like minds

Reading this book is like meeting someone for the first time, and knowing instantly you’re going to be fast friends.

the list

My three favorite books, in no particular order, and for various, very specific reasons:

A Fine Balance – Rohinton Mistry (which I discovered WAY before Oprah did)
Wives and Daughters – Elizabeth Gaskell
Old School – Tobias Wolff

of skipping beats

When I’m curled up under the covers, a book inches from my face, I catch my breath everytime I turn the page because I think, this time, this time, I could get a papercut on my eyeball.

it’s official

Yup, no doubt about it. Winter is finally here.

bookaholics anonymous

I reorganized our bookshelves a few days ago.

Oh. My. God. I didn’t know I had so many books.

And thanks to my husband and various friends, (enablers, all!) I still have gift certificates totalling close to $300 I haven’t touched yet.

Help.

deja vu

I keep having this recurring dream.

I’m in a building, one of those high-rise ones, and I’m supposed to meet someone in a specific room. Sometimes it’s my mom, sometimes my sister, friend, etc. But it’s always the same. I can never find the room. Either the elevator doesn’t stop at that floor, or it’s not working, or I keep missing it. Or if I do get to the floor, the room numbers aren’t in order so I still can’t find the room. And there’s no way to contact who I’m meeting to tell them I can’t find it.

So I wake up in a panic.

I know what this means. But just knowing what it means isn’t helping.

Oh yeah, and the other dream about having to sit for an exam you haven’t studied for — I had that one last night.

back in nyc

And that’s all I have to say about it.

nom de plume

When I was sixteen, my dad read my practice essays for 1119. That night at dinner, totally out of the blue (that was what I thought then, not knowing he’d read my stuff) he said I should consider studying journalism after SPM. He told me that I wrote well, and with proper training could probably make a career of it.

Wow. This was a Compliment, dad being already published himself. But I also felt violated, in a way. I kicked myself for carelessly leaving those essays lying around, instead of putting them away as I usually did.

You see, I become someone else when I write. I lose the reserve which paralyzes me if you were to meet me in person. I’m not sure I want to share that someone with anybody yet. I write what I want, and paper and pen don’t judge. Then I decide if it gets to be read by anyone else, or if it gets torn up and flung into the trash.

I didn’t get that choice when my dad read those essays. Those essays were strictly between Mrs. K and I.

I’m a horrifically private person. And to me, writers are brave, brave people. To put down in black and white your thoughts and fears, fantasies and opinions. Laying it all out there for people to see. And to judge. To judge you as a writer. And to judge you as a person. Even if it’s fiction and everything’s made up. Because it has to come from somewhere. I don’t like people knowing that much about me. Or thinking that they know that much about me. Even if it’s just that I’m friends with this person, or that I went to that school.

I didn’t do journalism. Obviously. But at uni, I took a semester of creative writing. Because I’d promised dad. And also because I wanted to. I loved it. But I dreaded the reading aloud part. The professor was great. She told us to simplify. Show instead of tell. Readers aren’t stupid, don’t spell everything out. Make eavesdropping a habit. And she said I should keep writing.

Tonight at dinner, dad said the same thing again. I should write. A book. A short story. Column. Anything.

I don’t know though. This blog is difficult enough. And it’s already anonymous.

groan

I’m so full, it’s disgusting.

reformed

I’ve just been reliably informed that wearing leggings in KL makes you ah lian. Am quite annoyed by this, because I love my leggings. But apparently, ‘cool’ people don’t do that.

Er, hello? So you’re saying Hollywood is not cool-lah? And New York street-fashion very ah lian is it?

Actually, this isn’t the first time I’ve been told something like this. The first year I was in New York, I happily joined the locals and donned street fashion. I loved it. It was eclectic, and funky, and there was a sense of freedom in dressing that was very new to me. It was all about self-expression. What you saw on celebs or in magazines, you could get at the stores or the street markets. And you didn’t look just like everyone else.

But when I came back to KL that summer, it was completely different. People looked at me funny and I felt self-conscious all the time. What was cool on the streets of New York city was ah lian in KL (oh, the irony!). I spent the rest of the summer in jeans and baby tees. Just like everyone else.

I realized then, that we have it all wrong. The ‘cool’ crowd, for want of a better description, are conservative and conformist. They’re the ones in the ’safe’ spaghetti strap top and jeans and the beaded necklace. Everyone looks alike. Same goes for the guys. Even now, almost a decade later, they’re still wearing the same thing, albeit slightly updated. These people are the first ones to make snide remarks about anyone who doesn’t fit their definition of cool. They pride themselves on the fact that they’re trendy and up-to-date. I should know, I used to be one of them.

But think about it. New York. Paris. Milan. Hong Kong. Tokyo. Fashion capitals all. No hint of KL in there. See what I’m getting at?

So, Hong Kong fashion…. or KL fashion? The fact that ah lians are willing to take a chance and be different makes them cooler and more fashion-forward in my book. After all, that’s what fashion’s about isn’t it? Individuality and having the confidence to be true to your own style.

I’m willing to bet my leggings there are more like-minded people out there. People who love their leggings but don’t wear them for fear of being called ah lian.

Well, so f*&king what?

It’s high time this changed. We need to stop worrying about what people think and just wear what we want. We need to stop judging people based on their outward appearance and the language they speak. And most importantly, we need to hold our heads high, and wear our leggings loud and proud!