One of my housemates is moving out so now comes the absolute mafan-ness of finding someone to take his room.
And yes, I get quite a few inquiries but no one’s come to view it thus far.
Since said housemate is moving out next month, my tulan-ness sudah mencapai takat maksima.
Or so I thought until I got this one question in my inbox about said room.
"Are all the tenants Chinese?"
I felt like replying, "No, one’s from Zambia, the other’s from Afghanistan and another one’s Cambodian."
But then I realised this is West Malaysia where tolerance means "saya tak kacau kamu, kamu jangan kacau saya".
O my countrymen. You make me want to get a lobotomy.
I remember my Father who loves me.
The other father, who loves me too.
And the man who calls me his ‘good girl’. Ironic because it reminds me of a song I used to sing for the man who came before.
Underneath your clothes
There’s an endless story
There’s the man I chose
There’s my territory
And all the things I deserve
For being such a good girl honey
more cat pictures
Well, I’m no longer editor of The Mag.
Instead, I’m editor of The Mag’s Website.
Which is made of supreme awesome.
I have a feeling that working on it will involve severe drama and massive amounts of stress.
But it’ll be fun. When it’s not giving me heartburn, that is.
I will also stoically accept the fact that due to my combustible nature and my innate attraction to drama, things are never going to be simple.
At least life’s never going to be boring, eh?
Multitasking is an oxymoron. Focus is key to effectiveness. And I discover that at the grand old age of 30. All my life, I’ve had constant distractivitis. I want that clarity. That singlemindedness. One thing at a time. So a new path’s emerged and it seems all the roads have converged to bring me here. I’m scared and yet I feel better than I have in months.
Middle of night. I step out of my bedroom and slip in a pool of water. Pain. Scraped left arm and there’s a stabbing pain in my right heel. Damnit, water tank’s overflowed. I rush outside to shut off mains. Then I notice the blood as I come in. It marks a path to the door. Foot bled enough to make it look like a wet, bloody murder happened. Have to mop it up. Else housemates think I killed someone…or had my monthlies. Death by shame. 2.30am. Tired as hell. Damn I can’t put off calling plumber to weekend. Life. It rains on you when you least expect it.