The Brats

I've made loads of reference about my little sister, Aisyah. But I've yet to say much about my other siblings. My two brothers. My two bratty brothers. Heheh... That's actually how I described them when I was younger. The Bratty Duo. The Litte Devils. A Couple of Monsters. A Pair of Pain-in-the-Butts.
But these are terms of endearments, I swear!

The two of them are very close and when they were younger, they used to be SOOO close, people thought they were twins! Despite the fact that they look nothing like each other.

But because they were close... They had a common enemy...ME.Their evil, big sister. And when we were kids, the operative word there was 'BIG'. They used to call me 'The Giant' and when I walked up the stairs, they both would pretend to scream and tumble around as if there was an earthquake.

Like I said, they were Brats.

Before Aisyah came along in 1991, it was just me and my brothers. Though it was just the three of us, we had a fun childhood.

I remember when a mother-cat gave birth in our garden. We each adopted a kitten as our own personal pet. I had an adorable one, which I named "Tiger" because it had swirls of orange and black. Ayman had a fiesty kitten he called "Skip". Irfan had a dark-grey kitten which he named "Blacky" (... soooo original, isn't he?).

I had fond memories of cuddling up to my kitten before I went off to school, and feeding it under the tree and stroking it to sleep... My brothers have fond memories of putting the kittens on skateboards and letting them whizz-off down the hill...

I had a bicycle which could carry a pillion-rider. My brothers used to take turns riding with me. Ayman was the sort who'd sit primly, quietly and enjoy the ride. Irfan would flail his limbs around and most of the time, he'd fall off the bike and I'd never notice until I heard the maid shout for me to turn-around and pick him up.

Irfan was (and still is) the kind of boy who'd eat anything. Put a plate of food in front of him and he'll eat it, no questions asked. Ayman however... You won't BELIEVE how finicky he was. Ayman was the FUSSIEST kid in the universe. His food had to be prepared HIS way and if you put any other ingredients, he'd point to it with his little finger and go "Taknak. Ada sampah."

Like rice porridge. There must only be the pure, white porridge and a smattering of ikan bilis (anchovies). Add chicken or vege or even pepper and he'd declare it 'sampah' and not eat a single bite. Ikan bilis was his staple diet. When we went on holidays to places where anchovies are only available on pizzas, my mom would have to fry lots of ikan bilis and pack it for him.

She also used to have to wait at the McDonald's counter for Ayman's 'special beef burger'. Just two slices of bun with a piece of beef patty between it. NOTHING else. If the McDonald's staff tried to cheat him by scraping out the pickle and the sauce, Ayman would notice. He always scrutinizes the thing before he eats it and if he finds even a trace of 'sampah'... Bye2 burger. Thankfully, he is now all grown up and like any grown man, he eats anything.

My younger brother, Irfan used to be a great fodder for teasing and tricks. Ayman and I had a lot of fun scaring him with nonsensical tales...

Like the one where we told him that he's actually NOT one of us. You see, Ayman and I are 'tan' and we both have really straight hair. Irfan is fair and he had brownish curls. So we told him that he's actually the son of the chinese man who fixes our lights. And that one day, the chinese man will come back to fix more lights and take Irfan back home with him. Needless to say, whenever a utility van drove up to our house, Irfan would be hiding quietly in his room.

Irfan also has a rather prominent forehead, we smilingly told him that he's actually the Elephant Man. At that time, the Elephant Man movie was THE scary movie of the year. So of course, we'd then see Irfan carefully inspecting his forehead in the mirror with a worried frown.

Speaking of mirrors... My God. That boy is SO in love with himself. From our front door to his room upstairs, there are 5 mirrors situated along the way. He checks himself out in EVERY single one of those mirrors EVERY single time he goes up or down.

And if the family plans to go out, he is the LAST one to get in the car. He spends HOURS in the bathroom, HOURS getting ready in his room and he STILL looks like the same 'ol brat that he is so I have NO idea why he needs all that time! Irfan @ Mr.Vain.

And Ayman… HE is image conscious. His clothes, his car, his hair… everything must be impeccably and uniquely AYMAN. But one thing about this boy is that he's quite a talent. He sings, he dances, he draws and he can fix ANYTHING under the sun.

When we were younger, I used to liken him to McGyver… He could really fix anything. Even now, when something of mine breaks, I just shove it to him and go "Ayman, Fix it." Ayman @ Mr.Fix-It.

