MARCH PMS

Crooning on my STEREO: Splendido Splendente by RETTORE

Five things to BLOW UP on:-

1) I've got YELLOW TEETH .
Yes, it is due to the excessive tea drinking.

2) I do not have ample strength to clear my SMS(es) within a week.
There is not enough of memory space on my cranky phone.

3) My skin is morphing into a mouldy chocolate shade.
There's not enough of sun in this country.

4) Arsenal and Liverpool.
I'd rather have Crouch kick my ass than Christina.

5) F1 - Who on earth is Hamilton?!??!
Y'see, I had a lovelorn history with Mclaren. Until Hakkinen eloped. And Kimi stabbed us in the back.

I need RED BULL.

The Silk Road and Genghis Khan.

Crooning on my STEREO: Bellezza by MARLENE KUNTZ

While I was penning my 4th feature script, my brainstorming sessions revealed a serious defect in plot setting. There was a marvellous storyline, coupled with extraordinary characters and kickass sketch edits, but I sensed a certain void in empathising with the story's surroundings.

Hence I never completed that particular screenplay. And hence I never received my Oscar.

Like any other wannabe, I was ambitious. I chose to narrate my emo- fiction along the very long Silk Road and its surroundings. If you have absolutely no idea what this legendary route entails, have a good look at the map below:-



I know, it will take me decades to walk it. And probably a century to write a book on it.

Silk Road is an unexploited region that intrigues me. When self proclaimed travellers tell me that they've seen the world after flocking to Western Europe, I am then reminded of a certain inbred stupidity that resides in yuppies nowadays. Before I puke, I will stop bitching for now.

Central Asia is an entirely different world. Trust me.

The inhabitants of these regions are generally better looking. And since my boyfriend dated one of them, I have developed a compulsive complex aka. perception that everybody there is ultra-hot and attractive.

You begin your journey in Vietnam. Then you enter CHINA. My great motherland. Great Gran Daddy apparently had a castle and a pretty jet there until they were snatched away by the communists. Such idiots, I know. We even went searching for it when we went to Beijing last year.

Beijing does not do China justice. The Great Wall does. And the picture below also does.


I guess you would then have to venture beyond the Great Wall to see Greater China. Rent a camel that would take you cross-country. And do it like Che Guevara alla. Motorcycle Diaries.

Our trans-asian adventure should be dubbed: The Camel Diaries.

Along the way, one should pay homage to the great and mighty GENGHIS KHAN. The warrior dude who came and conquered. The hero who invaded extensive amount of lands with the same ease as Pac-Man. With this in mind, MONGOLIA is another must-see. (Although it might be easier to detour with the Trans-Siberian route. I will explain that in a separate post.)



My dad used to bull me with a story that we are the descendants of some barbaric tribe of Inner Mongolia. Probably explains why I have inherited such ape-hair genes.

So you keep riding on your camel until you reach Uzbekistan. If you are naively hoping for some sort of Borat adventure, then you can drop by in Kazakhstan. If you are penniless at this point and your camel has passed out, then I suggest that you halt your journey before you reach the borders of Afghanistan.

Recently I dug up remnants of my abandoned script. I thought to myself that if I am to complete this masterpiece once and for all, a lifetime journey to all the said places MUST be made within the next 3 years.

Not necessarily with a camel, though.

Success

Crooning on my STEREO: La Vita Non E' Un Film by ARTICOLO 31

A friend defined success by the following conditions:-

1) Achieve a 5 figure monthly salary by the time you are 25. (Not neccessarily in RM)
2) Work in a multinational company abroad.
3) Date/ Marry a trophy caucasian.
4) Own a vehicle in the league of a mini cooper.
5) Disowning your mothertongue in favour of the West.
6) Travelling to glamorous locations every month.
7) Having a legion of rich, decorative but dumb friends.

As you can tell, I have many dumb friends who try to impart their wisdom onto me. Que pena.

