November 2008 Archives

I usually dread Novembers. I remember spending most of November 2005 mourning my grandmother. It was a month of tears – crying for my grandmother, my problematic relationship, the shock of having my house burgled.

Then November 2006 was when I found out my bestest guy friend was about to make a really big mistake. One that would reverberate all through the year to come.

November 2007 brought drama, tears and running right back into the arms of God. Yeah, after all the hard work God’s put into trying to save my soul, I’d been adrift for years before I just sought His anchor again.

And this November was no different. I was sick (as I always am in November, I don’t know why), grappling with the Cough That Would Not Go Away, dealt with angst-ridden boyfriend who is now Man I Love But Am Not With Because He Needs To Sort His Fucking Life Out before he can really be with me. Then a horrific family emergency that had me flying home, simultaneously mending rifts with family and bestest guy friend.

I met someone. He makes me laugh. I’m hoping this one will always be a friend no matter what happens. Sometimes you need a little joy in your life and if it comes in the guise of a Really Bad Idea, well, hey. For a Bad Idea, he’s one heck of a good friend. Just for that, I’m more grateful than I’ll ever be able to say.

Am thankful that my family and friends have shown me how much love there is in my life. That I never have to go far for a hug. That the Big Guy up there makes a point to remind me that the rain does stop, the clouds do pass and when I least expect it, there’ll always be someone around the corner with an umbrella.

I love everybody.

...so from the ashes maybe there'll be born a better place, safe for you, baby girl.

I hated Ronan Keating’s version of Iris, and was prepared not to give the album it was on a listen.

Then I heard someone singing the song “All Over Again” from said album and so I Googled it and found the original version (there are at least 4 others Ronan did with different duet partners):

I quite like Kate Rusby’s voice and I enjoyed it the most about the song. The lyrics are crazy cheesy, though, and if I hadn’t loved hearing the person sing it, would probably have ignored it if I’d heard it on the radio.

So can I do it? Fall all over again? I don’t know anymore. And the lyrics from Falling Slowly just play over in my head: “I don’t know you, but I want you all the more for that.” But right now, I’m just happy being happy.

Turn down the light, turn up the radio.
There's a fire in your eyes, and its keeping me warm
Hold on to me like it was yesterday,
When we both felt our spirits collide

I remember the moment, being struck down by lightning
Since the first time I saw your face, and you smiled
Come and lay down with me
Fill the space that's between us
Feel the magic that keeps love alive
This time, can be like the first time
Close your eyes and soon we'll be there
No man could ever guess what you're feeling
Turn a spark to a flame,
Make a wish, close your eyes, won't you start all over again.

Just like the first time that you touched my skin,
All over again
I tasted heaven take me there again,
All over again
Your smile
Your touch,
Your taste,
It turns me on and on and on,
That I fall in love with you,
All over again

Come and step through the stars,
Take a ride though the universe.
As long as we're here, lets take this whole thing in

What I'm trying to say,
Is that you are so beautiful
Let me say it, all over again.
'Cos this time can be like the first time,
Close your eyes, but you'll soon will be there
No man could ever guess what he's feeling,
Turn a spark to a flame,
Make a wish, close your eyes, won't you start all over again.
[Repeat chorus]
Your smile,
Your touch,
Your taste,
It turns me on and on and on.
That I fall in love with you,
I keep falling in love, with you.
All over again
All over again
All over again.

I confess – I tend to judge songs by their titles. And Marit Larsen’s new single, If A Song Could Get Me You, was too cute-sounding to resist.

But then I caught her homemade video for the song, which she shot in a subway station.

It’s so cute my blood sugar levels rose.

Strangely appropriate though, because I have a massive crush on someone which is, of course, plainly ridiculous. Because I’m pretty sure it’s one-sided. It’s probably just a side-effect of too much mental chemistry.

But crushes can be mad fun so long as they don’t border on psychotic obsession. Instead, I’ve gotten plenty of ideas for songs and have figured out what I’m going to do in 2009 career-wise as well as my gameplan for 2010. So though my mad attraction is unrequited, I’m still inspired in good ways. (Yes, Sivin, that’s a good thing)

I could try with a waltz
I could try rock'n'roll
I could try with the blues
If a song would do

I could sing it high or low
When I let you go, you know
I thought it was for the best
Now it is so obvious

So here it is, here it goes
I could try it rock'n'roll
A change-your-life-forever-tune
If a song could get me you

I could make it high or low
Sing it on the radio
If that is what I need to do
If a song could get me you

I could run for miles and miles
I'd take off and I'd start flying
I could cross land and sea
If you'd just believe me