My bratty brothers have all grown up now,with lives of their own. Although we all still stay in the same house, we hardly see as much of each other as we'd like. But when we do, nothing much has changed. They're still very close and I'm still the common 'enemy'. They occasionally do the whole 'tumble around as Giant Sister walks up the stairs' bit. And they love trying to get me to say the word 'banyak'... For some reason, my 'banyak' sounds odd… It sounds like 'bayyak" and to those two, that is oh-soooo amusing.

Although I gripe about them a lot (and I do lurve doing that! Heheh!), I do adore them both. They're annoying, irritating, exasperating brothers. But their MY brothers. And I love them very bayyak.

Now I find other things which are maddening... Their "girrrlfriends". (cue: roll eyes)

But THAT's another story all together.

Murder Love Thy Neighbour

This incident happened on Saturday, 22nd January 2005. I probably should've blogged about this earlier, but I remember a wise saying:-

"Don't make promises while in extreme joy...
Don't write anything while in extreme anger..."

Since I've cooled down a bit, here goes...

Saturday was my sister's birthday. She turned 14. She's my only little sister and she's a sweet little princess. I sent her on a birthday outing with her neighbourhood friends to Ampang Point. A few hours later, she called to get me to pick them up.

I picked them up from Ampang Point. The girls were chatting happily about their outing and were merrily laughing while I drove them home. I reached a t-junction. I had to turn right to get to our destination. I'm a careful driver and I was being EXTRA cautious because not only was I driving my little sister home, I had two other young passengers in the car - Other people's daughters.

I looked right, I looked left and I looked right again. The coast was clear, so I carefully turned right. Suddenly, a bright red car ZOOooommms past me, and swerves into the lane, speeding against oncoming traffic which honked wildly at him.

I had absolutely NO idea where he came from. But I correctly assumed that he must have been trying to avoid hitting me. I repeat, I had absolutely NO idea where he came from. The car was fire-engine red - I could not possibly have missed it while checking if the coast was clear.

"Where did he come from?" I asked the girls. They were in silent shock.
"From hell" said a very stunned birthday girl.
Indeed, the dude was a speed demon and I was just glad that he didn't hit us.

So I regained my composure and drove on towards home. The girls slowly started chatting again.

Suddenly, I heard a loud VVVRRROoOOOmmmm.

I looked in my rearview mirror and I saw the same red car speeding towards me. My heart dropped into my stomach. Here I have three young girls in my car, and I HAD to face a road bully.

He sped towards me and stayed inches behind me. He was SOOOO close, that if I slowed down even a LITTLE bit, he would've banged me and I could sue him for intentionally causing an accident, reckless endangerment and whiplash. But I cautiously drove at a steady speed while my heart was racing and I silently sent a prayer to God to protect the little girls under my care.

The red car swerved into the right lane, and aligned itself next to my car. I looked at the driver. His face was wrinkled up in fury and he fervently gestured for me to roll down my window. So I did.

My parents always told me that when faced with an aggressor, do NOT fight with aggression. And I was NOT about to jeopardize the safety of my sister and her friends.

"GILA KE? NAK MAMPUS KE? ARE YOU STUPID OR SOMETHING??"
You're the one who was speeding in a residential area, jackass
"IF I HAD HIT SOMEONE, WHOSE FAULT WOULD THAT BE??!!!"
You were the one driving against oncoming traffic... that'd be YOUR fault, asshole

When a man is wrong and won't admit is, he always gets angry.
Thomas C. Haliburton

My sarcastic responses were left unsaid. I just sat there staring at him. I knew this boy. I actually KNEW this boy with his road-bully behaviour. And the girls in the backseat confirmed it when I heard them whispering his name.

So I looked him straight in the eye and said "Okay Shafiq. I'm sorry, SHAFIQ..."

The boy's face wrinkled with confusion. How the hell did this woman know his name?

"... Well... next time, when you're crossing the road, you'd better look where you're going..."
That was his parting shot before he sped off on his way... making a u-turn to get back towards where-ever it was he was heading.

"E eee... Dia patah balik semata-mata nak marah2 kat kita jer?" said one of the girls.
"Shafiq dah giler ker?" said another.

I could only heave a sigh of relief that the boy was gone. I coaxed the girls back into a normal conversation. NOTHING was going to spoil my sister's day. ESPECIALLY not that angry-young-man.