On the contrary I define success as the following:-

1) Being humble with a badass job that will toughen you for the future.
2) Coming home to a family who loves you in many strange ways.
3) Gathering the courage to leave an idyllic life behind in order to give your home country a second chance.
4) Being best buds with the postman.
5) Being able to speak Malay.
6) Not giving a damn about what other people do.

Last but not the least

7) Being IN LOVE.

Typically cheese, eh? I can assure you that you can love ANYTHING.

Bob Sinclar's LOVE GENERATION is a gem; a Perugian memorabilia which inspired me to hold my beer bottle up and propagate my love to everyone within sight. (of course, the word 'sleaze' should never apply).



But then again, you should never strive to love EVERYONE. There are multitudes of bastards and bitches out there whom you'd love to chuck them all into a ditch.

Problem is that there is no ditch big enough to accomodate their big asses.

Thus you could channel your lack of lovin' onto loving your Vincci pumps. Or your Doritos. Or your cocktails. Or your dog. Or your I- Pod. Or your brother. Or your secret longing to settle down in the Ukraine.

My point is: THERE ARE SO MANY STUFFS TO LOVE.

Unless you've just met with a deathly atrocity, don't you dare come wailing to me that you live an ardous life without love. The fact that you are whingeing nonsensically obviously shows that you carry more love onto yourself than the objects/people around you.

This, I call, SELF LOVE.

Believe it or not, love is infinite. I love my drinks. I love my CDs. I love the dysfunctional people around me. I love Fellini. I love my room. I love Saturdays. I love my tacky blonde highlights. I love foie gras. I love my Giovanni.

Despite all that PMS, I am actually a very successful 23 year old.

Sekian, terima kasih.

Eclipse

Crooning on my STEREO: Grace Kelly by MIKA



A bugger once told me that moon eclipses have the rather strange ability to instigate a turn in events. Shortly after, another medieval prone bugger proclaimed that the most recent eclipse on March 3rd is nothing but a bad omen.

Well, there was an earthquake.

And I shall abstain from whining on the unneccesary loss of lives.
After all, there are so many unnecessary people walking the Earth as we speak.

Speaking of the unnecessary. I had an unnecessary migraine at work which took me to the rather unpleasant company GP.

Historically, this doctor has refused my numerous pleas for a medical certificate (MC) to take the day off work.

I know. It's my ah-lian bleached hair. Hence she tends to accuse me of cry wolf.

The last time I was plagued by a flu symptom, she promptly dismissed my pain claims as a mere hangover. Thus she refused to produce an MC to release my ailing body from work.

As a result of her negligence, I was hospitalised the following day due to a chronic tonsilitis.

Such a bitch, right? I could have sued her pants off.
But because I am such a godforsaken saint, I sparingly watched the injustice pass me by.
Karma, you better note my samaritan deeds, dingbat.

Last week, I had a dumbass PMS migraine that had me ending up in her clinic once again.

Me: Hi Doc, I am not feeling well.

Doc: (shuffling through a pile of stale notes) Okay, how do you feel?

Me:(groping my head to exaggerate the adversity) A sharp pain across my skull.

Doc: (gives me the standard 'I-know- you've- been -drinking' look) Okay...

Me: And I haven't been drinking. I never drink. (Part- Lie)

Doc: (scribbles a couple of hyroglyphic mess onto a stale card) Okay...

Me: So?

Doc: When was the last time you had your period?

Me: Early last month.

Doc: Regular?

Me: As regular as fries. Possibly a little late this month cos a few asses have been pissing the crap out of me.

Doc: (Looks at me. Attentively. For once.) Are you PREGNANT?

Me: W H A T ?
(turns into a dead fish. followed by a sudden urge to puke.)

Doc: (puts on a well rehearsed look of concern. Followed by the million dollar question..)
When was the last time you had sex?

Me: Heh?

(Pauses. Awkward Silence. )

Me: Hah?

