digress & obsess [v2]

i’ve moved.

friendster has gotten mad boring, as of late. plus with facebook and all that shit.

www.digress-obsess.blogspot.com is where i rant my dailies now.

toodles!

My current predicament about relationships and men has got me digging deep into my history archives. 

It is an arduous task, both mentally and emotionally draining – since ive a penchant for skillfully sweeping things under the carpet. 

My sweeping expertise has caused me to commit the same mistakes over and over again, never learning,

hence why in my archives, history tends to repeat itself. 

My relationships with men have never went well in the past, and till today,

I wonder if it were merely just poor judgment on my part,

or just plain fucking bad karma. 

Few odd accounts stood out from my archives –

namely the huge blood-spattered fist fight I had with Mr. H outside zouk for the whole of KL to watch,

being dumped over a text message by Mr. A in Warwick,

and being left stranded in London when Mr. F didn’t have the balls to break up with me, and fled, leaving faz to pass on the memo.

I remember getting drunk with some girlfriends, the summer Mr. F went into hiding, and I remember bumping into a mutual friend of ours.  I remember saying some pretty nasty things about Mr. F to him and getting pretty upset. 

I remember his nonchalant reply to me telling me to “get over it” and explaining to me that “there’s no ‘good’ way to break up”,

which was like pouring a flaming Lamborghini down my drunk ears. 

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I remember nearly wanting to smack the face off of that moron, because frankly, there is a proper way to break up with someone, there is – there are many, many GOOD ways that DOESN’T include the use of a middleman, a text message, or a fucking POST IT.

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By far however, these accounts are nothing in comparison to the history ive had with Mr. David Hasan which somehow managed to span the course of five years and ate up another two to finally close the books. 

During that time, loneliness was in fact a withdrawal symptom, since both conditions are characterized by chronic deprivation of a resource to which I previously had unimpeded access to. 

My conclusion was therefore that I was addicted to a certain tall, dark and handsome man who was currently quite far away from me and was likely to remain so for a very long time.  Being the vindictive bitch that I was am, I hoped he would suffer in copious amounts too. 

________________________________________________________________

Well, he didn’t, and had quite the splendid audacity of getting engaged to some hick-ho in Canada, and sending me over a plane ticket to attend their reception.  THE BALLS.

________________________________________________________________

Four years after that awe inspiring incident, and after all those breaking-up and getting-back-together bullshit, we have finally secured a middle-ground of a cordial friendship,

nothing more, nothing less – no more hovering between a periphery of sex-capades and forced “I love yous”.

I never quite understood why it took me all those years to finally let go.  I still wonder, if it was the sex, the extravagant gifts, his plain good looks, or the fact that he was someone whose being I could never fully annex – that I was so determined in doing so, only to finally admit defeat. 

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Well, I’m quite tired of sitting around, slapping myself, and pep-talking my self esteem into believing that I have a fighting chance competing with all those half naked hoochies that permanently secure themselves in his affinity. 

__________________________________________________________________

Recently, ive been faced with a similar predicament, thankfully, on a much smaller scale. 

Yet it scares me that I am adopting the same daft mindset, and making the same daft choices that I did before.

 

I’ve always admitted to having a weakness for good looking, tanned, buff men.  Ive always had a problem with saying good bye to those, despite all the detrimental side effects they bring — I have much proof from the past.

Whoever said that the best goodbyes are quick and painless, like ripping a plaster off a wound? First of all goodbyes are never painless.  But I think the best goodbyes are said with a smile.  Because they are not really goodbyes, but au revoirs.   

My feeble immune system has (yet again) succumbed to the flu, after a week of excessive sun bathing, sporadic swimming, and partying till the wee hours of the morning.

As a result, ive been left with no choice but to stay holed up at home, trading my usual alcoholic beverages for gallons of H20.

‘Tis sucks, seeing that my trip to pangkor is in three days; and ive been getting really desperate – yet, my overzealousness has proved to be more detrimental than successful. 

______________________________________________________________

Not only am I worried that I may not recover from the flu, but also the possibility of a hyponatremic death from the sheer amount of H20 I am chugging down.

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My attempt to quit the fags has caused me to become an even bigger domestic nuisance – complete with the mood swings, restlessness, listlessness, irritability, itchy itchy itchy….itchy..itchy….