He's my neighbour. I went to school with his sister. His kakak and I share the same friends. She's a sweet, ladylike creature - think Upperclass Siti Nurhaliza (pijak semut tak mati)... So it was absolutely SHOCKING for me to have seen her brother act like a total brute.

No decent man would go out of his way to chase a car full of young girls just to scream obscenities at them. That's road bully behaviour.

And it also shows a complete lack of good sense because it was done in your own god-damn neighbourhood. The chances of your victim being your NEIGHBOUR is 90%. It could've been my MOM or my DAD and if that was the case, they'd drive straight to his parents and get him into serious trouble.

But it was just me. Little ol' me. All I did was speak to his sister about it and she was pretty stunned, to say the least.

I told my parents about this incident and they shook their heads in a mixture of amazement and fury. I spoke to my brothers about it and they clenched their jaws in anger. But eventually, I found myself laughing at the absurdity of it all.

The dude actually made the effort to turn back, speed up and give chase to a car full of young girls just to SCREECH his macho crap at them. My goodness. That's just pathetic. Pathetic and kinda amusing. He was in his own neighbourhood and he acted like that.

What if I had been the wife of the Imam who leads the prayers in the Masjid in front of his house? What if I had been the daughter of the Kelantan royals who live a minute away from his house? That would've been funny.

You are not angry with people when you laugh at them. Humor teaches tolerance.
W. Somerset Maugham (1874 - 1965)

Humour aside, the behavior was uncalled for. If indeed it had been MY fault for not detecting a speeding, fire-engine red Evo sports car... I tender my sincerest apologies. But his behaviour was wayyyy out of line. This boy comes from a good family. His got good looks, a good education, and his family is affluent.

It just goes to show, that money can't buy manners.

Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.
Aristotle (384 BC - 322 BC)

Weapon in My Underwear

For some inexplicable reason, most people assume that I'm a feminist. And a friend of mine once referred to me as a "hard-core feminist". She earned a smack on the head for that one.

I am not a feminist.
I believe in equality and women's rights because I feel that it is part and parcel of human rights, women being human and all.
But I am not a feminist.

On a level playing ground, I believe in meritocracy. I don't agree when people use gender as an issue to garner support for a promotion etc. I don't agree with the concept of giving the lady a push-up (and I'm not talking about bras here). You get up by working hard, and proving yourself as an excellent person who is worthy of being up there.

No woman is required to build the world by destroying herself. ~Rabbi Sofer

I know some feminists and sometimes, I feel like they use their ovary as a weird weapon.

The Hard-Core Men-are-Scum Feminist
They wear manly clothes. They smoke, drink, prey on younger men in vain attempts to be like a man. They're aggressive, loud, boisterous and antagonistic.
In their eyes, being feminine, lady-like and womanly renders one disgracefully incapable of getting respect. If you're womanly, you're a ditz. No one wants a ditz for a CEO. You gotta be one of the boys, you gotta be a MAN.
To me, that's a shame.
If you think men are scum, why are you acting like one?

When a woman behaves like a man, why doesn't she behave like a nice man? ~Edith Evans

The Fickle Feminist
"I want to go bungee-jumping and sky-diving and rock-climbing"
"Okay... but don't do it too often. Women at your age tend to suffer from osteoperosis."
"WHAT??? HOW DARE YOU!!! Are you saying that WOMEN have brittle bones and MEN don't?? What?? You think you men are stronger than women ah?! I'll have you know that I'm a black belt in karate and I pump weights at the gym 5 times a week, okay!"
2 days later
"Hoonnneyy.... Can you carry this box for me? It's too heavy...."

I knew one fickle feminist who'd get all hot and bothered whenever someone challenged her feminist beliefs. She'd scream "women can do exactly what men can do and even better!"
But every time we went on debate tournaments, she'd expect the boys to carry her luggage for her.
I could only roll my eyes at the sheer hypocrisy.

One of the things about equality is not just that you be treated equally to a man, but that you treat yourself equally to the way you treat a man. ~Marlo Thomas

I've got a colleague who screeches when a man pulls up a chair for her, or offers her a seat on the LRT, or opens a door for her. But on a date, she ALWAYS expects the man to pick up the tab.
What the hell is that all about?