(Thinks)

Me: (Breaks into a moronic manic giggle.) Doc, It's IMPOSSIBLE.

NO WAY.

HAHAHAHAH

NO WAY

VAFUNNNNNNCULO.


And I scored my very first MC after that.

Generosity

Crooning on my STEREO: Tu Sei by VITTORIO

It takes a thousand good deeds and a thousand betrayals to realise that generosity is a lame virtue. Let me tell you why you ought to be selfish on a selective basis:

First of all, karma is a jealous whore. You could feed a beggar today. And joke about your neighbour tomorrow. Karma tends to retribute the latter with a rather mysterious adversity... or let's say, you are accused of stealing in a supermarket when, in actual fact, a roll of chewing gum had accidentaly fallen into your handbag.

The same applies to your secret desire to have Manyoo defeated tonight, but you find a hideous scratch on your car the next day.

Secondly, you could be one of those fortunate souls feeding an endless stream of leaches out of sheer good will. You think you are doing the world an enourmous good deed. Thus you keep feeding. It can go on for a year. Or a decade. And after all that hoolaballoo, you realise that YOU have not been fed.

The painful truth is, you will never be given pension broth by your leachy benefactors. Screw the saying that you should always help a friend in need. You should help a true soul in need.

And thirdly, you are too dumb to pinpont any of the above.

2007 has been a bitch because I am reaping the fruits of my generosity. As I witness those gleaming smiles unfold before my eyes, I ought to be happy.

Let's be honest, I am not. And thats because I allow myself to be emotionally gagged, beaten and milked by an ungrateful lot to get you where you are today. I wont use the term 'rape' because all these were done in my charitable consent.

I possess accurate intuitions. I chose to ignore warnings because I believed in second chances. And boy, what punishable mistakes I've made.

So many that I could compile them into an encyclopaedia. Such are the products of my stupidity.

Crap is, you have to confront many unpleasant truths as you age. It's like my delusion as to how France could have possibly defeated Spain in the World Cup.

WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

You cannot perform damage control in such situations. You can wail and cry until kingdom come but you can also choose to move on. To the rare few who are born with a good heart: only help those you love and not those whom you believe you can love. I think I've established my boundaries pretty blatantly.

Apart for those I love,

I AM GOING TO STOP FEEDING OTHER PEOPLE'S SUCCESS.

Thus I will start feeding my own.



For a change. :)

If you are getting the jitters from reading this particular post, well, then.. I've shot you point blank.

Valentine and the Golden Pig

Crooning on my STEREO: Stop! Dimentica by TIZIANO FERRO

Hello Frog Prince,



THANK YOU FOR BEING MY VALENTINE '07

You were inexpensive, low maintenance and highly exclusive.

So let me tell you something.

On Valentine's Day. While strutting towards Ceylon Hill in my drunken stupor. I just HAD to bump into a certain prick.

Take a wild guess and click on the link below
READ THIS PATRONISING ARTICLE WHICH WAS ON THE NEWSIE TODAY

Scroll down the article. And you will see this:-
"It was THE GIRL from the office next door who suggested that he should audition..."

So...... WHO IS THIS GIRL? Your mak-cik from next door issit?

BATANG JAHANAM KONEK CIPAP PUKI MELANCAP

Okay, I will leave the full story with my closest friends. No point of me launching the Armada against a puny Z-list celebrity.
That aside.
CNY was a blast. Red Packets were a blast. Singapore was a blast.

Ooops. Did I say Singapore? Sorry. I didn't look anyone up when I was there...

Sorry... sorry... sorry.......

2007: Bitches & Revelations

Crooning on my STEREO: Littlelest Things by LILY ALLEN

2007 is such a bitch. A BIG FAT ONE, that is. Even my friends agree. I am turning into a big fat bitch too. Thats because karma is a big-ass bitch.

WARNING: Quarter Life Crisis is sinking in.

