Footstools Distract

Mr Rahmat's such a bitch.

I went over to the library to see the guys jamming in the student corner. When I head back to the lab, guess what I saw typed in LARGE, GLARING FONTS onto my drawing file?

BILA NAK HABIS NI?

*sob*

Don’t Look At Me That Way, It Was An Honest Mistake

Seriously dude, I must thank you. Because of you, now I’m WAY over you.

I know you’re reading this. And guess what? I couldn’t care less already. Penat. I did it for fun. You were so scared of being tracked, it made you the most obvious target in the world. I just liked the chase. It made me feel clever and powerful in a geeks-will-take-over-the-world way. I wanted to see how far I could go. How much I could find out (not much actually, I did maintain some semblance of sense). And by the way? If you’re so bloody private and want to be anonymous and whatever then don’t la fucking use the internet, hide in a cave and grow a beard and be a bloody hermit. Even people who don’t use the internet, who’ve never registered for an email address in their life can be tracked on the internet. I probably wasn’t the only person trailing you. Everybody’s trailing everybody. I only ever Googled you, never on Yahoo or AltaVista, so you’ve definitely got other people on your trail than me. There are people ‘stalking’ me too. I know who they are, where they’re from. With a couple of clicks I could probably find out their home addresses and credit card numbers (just so you know, I’ve never actually done it. But I could). So I slipped up. It happens. Keep in mind – I only wanted to read your blog, not voodoo you and steal your identity. So maybe, subconsciously, I wanted you to find out. I wanted to stop this madness that I was spiraling into. I was about to stop already anyway, I felt kinda bad that it was that ridiculously easy to find out stuff about anyone. But I can tell you right now that there are people not slipping up in tracking you. That for every person discovered, there are many more (who are much better at wiping up their tracks) you still don’t know of. That there are many other people typing in ’silverkop’ in search engines other than me. Those with IP blockers and anti-detection software. Sooner or later I would’ve stumbled onto your blog anyway, whether I intentionally searched for it or not. Just so you know, it wasn’t that hard. You really don’t coveryour tracks well. Just as it was easy for you to find out it was me, it was that much easier for me to find out where you were. And honey, I actually didn’t find your xanga through a search engine. I found a lot of other things, but not your blog. I actually figured it out in my head. Don’t believe me if you want, I’m beyond caring.

Once upon a time I really believed that you were something amazing. I liked you a lot. A lot. For some inane reason unimaginable. A lot of my friends actually told me stay away from you – because 1) it wasn’t fair that I was doing all of this to anyone, and 2) from what they themselves read on your blogs and from what I told them (I lauded you a lot, actually) they didn’t like the sound of you. I continued liking you despite it being the most ridiculously stupid thing a girl could do to herself. You think I didn’t realize it was sad and pathetic? You think I didn’t know that I was setting myself up for a fall? Thanks for being flattered, but now, no. You’re not welcome. If it makes you happy, yes, I am humiliated. But not for reasons you may think. I’m not humiliated for being discovered (seriously, I was wondering myself when you would figure it out - kinda lembab actually). I’m not humiliated for ever thinking you were possibly the best crush I’ve ever had in my entire life even though we only were in the same room for all of two hours. Just your name sometimes would make me smile; I was in deep. I’m humiliated however, for liking someone who gambles (drugs I don’t care, sex I don’t care, killing someone even - in a state of sanity - I don’t care. But gambling, yes I care. There is absolutely no justification for it, none). I’m humiliated for following through on something that I knew was impossible. I’m humiliated that I let go of a real possibility with someone else for you, whom I barely knew. I should’ve known. The last Khairil I went out with turned out to be an absolute jerk. I’m sure you’re not, and I wish you all the best in your relationships, but you are as bad for me as he was. You in my head, my obsession with you - I admit, obsession - is on par, if not worse, than how that absolute fuckwit treated me. I sincerely hope that one day you will adore someone who adores you back as much as I thought I adored you. You deserve that. I may not know you well. But I think that I know enough to know that you’re a decent guy. A decent guy who doesn’t deserve a moron like me following their every blog move on the internet.

If you must know, the reason I believe that I liked you so much, is because I never got the chance to de-mystify you. With every guy I’ve ever had the slightest crush on, I managed to bring him back down to earth, make him human. Get it over with, to put it in other words. It was because I only met you once that I liked you so much. Because I didn’t have the chance to get to know you properly, the emotions intensified and snowballed in my head, making you the exhalted one above all others. I’m an emotionally immature girl, I admit it. I shouldn’t have gone so far. But you had already attained such a celebrity-like status in my life that I tracked you like I track John Mayer (another otherwise embarrassing fact that I don’t mind admitting). And again, believe me, it’s stupendously easy to track anyone on the net. I even found stuff on my buta-I.T. mother, who never does anything on the net save for surfing celebrity websites.