Chivalry and gentlemen are rare these days.
It's always refreshing to be treated like a lady. It doesn't make a woman less intelligent to have someone open a door for her. It doesn't make us less capable of doing our job if a man pulls up our chair at the meeting room. For heaven's sake... it's no big deal.
When you make such things a big deal, you trivialize all the other major accomplishments of the feminist movement - like giving us the right to vote, the right to work, the right to equal financial gain.

No one would take you seriously if all you bitch about is your right to open your own door.

Now, don't get me wrong.
Feminism on its own is not a flawed or terrible concept.
Yes, we need to work for equality in human rights. But what irks me is the way feminism is sometimes screwed up by women with their own peculiar perceptions.

We are human beings first, our gender, second.

Whether women are better than men I cannot say - but I can say they are certainly no worse. ~Golda Meir

What's the point of dividing humankind into two battling lines?
No religion or school of thought teaches us to crusade against the people whom we NEED in order to preserve the human race.

The only thing we need to do is to cultivate mutual respect. Nothing more, nothing less.

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman. ~Anaïs Nin

Insanity -- a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world. R.D.Lang

An un-named lawyer from an un-named law firm in an un-named country had a very important case in court today.

She woke up bright and early after calculating the time that it'll take her to commute to the courts.
40 minutes [+ 30 minutes in case of traffic jam].

She gets in her car, puts on some nice, relaxing music and heads towards the city. Everything is going on smoothly until she reaches this un-named road.

The cars are lined up for miles and miles. And the traffic's not crawling... it's not inching forward.. it's just not moving at all!

The un-named lawyer sighs.
What could possibly be happening? This road is always busy but it's never had unmoving traffic before. Maybe it's an accident... and knowing the nature of the citizens of this un-named country, they'll stop and gawk at the accident scene even if it's just a little fender-bender.

She waits.
The car inches forward.
She sighs... maybe it's not a fender-bender, maybe someone's dead.
The car inches forward.
She groans.
The car inches forward.
She looks at the time... crap!
She curses.
The car inches forward.
She outright yells and prays loudly to God to get her out of there.
The car inches forward..... and turns a corner.....

........... and she sees the cause of the whole stupid traffic clog.

Three police cars are lined up by the side of the road... while several policemen are posing in their boots and tight pants by the side of the road.
The police officers are stopping some cars who then have to also line up by the side of the road - Thus, the entire lane is blocked to traffic.

The un-named lawyer's jaw is clenched.
She inches forward, wishing that she was in a bicycle... a unicycle.. a skateboard, whatever.
Too late.

A severe-looking policeman with a thin moustache waves at her to stop.

She curses and swears and clenches her fist... but she pulls over and joins the others by the side of the road.

(((rolls down window)))
"Yes officer?"
"License please."
(((gives him her license)))
"What's going on officer?"
"Oh, we're conducting random checks."
Un-named lawyer closes her eyes and counts to ten.
"Random checks? Is this REALLY necessary at 8.30 am in the morning on a weekday at RUSH hour where people are rushing to get to work?"
Officer unperturbed.
"Oh. It's part of our job."
Un-named lawyer plays with fire. She figures, she's going to get yelled at by the damn judge, the snooty client and the boss anyway so why the hell should THIS dude have a nice day...
"Part of your job? Random checks? Fine. But this is ridiculous! You KNOW this road is busy... You KNOW people are rushing to work... You KNOW that blocking this road will inconvenience sooo many people. This is just plain stupid!"
Officer looks up from his stupid memo pad, opens his mouth to say something intelligent and gets his first look at the manic eyes of the un-named lawyer.
"Uhm... o-kay.. go on... you can go now".
Officer sashays back to his patrol car.

The un-named lawywer rolls up her window, steps on the gas and speeds of to court...
Her mind is reeling with the stupidity of "those who are trained to protect us".

She remembers the time a crossroad was jammed up because the traffic lights were not working...

A police hut was situated right on the curb near the traffic lights. Two policemen were in it. They were watching the chaos and confusion of drivers trying to selfishly go their way while honking like madmen.

Of course, the crossroad was then jammed up. NO ONE was going ANYWHERE. All they could do was sit in their cars and lean on the horn. (Citizens of this un-named country are the 'best' drivers in the world...)

One annoyed driver got out of his vehicle and approached the police hut.

"Officers, could you possibly help us out here? The situation needs to be controlled."

"No."

" ---- Why not?"

"It's not our job... we're not TRAFFIC police."