Speaking of my new found depression; channel 11 on astro, or the discovery travel and living never fucking fails to depress me.

It depresses me that whole books and reality television shows can be written and aired on countries, cities, town and places that I will never be able to see.

If there were ever a singularly depressing past time, it would be to sit through yet another travel program about Milan, Greece, Portugal, Venice, Chile, Caribbean Islands etc., knowing with absolute certainty that I would probably die before seeing just about a fraction of the world. L 

Oh man, this ‘quit fags’ and water poisoning is really starting to fuck w my mind.

It’s been some time since I last updated;

and subsequent to reading my latest post, I vaguely remember how compelled I was by my perturbed, hedonistic drama queen alter ego to write that post.

Im better now. no, really. 

My betterment has been accredited to the conclusion of my horrid semester and its replacement;

the fucking awesome summer holidays.

Though, I have to admit, 1.5 months is peanuts as compared to the 3 months of vegetation I was previously bestowed with in the

UK

. Fuck that.

Ok, moving on.

As of late ive been in quite a jubilant mood – for numerous reasons:

– For one, the smelly recently got me a spanking new nokia 6300 to replace my piece of shit coloured junk that ive been calling a phone for awhile now.

– The idea of not having to drag my aching hung-over 70 year old body out of bed at six am, for the next 1.5 months, sounds pretty fucking splendid to me.

– I’ve been spending lots of time and lots of money shopping for new-fangled, skanky summer holiday outfits.

– The break is allowing me ample time to catch up and work on my pathetically lagging-behind art work

– Summer break means that my old loves are finally transporting themselves back from far away

UK

to KL to party with me and reignite old jokes, laughter, memories.

– (newly bald) Yawwy has been back for over a week now and spending time w him has been awesome. i cant wait for his hair to grow back the rest to come home.

– Speaking of which, summer holiday plans are just weeks away –

im looking forward to beach holiday ’07 in phuket (despite the participant ratio leaning towards a SAUSAGE FEST),

as well as sunbathing in the buff @ pankor laut resort w the smelly.

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Irony has overtaken me by a mile.  Since my holidays started I haven’t been out drinking or partying at the resident heritage row. 

Perhaps, partying excessively at the same venues have finally taken its toll on me – listening to the same recycled music, engaging in pretentious recycled conversations, and bouncing along w familiar recycled crowds.

I wonder if I am, in fact, ready to retire.

Then again, maybe not. 

Wot I am craving is a change of scenery.

i often ruminate on simultaneity: an inescapable theme, given the elevated perspective of an introspection-ist.

As I’ve else when written, my sense of perspective is totally ingrown;

the intellectual legacy of a childhood that fatefully involved a model globe, and therefore, an inculcated and wholly irredeemable sense of scale.

every now and then I am rather bowled over by the incredible density of lives on this planet:

how in any one day — say today, walking down heritage row, for instance — I trail the skein of my life behind me and snag hundreds of others;

I brush almost imperceptibly against a panoply of other lives;

I am a background figure in countless snap happy photograph attempts in which these fleeting, ephemeral moments of intersection are, ironically, frozen solid.

A few nights back, whilst scanning through some digital photographs, the same thing happened to me. 

And in a desperate attempt to secure my existence, I pompously commanded that the smelly painstakingly Photoshop background figures right out of the picture. 

Which he did, and even then, I felt small, (and not so pompous).

When I think of how very large-scale and real my own life and my problems seems to me; with every second played up close in interminable detail in front of my eyes,

My imagination collapses when I attempt to multiply this experience tenfold, let alone six-billion-fold.

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I realize that arithmetically aggregating my own reality will not give me the sum total of humanity’s experience.

______________________________________________________________

At any rate, that is why things like this blow my mind and I think I just lost about 30 interminable minutes of my own particular reality scrutinizing this unfathomable plenitude of other lives.

How particularly futile.

But anyway, I am entitled to this privilege, seeing forth that I am officially on holiday.

ive been acting all existentialist and fretful as of late, subsequent to recent unfortunate occurences, and even more unforgiving consequences.

my days have passed by these few weeks in a zealous haze.

