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Good Vibes

It's one of those rare days when the first song that starts when you switch on the radio - and I never listen to the local radio - just wham-bang-slams it. Can't wait for tomorrow.

Battle of the Bulge

I've always been a creature of habit by nature, though not all of them necessarily good habits. However, my bullet journal must be the best I've picked up so far. This list thing is actually working out very well in general. I'm working hard, but at the same time, I'm making time for writing, reading, exercising, and catching up on my shows/manga/anime/movies to watch, even if it's only for a few minutes a day.

Of course, I still have my off-kilter days, but I'm learning not to let them throw me off-track as in the past. So, considering my recent success, I'm thinking about expanding my adventures in bullet-journaling to something I've always dreaded:

My daily diet.

While, yes, regular exercize has been great and I'm definitely feeling the benefits but there's admittedly little point in it if I don't change some unhealthy eating habits, especially at work. I've also noticed that I tend to be more of a comfort eater. I've improved a bit since McDonalds' all-nighters at the airport, but nowhere near as healthy as I ought to be.

Hence, this weekend's agenda: The Diet Plan Notebook! Another excuse to go stationary shopping.

Source of reference: Paleo, Low Carb, Mediterranean.

I just know I'm gonna sneak chocolate in there somehow.

The Little Things

- Glunky donuts filled with apricot jam that oozes between your fingers when you take a bit, topped with just the right amount of icing sugar.

- Rereading The Mill on the Floss, though I still dislike Tom Tulliver.

- Japanese green tea while working through cases during office hours.

- A different colored gel pen for each item in my bullet journal.

- Shea butter and vanilla moisturizer after a shower.

- 'Home is where the bra comes off.'

- Not feeling intimidated by the growing list of things to read, watch, and listen to.

- Clocking out early after signing off on the last email in my queue.

- Right now.

Breaking It Down

I've been writing a bit more lately: drafting the next chapter of Apocalypse Minor and a little something for the Kingsman fandom (did I mention I wanted to do something Tekken Halloweeny-related? Whoops.). And while I consider that good progress, I'm definitely rusty and all these squeaky gears in my head are beginning to get to me. It's frustrating because I know I'm capable of much better and it's also worrying me that I seem to have lost that certain spark I had when I was seventeen.

I have all these ideas and concepts, and it's all so overwhelming at times. The writing itch also has this irritating knack for striking when I'm neck-deep in investigating a case for a work or drafting an email to a customer. It's something I wish I could get to doing full-time sooner, but it's more or less a pipe dream for now, with my current financial situation.

In the end, all I can do is keep on pushing ahead. It helps to know that even the most seasoned writers go through the same fog of blank screens and fuzzy plot-lines while they're hammering out their own contemporary masterpieces, or at least, that's what they write about. I could do the same, but I don't think a 5,000 word essay on the hours spent trying to construct the perfect analogy while screaming internally would garner as many hits.

Ugh, what am I doing? This is still a lot better than a year ago...

So... I guess I should be getting right down to it. Like I've always done. People have this tendency to assume that a writer's brain is constantly at work, a steady conveyor belt piecing together characters and places in as pretty and publishable a package that an editor can see fit. I sometimes wish my brain did work that way.

But where would be the art in that?

In Which I am a Genius or Usagi Tsukino

As part of my pledge to learn some cooking basics this year, I have achieved... nothing.

So as I sit here, sipping from a cool tall glass of something very green and, allegedly, very good for me, I'm thinking I should start with smoothies first. A little googling reveals that this may be fairly easy and all I need is to find a good blender. There's also the 30 Day Green Smoothie challenge which I will not be taking because of commitment issues, but their recipe page looks cool.

Also, quick question, how does this micowave brownie thing work?

Google again: Ta-dah!

Oh my God, this is gonna be hilarious. Smoothies and mug brownies. Smoothie mug brownie! Smoothie. Mug. Brownie.

Frozen is anime trash and nothing hurts

Granted, I don't think it's the original seiyuus singing, but it's not everyday that you need Izaya and Shizuo singing about who wants to be a do'aho.

After The Fall

Bad news first: thanks to the ineptitude characteristic of a certain department in our company, we're gonna have to pull in some more overtime to cover their lazy, incompetant asses. Not that the type of work I'm in now doesn't beat the crap I had to put up with at the airport, but having to suffer through someone else's failings sucks all the same.

Oh well. What can't kill me...

