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Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Introducing Me

In the light of my most recent attempt to achieve numbness of emotions then posting about it in here, I've realize that I have yet to actually introduce myself. Well, since I don't really want to introduce myself, I suppose it's all polite courtesy for my future self when she re-reads all this (I'll be 30 and gray before my time and she'll go "Giirl, you're a pathetic imbecile." Not that I except she could be better than me seeing that I created her.

And in so creating said future woman, let's define current woman. I'm in my early twenties, at the age where I should be maturely able to leave home and go build the nation or something. But I can't . I'm stuck here because I haven't graduated yet and I took the full bachelor degree course instead of doing diploma first and earn a bit of pay.

Along the way, I gained a few 'F's'. My folks think that the stupidity lies in the school. Maybe they won't admit to themselves that their slug-a-woman (wow, sounds like a bad comic book heroine) had actually blown thousands of ringgit in depression.

Woah, did I just said depression? I mean stupidity. Yes, I'm not depressed, I'm just stupid. No I'm not anorexic, I'm just stupid. No I'm not suicidal, I'm jus-... well, you get the idea. Around here, emotional problem means that it's an embarrassment to the family.

Sure we can all say "Oh, she's just having a slight fever. Let's get the Panadol," but the fact reminds that we're a society that abhors emotional problems. It's unstable. It's a weakness and God only knows if any other family member might be suffering from the same thing but had not yet manifested. Not good for the breeding stock of the rich and dato'ed (Dato' is kind of like a Malaysian knighthood, though its value had decreased somewhat for years).

Again, I've said that I don't care what people think about me, but mostly I was referring to people I won't see ever again. Goodbye-Aunties I call them, never around to say hello, just following *Mak to meet, greet and then say goodbye, it was a very nice wedding/function/party/whatever-social-event-please-don't-invite-my-mother-if-you-think-she-might-drag-me-along-again.

I do, however, care a little bit of what people might think of my family. Just a very small bit; Il have to do a CAT scan of my brain if I need to look if it's still there. I try not to expose them to trouble if I have to, especially since I caused it.

Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean that the trouble would disappear. They do, however, have a bad habit of growing to massive proportions. Usually when that happens, I divert their attention to something else until the storm blows over. A cheap and dirty trick but if it works, I don't care.

Next to that, I'm also a slightly appreciative person. Especially about art. Not art as in museum gallery but art as in computer-affiliated cyber galleries. Check my December month's image. It's a nice pretty image which the original I got from CGSociety.
If the original artist knew I'm using this image to enhance my blog, whoopsie then. But it should be not as opposable as the image had been shrunk a lot to fit the blog page so the quality is kind of lest=s dramatic than the original.

I like pretty images. I would look all over the Internet for particularly nice images worthy of decorating my PC Desktop. Sometimes, I write a short story about what I've e found. Expect the one for December sometime around December (duh!). I'm not an artist myself (there's a school horror story in here but I won't bore about it to you. Yet) but you don't have to be a chef to know classy food from fast-food.

But most of all, I like to write. Fantasy fiction mostly, about my magical imaginary world. I have it slightly more structured as time goes along. It's a great way when you can't afford to own a Warcraft account and much faster to zone your head out too. In this cyber community I'm in, they're all cool on making plain vanilla old-school RPG games. Kind of like Final Fantasy before it took to worshiping the 3D religion.

When I'm not wasting my time on building a cheap game one coding line a day, I waste in writing about my imaginary world. I got some of the basics in the right places, mostly the technicality of magic and some minor histories. I've always wanted to write a book since Enid Blyton corrupted my childhood and I still do.

But I have no place for my fiction to get expressed. My mom calls my fictional writings as 'mengarut' or nonsensical. Sufficiently, family support is that very last thing I would ever ask of them when it comes to my most precious thoughts of all. I just don't think I could stand their oh-so-overwhelming concern.