Every kind of peaceful cooperation among men is primarily based on mutual trust and only secondarily on institutions such as courts of justice and police.
Albert Einstein (1879 - 1955)

Defamation suits and the Internal Security Act (ISA) does not apply to tales of un-named lawyers from an un-named law firms in un-named countries...
So Go Away, troublemakers

Seal it with a Kiss

According to Jordan Stein, in his article 10 Ways To Be A Real Man
, Real Men should NOT write love letters to their lady-love...

He says, and I quote:

Love letters? Big mistake. Women want MEN, not carbon copies of themselves. Leave sentimental composition to the fairer sex while you go about your business of owning a penis.
There's nothing wrong with showing emotion -- not enough men do -- but choose an alternative forum to Hallmark.
Cards are fine for marking milestones, but when it comes to expressing your feelings on a day-to-day basis, stick to the same instrument you use to quote stock prices and rattle off NBA stats.

As a woman, I just feel that it is my noble duty to inform you men that this is soooo incorrect. At least, to ME it is.

One of the things I love about being in love is getting love letters.

And I'd have to say that I'm very fortunate to have a man who writes letters that are both sweet + hilarious. Okay, sometimes he writes stuff that aren't long enough to have the privilege to be called 'letters' but stillll......

A written word from the man you love can definitely get your heart racing. And unlike romantic words (which are nice too, of course!), love letters can be read and re-read and re-read over and over again. That's why some people still keep letters that are all torn and tattered.

There was once a time when Wan & I had to endure a long-distance relationship. He was in JB and I was in KL. Although we spoke to each other every day, whenever I received a letter from him in the mail, I'd be absolutely overjoyed. Especially since he likes to pepper his letters with sketches and drawings. I still keep those letters, and one day far far away, my children will discover them and realize what an utter romantic their old daddy is.

So, my unsolicited advice to all you men out there, slipping a short, sweet note into your girlfriend's handbag will do wonders. Writing her an unexpected lovey-dovey letter and mailing it to her (even if you live next door to each other) will definitely make her adore you even more than she does now.

Trust me, it won't make you less of a 'real man' in her eyes.

The pen is mightier than the sword, and unlike the sword, it can't castrate you.

It Must be Easy being a Man...

A lot of benefits comes with the penis.

Wardrobe-wise, there's not much hassle.
Work: Shirt & Pants & Socks & Shoes.
Play: T-Shirt & Jeans & Socks & Sneakers.
All you've got to decide on is 'what color'.
Even then, you can't go wrong... Dark colors, pastel colors, bright colors... everything's acceptable.

With women, the choices are unbelieavable. I won't even bother listing them down because I hardly know the names of all those stuff. (I've just learnt what an espadrille is.. A type of shoe... You learn a new word everyday...)

I used to call my tops 'shirts' until my friend corrected me - "That's not a shirt, Di. It's a 'tunic'".
I just nodded knowingly, despite thinking to myself "What the hell's a 'tunic'? Sounds like 'tumeric', and isn't that kunyit?"

And to me, all fabrics are just that - fabrics. But then I found out that some are silk/cotton/wool/linen/cashmere etc. And ALL have different washing instructions!

And lets not even GO to SHOES. Ugh. Men can just wear the same ol' black leather shoes and no one says a word. Women insist on having 10 pairs of black leather shoes - pumps/court shoes/sandals/boots etc. And then high-heels, medium-heels, flats, stilletos... ick!

And brands! Omigod. Prada/Louis Vitton/Chanel/Christian Dior/Fendi/Gucci etc. I've only recently learnt the names... I've yet to understand which is "high class" and which is "lower class" and WHY these damn things even HAVE classes!

Conversation-wise, men have it easy.
Sports. News. Cars. Work. Women. Jokes. Dirty jokes. Dirtier jokes.

For women.... Aiyoooo.... Have you ever listened in on a conversation among women? Usually, EVERYONE is speaking at the same time and you'd think "who's left listening to all this yak yak yakking"? But don't be fooled, we are hearing every single word...and we respond to it too. That's why most conversations among women are alien to men.