Let's face it, we are all getting old. ALL OF US. Including your 3 month old brother.

Ageing is not necessarily a bad thing. Though it is never possible to halt your biological clock, some of us tend to look better when we are older.

This picture appeared in the national newsie approx 5 years ago. (Boh Sia, minta maaf tapi jangan bunuh saya.)


Can you spot every one of us below in the above? (Clue: Syat had lovely hair then...)


I am so glad that we look the way we do now. The only crappy thing is that I haven't lost much weight nor enhanced my pulling power since. The only improved formula has got to be my hair.

THIS YEAR, I AM GOING LOCAL.

I've been whingeing too much over Europe and I reckon that it is time to prove that I am of true Chinese Malaysian blood. While every other compatriot is heading to China to learn Mandarin, I am going to IMPROVE MY MALAY BIG TIME. I want to be Melayu by the end of the year. Slut, Trish and Meera are probably falling off their chairs at this point.

HANGAT!!!!!!!! B*TA*G DAN C*PAP!?!?!!?!?

Someone commented that my Cantonese has improved over the past year. That is so truly wicked because I can start dabbling in random Mandarin to impress Wang Lee Hom. Or I can start listening to Jay whats-his-name.

Last week, I was in Penang. It kicked ass because that was the first time I stepped onto a beach since September 2006.

MALAYSIA DOES HAVE VERY DECENT BEACHES. THAT'S IF THE FRIGGING CLOUDS FUG OFF. What happened to those days when we had blue skies that could put the Mediterranean to shame? Blame those forest fires which considerably never stops combusting. Ever heard of The Good Neighbour?

To prolong my sanity in this urban decay, I have a resolution to travel to a local beach every month. I need to feel that I am no longer a stranger in this country that has been such a bitch to me.

I need to see more of life outside of Kuala Lumpur.

Perhaps, this year, I will be a better person. And god's sake I need more acting jobs to sustain my forsaken passion. I am sick of seeing those pseudo caucasians on local telly.

As of tommorrow, I am back in my 12 hour corporate job which will strip me of any time nor inspiration to blog. Thats why this is such a long ass post.

The good thing is that I will be somewhat richer than I used to be.

And that also means that I could return to Italia soon. :)

Life aint that bitchy....

Passera

Crooning on my STEREO: Come Primavera by IL DIVO

Stupidly enough, I seem to be suffering from consecutive attacks of various withdrawal syndromes. First, it was the post-Italy depression. And now... I'm suffering from a number of post-Il Divo fits. I am wondering why my optimistic start to 2007 is plagued by such life threatening emo attacks. It's like the curse of the daily PMS.

Nah, kidding. Blame it on the humid climate. At least I've been honing some constructive skills during the last 10 days.


You see, I've been stalking Il Divo. From Velvet to Bar Savanh and back to Velvet. I forgot to include the number of times (and hours) I've loitered at Shangrila. Funny how nobody chased me out unlike the last time I stalked Mika Hakkinen in Pan Pacific.

Sad, I know.


And I've met Carlos at least 4 times during their week in KL. So much so that he had to acknowledge me with a rather horrified 'oh-my-god-its-you-again!' smile while on stage.


January 16th was downright special because I spent the previous 3 months on blood, sweat and tears to obtain a front row seat for the concert. With all that close proximity, my saliva glands had been bruised. I was drooling chronically.

As one of the rare few who actually PAID for their tickets, I have to declare my bankruptcy to the world.


But I made some fantastic friends (or what they call Il Divo fanatics- 'Divas') who are as obssessed as I am. We were the starstruck lot who would run around in prom dresses screaming 'I love Il Divo!!' and terrorising posh women in the ballroom.


I "met" (or had some sort of the slightest contact) with the man of my dreams for the grand total of 4 times.

The first time I was screaming into his ear half drunk in an immensely crowded nightclub. I apparently kissed him on the cheek. As for the second time, I sized him up at Shangrila when he couldn't remember my name.

