scarlett johanssen.

This is probably the best news I’ve had for months.

Scarlett Johanssen is going to play Catherine Carbone in the play A View From The Bridge for her Broadway debut.

Yes Cath,the Greta Grabo,the Madonna,the belle of the play.

The play has always piqued my unadulterated interest.I studied the play for my second semester in college,and I was always fascinated by the wonder of it-the drama,the characters,the playwright.My favorite text of the lot,in fact.I  am kind of sorry now I gave away all those notes and essays.Labour of love all right,the lot of them.Ah well.

Now Cath is such an elegant character,the girl chased by her own uncle Eddie Carbone and illegal immigrants.The girl in high heels,naive and sultry and you can’t help being perplexed by that oxymoron.The girl who wants to break out from all things timid that trap her into the family’s household and believes that true love can exist in the form of empty promises of faraway places.The girl who walks around the house in her ’slip’ and sits by the bathtub when her uncle is shaving.

I’ve always imagined Catherine to be like Scarlett.Ravishing and gorgeous and subtle  so much so you would want to re-consider your sexual preference if you’re a female,for 2 seconds that is.The drama queen in her own elements.

So all I need now is an airplane ticket.

vocation.

You know how sometimes you stop in your stride,sit down for a bit and wonder what are you doing with your life?One second of split decision and you’re set up for a vocation.

Take teaching.I dont know what I’m doing really,to agree to study to teach and henceforth meaning agreeing to dedicate myself to the very noble vocation of teaching.Which in theory is not the wisest decision really,for I am very much aware that there isn’t a drop of interest in my calorie-infused blood to teach.Or will.Or ability.Or anything at all.

Because it’s supposedly a vocation,you’ve got to be fiery about it.And I’m not.

For all the years I spent in school,there’s one teacher that probably brings me a little closer on the insight of a teaching as a noble,honest-to-God rewarding experience.

He taught me Bahasa Melayu when I was in form four.A lot of my classmates never did their BM homework,because,well,it’s BM.Nothing critical whatsoever,these kids wanted to be doctors you see.And so no one bothered much about handing in essays or reading up assigned novels,unless it’s the night before an exam.My teacher was always so patient,he saw where we were coming from.But one day he just burst,we all went a little further off his patience.The rest of the class did not do his homework yet again,and this time he was done taking any crap.He was reduced to be using his authority,bringing up names to the principal and such.

That isn’t my punchline,yet.

I happened to be one of those very few who did the homework.Not that I was a model student or anything,for I never did my maths homework.It was just that I enjoyed writing essays for him,essays about illegal immigrants and analysis on fictional people in print.So what happened was,he sent those who did the homework letters.Letters of appreciation to be exact.I remember him thanking me in mine,telling me that I was definitely going for 10A1 for my dedication.That was sweet,but it wasnt what grabbed me.I found it to be highly memorable because he addressed the letter to me,using my full birth name.

My teacher is sensitive enough to sense that every child needs a recognition,and goes as far as to write a personal letter,and addresses her in her full birth name.Sir,I can’t top you,I never will.I can’t never measure up to your standard.

That 10A1 never quite comes(thats the end of the world if such grandeur ever happens to me,haha) but yeah,I’ve had my two minutes of feeling as if I’ve got the world under my heels.Thats how much power a teacher exudes over a falling 16 year-old.

I’m writing this to remind myself that at this minute,I hope that someday I,too, can give someone I teach that feeling I had when I received a letter adressed to me in my full birth name,that feeling of being important and powerful and capable when I know I am none of those things.

chuck palahniuk.

If you don’t know what you want,most of the time you will end up with what you dont.-Fight Club

Ah the wisdom of words.They never fail me.

And this is our story.

And this is our story.

Once upon a time there were two girls who we should know as Nur and Elma.

They first met on 3^rd of July,2007 when they both enrolled for the same prep college.When Nur first laid her eyes on Elma,she was worried,for you see,Nur has always stuck to her own kind and now she discovered she had to share a room with a girl she thought she would never find any similarity with.

For the first few hours the silence was rather excruciating,they asked each other’s names and that was that.But when Nur saw Elma unloaded her CDs she was joyful,Elma had a Good Charlotte CD!Soon they began talking about Good Charlotte,about how they adored the band and so,that fateful CD broke their silence-for that day,and another two years to come.