– the stiffling weight of assignments have been nearly too much for me to bear;

– daddy has been back in town, causing me to re-examine once more, the chronically confusing family dynamic;

– clubs electric blue, strong alcohol, banging house music, and misintepreted affections wasnt enough to shield me from the inevitable; ‘kena kantoi’ that is;

– all these ultimatums that ive been presented with, along with choices that im forced to finally make are pushing me over the sanity cliff, into a deep whirlpool of confusion, guilt, regret, depression, and fanaticism.

** the human condition is such that when we have no choice, we are unhappy that we lack that priviledge, alas, when we are presented with choices, we are unwilling to choose.

anyway, moving on

– stress has overtaken me by a mile, and i am pathetically lagging behind. horrible self defeating thoughts swarm my already clogged mind, and ideas of reliving my bullimic hey-days have come back to haunt me.

should i, or should i not? – is the question im asking myself as of late.

– my relationship has been broken down to shards, that currently, my swollen hands are to afraid to pick up and glue back together.

– also, my perpetual confusion about my sexual orientation is driving both me, and him mad, mad.

– ive come to the realisation that i am one selfish, insecure, nervous wreck. needy for familiarity and comfort, yet unwilling to make sacrificial choices in order to secure that comfort.

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i need to keep my balls (if i had any) from bouncing off the walls, when shit happens. and alot of shit has been happening.

– last tuesday, for instance - when the computer decided to eat up my PR paper. no, seriously. having put in hours of brain-power, sweat, headache, and cigarettes, to discover, all of it, ALL FUCKING GONE. FUCK THAT.  the smelly had to physically restrain me from breaking every fucking bone in my body, and from wrecking everything in fucking sight. 

** the worst thing was, crying, wailing didnt magically re-write the PR report as id hoped.  i still had to sit my sorry arse back on the chair, wipe off the snot, suck it up and come up with that shit all over again.

– friday was spent @ cynna as usual, drowned in the endless crowds of familiar, yet distant faces.  bouncing was kept to minimal, lest the boobs come falling out of my slutty white push up. o_O

– i was in a particularly crummy mood on saturday night, after for-going the invitation to go for a party @ frangipani (to see a smoking HOT hannah) and velvet, . so, instead, smelly decided to accompany me for a mindless walk around bangsar.  thankfully we bumped into the Corrine and spent the rest of the night talking abt bob marley, theology, club culture and shit, over a few rounds of alco. 

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’tis finally sunday, and im grateful to have survived another helter-skelter week.  perhaps next week shant be as bad.  i highly doubt it though, seeing forth that i have 3 major assignments and one final exam due in the span of 3 days.

oh man. im already contemplating my escape route, lest i fail my semester and academic career away.

maybe, just maybe, i shall start a blog in hopes of becoming an overnight one-hit- wonder just like these dormitory boys:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etKvJOU6Ogs

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amidst my boredom and lack of updates,

ive come up with a (non-exhaustive) "cant wait" list:

- i cant wait for the last week of semester to end.

- i cant wait for nadidi, zaida, taib & warwick co. to come back to party the summer away.

- i cant wait for beach holiday 07′ in July.

- i cant wait for 10 kg to magically drop off my ghastly overweight frame.

– and i cant wait for my 21st birthday wish to come, come quick - so that i can wish away all the damage ive done this year.

sure, keep telling yourself that.

okthatsit.

ineedavacation.

‘hann-is-sexy/lester’s-a-retard/yawwy-is-gay’’s collaborative effort to put together beach holiday july ‘07 is much appreciated at this point.

its just that july seems like yonks away

the remainder of my PR report is still refusing to write itself much to my dismay.

its a much harder kick in the arse when i realise that ive got a mountain of work flooding in the minute i step into class on monday.

apart from that, ive been amazingly good this past week.

forcing myself to stay put on quieter (safer?) grounds despite many, many offers to hit heritage row and bounce/feng to rnb and house music, respectively.

the smelly claims, much to his disatisfaction, that ive gotten myself hooked onto a serious addiction.  i dont deny that the kl nightlife has somesort of an uncanny way of sucking you into its endless crowds, banging music, and drug-infused alcohol.

maybe its my escapism of sorts. but why?

as of late, ive been feeling utterly jaded.

the stuff that used to amuse me, dissolute my qualms, just aint quite doin’ it for me no more.