"Did you hear about that bitch?"
"Omigod yes! Look at this picture! And how could he even THINK about doing that to her!"
"Awww... he's so cute. Is he walkingyet? Apparently he's always been like that, like , you know -"
"I KNOW! As IF his BMW is the only one on the planet! Oh, I lurrrrve that bracelet!"
"I SoOooOO agree with you on that! He's just started toddling a few steps... and eating solids now. She should've dumped him long ago"
"Yeah, they must've been so, like, off! Always fighting. And I got it on sale too!"
"You can say THAT again! "

That's why if a man tags along for a women's outing, after a few minutes, he gets this vacant look on his face.

I'm a woman but sometimes, even I don't understand my fellow sisters...

Men have ONE face. They sleep in that face, go to work with that face, go on dates with that face... It's the same ol' face they came out of the womb with.

Women... They subject their face to torture.

Wash, tone, moisturise, wait 2 minutes, foundation, base powder, tweeze eyebrows, eye liner, eye shadow, (wipe off eyeshadow as it doesn't match new shirt), eye shadow #2, eye shine, nose shade, (scrub off nose shade as looked like Micheal Jackson), blush, lip liner, lipstick, dab lipstick with tissue, reapply lipstick (why the hell did u dab it off in the 1st place???),lip gloss, loose powder, spray with some liquidspray thingy that makes you glow... All THIS for work.

And for sleep... Scrub, Exfoliate, Wash, tone, moisturise, wait 2 minutes, slather on cucumber+ginger+lemon beauty paste, put cucumber on eyes and then try to sleep while smelling like a salad.

I've yet to subject myself to this torture.

And men can have a meal without drama.
Bring them ANYwhere and they'll eat ANYthing.
"I'll have the steak, well done, with mashed potatoes".
Eat eat eat and burp.
End of meal.

Women...
"I'll have the steak, well-done... no, raw.. I mean, medium-rare.. no, no.. Well-done. And mashed potatoes, please. Thank you....Wait. That's too heavy. A fish is less fattening, right? Okay, I'll have the smoked salmon and a side of coleslaw. Oh dear, coleslaw has mayonaisse and I'm really on a diet... Okay, make that a Caesar Salad,.. with fries. Oh crap. Fries are sooOoo oily. Just make that a Caesar Salad'lah.... and a ChocolateMarshmallow Supreme Brownie for dessert"

Nibble nibble "Oh, this is going straight to my hips!"
Nibble nibble... sip sip sip "This is such a HUGE portion"...
Nibble nibble... "Actually, maybe I should've had the steak, kan?" nibble nibble...chomp chomp chomp
"This brownie is SINFULLY delicious"... chomp chomp CHOMP!
"MMMmmmm...OMIGOD! I can't believe I ATE THAT! How could you let me EAT THAT?! I can just SEE my tummy growing!"
((((Guilt guilt guilt)))
Discreet burp disguised as a sneeze.
End of meal.

(10 minutes later..."I SOOOOoooO shouldn't have eaten that brownie!")

And the Contradictions!!

Boyfriend sends her flowers.
"Honey, thank you for the flowers but you really shouldn't waste your money like this. Flowers wilt and die... my love for you is eternal. This bouquet must've been expensive... save up for our wedding'la sayang..."
(two months later)
(((pout pout pout)))
"How come you never buy me flowers anymore?"

Boyfriend calls her at the office...
"I don't know WHY he needs to call me all the time! Doesn't he trust me? I mean, I'll see him if after work whattt. Kacau jer lah!"
(two days later)
"How come you never call me at the office? Don't you think of me? I think of you ALL the time. Don't you miss me?"

Boyfriend gives gift:
BOOK:
"Omigod! Is he implying that I need to read more??? He thinks I'm dumb!??"
TEDDYBEAR:
"I'm an independent, self-relient and mature woman! He still treats me like a child! No respect, I tell you!"
HOUSEHOLD APPLIANCE:
"Excuuuuuusssseee me! Is he hinting that I must do housework? I earned a degree and am NOT going to be his maid!"
DECORATIVE ITEM: "How nice.... and how cheap! I could probably get this for RM15 at IKEA! Hmph."
JEWELLERY:
"ooohhh.. I LOVE IT!....... Waitaminute. Is he trying to buy my affections? What does he want... No. What did he DO?? Mesti ada udang di sebalik batu nih!!! If not, why'd he spend so much for this??"

Hmm.... Okaylah... on a second thought... maybe it's not that easy being a man...

Look at me! Look at me! I'm a GIVER, baby.

"How did you spend your weekend?"

"Nothing much... Stayed at home, reading."