I should not have hurt you so
This old house is not a home
Without you here there's no use
I've got no time left to lose

So here it is, here it goes
I could try it rock'n'roll
A change-your-life-forever-tune
If a song could get me you

I could make it high or low
Sing it on the radio
If that is what I need to do
If a song could get me you
If a song could get me through
I'd sing my way right back to you

Tell me how to make it right
Tell me now, I'll start tonight
I know I could make it last
I swear to you that if I knew
What I was getting myself into
I wouldn't answer to my fears
I'd never leave you standing there

Just look at me

If you'd only see me
I would prove my love for you
I could swallow half the moon
Just tell me where, tell me when
I will have you back again

So here it is, here it goes
I could try it rock'n'roll
A change-your-life-forever-tune
If a song could get me you
I could make it high or low
Sing it on the radio
If that is what I need to do
If a song could get me you

So here it is, here it goes
I could try it rock'n'roll
A change-your-life-forever-tune
If a song could get me you
I could make it high or low
Sing it on the radio
If that is what I need to do
If a song could get me you

(picture from S60.com)

So I’m coming clean here and disclosing that I’ve been a Symbian S60 ambassador for the past month or so. A post of mine made ‘Post of the Week’ for the Symbian Files campaign so I might as well out myself early.

Symbian? Of all the things I want to champion, why this? I could go for Google’s flavour of the month Android, join the mindless iPhone hordes or attempt to resurrect Windows Mobile.

My favourite OS for the phone has always been Palm’s. I love Treos and spurn RIM’s service locked-in CrackBerries. But after reviewing countless phone models and thinking about what I want and need in a phone, I want Symbian to succeed.

Windows Mobile phones, IMHO, are pieces of expensive hardware struggling to run a bloated OS with poor boot times and expensive third-party apps. I loved how there were so many free Palm apps while for WM, you pay for everything. Call me cheap then, but I want my high quality freebies!

With Symbian eventually releasing the code (under restrictions, of course, not quite GPL here), it’ll make it easy for manufacturers and hobbyists alike to start making apps for the platform.

Am also heartened that mobile phone heavyweight Nokia is willing to invest the resources it has for Symbian and the Symbian Foundation. I like what I’ve seen of the upcoming new version on the Nokia Music Xpress 5800 and with a bit more polish, I foresee a great future for handsets running the new version of the OS.

Ah, Singapore. How doth thou hath becometh increasingly pretty for Christmas. The shopping malls – they celebrate the decadence of the coming festive Eating of the Wallets, I mean, Christmas.

Was supposed to play tour guide, but, well, plans turn awry. Admired the lovely new nightspots, shiny new malls, picturesque waterfront.

Singapore food still sucks. Can’t stand cigarette smoke? Move to Singapore where you can’t even smoke inside a pub.

And I feel like hell. Kthksbai.

As it’s wont to do, November brings drama and heartache and illness.

Still with the boyfriend. His fault I’m ill though. Crying myself hoarse for two nights ended up with me losing my voice and amusing the downstairs eatery proprietor with my very loud whispers. Seems throat was very vulnerable after last week’s respiratory infection so I caught myself a mild case of the flu.

Cat is befuddled at my hacking and retching-like coughs. He probably wonders if I’m having a hairball issue.

Boyfriend was slightly amused at my losing my voice. “Singing too much?” Ha bloody ha. But rest assured he is suitably penitent and keeps asking if I am OK/have not bought weed killer/conspired with my cells to contract lymphoma.

Unlike most of the guys I’ve dated, I couldn’t possibly hurt him by calling him names or accusing him of mental/emotional/physical inadequacies. He hurts when I hurt and was more concerned that I was a trembling, emotional wreck than anything else I might have said and done during said process of emotional wreckedness. He is sweet, he does try, and our situation is trying but we’re doing our best.

So I’m staying in tomorrow because I’m tired, ill and the dust bunnies are plotting to suffocate me in the night. I’m sure of it.

In other news, I’m glad that I’m not a famous enough blogger to have people taking public potshots at me and join in hordes to speculate about my private life. The current activity in the blogosphere reminds me of a frenzy of sharks smelling blood, or flies around dung. What’s making me ill isn’t really the bloggers involved but the mean commenters who are having such fun viciously tearing people apart. Turns my blood cold.

So if you’re having a pity party because you’re not famous enough to get invited to parties, get advertorial requests or have people give you free stuff, don’t be envious. With all that come the hanger-ons, yes-men, backstabbers, parasites, gossipmongers and all sorts of shit that nobody really wants to deal with.