- my handicapped right hand doesnt seem as willing to place a pencil to paper as much as it is to holding on to a ciggarette; needless to say my artwork has now become a rather distant archive.

- my lazy body doesnt seem to value the adrenalin and scorching sun as much as it did before, it does however find content in bouncing to club music; my beloved excessive swimming-under-the-sun hobby has been replaced with dancing on the podium at some smokeyclub.

my awesome kickass tan has quickly faded to reveal the

true white chicken that i am.

eeew.

- my crazy mother is seeing less and less of me around the house, making her even more crazy when i do bump into her, as she tries to cram a week’s worth of nagging into 5 fleeting minutes.

- im beginning to morph into a hermit, living ever so quitely, barely ever leaving my room; and during the times that i do,

its done in the stealthest, quickest way possible, lest the mother hears me and comes out screaming like a madwoman, causing me to run even faster out the front door and quickly quickly hurry hurry hurry to my car.

(weekday mornings are the worst.)

- the time spent hiding under the covers over at the smelly’s has increased exponentially w the help of stacks of dvd’s, honey stars, and the sad, forlorn, puppy-dog look that the bugger throws at me whenever i announce that ‘im going out’. TIU.

i managed to squeeze in lunch and coffee w my beloved buddies hurman and joe on saturday @ 1u.

and all by coin-ke-dink-y, the CLEO’s 50 most eligible bachelors thing-a-majig was being hosted there.

i found it hilarous that grown men would choose to sell themselves so shamelessly.

all of those eligible minions were seated in a row, all dressed in an identical ‘50 most eligible bachelors’ white shirt.

lemmings, i tell you, lemmings. 

eligible, my left foot.

moreover, more than a handful arent even ‘bachelors’!

(shhh…dont worry, no mention of names)

joe and hurman settled for coffee bean where we had to speak uncomfortably louder over some nasty background singing, from a tone-deaf ‘eligible bachelor’.

80% of the conversation ended up being about my rapid loss of weight, the other 20% was spent trying to convince me that men would rather date a porn-star than a clothes-hanger-model.

really?

no way!

despite me hearing enough of "please eat more, ping",

i miss them already. 

we barely get together these days, seeing forth that everyone is busy w their try-to-make-a-living-and-all-other mundane-stuff lives.

getting bored so early into the year cant be a good thing can it?

*breaks into song*: "im ja-ja-ja-ja-ded".

oh man, back to work.

ive had a ridic past week; once again, nothing new here.

so, i guess, some sunday introspection is timely.

good friends zaida and mathew were back in town last week, spurring on my undying adulation of the kl night life.

and now that theyre gone,

the stillness has finally given me some time to wonder, of how many more years i have left, till i finally settle down.

at the rate im going, it seems to me as if im down the inevitable path to premature aging.  you know, those haggard, wrinkly spinsters you would rather fuck a horse than them. 

oo—er.

O_o

ok. anyway.

my point is.

lately, my line of thoughts have culminated into a growing affinity towards the subject of silence.  silence; in essense, or the lack thereof.  it is obviously not the ‘lack thereof’ that i fear, but its swooping, convoluted presence.

silence around me generally implies one of two possibilities:  either, a great deal is happening, or, not a lot is happening.

infer as you will, but my PR report and DDP thesis is staunchly refusing to write themselves, which is causing me much anguish and irritation. 

and ive been feeling very very fragile of late — a ferment of idiocy slowly erroding at the shreds of willpower i have left;

the braindrain of academic jargon and the repurcussions of my ill-chosen-choices crystallizing into terrible focus; senseless needless sorrow — i am now, beset by a sense of inevitability, resignation and smallness.

i now live in a realm of irony — whereby, saying things like "thou shalt not party so hard, and wake up the next morning like the living dead anymore", will all but ensure that i will.

its safe to say, folks that ive lost most of my control over thyself.