On the other hand, I didn't have to spend Eid Al Adha at work like I initially expected. My team leader was sweet enough to give me a day off. Granted, I've griped in a previous post about having to spend the holidays with my family at present, but it's still Eid and it's the closest thing I can compare to Christmas with some people. My parents and I ended up driving to Dubai to visit relatives as tradition dictates. We bought a Mickey Mouse fire-van for my cousin's baby, who's just gone one and a half years old. The little guy adored it.

Speaking of Eid, it's times like these when I wished I had more Muslim friends in fandom. I'm forever grateful to fanfic events like Yuletide which gives me tonnes of amazing, free smutty gems stuff to read, but I've considered the possibility of an Islamic counterpart now and again. Main con? Both Eids - Al Fitr after Ramadan and Adha which commemorates the closure of Hajj season - are solely religious occasions, which are best enjoyed by family and close friends. Hence, spazzing out over one's OTP might be better enjoyed over something less austere.

Oh, but Halloween's in five days! I wonder if I could whip up something in time for that.


In less than a month from today, it's going to be the fourth year anniversary of my university graduation. It kinda doesn't help that my office has shifted location and so, we are now located in Masdar City, which is conveniently located near Masdar Institute, meaning that the chances of me being mistaken for a student again are relatively high.

It's wonderful to be in an open space for a change. And the nostalgia trips have only affirmed that I am unashamedly not a very good adult with my heart in my books and my head trying desperately to chart a course through payslips, cheque-books, budgets, and housing loans, while my tongue puts my dormant acting skills to test. I know I'm not doing this right, but I wish I could on being nineteen for a little while longer, even if it's only from my perspective.

You know, now that I recall, my grand-uncle was the happiest man in Sri Lanka when my final year results were announced. So much so that it was the first thing that popped out of his mouth after the 'salamats' were done with when we went visiting. Four years later and I'm remembering it now, the way he babbled like a baby after we left for the airport this summer. He's such a frail, befuddled little thing now. One day, I'm going to have to use that description when writing about my Dad and it scares me.

Just this evening, I also found out that a very good friend and colleague - almost a sister/mother figure - is now a widow. I really want to go and see her, and... I don't know. I'm no good at knowing what to say at the right time. A crying shame, for a writer. I'm guessing I should give her time to grieve and attend to family matters, but I'm just sitting here, writing it out, wishing that I had grown up and learnt something along the way.

Maybe the road winds on, still...


Last month, my uncle and his family temporarily adopted an injured sparrow. The little guy - they always referred to it as 'he' - had hurt its wing and it was my six year old cousin who'd happened upon him in the garden. They brought him home, just to make sure he'd recover without the threat of the neighborhood cats looming over him, and a month later, he was still there.

My uncle said the little guy had grown so attached that he'd hop onto the edge of the plates while they were eating and peck at a few grains of rice. They released him into the very same garden they'd found him in; it felt like the right thing to do. But my uncle had a sad look on his face while telling me this and I felt the same.

Sometimes I'll look at our goldfish and remember that a goldfish's memory span is roughly three seconds, so that pretty much qualifies them as permanent amnesiacs. Literally every moment is an awakening. Does that mean they were truly made for a life in a glass bowl, to ogle at their care-takers beyond the distorted sphere of their reflections and to be cooed over, crooned to, never quite comprehending, except for the orange globs of food that descend from above the surface?

I've always yearned for a pet. At a young age, I had a notion that animals would understand me better than any human had tried to, thus far. People in pages were startlingly different from their flesh-and-blood counterparts: shallow, superficial, brimming with sweet, contemplative nothings that never really meant what they really did. Kenji the cat seemed more trustworthy than the girl I had to sit next to in class.

But could I really trust another caged animal, when I know for a fact that a tiger paces it cage not because it craves the activity but because it is slowly going insane? Perhaps it is not so much a companion that I am in need of, than a reflection.

Bad Blood

Having to work during Eid is not the worst thing in the world. Preferring to, instead of spending the day with parents who've given up on ever getting along, feels like it.

Today, I told Mum in no uncertain terms that she's got to stop using me as a crutch. I'll always be there for her and Dad, but their own relationship is a burden I cannot call my own anymore. In a way, it literally feels like a weight off my shoulders, but at the same, it's so wretched to have to step in and be your own parents' marriage therapist.

Mum's agreed to try. I can never tell what Dad's thinking these days and, as his daughter, that scares me.


Anyway, while I can't fully close the chapter on my parents' marital strife, I can at least not make it the main driving element of my own story.

It might just be time to take my nineteen year old self's advice.

"Just shut up and write it out."

Hello again, Ran. I've missed you.

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