The third time was when I summoned every god-given courage I had just to hand him a rose on stage. We are talking about an audience of 3000 people of all species. (1/3 of whom recognised my tacky blonde highlights thereafter.)

Thing is, I didn't do what fans usually do; (ie. kiss your idol on the cheek, rape him there and then or to embrace him like a god.)

Instead I did this:-

I walked up to him in the manner of a zombie.
He then flashed his divine smile at me.
I froze.
I chucked the rose at him.
And ran for my life.

And only God knows why I did that.

I am such a cow.


I had to post this same picture twice. Simply because this final photo with him (as I was chasing him out of the ballroom) was a consolation to my rudeness on stage.

Oh boy, you only live once.

I finally met the man who had been reigning my bedroom wall.
I am 23 and I should stop lusting over boybands.

Life Goes On.....

Crooning on my STEREO: La Gente Sta Male by AFTERHOURS

2007 kicked off on the rocky side. At the stroke of midnight I downed cheap acidic champagne, followed by two hours of tortured sleep on an overboarded aircraft (Btw, don't EVER fly economy on KLM) and returning to an empty house for dinner. I spent the next three days hibernating at home, crying on the phone and restructuring my cashflow to survive on unemployment.

Some of you may know that I will be on a sabbatical till February, simply because I desperately need time to recover from my post-italy syndrome and to reconsider my next career move. Honestly, I have absolutely no idea as to what I should do next. My ex-company is hunting me down and I am still giving them the blank look.

This has to be my most listless start to a New Year.

Apart from the usual soul-searching and wallowing.... I've also been stalking 4 grown men who are currently residing at the Shangri-La. As they say, the groupie blood will always dwell in me.

AND GUESS WHAT?

I clubbed with the supposed MAN OF MY DREAMS at Velvet Underground. The man I've been lusting over the past 2 years. The man who reigned my bedroom walls. The man who surpassed the great Iker Casillas in my romantic fantasies.

Thing is... I didn't collapse in ecstasy as I initially I thought I would have if I met Sebastien Izambard in flesh and blood.

In fact, I was actually quite appalled at how red his face was. I think it is all that hardcore frying under the equator. And his girlfriend was throwing herself all over him.

SUCH A TURN OFF.

But I realised something pretty important. Despite all that glam and good looks, I will be a thousand times happier if I could meet a certain man who is currently a few thousand miles away from me.



Yes. You'd guess it right. I am stalking Il Divo because I thought it would replace someone whom I've just lost. Boy, I was so wrong. No one can ever replace the man who saw through my imperfections and gave me a chance to love and be happy.

Truth is, I am still grieving. From the moment I left Perugia I knew that life will never be the same.

I miss the simple life. By returning to KL, I am faced with social obligations. I've been thrown back into the world of materialistic socialites who are as fake as plastics can be. People who will judge you by the way you look. People who will only talk to you if they thought that you are related to an influential figure. People who will abandon you when you are of no use to them.

Such is life, but they say that life must go on.



Let's just treasure the best memories from 2006 and face 2007 with a courageous smile.

Syat and Meera... we will take over the world, okay? ;)

Sogni d'oro

Crooning on my STEREO: Don't Cry by GUNS N' ROSES

It is 2:20 am and I am unusually sober. In 5 hours I will leave Perugia for a Spanish Christmas in Marbella. Thus, this will be my final post for the year 2006; a year that has been truly blessed, fantaaabulous and exceedingly fortunate. I've always been, and will always be a lucky puppy.

Perhaps it is true that some good things are destined to a bittersweet end. A minute ago I received a particular SMS that brought instant tears to my eyes.



It reads:
"No posso dormire. Vorrei con te ora, vorrei baciare le tue labra, abracciare il tuo corpo e potermi addormentare vicino al tuo dolce respiro. Baci Amore."