So breathe easy, for I am really over you. I’ll stop everything that I was doing. Thank you for knocking sense into me, I really honestly thank you for that. I’m really really sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, for doing what I did. You deserve an apology from me, and I’m apologizing. I still think you’re a terrific guy. I still think that the girl who finally manages to connect with you and make you love her back is one heck of a lucky girl. But I know that you’re not right for me. I know that now. That sometimes, Jell-O is the best for me and creme brulee should be for people who can handle it better than I. And for that I thank you. We’ll probably never have another conversation for the rest of our lives, you’re probably ecstatic about that, and I’m okay with it. I am, however, still going to read your blog. Because if nothing else, one of the qualities I liked in you is that you can speak well and know how to explain your point eloquently, especially if you disagreed with someone. There aren’t many men like that left here. Or anywhere else, for that matter. That’s why sometimes when I saw you were busy or whatever online, I still wanted to talk, because you always had intelligent things to say.

I don’t mean for this to develop into a wordy blog battle. You stated your reasons, and now I’ve stated mine. I hope this stops here. I am clearly in the wrong – I’m big enough to admit that – and again, I’m sorry for inconveniencing you. As a parting word of advice however, just try to let up a little. People are going to find you. Some people will go out of their way to do so. There’s nothing you can do except be harsh (god, if what you said didn’t make me see sense, I don’t know what would) and hope that they’ll be sorry and stop anonymously harassing you. This is the internet. It’s easier than you think. I wasn’t stalking you. If I were, I would’ve been installing long-range cameras, showing up at your doorstop, begging you to be mine. And calling you on your phone (see p/s below). It’s good to maintain a healthy paranoia, but you blog, for heaven’s sake. You blog. It’s the most public thing anyone can ever do these days, and of all things you wanted to be private about it. I saw several people roll their eyes reading your entry about me, and not because of what you wrote about me, but because of the kind of person you represented yourself to be. Calm down, let it go. What I did was wrong, but it wasn’t as bad as you’re blowing this up to be.

Once again, I’m sorry.

p/s - By the way? You might want to take your phone number off the internet. Because I found it. And this time, really, totally, completely by accident. Don’t believe me if you want. But you, mister oh-help-I-have-staaaaalkers left your number on the net in plain sight. It’s an old number I think, but whatever it is, it’s for everyone to see – even whichever girl it is in Sydney or wherever that apparently wants to fuck you. I may not have covered my tracks well. But as I said - and as you now obviously know, neither did you.

Unfairness?

For those of you who read my Xanga, you would've heard of the incredibly stupid episode that went on a couple of days ago. I didn't back up my drawing files, so when Mr Moore had to reformat the terminal, pfft went my files. As a result, I had to re-edit all my drawings that I had been doing for the past three weeks. Supid me, yes, my fault. I know. So Mr Rahmat spent a good two hours fixing my drawings for me with me sitting next to him going 'eh, tell me la what you're doing. Mana fair you buat my drawing for me.' Then Terence comes strolling in with his drawing, all done, fully printed, the whole shabang. Mr Rahmat takes all of ten minutes to glace through his drawings then heads off to who knows where, saying he had something to do. Keep in mind here, that Terence isn't exactly my (or anybody, lecturer or not, for that matter) favorite person. But still. He sits next to me and says 'everytime I ask him how to do my drawings and all he always has to rush off to go somewhere.' This got me thinking: I realized that most of the Malay lecturers would pay more attention to the Malay students (and since most of the lecturers in the Architecture department are Malay...), not that they completely ignore the Chinese/Indian/etc or whatever. Just that they pay more attention to the Malays.

I'm curious though: I know that it's probably a subconscious Malay pride thing, they want the Malays to do better or whatever, but hey, shouldn't you be paying the same amount of attention to every student? It's probably too much to ask, considering we're only being human *ahem* but two hours for me and ten minutes for Terence? This isn't the first time this has happened. Mr Feisol paid so much attention to me (and before he left, to Rahman) that I might as well have been his sister/daughter, and barely gave a rat's ass about the other students. Whenever my assessment rolls around, most of the lecturers would spend extra time on my projects, going through piece by piece what I did wrong, instead of just sitting back and going 'uh-huh' to most of the other presentations. So what should I do? I have a tiny edge in with the lecturers, I admit that, since I hang out with them more than the others do (simply because I enjoy their company, mind you, NOT to bodek), so I could say something in passing. Or should I just shut up and enjoy the privileges?

Gotta run. Mr Naufal's calling me. (Ni lagi satu. Everyone else calls him grumpy and serious. My God, they couldn't be more wrong. The amount of times he flashes that sengih of his at me, all those hours he spent helping me out with my drawings. He's a funny guy, folks.)