I think I’ll go count my blessings, drink my cough syrup and shut up now.

So I had a nice lunch with one of my favourite PR people, something I do often so I can understand the state of the game. The game is PR and media interaction – something I enjoy more than not.

There are many public relations outfits in Malaysia, and I make a point to try and spend time with reps who understand what PR means. It’s not about kissing my boots or cringing when I yell at them for asking me if I’ve received their faxes. It’s about them understanding what message their clients are trying to put across and helping me understand or at the very least, interpret them correctly.

I tagged along to a Christian Dior function. Rarely do I get invites to non-tech events and it was fun celebrity watching at the Diorshow Iconic Mascara launch. Ning Baizura was there as well as past and current beauty queens while the super chirpy Marion Caunter played emcee. And there were Nuffnangers galore!

Dior claims its Diorshow Iconic mascara is so much the bomb that you don’t need a separate lash curler to get longer, lush lashes. To test that out, I took these before and after pictures for your benefit.

Before: No makeup, just my droopy panda eyes.

Scary, hor?

After: Concealer, powder, liner and heaps of Diorshow Iconic Mascara.

Even Paris commented on the stunning difference you could see after a few swipes of the Dior mascara.

My personal take? Well, I think it works a treat for those with shorter lashes that are stubborn about curling. You want volume and length? The Diorshow Iconic delivers. But I wasn’t crazy about how the mascara actually felt on my lashes because I prefer the lighter feel of my L’oreal Telescopic mascara. I already have long thick lashes but my eyes water easily, so I need something that doesn’t clump much, separates my lashes without my needing to resort to an eyelash comb and yet highlighted my big panda peepers.

More natural, certainly not as dramatic as Diorshow. But I like, so there.

In other news, am experimenting with ads on the site. I doubt I’ll earn much but hey, every little bit helps. Recessions yada yada pancake. But no, there will be no pop-ups, pop-unders or my endorsing anything I don’t personally think rocks my socks. Here’s to my finally giving in and joining the monetising bandwagon. Sigh.

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth.

I believe that we still have cause to hope for a better country, that good can still find a place in this world, that we can make the world better.

I don’t believe that I will ever meet a man who won’t lie to me or cheat on me.

I don’t believe I’ll ever get married.

I don’t believe in true love, and if it does exist, maybe it just doesn’t exist for me.

I don’t believe that I’ll be miserable single. Better than being in a relationship that’s not working or where you hurt more than you’re happy.

I believe I’ll get over this in time, that I’ll stop crying eventually.

I believe that no matter how shitty life gets at times, and even when it’s never easy, that God still loves me.

I believe I’ll be OK.

…for everything I put you through.

I give up.

I’m tired.

Sick of it, weary of caring, just too damn strained.

I remember Karcy commenting that nothing seems to affect me as much as my relationships.

So it’s really no suprise that I crumpled into a sobbing wreck when the boyfriend said that after he’d made sure I was settled, taken care of, financially secure and safe from harm and persecution…we’d part ways.

And then he spent the next hour attempting to convince me he was just kidding.

Then after I’m somewhat composed, I call up a friend who I was supposed to see (until I got waylaid by stupid boyfriend’s joke) and friend is all concerned, even offers to bring chocolate.

Perfect. So I think some good might come out of this night…until it starts to rain and friend pleads for rain check because it’s a nice rainy night to sleep in, and I would have agreed if it wasn’t the fourth fucking time we rescheduled.

I just said, “OK, I’m not calling you anymore. Next time you want to hang out, it’s going to be you calling because I just can’t take being put aside anymore.”

I know it’s not supposed to be personal.
But how am I not supposed to take it personal when you say you’d rather sleep in than come over?

Don’t set me up to hope and then dash my tiny expectations to shreds.

I’m feeling whiny, emo and generally belligerent towards the Y-bearing members of humanity. Exceptions being my father, brothers, Wrimos. And one amoeba.

Working for the UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) literally saved my life. I’d been diagnosed with clinical depression, and struggled with thoughts of suicide and the side effects of my medication.

It helped put my own sorrow in perspective to be surrounded by those who had lost so much – home, family and a sense of belonging. My half-year stint there tested the limits of my empathy and compassion; for that I’ll always be grateful to the refugees and my wonderful colleagues at Bukit Petaling.

But to a lot of people, refugees are considered the human equivalent of vermin.

Parasites. Burdens. Potential criminals.

Go home.

We don’t want you here.

Malaysians are just as guilty of mistreating or even patently ignoring the plight of these ‘unwanted guests’ of ours.

