody advised because at the end of the day, I rationalise, it is I who have to live with the decision. And never mind that it (the decisions that I took) means lesser pay, getting stuck in same box, marrying a man that my father didn't warm to at first, saying teary goodbye to my ideal workplace - I made all these decisions because that was what felt best at that time. And I have never regretted a single one of them.

But today, this decision, I'm grappling with it. I've been thinking about it for 3 days now - since my boss offered me a potential promotion in a different job responsibility. At the moment, I am doing two different job responsibilities because the team responsible for the additional job function (yes, a teamful of people) left the department a year ago and replacements have yet to be found. The offer, on the surface, sounds good enough - I move into a more senior position with a different portfolio. There's bound to be challenges and the excitement of starting anew. But it also means relinquishing my present job functions which I really truly enjoy. Everyone I spoke to urged me to take the opportunity - dollars and sens, challenges, new things; I heard it all.

But at the back of my mind, self doubts are forming and fast too. What if I can't perform in this new function? And I don't get that promised promotion because I fucked up along the way? Why the hell must I prove myself in this new job function to earn a promotion when I have been working here in my present function for past 4 years with more than good results? Haven't I proven myself enough? It's just my unlucky luck that I am saddled with a job that the bosses never really appreciates until some major cock-up happen, and I would never let that happen.

I only have one more day before I have to let my boss know of my decision. I've tried to clear all my thoughts and worries, push them to the side and unclutter my thoughts. But I can't seem to hear them today amidst this din of what-ifs. It could be that my fear of not meeting people's expectation and my recurring low self-esteem are silencing my instincts. They're not giving me any clues as to which direction I should lean. I really do love my present job, even the current juggling act of 2 different functions. The very idea of leaving what I love doing for something I can do and also my bosses believe that I can perform and potentially better pay but essentially is not what I love doing is so damn hard that I get heart spasms just thinking about the leaving part. Maybe that's my heart's way of telling me what to do. For crying out loud, we're still talking the same department, the same company and the same time zone, just different functions. hee.

In the meantime though, I have been feeding my indecision with 2 bars of Toblerone, 1 bar of cadbury almond, quarter pack of gourmet jelly beans, 1 bar of snickers and 1 magnum choc ice cream with nuts. Sigh. I wish my heart would stop listening to my stomache and come to a decision soon.

P.S. Loo Stories

Went to the loo today after 3 days away from the office and first thing I noticed, the bloody lights are on. Hooray, no more sitting in the dark wondering whether I should say something or swing my legs furiously to get the sensors to notice that helllloooo I still haven't left the loo. In the end, the automatic lights only lasted for one week.

I guess people don't need to live that technologically advanced. It's the same with the once hyped up idea to build a covered airconditioned travellator (you know, those flat moving escalator thingy at airports) walkway from KLCC to Bukit Bintang area which thankfully got nixed. Yes, Malaysia is damn hot. Yes, you can walk from KLCC to Bukit Bintang. Yes, it would be nice to stay in aircond room when it's 38degrees hot outside. But, no we don't need a coveredairconditionedtravellatorwalkway to get us moving, thank you very much. I've walked in the midday heat from Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman to Central Market many times. And I'll tell you this, if I had to do this on a coveredaircondthingy, I would certainly miss the best mee rebus in KL (coffeeshop opposite Sogo with 3 old Malay, Chinese and Indian uncles who really know how to cook) , blare of latest Hindi songs, slithering my way through the constant crowd coming out of Mydin's and my favourite kopitiam in the whole wide world (the peeling paint endlot colonial shophouse with now-yellow windows across HSBC that makes the most absolutely brilliant roti steam kaya).

And this song is dedicated to....

I love listening to love song dedication programme on the radio. Normally, they're on when I am on my way home from work and depending on the dedications or the song selection, I sometimes feel like calling my Hubby (who would be at the office or at the karaoke) and tell him that I love him or cackle in my car.

"This next song is from Baby and is dedicated to J with the message 'Thank you for the wonderful night yesterday. I love you so very very much and why aren't you answering my calls.'"

Song Played: Hello by Lionel Ritchie.

Anyway, this list of music memories is dedicated to Mangolisa with the message "I can hear you singing all the way from the Netherlands."

1. What is the total amount of music files on your computer?
Errr, none? I do it the old fashion way: pop the CD in, which means that I have way too many CDs kept at the office.