——–edit:

i currently feel like im stranded in a no mans land.

its one of those impossible nights when a heavy leaden sleep is gently pressing itself on everypart of me, except for my mind.

which cannot seem to sit still at all.

its one of those nights where my eyes are clamped shut from genuine exhaustion, but no sleep in forthcoming.

and that is an odd little thing - odd enough to provoke me out of bed into this post. 

you see, im always at a loss to distinuish between the closed eyes of sleep and of sleeplessness, since from an external point of view, the two are exactly the same.

but from the inside, from that dark hemisphere behind your eyes, the difference is a substancial one.

how the heck does the closed eye go from seeing/conscious/awake to unseeing/unconsious/asleep?

i have on many occasions, attempted to stay conscious so that i might this confounding transition.  needless to say, this proved counterproductive, and i never fall asleep.

the best ive been consciously able to notice, is a kind of shadowed, velvet-y haze that blooms up the insides of my eyelids, and a vague sensation of physically drifting downwards as various muscles unknot.

on the rare occasion that i do catch this sequence, in the process, i’m then consciously able to say that ‘i am about to fall asleep’.

irony is, any overt articulation of this fact in my head yanks me all the way back to a more conscious state, which means

‘i am no longer about to fall asleep.’

and so that vicious cycle grinds on.

the nebulous country between the conscious and unconscious state is, annoyingly,

uncharted and unchartable territory.

however, given my disgruntled, sandy eyed mental restless-ness over the last two hours up until this moment,

its a place id very much love the to inhabit now.please.thankyouverymuch. onehopes.ohfuckit.goodnight.

am i really missing in action?

im currently on a time constraint, seeing forth that my laptop charger has been left sprawled in a wrangled heap elsewhere, whilst i try to make the most of my 2:19 hours of battery sustenance.

oh shit.

i have, in a (non) pragmatic sense, been missing in action.

with little time on my hands to sleep, rest and eat, let alone blog.

last week was markedly a hectic one; showcasing to all present, me, a woman on the periphery of insanity; hedonistic and perturbed.

by that i mean, random bouts of flopping about like a helpless chicken, alternating betweeen a ludicrous consumption of ciggarettes, then, running up and down the building trying to meet deadlines, followed by speeding from sunway to kl to bangsar….assignments, errands, castings.

thursday was abysmally more helter-skelter than usual. 

with a presentation at 8 am the next morning, i amazingly managed to squeeze in a birthday tiramisu dinner, and a ghetto heaven night out @ zouk, w toddy, sya, and two, mad (would be an understatement) "kaki-botol" women.

i havent been to ghetto heaven @ zouk for yonks and yonks now.

seeing that the crowd has slowly but surely morphed into a scourge of "mat-rempits" and the likes.

but i told myself "fuck it".

ended up having a fucking awesome time, bouncing about to some RnB music, whilst dodging those two, mad, (by that time) stinking drunk women in their advent mission to get me equally as hammered.

i proudly staved of the alco, long enough to spot the corporeal gyrations of a staggeringly gorgeous dancer on the podium. 

i knew it was her! we’d partied together a few times before, hence the growing affinity towards her. she looked amazing even under the unforgiving shards of the zouk spotlight glare.

she waved.

i smiled.

and ended up shamelessly gyrating my hips against sexy hers on the podium as well.

like a firm foot of conscience, sya later poked a bit of fun at me:

"just when i thought your slutting days were over".

damnit.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

fast foward another hour or two bouncing about to RnB music;

our cummulative manpower finally managed to drag the two, mad, (stinking) drunk women out of the club at 3-ish am.

hazily tottered back home at 4,

before hauling my poor aching 70 year old body out of bed at 6:30 am on a friday morning for a 8:00 am presentation.

FUCK ME.

the later part of the friday was spent passed out into the oblivion of day and night. 

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my aching loins were still giving me hell on a saturday.

absurd.

as much as i was tempted to go out and bounce the night away at heritage row

i didnt.

my night somehow ended up in my resident hell-hole that is bangsar.

the polluted, convoluted, congested bangsar.

the bangsar that seemed eerily quiet on a late saturday night.

there is something to be said about having friends you can have the following conversation with..

"i went for a drink late last night — everything seemed so still and empty and i became all existentialist and fretful" said I.

she replied "oh, as usual".