Do you know that our police regularly beat or extort refugees for money? That our immigration officials have no qualms about dumping migrants at the border or deporting them where they face imprisonment or torture?

Refugees all long for a place called home, and given the choice would not leave their homelands. They flee and find refuge elsewhere because they simply have no choice.

Knowing my passion for refugee causes, Irene helpfully pointed me over to the latest Bloggers Unite endeavour. Today, November 10, bloggers from all over are helping spread awareness about refugee issues.

Kudo as well to Angelina Jolie for using her star power to get publicity for the UNHCR.

If you’ve got spare change, why not donate to the UNHCR online? And yes, I put my money where my mouth is and have been donating for the past year. Autodebit for the win. Even the boyfriend’s asked me just how he can donate to the cause as well.

Even if you don’t personally donate to the UNHCR or aren’t up to volunteering time to the cause, at least be informed. Understand that refugees are merely displaced individuals who cannot remain in their countries, due either to war or the threat of persecution for political/religious/racial status or views.

Malaysia still refuses to ratify the UN Refugee Convention, and when not locking them up in detention camps, letting our policemen harass and harm them, pretends they don’t exist.

I hope you won’t. Because in our uncertain political climate, who knows if you’ll know someone who might find himself running for his life to another country. It could be your priest. Your local social worker. Your father, mother, brother, sister. And perhaps, it could even be you.

Stumbled on James Morrison’s new album Songs for You, Truths for Me. I confess to a weakness for blue-eyed soul and now I half-regret not seeing him play at Live Out Loud last year.

You Give Me Something was his first single off the album Undiscovered. There’s his distinct voice, the hooky melodies and how his songs don’t sound overproduced. And of course, what I adore most – emo titles such as Nothing Ever Hurt Like You.

So here’s You Give Me Something. Yep, James has definitely given me two albums to savour for the week.

It’s a brave new world where the Web is concerned, and where PR and tech converge, new approaches inevitably come to fruition.

I’m in on a new beta testing program. Am not the only one – seems rather exciting, the whole concept and hopefully I’ll have more to write about soon.

But right now I’m tipsy and I have a writein to organise for tomorrow’s NaNoWriMo meet. Am also a little sad because for the first time in four years of being Malaysia’s Municipal Liaison, I’ve encountered trolls.

There’s this one angry teenager hellbent on using the forum to attack a ‘famous’ blogger. Take your hate elsewhere, kiddo. The NaNoWriMo forums isn’t your place to insult others.

Then there’s this user who is trying too hard to correct me, second-guess me, question everything and basically backhandedly insult me at every turn. I’m doing my best, and the people who matter know that.

But I still can’t help feeling a little down that this user is just so keen on cutting me down, questioning what I do, and worse – defending the forum troll, calling it free speech.

If I was hosting the TGIO party and one Wrimo went to another and spit in her face, I would step in and break it up. And censure the spitter as well. It’s my job, after all. I wish they would all get that.

What’s the point, really, of being ML and donating my time and energy for the cause, just to put up with users like these?

Perhaps it’s because I believe in NaNo. And I owe it so much.

Listening to old school R&B. Toni Braxton’s He Wasn’t Man Enough for Me is a favourite. I love the beat and at the same time, the cattiness of it is delicious.

Sadly the song also hits a bit too close for me. Too many times I get insecure women accusing/waging war thinking I want their men.

And I never thought I’d be able to say to a woman “I’ve already had your man” with absolute sincerity. But yeah, now I can.

The cattiest line:

”Well, I think it’s time you know the truth

I think he’s just the man for you.”

Ouch.

My rule is – if he loves me, he wouldn’t swap me for someone else. So you take my man (happened), you keep him and good riddance.

They always come back, the sodding dimwits.

RPK has been released – not via protests, but by due process in a court of law.

It has been a long time since we have been able to believe in our judiciary after the unchecked meddling by our government.

If any of you missed the significance of Obama’s election win, look at the date.

“Remember, remember the 5th of November” – Guy Fawkes Day.

Malaysians are no longer all beholden to apathy.

We are no longer stupid enough to believe everything we read in mainstream media.

We no longer stay quiet when our leaders overstep their bounds.

We are beginning to realise that we have been polarised too long.

We are starting to accept that we are living in Malaysia, not Malay-sia.

I do not believe that I will see a government that is colourblind in my lifetime.

I don’t think that we as a people have matured enough to put aside our prejudices.

After all, look how long it took the American people to elect a coloured man as president.

We might not see the change we want to achieve in this lifetime, but we should not stop fighting for it. We fight so our children will have a better world than the one we were born in, in the hope that one day their children will have everything we dreamed of and more.