Unfairness?

For those of you who read my Xanga, you would’ve heard of the incredibly stupid episode that went on a couple of days ago. I didn’t back up my drawing files, so when Mr Moore had to reformat the terminal, pfft went my files. As a result, I had to re-edit all my drawings that I had been doing for the past three weeks. Supid me, yes, my fault. I know. So Mr Rahmat spent a good two hours fixing my drawings for me with me sitting next to him going ‘eh, tell me la what you’re doing. Mana fair you buat my drawing for me.’ Then Terence comes strolling in with his drawing, all done, fully printed, the whole shabang. Mr Rahmat takes all of ten minutes to glace through his drawings then heads off to who knows where, saying he had something to do. Keep in mind here, that Terence isn’t exactly my (or anybody, lecturer or not, for that matter) favorite person. But still. He sits next to me and says ‘everytime I ask him how to do my drawings and all he always has to rush off to go somewhere.’ This got me thinking: I realized that most of the Malay lecturers would pay more attention to the Malay students (and since most of the lecturers in the Architecture department are Malay…), not that they completely ignore the Chinese/Indian/etc or whatever. Just that they pay more attention to the Malays.

I’m curious though: I know that it’s probably a subconscious Malay pride thing, they want the Malays to do better or whatever, but hey, shouldn’t you be paying the same amount of attention to every student? It’s probably too much to ask, considering we’re only being human *ahem* but two hours for me and ten minutes for Terence? This isn’t the first time this has happened. Mr Feisol paid so much attention to me (and before he left, to Rahman) that I might as well have been his sister/daughter, and barely gave a rat’s ass about the other students. Whenever my assessment rolls around, most of the lecturers would spend extra time on my projects, going through piece by piece what I did wrong, instead of just sitting back and going ‘uh-huh’ to most of the other presentations. So what should I do? I have a tiny edge in with the lecturers, I admit that, since I hang out with them more than the others do (simply because I enjoy their company, mind you, NOT to bodek), so I could say something in passing. Or should I just shut up and enjoy the privileges?

Gotta run. Mr Naufal’s calling me. (Ni lagi satu. Everyone else calls him grumpy and serious. My God, they couldn’t be more wrong. The amount of times he flashes that sengih of his at me, all those hours he spent helping me out with my drawings. He’s a funny guy, folks.)

Crunch Time

Okay, I'm not trying to be stereotypically female or whatever, but I need to ask something. Answer honestly, make it an anonymous comment if you're scared I'll strangle you.

Would you consider me fat?

Question is open to everyone who's reading who have met me personally of course. Don't ask me why I'm asking this, just answer it truthfully.

No Title Necessary

Fortunate Son didn't make it. How ironic. Of all names for me to pick for a dying kitten. He died this morning of a viral infection. Dr Christine said that when mother cats aren't vaccinated properly they 'pass on all this nonsense to their kittens'. I hate the fucker who dumped this kitten more and more. Not only did he (for some reason in my head it's a man) dump a poor defenseless day-old kitten without even giving it a bloody chance to live but he's not even taking care of the mother cat by vaccinating it properly or even spaying it. I don't understand the idiots who don't want to spay/neuter their pets. They say it's cruel and all but when the kittens appear they chuck em in front of someone's house without a second thought. Like that's any better. And now as soon as I said hello I have to say goodbye to what might have been a lively beautiful cat.

Fuck you. I hope you rot in hell while being boiled in your own vomit. Fuck you.

Let's Voodoo!

Just when you think life is peachy, fate throws you a giant curveball.

I was just about to leave the house to go for class this morning when I saw a furry lump in front of my gate. Peering at it, I thought it was a dead hamster. I looked closer and what do you know, it was a kitten, still breathing, with its umbilical cord still attached to it. I dropped all of my stuff, ran into the house (Ezzat was no help: 'I don't know what to do!'), grabbed a shoebox and kitchen towel, scooped up the kitten and rushed on out to the nearest place I could think of, which was the shelter. I thought at least they could keep it warm until it passed, but they heavily recommended hurrying on outta there to the vet. 'Someone dumped it there. There's no way the kitten could have crawled there on its own, and no mother would leave their kitten out in the open.' So I brought it to Dr Christine, who (God bless her) is gonna do all she can to save the poor baby.

One more addition to the house. Yay :) Pray for him please, he needs anything you can offer. In the meantime, I'm interrogating everyone on my street to find out whether they saw anyone dumping the kitten and performing voodoo pincushion-style to the feckless bastard who did it.


p/s - Yam the Shiznit has a blog! Go.

Smelling Noses And Running Feet

(Note to self: NEVER LISTEN TO FEDERICO. But continue to adore him :) - [I TOLD you that he wouldn't say hi back. I TOLD YOU.])