For their first year Elma had a stereo in the room,and that was a major source of entertainment.Elma put Linkin Park on repeat and Nur listened,but what they both liked the most was the track from Good Charlotte,The Truth.They sang along to the song for the longest of time and soon enough,their friends flooded the room and they began to like the song too.Nur and Elma were overjoyed,they high-fived because yeah,they were the trendsetters!

You see Nur and Elma really could not be anymore different.Nur liked reading novels,Elma won’t pick one up even if her life depended on it.Nur was an indoor person,Elma liked getting out and about.Nur was inactive and did not know any sport,Elma was the college’s fitness guru.Nur was slow,Elma was fast.Nur a dreamer,Elma  a go-getter.Well we could go on about their differences,but they were friends nonetheless and oh,how Nur couldn’t live without Elma.

Among all of the things that Nur would always,always remember was this one fateful evening.Nur was upset that she didn’t get something that she really wanted,and Nur had this sickening habit of crying under the duvet.Elma heard her and went to ask her,what’s wrong?Nur told Elma that she was alright,don’t bother her,but at this Elma was becoming more persistent-how could she not bother?She was Nur’s roommate!Somehow Nur got even more depressed and went off her bed,she bent her head low and just went on sobbing.Elma got down after her and told her something she wont forget-hold your head up Nur,no matter what happens,hold your head up.

But Nur wasn’t like that all the time.Mostly she was alright and cheerful.Nur was shameful to admit,she had a gigantic appetite and she often told Elma late at nights-shouldn’t they go and grab some burgers?Nur never missed one meal at the dining hall,Elma would shake her head  and call Nur an eating machine,but she would never,ever,let Nur go alone.Elma remembered Nur’s birthday and often went out of her way to make Nur happy on her special day.Nur had a lousy attitude towards her appearance and it was Elma who tried to make her look better.Nur was also lousy at math and it was Elma who spent hours on trying to make Nur understand that there was no easy way for anything,that included math.Elma was a genius and she worked hard,and naturally,her one,ultimate dream came true when they finished prep college.

The UK.

And so Elma is leaving.

There is no word for Nur to describe her feelings,how do you say goodbye to someone you’ve grown to trust,to care,to love?

Nur hopes that Elma’s new roommate would remember that Elma sleeps better with the lights off,she goes to bed no later than 12.30 pm,she needs her private study hours starting at 8 pm,she doesn’t eat spicy food,she doesn’t like to stay cooped up on weekends.

But she knows Elma couldn’t find a better roommate than herself.And neither could Nur.

almost gone.

A very good friend of mine is going away,to the land of United Kingdom tomorrow.

I’m going to try to make this entry as cheerful as possible,which I reckon is rather absurd really,as my heart has gone all soggy,it’s been drenched in this distant feeling of sadness.

Of course I will be devastated.

How could I not be?

A close friend is leaving and it’s all coming to me now.

The orientation week where we first became friends,she was the girl who sat behind me,it was some boring speech and seats got reshuffled,she ended up sitting beside me,and we started talking.The rest is,as they say,history.

Here are all things history.

That orientation week performance when our groups were merged.Dressing up as angels.Going out together for the first time,going to that horrible foodcourt because her roommate won’t eat at American fastfood outlets,swearing that will be the last time,it was.Sharing earphones during the journey on the train.Meeting our fashionable friends in MidValley,they were in MNG blouses and we thought we were frumpy.The picnic at Lake Garden.Going out to buy birthday presents to our friends,got home late,how we threw our stuffs over the college fence only for the security guards to retrieve them,and we had to invent some sob story about bus tickets.The night during fasting month,watching How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days,then feeling all guilty because it was some shitty film full of makeout scenes,and oh,this was the night we didnt sleep until sahur,this was with her roommate,and somehow the conversation left us all in tears.The evenings spent watching One Tree Hill,whatever happened to our DVD fund?She likes Peyton Sawyer and told me that people always leave,now how ironic,she is leaving.The jogs,she went ahead everytime because she wanted to listen to music,she is mad about her music.The night when the college was empty,we were up all night with my roomate,talking about how we were alwayss singles,didn’t go to sleep until it was 5,then woke up at seven to one day of madness.Failing my stats homework,ended up sobbing on my bed,I think her roommate reported this to her,she came and I was wailing how I wanted to go to community college instead,and she grabbed my bag to shove my clothes in,I think in the end we were hysterical with laughter.The cafe where we always ordered the same,same food,I could memorize how she wanted her fried eggs done.The shopping trips in late evening,how we were always very careful with our money,going for the cheapest detergent.How we wanted to be tough,well she is the real deal with the black getup all the time,I am girlish and never tough,and how she laughed at my pinkish wardrobe.The luches and dinners at dining hall,her familiar grumbles and how I was always the one to finish her meat.The bands that she likes,and how she introduces me to the music I never heard.Singing All The Love in The World to the words on my laptop.Puking by the road,twice,she watched me puke twice.The letters that I wrote to her during the fights.The math study sessions,I would’ve failed without her,I wonder if she remembers how I mispronounced the word planes?.The birthdays,who could forget the birthdays?The story about the birthdays would probably need a special post.The late night talks.The ride on that banana boat,she told me a few times that it was fun,I could barely hear her because of the wind,but we were happy weren’t we?Seeing some boy climb the college frontgate and little did I know,she played cupid and me and that boy now are hooked up for life.And how we always wonder how come 2 years could be so short of a time?She would read this and call me a drama queen,but perhaps this is for the last time and it occurs to me that I would never,ever,find a friend quite like her again.