Hope is not often warranted. Often we are given no cause for it, and told that we shouldn’t even bother holding it close to our hearts.

2008 will always remain in my memory as the year I learned to hope again. I hope that’s true for you too.

Image via Wikipedia

For the first time in my life, I’ve successfully (kinda) painted my nails. Yes, not much of an achievement but I’ve never done it before though I vaguely remember a sitter painting my toenails a bright red when I was a little girl.

I get it now, why women and even men are willing to spend precious minutes cleaning their hands, nails, pushing back cuticles, snipping away hangnails.

There is a sort of peace to be found in slowly, deliberately painting coat upon coat of bright paint on keratin.

Being a novice, I ended up starting over, botching a few jobs, laying on varnish too thick, missing a spot.

There is no way to hurry it. You have to do it one nail at a time, patiently waiting for one hand to dry so you can start on the other. As I wait, I carefully rest my hands waiting for the few seconds it will take for the nail polish to dry. My too short nails end up having nail polish splattered all over the surrounding skin, leaving me to carefully clean away the extra bits with a cotton bud and remover.

Short, short nails. Deep, dark aubergine-red nail polish.

I think about how my ex-fiance hated the thought of me painting my nails. How he only begrudgingly approved of one particular shade of deep brown. Of an old lover sitting behind a table and slowly painting his nails black.

I wonder how my boyfriend is doing and if his exam for today is over. And I think about an old friend, now stranger, and how I can’t even get away from him on Facebook because our friends, they’re still our friends, though we have nothing in common anymore except a past I’m learning to slowly leave where it is.

So quickly I was replaced by a prettier, taller girl who probably makes him laugh better than I did. Then there’s the smaller girl who I find hard not to like, makes everyone laugh too. I hope she’s happier than she was those years ago when she was unhappy, lonely and unsure of where she was going or what she wanted.

Am I bitter? No. I’m just taking the time to accept things change and the people you’ll always love won’t always stay.

I smile instead as my nails dry as I think of the people who laugh and talk to me in a Gmail thread that has not died, though a year has come and gone. Of old friends becoming ever dearer, of dear friends reminding me “We’re still here. Really.”

It’s 1.50 am and my damned nails are finally dry.

Image via Wikipedia

My carpal tunnel’s resurfaced recently, making typing a pain. Writing is already something I find hard to do.

“Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.” – Gene Fowler

Replace forehead with wrists and you’ve got my experience. So I’ve tried ergonomic keyboards, different mice, experimental seating or desk arrangements.

Invariably it all boils down to not spending too much time at a keyboard. I miss my trusty Thinkpad R52 – IBM made the best keyboards for those laptops and I probably did some of my best writing on my old laptop.

So I’ve been experimenting with WSR or Windows Speech Recognition. It’s come a long way from its beginnings; I remember when just leaving your microphone on could lead to all sorts of gibberish on your document. Now, the word recognition is far more accurate and dictation is more intuitive. The WSR tutorial is also very well-done and I found it quite enjoyable going through the training module.

I am dictating this blogpost right now, and it certainly gives me a new perspective on the whole composition process.  Yes, it's not exactly an error-free process, and I do find that I have to slow down and correct mistakes manually. 

But I think that dictation is a means of writing that is more fluid, achieving a style closer to how you would actually speak.  I think it is a great tool for speechwriters and perhaps even poets.  Most important, it gives my wrists a rest.

I don't think it will completely replace typing for me, but so far it's proving to be fun.  Who knows what the future might bring?  Perhaps speech recognition might actually come to the mobile phone and save me hours off transcribing notes.  Maybe then I'll start to like interviewing.

So I’m working from home and taking a break (one of many, hur hur) by reading the all-funny Dooce.

And Heather’s telling a story about her brother giving money to a homeless man. I get to thinking that, gee, sounds like something the boyfriend would do.

One of Heather’s commenters said it best about these people who have no qualms about giving to the needy:

“Your brother has gotten what very few of us have figured out...charity, compassion, giving isn't about caring what they do with it or asking for thanks. It's about doing it and knowing you did what you could.”

I do argue with the boyfriend about being a soft touch, very quick to opening his wallet.

I say, don’t give to Malaysian beggars because it’s all a syndicate. These people are smuggled in and are ‘professional’ beggars. We’re funding a ring of evil people.

“But what if they don’t take money back? What if they get beaten or something?”

And he gives money to the beggars anyway.

Because he’s so kind, he gets dozens of email requests from family, acquaintances, acquaintances of acquaintances.