That's what this blog is for, a place for my thoughts. It's true because I said it so and it shall be so (cue God-mode moment here, bear with me). And when it comes to keeping my private thoughts safe, I feel better believing that my future self would actually be thinking, "Girl, you're an okay imbecile."

The Ranting Continues...

Yesterday didn't turn out so well, huh? Yeah me... But as one must always induce positive thinking, one shall perceive that the rantings of yesterdays as manure to tomorrow's outlet. I think it was a politician who said that, maybe even a Chinese business man because I'm sure as hell that manure today is still manure tomorrow.

So pretty much, I got home in one piece yesterday. Drove all the way in one hand only and my left hand too. I had to use my right hand to hold my forehead up and those darn salty water out of my eyes, lest I'll have to stop by the side of the road and bawl like a baby. So I'm emotional. Sue me.

So yes, there's every possibility that I might get the failing grade on my thesis. Since we all charitable people, I'm not going to rant out on how I didn't bother meeting my supervisor (wrote about that already, go figure). Especially if my previous supervisors got a wind of me. I imagine them metaphorically crucifying me on the altar of the IT faculty but teachers being teachers, I would take a real crucifixion over an 'F'. At least I can die from crucifixion.

So I have one week to ferment at the pit of my stomach. No biggie. If I'm not too genius, maybe I'll work on that database my other course wants me to do. Me being me I can't guarantee I'll make it a working one, much lest hand it in time at all.

The three big differences in this is that the movie thingy was just a database file, the lecturer is nicer and I have two other people that going to fall down with me if I screw this up. I may not care if my world ends between tomorrow and twelve seconds after I end this blog but I make an acquaintance suffer the wrath of the 'F', I'll roll over and die first. At least my group has a reason of fatality to excuse my lack of progress.

Passing over the hazards of school, I guess I did feel something close to better after the snot drive (wiped the steering wheel before I left the car). Got home just after sunset prayers, hung around the kitchen table area until *Ayah and *Genius (my littler brother) got home.

Interactions with Ayah just got low but not grudgingly. Frankly, I try not to care. Then he asked if I was okay. Now really, a man who raised you from diapers and still paying for your petrol money is sufficiently capable of reading your mind. More so since I still got red eyes from the boo-hoos.

Just for being a jerk, I kept eye contact away and ignored the question until my father asked me a third time around. I supposed a teeny weenie part of me just wanted to throw hints at him that I was capable of lying to my own father (like I haven't done it with various types of well-practiced faces before).

So I just said I had a slight fever. Being that it rained that morning, it sounded justified so he just left. Ayah, like every other male in this Confucian-ingested province, brushed it off and went to his business. I can't show emotions to my father. Firstly, I'm not pretty when I cry and secondly, I scream when there's finally somebody to see me cry (not good for the neighborhood).

Thirdly, he's a guy. Guys can't handle emotions, as Oprah had taught us. And I don't talk emotions with a guy. Maybe I would but it'll be in a bitterly joking manner that's worth its weight of sarcasm in bricks. I drop a lot of hints to my family but maybe I'm just bad at hinting to them that I got emotional problems. If I were to hit Ayah with a big sign that says "I'm the Stupid One", he probably still wouldn't budge.

But hey, he's in the dark and I'm in dire jeopardy, which incidentally, I'm going to bury myself in bed clothes until D-Day comes. I am not going to talk to anybody about this, lest if it's an authority figure. But I do plan to rant something out a little bit more, not here, but definitely in a chat room.

I think I'll steal some 50 cent coins around the house and fork it over to the cyber cafe and meet the gangs at GW cyber community. They're e not really friends but they share a little interest with me so I'm going to screw this over to them anyway because I'm anonymous. Just blur out a line or two, hear them chat back "Oh you poor baby...," then blow this over.

I consider it healthy exercise to finally get something out. Otherwise I'll have to pull over on the side of the road in a car then bawl like a baby.

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