2. The CD you last bought?
Originals with the Kementerian Hal Ehwal logo:
1. Maroon 5
2. Best of Mariah Carey
3. Joss Stone
From my favourite DVD seller (who I think I hv a crush on, teeheehee):
1. Best of Robbie Williams
2. Oasis
3. Sting & The Police

3. What was the last song you sang to before reading Lisa's message?
1. Come Fly With Me - Sinatra (because it was in this film that I was watching this afternoon and I couldn't stop humming it even 7 hours later)
2. Thank You For The Music - ABBA (because I read Fazu's comment in Rara's blog before hopping to Mangolisa)

4. Write down five songs that you often sing to or that mean a lot to you.
1. Heaven - Bryan Adams: the first song that Hubby dedicated to me when he first fell in love with me, he was 15 and I 13
2. Friday I'm In Love - The Cure: the song Hubby kept on playing in the car when he finally mustered the courage to date me on a beautiful Friday, 10 years after we first met
3. The Love Thieves - Depeche Mode: I just lurve this song for no special reason. I think it's because all that angsty electonica music sounds so hauntingly beautiful.
4. Billy Jean - Michael Jackson: I was in love with him when I was a pre-teen. Everytime I hear this song, my feet starts tapping and I just must sing it out loud.
5. Di Manakan Ku Cari Ganti - P Ramlee: I croon this song to Baby Epi (and Lil Epi when he was a baby) whenever she wants to sleep. So sad and heartbreakingly beautiful.

5. Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why?
1.Rad - because she's the karaoke queen!
2.Rara - because I want to see what gems she will come up with despite her not being able to hold a tune.
3. Fazu - because I know that deep down, he really wants to be the karaoke king!

6.Karaoke list: I've only been to a karaoke once (itu pun after a couple of drinks to calm nerves) so this list is more like a wish list of songs that I would sing in a large group of sober and not so sober but all very happy friends.
1. Dancing Queen - ABBA
2. Belaian Jiwa - Carefree
3. Fantasy - Earth Wind and Fire
4. Wonderwall - Oasis
5. YMCA - The Village People

Loo Stories

Modern loo life is so taxing on one's brain sometimes.

I. The Automatic Lights
Like today, I walked into a pitch black office loo, then poof! the lights suddenly came on. Ah hah, automatic lights. I remember some colleagues commenting about this yesterday (aside: ey? didn't I go to the loo at all yesterday??) and there was some mass email about it last week, which I of course never bothered to read [title: lighting control for washrooms].

Anyway, today I went to the loo and was mildly entertained by such show of efficiency. While I was in the little cubicle wondering at what precise point the lights would automatically come on - is it the moment the door is opened, or the moment the clever sensor senses movement or how about if I just slightly open the door to take peek into loo, would the lights come on automatically - what do you know but the lights went out.

Pitch black dark out.

Oookay, now this is a conundrum. Should I tap my shoes on the marble floor so that my leg movement and sound of shoe tapping would trigger the bloody sensor? Or should I say something to trigger the machine (Excuse me but please, I'm still here)?? What now how? I can't be expected to get up and walk out of cubicle and open the bloody door and then dash back into my cubicle, am I not ??? My problem was solved today when someone else walked into the loo. But if she hadn't what was I supposed to do, sit there in the dark?

Note to self: must write to the dept in charge and ask them to make the lights last longer than 45 seconds. How to put on make-up like this in the morning?

II. The Automatic Tap
Some months ago when I was at Suria KLCC, I made a total fool of myself in the loo. Thinking that the tap was automatic I stood there like a right idiot, hands outstretched, waving my perfect ten fingers under the tap and thinking "typical,thing doesn't work". Turns out that the tap was not automatic and that you had to push some really tiny button to get the water moving. 6 years of working in offices where you don't have to flush nor turn on the tap has made me lose touch with reality evidently.

III. The Unisex Loo
I blame this invention on Ally McBeal's ultra cool office loo. There's a loo on our executive floor that's for men and women. But everytime I'm forced to use this loo, I don't feel cool at all. Instead I always feel super obsessive compulsive because I'll survey the floor surrounding the lav first and then wash hands before bringing the toilet seat down, wash my hands some more, wipe the toilet seat with clean tissue paper, wash hands more and then sit down with legs either very much apart so that they won't get into contact with any invisible water stain on the floor or legs raised for same reason. Needless to say, by the time I get out, every pore of my hands would be wafting with the smell of apple liquid soap.

IV. The Premium Loo
Read in the paper about a month ago that a leading shopping centre is going to introduce premium loos with bigger cubicles, dedicated cleaners, Body Shop toiletries and no queues. The entrance price to this loo heaven? RM2. Bloody hell. Sounds exorbitant but I have a feeling that this will catch on with other shopping centres soon. Even to pee and shit, we are divided into the haves and the have-nots.