My son, he needs money for school.

My father, he needs medicine.

My sister, she wants to take a course.

Watching him go through his inbox, I wonder how he manages not to get angry or saddened by all these emails from people who all want something from him.

But all he does is shrug. They ask because they must.

There are days though, that he gets frustrated not because of all the demands on his time or wallet but his ability to do well in his studies. It’s not easy trying to juggle his hectic life and I just say to him, Just do what you can. The best you can.

And he tries. He tries so hard and sometimes, he gets despondent feeling it’s not enough. But it never stops him from trying.

In some ways, he’s the silliest man I know. But he’s also the kindest, the least complicated and whenever he says, “I’ll do my best,” he means it.

Faith as simple as a child’s and an earnest desire to do good and be good. I guess I couldn’t ask for more.

November’s starting out amazingly – what with a glorious NaNo kickoff meetup as well as Barack Obama’s monumental win in the US presidential elections.

I just feel happy today and as an expression of joy, here’s Regine Velasquez’s lovely cover of Stevie Wonder’s Overjoyed.

Joy. Something so rare in these dark days.

"Overjoyed"
Over time, I've been building my castle of love
Just for two, though you never knew you were my reason
I've gone much too far for you now to say
That I've got to throw my castle away
Over dreams, I have picked out a perfect come true
Though you never knew it was of you I've been dreaming
The sandman has come from too far away
For you to say come back some other day
And though you don't believe that they do
They do come true
For did my dreams
Come true when I looked at you
And maybe too, if you would believe
You too might be
Overjoyed, over loved, over me
Over hearts, I have painfully turned every stone
Just to find, I had found what I've searched to discover
I've come much too far for me now to find
The love that I've sought can never be mine
And though you don't believe that they do
They do come true
For did my dreams
Come true when I looked at you
And maybe too, if you would believe
You too might be
Overjoyed, over loved, over me
And though the odds say improbable
What do they know
For in romance
All true love needs is a chance
And maybe with a chance you will find
You too like I
Overjoyed, over loved, over you, over you

Today I read a resume that annoyed me immensely.

Look, I’m overjoyed by Obama’s win and then I read this resume that is so made of stupid, I don’t know where to start.

So to help you aspiring jobseekers, or those looking for work in this tough climate, here’s some free advice.

1. Use a simple format, easy to read and scan.

Example:

Name, address, email, tel on top

Don’t list it like a form.

Name: Sodding Idiot

Address: Parents’ place

No, no, no, no, no

Unless your potential employers ARE idiots, just put your name, add, email,etc at the top. Left-aligned or centred, up to you.

2. Don’t mention your race, religion, height, weight. Let them find out at the interview.

3. No need attach picturelah. Dei. Not even if you look like Jessica Biel/Brad Pitt.

4. Use BRITISH SPELLING. Especially if you’re applying for any sort of job that involves writing. So spelling “organised” as “organized” is a no-no. It shows that you are LAZY and rely too much on Microsoft’s spellchecker which is fallible. Very.

5. Keep it short, 1-2 pages. Sell yourself but don’t be too verbose. A resume is a summary of why you are uniquely qualified for the position. And no, unless you’re applying to teach at ABRSM, employers aren’t going to be interested in your Grade 8 piano. I know two people who are Grade 8 holders and only are because they were forced to go that far. Your piano skills are likely irrelevant to your application.

6. References? Just add “References provided upon request.” Because most of the time, they won’t need them and really, it’s not a wise idea to willy-nilly give out people’s contact information unless absolutely necessary.

And some general writing advice:

1. Keep your sentences short and sweet.

2. Don’t use words you don’t know.

3. Clarity, clarity, clarity. Make it easy for your readers to understand what you’re writing.

4. Do you know the difference between it’s and its? There’s and theirs? If you don’t know how to use the apostrophe, then please, don’t apply for a writing job.

It’s = It is.

Its = possessive of ‘it’/to show something belongs or is a trait of ‘it’

Because I want to save the world from bad resumes, feel free to email me with questions about your CVs or leave your comments. I promise I will answer you.

Irene finds it puzzling why people like Cal, Liz, and me care about US politics or policy. “Doesn’t concern us, what!”

I wish what she said was true.

The problem is that the US is the only remaining, intact superpower.

The USSR collapsed. The United Kingdom is turning ever more insular, not helped by Tony Blair’s idiocy while leading Britain and the EU is an institution more concerned with disagreements over the Euro, immigration and whether Turkey deserves membership.