I can’t go on.This is killing me.

Go find all the great things in UK will you?Come back again,no matter how many years have passed, and you are still my best friend.

let’s go see the sunset.

I have a major problem in dealing with the past.

I mean,how do you handle a group of people you once saw everyday,and now suddenly all too different from what you remember them?How do you handle the awkwardness of knowing that you have changed,and them,too,have changed?How do you grasp the right words to break the ice,for the second time?How do you tell them about your life now,of which they have no idea about?

How do you get over the stiff politeness of not knowing what to say to each other?

And how do you explain that all you really want to do is really to slip unnoticed under the radar.

grown-ups never understand anything by themselves.

“How long are you going to be in New Zealand?”

“So how old are you when you start teaching?”

“How many bedrooms are there?”

“So you wasted two years on A level?”

“25..well thats pretty late to start a career”

“You gain another 2 kg?”

“I  missed one fucking point!”

“How many people didn’t make it?”

“8 months at home?”

“15 points..wow”

“21 is way,way too young to start a family”

Source:Real life quotes,frequently heard statements as recorded by heart.

I’ve suspected for a long,long time,that we all,

we all,

will have a much better shot at happiness if only we could let ourselves live in a world without numbers.

victory.

There’s nothing like a curious mix of Judith Kerr,Faizal Tahir,some mindless film about mermaids and moist chocolate cake to make your Eid.My Eid anyway.

I know it should mean much more than overrated hedonisme of cheap entertainment or the longing to stuff your face silly.It should be about the victory,the gratefulness,the forgiving.I do realize,I do know.

It’s just that it’s kind of hard to put on smiles and nods and well-rehearsed answers to the same,same questions you hear every year.And how do you enthuse about people you meet once a year anyway?How do you ask questions when there’s nothing you would want to know in the first place?

Thank God for some mermaid who speaks Malay and laughs at some pathetic skinny bloke’s silly jokes.At least she’s not talking to me.

the big.and the small.

I am struck by how small a big thing could be.I mean the world.

I am following this one obscure,nondescript blog simply because the boy that owns the blog talks about nothing but the girl he is in love with,but the girl I think does not feel the same way.And I as you know,love this kind of thing.

But  I found out that the boy’s muse is indeed a good friend of the girl I don’t really like during school years.A real life ordinary existing person,so ordinary that she has a Facebook account.

You see the beauty of following some random stranger’s blog is the fairy tale air of it-the feeling that everything is so distant and far away and the characters always seem so made up,you won’t think of them as real people at all.And when nothing and nobody feels real,everything is romantic.

But when you discover that the world is not big after all,and people are nothing but some names you encounter on Facebook,you are left with the  pain of the truth that nothing would ever be distant and far away and romantic.

slow-dancing in a burning room.

John Mayer is great to have around when you’re looking for inspiration.And me being the least inspired person of all people,the result of being all dried-up from the slow motion of an idyllic life,it’s only natural that I just have to consume an unhealthy dose of Mr Mayer this morning.

And guess what?I’m blogging.

To quote the man himself,

“but to evolve you have to dismantle,and that means accepting that nothing you have created in the past matters anymore,except that it brought you here”.

Well here I am now.