That said, it's been a hectic-ish few weeks, and will continue for a few more. Rashdan left on Saturday, Vic's leaving on Thursday, Sa on Saturday. Called Nurul and it turns out she left last month (!) Sorry darl, didn't know!!!!! I left a comment on your blog explaining it, though. Anyhoo. Slept over at Li's on Saturday after not seeing her for... 2 months? Oh dear, has it been that long? Apologies. So many people were left on the wayside and I feel really guilty, but oh well. These things happen. I will see Kim this week though and pilfer her CDs for new music! Bless the kindred souls of the world.

I'm going to be in college almost every day of the week now to do work, since my wonderful father still hasn't sent the laptop to be fixed. So now I freeze in the new lab whilst distracted by the internet and not really getting work done, which sucks. Then I go home when the school closes and I can't do my work at home obviously and my parents look at me like I'm oh-so-lazy. Sigh sigh sigh. Susah hidup. At least I'm online everyday now, so drop me a hello and keep me entertained while I finish up my drawings. And I think I caught Azza's cough/cold so my throat hurts and my nose is only spewing on one side, which is weird (too much detail? don't caaare).

Oh and I'm sorting out the un-mess with Mr Right Now. There is a plan, people! A bonafide plan! One that includes keeping my trap shut on not telling anyone else in real life what is going on in my heart. What's that you say? Why am I blogging about it then? Because loads of the people who used to drop by don't anymore, but who the fuck cares cos I can bloody well say anything I want to, just like you can shoose whether you want to read this or not (and I intentionally misspelled to get your attention, HAH). God I'm such a weirdo bitch. No wonder he didn't say hi back. Kan Federico kan? Bila la you nak belajar cakap Melayu. Ambik kau. Power siuuut.

(it's time to shut up now, alia)
(okay)

Of All The Things NOT To Think About..

Dear powers-that-be,

I can't believe that after all this while, I'm still thinking about him. I can't believe that after one chance meeting, he's still on my mind. I can't believe that even after knowing there's a kazillion-to-one chance of us ever being together, he's still the one I want.

For the past few months, I've been considering my options. I've been weighing everything I could think of. From good tastes to bad habits, I've been writing down pros/cons lists, cross-referencing them, pie charts, the whole smorgasbord. He's still the one I want.

There are other things that are supposed to occupy my mind. And yes, I have picked myself up, I've realized fully (really) this time, what a dickhead I've been and am focusing madly on not disappointing my parents, my brothers, my lecturers, but most of all myself. I've been doing all the work I'm supposed to, cleaning up the house, teaching on the weekends, volunteering at the animal shelter and learning center, calling friends occasionally to catch up. Yet when I lie in bed, trying valiantly to fall asleep, warm fuzzy little JD on my feet, I can't help thinking about how I want a man to call me and wish me goodnight. A man to call me and tell me he misses me, that he's thinking about me, that he can't wait til the next time he sees me so we can share a banana split and kiss each other's spills off our chins. And now, more than ever, the man in my mind is him. I don't want anyone else. Even after finding out that he's into someone else, even after knowing that he's of a different league altogether (no higher, no lower, just different), he's still the one I want.

One would think that I'm fulfilled. And I am, somewhat. Doing work properly and on time, proving to the lecturers that I'm not a complete twat. My goodwill days when I drop in on the epileptics/autistics and help them with art projects and stopping by the shelter to spend a good 2 hours feeding and cleaning up after the dogs and cats. I'm slowly yet surely starting to earn some extra money (which in turn will be used to pay for my jazz piano and taekwondo training). Yet the thing that a lot of people don't realize is, no matter how perfectly planned their list of goals and objectives for the next ten years is, you can easily check these items off. It's easy for me to spare a few hours a week for charity. It's easy for me to use my time for drawing instead of daydreaming. But you can't plan relationships. You can't put 'get a boyfriend by end or 2006' on the list any more than you can put 'have at least 10 people you can count as good friends' on it. These things are organic. If they happen, they happen. Which brings me to think: is it because I can't get him that I want him? Or is because I really do? I've had so many crushes I can't remember, but when it comes to picturing a clear face, the man I want to be with, I see him. I've forgotten and gotten over a lot of crushes. The hot guy at the Sepuluh workshop? The really nice guy who works at Darby Park? I can't even remember what they look like. And no matter what my conscience tells me about his attitude and habits, he's still the one I want.

I probably won't get over him, at least not anytime soon. I've tried. There were other guys here and there since the once and only time I met him, who were interested, who could've been great. But even though my brain is banning me from thinking about him, my heart is winning. He's still the one I want.


Could you help me? If we're not meant to be, then help me forget. Because after a year of pining, this is pathetic. I need to move on.


signed,
Sleepless in Subang