I don’t give a damn about the US. If I believed what’s reported in the media and solely rest my judgement of Americans on George Bush, I would think that most Americans are ignorant, backward, right-wing rednecks who care more about guns and gay marriage than the homeless, the disabled, the poor. Who cut taxes for rich folks and corporations, while denying single mothers aid and the poor access to affordable healthcare.

Under Bush, we saw the US turn ever more inward, declaring “If you’re not with us, you’re against us.”

We saw the US turn its might on Iraq, not for peace, nor for freedom but for goddamn oil.

There was even talk of turning guns on Iran, further earning the ire of the Arab world.

Whether we like it or not, the US is a world leader, powerful and influential enough to affect the world economy and world peace. Then there’s the fact the country owes the UN millions – money that could be used to shore up the UN’s efforts in developing nations.

The US could choose to be an agent for diplomacy, for worldwide prosperity, for change.

Or it could remain what it was under Bush’s administration – an insular, selfish government corrupt enough to direct funds not to building jobs, but to making Haliburton rich.

So I wept when I heard Barack Obama won. Only two generations ago, blacks feared for their lives in Southern states but now the US is electing a man whose father was black as president. As one Obama supporter put it: “Rosa sat so Martin could walk. Martin walked so Obama could run. Obama ran so our children could fly.”

This is the politics of hope. That even in these times of turmoil, where great evils are still happening, that there can be change, that old prejudices can be weakened.

It is not merely about Obama winning – it’s about a nation learning that it could change. It’s about idealism triumphing over apathy, and a reminder that we should never give up hoping and believing.

Today is a good day.

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

It just made me weep reading this Reuters piece about homeless people making the effort to register to vote.

“Williams was one of hundreds of people -- many first-time voters lacking permanent dwellings -- who cast ballots this year on Skid Row, a 50-block downtown area believed to harbor the highest concentration of homeless in the United States.

Those voters represent a fraction of the estimated 12,000 people who live and sleep on the streets of that area. Many are mentally ill or suffer from substance abuse.”

I think that’s one thing wrong with America. All the news coverage and effort to create such ridiculous legislation like Proposition 8 when there are people genuinely struggling just to eke out a living.

The US might be a so-called developed nation, but why hasn’t it made a proper effort to look after its homeless. Of course, many in the Republican party think that looking after the welfare of the disenfranchised is ‘socialist’ and that those who can’t look after themselves are lazy bums asking for handouts.

A single mother with children, whose husband’s either dead or abandoned her, is she a lazy bum?

The people unable to afford healthcare for serious, debilitating diseases, are they lazy bums?

Orphans, unemployed, disabled, those unable to find gainful employment and are helpless without some form of assistance: are they lazy bums?

You talk about God and how He would frown about this desecration of holy matrimony.

You send missions to ‘save’ the unconverted in other countries, but you ignore your own people, in your own backyard.

Where in the Bible does it say that attacking gay marriage is a commandment or holy writ?

The Bible does admonish you into looking after the weak, the poor, the widows, the orphans. To love your neighbour, to love truth.

So much for priorities.

So I won a Dell Studio Hybrid PC.

Sweet.

Now, the problem is I need another PC like I need a third arm.

The fun Sharon from Bates dropped it off at the office and decided to do an unboxing because I’ve never done a proper unboxing before.

Was quite surprised the box it came in was rather large but I suppose it was to fit in extras like cables, manuals, CDs and the lot. Which was true, Dell squeezed in a couple of handy extras like a black USB keyboard and mouse.

Besides the aforementioned keyboard and mouse, there’s the standard kit of driver CDs, power cable and monitor cable. But no VGA-to-DVI converter! Boo!

Nothing inspiring in the kit, really, I was more keen to see the actual specs on the thing. Didn’t hold my breath for a Blu-Ray drive. I was expecting a DVD/CDRW combo at least and 2GB of RAM. There’s hardly any space inside the PC case for a ‘real’ graphics card so Intel Integrated Graphics it is.

Why would anyone be interested in this machine? Well, if you just want something for surfing, word processing, movies and HD playback, then you just might like the little device. But yeah, it’s a waste of an HDMI port when this particular machine doesn’t have Blu-Ray…

Setup is a no-brainer. Insert power cable into AC adapter, plug in DVI cables from monitor to the PC, power them up and you’re good to go.

The front of the Dell Studio – the slot for the optical drive is over to the side, in a recess. See that glowy white dot? It is the power button. Definitely shiny.

There’s some attention paid to cooling with the vent – such a small enclosed space, you will have to think about ventilation. Fortunately the machine wasn’t noisy at all on booting. Look at how neat all the ports are, lined up closely the way I’ve seen them on the back of projectors.