This pains me. And I will give anything to lie beside you at this very moment. My heart cries out for your touch and I grieve deeply on your absence. We are miles apart.

And by tommorow morning, I will be further away.
By 1st January 2007, I will almost be a world apart from you.

Things will never be the same. But life goes on.
To my dearest Giovanni, thank you for giving me a chance to be in love. It is something which I thought I was never able to do.

This is my favourite picture of us because we seem so.. chubby and happy. And we were hideously drunk, too. I know photos will never do you justice since you keep running away from cameras.

If you try to believe me for once, you are the most gorgeous man I've ever met. Remember how I always told you that you were perfect? Well, I MEANT IT. So don't argue with me over this again, va bene?

My dear stronzo, I know I suck when it comes to cooking. You are the perfectionist. You wouldn't even let me touch you when you are just chucking pasta into the pan. In spite of all your particularity, all the best Italian food comes from you. I didn't want to tell you because I know you'd get all vain.

Strangely, I love you for that. The way you drown yourself with Moschino scent, how you only wear black long-sleeved shirts and your lowcut jeans which I always have to pull your shirt down to avoid any show of butt cracks. Maybe its an Italian sense of style, boh? If you haven't noticed, both our wardrobes consist of 80% black clothings. I think we both have an issue with our fats.

Despite how you (purposely) confuse Il Divo with Take That, be assured that I will choose you over Sebastien Izambard any day. You do not need a fancy yacht and an Armani suit to look sexy.

Before we got together, I never wanted to date Italian men. But your brother's birthday at Etoile made all the difference. It was only our third encounter, but you claimed me several times as your girlfriend to stop those dodgy dudes from harassing me.

Come on, you were drunk but you didn't admit it. Sei cativo sempre.

Before I met you, your housemates kept harping about how wonderful and kind you are. I think they did most of the courtship on your behalf.

I never thought that you'd ever set eyes on a sea urchin like me. I still fell for you anyway.

Everyday, you'd walk me from Via XX Settembre to Via Delle Cantine with my hands in yours. And in those several nights when I was deadly drunk, you'd leave your guy friends behind just to bring me home safely. (Although at most times you were probably drunk yourself.) And while you did that, you'd always hang my smoky jacket in the cupboard, store my stinky boots and fold my stale socks. Then you'd lie next to me just to make sure I wont choke and die from my own puke.

However, the most beautiful part was to wake up beside you. I felt safe.

I could talk about you the entire day. But it'd make me cry. It is difficult because you are so far away from me. I realised I have become very emotionally dependant on you because I am actually falling in love with you.

This morning was the hardest. I was pretending to be asleep but I was watching you get ready to leave. You changed into the shirt I bought for you.

I was buried too deep into my tears even to tell you how gorgeous you looked in it.

As we bid farewell, you looked me in the eye and told me that I was beautiful. Eventhough my eyes were deadly swollen from a whole night of crying on your pillow.

Eversince you left, Perugia suddenly seems like a sad city. Remember the route that we usually take through to Piazza Italia? I walked it on my own today and I was crying throughout the way. I really miss the way you would push me up the 70 degree slope.

I miss you. I miss your nonsense. I miss your half-boiled English. I will keep harping on your confusion betweeen 'chicken' and 'kitchen'.

But I have to let you go. It kills me but I know you deserve better. We spoke about it. I guess we know each other too well.

I will cherish the memories. Meanwhile, dont forget me okay? Or I will gladly expose your embarassing stuffs.

Ti Voglio Tanto Bene. Sei vivi en mi cuore per sempre....

And I promise you that I will stop crying by the time I get to Spain. This will be one of the most emotional festive seasons I will ever have to go through. But you told me to stay strong. I will try my best.

Dolci Baci,
Lyn xxx
----------------------

While I wrestle with me emo..... I'd like to wish all my dear friends...

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAVE A SMASHING NEW YEAR!!!!!

I've been loved, and thus my love for others is infinite.

Till 2007 :)