-_-

so i resigned to rationalising it here:

As my malleable behind plastered itself uncomfortably on a callous wooden chair, hunched over a table at nirwana’s, my troubled mind began to meander to my surroundings.

people eschew the night because it is existence at its most elemental — silent, empty.

my eyes stopped short in the middle of the road –

night sky ringed w strange, awkward constellations, the trees throwing its grey shadows down on the white of confetti bird droppings and the stark black tar, the distant streetlights with their eerie orange penumbra —

and then i thought, wot is this? all of it?

(my thoughts were abrupty halted by my obligation to inaugurate a conversation w the person sitting opposite me.)

but they quickly came back, the thoughts, striking down like a ten-ton-brick, whilst driving back home.

the silence seemed unbearable.

thick, dark, convoluted.

i peered outside.  fleeting images washed past my eyes like one of those flash animation thing-a-majigs.

there was a dented fire hydrant; a mars bar wrapper; all these people slumbering in their uterine houses; planets turning phlegmatically overhead. 

–

it was all almost as if it was too much, this silent night, this strange foreign life.

i shant elaborate so much on my new drama until i finally settle down, and get some work done.

why is wednesday always the day that something detrimental occurs to ruin my rest of the week?

im really trippin’. again

i nearly got into a bitch-fight w a psycho-fat-bitch today, over some nonsensical futile issues.

in my defense,thankfully, i didnt start it. 

and even if i did, i wouldnt have physically survived the fight, seeing forth that the ghetto bitch was 3 times my size, (excluding the ghetto attitude, and ghetto hair, and ghetto junk-in-her-trunk).

that flop of lard would have quite literally flattened me like a steamroller, lest she snap me into half.

oh man, ghetto fat women can be so fucking scary.

O_o

oh dear.

i doubt i will ever pull off enough ghetto attitude to retaliate,

nonetheless, i cannot deny there is a little bit of shaniqua in me just screaming to get out.

aahhhhh….im still keeling over today’s drama.

oh fuck! my nerves are rattled,

hence the dire need for some alco, good music and ‘less-ghetto’ company.

somebody help me!

ive been bed-ridden (literally) for most of the weekend.

missing. in. action.

sick as a dog.

ive desperately been to two doctors already; useless mooks, have done nothing but drain me off my funds dedicated to my much beloved shopping quota.

this monday, more mundane than usual, has evoked my deep-rooted feelings of restlessness,

ive been fidgeting furiously for the past hour,

switching interchangedly between hiding underneath the covers, and rocking about animatedly in my armchair,

with nothing much to do but adopt a heavy smoking respite to dilute my qualms.

curiously, i look into my mug of crappy instant 98% fat free chicken soup, to find maggot-shaped sorry pieces of ‘noodle’ depressingly floating around in the msg-infested liquid.

chicken soup for the soul?  hardly.

my fever is getting from bad to worse, lest i fear my eye-balls will eventually sear into my sockets.

a hollow, sharp pain runs through my chest and stomach, like parasites feasting on a dead carcass

my head is stricken w a hellish migraine - stunningly instigated the moment i hobbled to take a peek at my reflection in the mirror.

oh fuck!

i was met w a pale pasty cast, swollen red eyes set atop some grusomely garish blue-black eyebags.

all blood has been drained out of my lips,

and my hair looks and feels like a tepid heap of straw. limp and dead.

if there was ever a one time, i was at my lowest, resembling a hell-wrath of the living-undead.

it was now. 

my reflection peers helplessly back at me, willing me to do something.

i quickly grab a brush an attempt to weave through my locks.

limp golden strands when met with the brush,

fall out of my scalp like feathers from boiled-pre-plucked chicken.

horrified in my confoundment ,

my drama-mama tendencies causes me to hurl the god-be-damned hair brush across the room.

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all i can think about now, how i yearn, and miss 

his hands, a craft of the stuff that is magic,

his artful touch running melifluously over my skin, like a trickle of heaven-like ecstasy down my spine,

paradoxical to his sturdy arms, almost stifling in its fervent resilience, always compelling me to capitulate, 

his soft, dry lips meeting mine in fiery temperament;

how i long to exist once more in his affinity, not a care in the world; only a heightened sensation of things.

his hot breath caressing the creek of my neck.

and the inevitable of all there is to come, in that fleeting, but lurid moment of time and space.