As always, the first bootup for Vista always takes ages and after the pre-requisite “Yes”, “No”, “Sorry, my soul isn’t for sale” answers, I got this pretty screen:

To which I say…Mac envy, much? Now, though I do say the machine is really cute, runs on a fraction of the power most desktops, is smaller than the monitor I tried it out with…like I said, I really don’t need another desktop. So if I don’t sell it off by the end of the month, will probably give it to the mother or the brother. See how lor. Overall, it’s a nice machine for people without high-end graphics needs (i.e. design, video production or gaming) and could be a very compact replacement for a media centre if you live in a flat or small, cramped dwelling.

Anyone interested can drop me a line at the blog’s designated email address (ernamahyuni(AT)gmail) or feel free to suggest other things I could do with it.

(Am a bit miffed with Dell for giving me a T5500 (2.0GHz) machine when the ones they sell come with at least 2.10GHz. At least it came with 2GB of RAM, Vista Home Premium, a DVD burner and a 160GB HDD. Nice, but my home PC has a 2.67GHz processor, also 2GB of RAM, Vista Ultimate (ori, if you’re curious), a DVD burner and a whopping 750GB of storage space, an NVIDIA 7600GS (crap, I know) card. I also put it together myself so I have a sentimental attachment to it. So nope, am not the target audience for this PC)

I remember blogging once about my many ‘sides’. And till today I still feel somewhat splintered. Not multifaceted but torn and twisted into too many directions.

When it comes to God, when it comes to serving Him, I was asked to write down at least five things I could do.

And one of the five things I wrote was: I don’t know.

Yes, being ‘good’ or feeling like I’m doing something for Him is somewhat fulfilling, but see, I use the word somewhat. Am I not giving enough? Am I holding back? I walk towards what I think is the right direction, end up stumbling and then pausing on the road, wondering if I’m doing something wrong because the road just doesn’t seem to get any easier.

When I turn the other direction and just give in to my hedonistic side, let go and just follow the path of satiating all my desires, it isn’t all that great, either. I feel the pull towards something higher and I try to obey.

I want to please You. But I don’t know how. I can’t just go through the motions, can’t gambol with the other sheep though I try. I really, really do try. The other sheep are really nice and welcoming but when I see them meekly coming into the paddock, I linger behind the gate, pop my head in and then run out again.

Sometimes, I cock my head at the shepherd, eyeing him silently. Just so he knows I’m there. Still in the flock, still tending to gambol off far to the edge of the field, disappearing behind a hillock sometimes. But I come back. I always come back.

Despite having You in my life, I still feel empty. There are pockets of darkness the light can’t quite reach. Is it because I can’t or I won’t let you in? But I know no matter how empty I feel right now, before You, all I had was a black hole that nothing could fill.

I can live with the pockets, so long as You remind me that You’re still there. You waited at the door for me to let You in, and now I just have to muster the courage to let you see everything.

And last week, when I felt abandoned by someone I trusted, who made me feel small and undesirable, someone else came along who helped me feel ‘whole’. That though one person saw me as flawed and unattractive, the other saw what the other couldn’t. The funny thing was that the latter person had once hurt me, badly, but he tenderly fixed not just my anguish but wiped his own slate clean. I’m grateful to him.

I guess that’s how You see me. Flawed, yes, but redeemable. Imperfect but Yours. And oh, how You love what’s yours. I’m just as grateful today for your grace but even more for Your love.

Fitness progress has been halted due to an upper respiratory infection. Just got off the meds and though my lymph nodes don’t hurt anymore, I’m still fatigued. Have just been feeling exhausted since Saturday to the point I don’t feel like eating or exercising or doing anything but lie in bed.

Hope I get my mojo back by tomorrow.

…because once they step into grey, non-platonic areas, men give me headaches. And heartaches. And stomachaches.

Backstabbing women are fine. I already have the knife holes for them to insert the steel anyway.

And I know Cal is just itching to get me to act in one of his lesbian-themed plays.

No, Lains, this isn’t a request for you to set me up. Allow me my daydreams.

more animals

Kitty conga line!

“Love is a plant with many flowers: generosity, forgiveness, peace, honesty or simply letting your feelings show”.

In some ways, it’s been an absolutely brilliant week. Now as another one starts I’m looking forward to working on my Nano novel, planning the TGIO party and getting things in gear for work.

Cal made me laugh the other day, asking me “On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your current happiness level?”

If I were to rate it on my current feelings, I’d eschew the scale together and just say that right now, everything’s as close to perfect as it can get.

I’m happy.