"Ooooh... I spent mine cleaning up my closet. I had no idea I had so much junk! Took me the whole weekend to clear it all up. I gave away my old clothes for the Tsunami charity collection. Now my closet is clean, bare and ready for the next Megasale!"

"He who gives what he would as readily throw away, gives without generosity; for the essence of generosity is in self sacrifice."
Henry Taylor

A friend of mine boasted that she gave away 4 huge boxes of clothes for the Tsunami victims. Her sister later confided in me that the boxes were filled with tattered ol't-shirts, stained shorts and torn pantyhoses.

I was sickened, really. The tsunami victims are in need of aid. They are NOT living, breathing garbage bins. To donate good, usable clothes... THAT'S charity. To dump stuff you wouldn't and couldn't wear... that's just cruel. If many others had this attitude, no wonder the charities had to say "No More Clothes, Please"

It's really ironic that the tsunami tragedy has brought out the tragic demise of honest to goodness charity.

On the front pages of some of our local papers, you see the headline "MAJOR TSUNAMI DONORS" complete with a list that states the donor's name, company and amount donated. If the donor is important enough, his face is plastered there too.

On the tv news, we are constantly barraged with scenes of huge cheques changing hands... with cameras clicking and the donor donating us with a big, satisfied grin.

Don't get me wrong. It's wonderful that they're donating. It really is... But I can't help but think of whether or not all this publicity and glam is needed...

What seems to be generosity is often no more than disguised ambition, which overlooks a small interest in order to secure a great one.
Francois De La Rochefoucauld (1613 - 1680)

I know of many people who have donated generously... and anonymously. And I also know of people who donate (via sms) just to see their names published in a little section in the local newspaper...

Charity in exchange for Publicity... that's not charity, that's making a deal.

The act of charity that hastens to proclaim its good deeds, ceases to be charity, and is only pride and ostentation.
William Hutton

Lets give without expecting something in return.
Lets give what we can afford to give.
Lets give unconditionally.

Lets not give torn pantyhoses in the name of charity...

Can you PUH-leez stop breathing?!

And the poor man widened his eyes in shock and left the room....

This happened while I was on a school trip to the National Museum (ages and aaaages ago). I was admiring the display of traditional weapons with a group of my friends. A rather ... uhm.. fat man(politically incorrect, but true) was standing near us. He was breathing rather heavily (obese people usually do) and quite honestly, it didn't bother me. But it bothered a friend of mine, Punitha... All of a sudden, without warning, she breaks the tomb-like silence buy staring at the poor, fat man and yelling "Can you PUH-leez stop breathing?!"

Sheesh...

But really, sometimes people do the most innocent things (that they can't help doing... or don't even notice that they're doing!) which others find incredibly annoying.

I just came back from a meeting with 6 middle-aged men. They were clients so of course, they got the red-carpet treatment, including mugs of freshly-brewed hot coffee. They were enjoying the coffee while we conducted the meeting. In the middle of the meeting, my ears began to be sensitive to the sound of slurping. Not sipping. SLURPING. This dude was slurrrrrrping his coffee and for some weird reason, it began to bug me. I was getting distracted. Every time he picked up his mug... I'd wince. Every time he slurrrrped his coffee... I cringed. It was not a productive meeting for me.

But then I remember when I was the "annoyer" instead of the "annoyee". (yes, these are NOT real words, but you know what I mean lahhh)

I was with my debating team (*sigh* Do ALL my stories have 'debate' in them... It SOoOo had a monopoly on my life!). We had just finished the 7th round and were anxiously waiting for the results. I was frazzled and exhausted. My mind was restlessly going through the entire debate over and over again.

Suddenly, the Jamaican girl next to me placed her hand on my thigh and snapped "Please stop jigging your leg, it's giving me a headache!". I wasn't even aware I was doing that! Sheeeshhh......

I'm sure this has happened to most of us... Getting annoyed by the involuntary little things people do.

Some people hate it when others bite their nails, or twirl a strand of their hair, or grind their teeth, or play with silverware at the dinner table (my mom HATES this one).

In school, during exams, I hated hated HATED it when the person next to me starts humming... or tapping her fingers on the table... or jigging her leg... or doing ANYTHING at all that distracts me... Irrational, really. Can't expect a fellow student to be comatose during exams now, can I? :)

*sigh*
Am NOT looking forward to the next meeting with Mr.Slurpee.