Mugshot

In exchange for a month's promise to be nice and keep my distance, I managed to get permission to write this, inclusive of pictures. ^^

I've gotta be honest, the Malaysian lads in my class are... well, eccentric to say the least. Which is why I just can't figure them out, at all! But in all their eccentricities, I find some little comfort in knowing that one and only one of them is daring enough to evoke my well-guarded wrath. His name is Azrina (names have been changed to protect identity).

Oh wait, Rasyidah is quite a nuisance too (but we'll save that story for another time). Today, it's all about Azrina the Evil~

This is his mugshot, which unfortunately doesn't do him much 'justice'.

My camera failed to capture that specific moment of vulnerability i was aiming for (useless camera!!). But do not despair people, for i will give you a somewhat accurate description of how he really looked like when this mugshot was taken:

It's probably not very apparent, but he was wearing an evil smirk that says "I'll get you for this Izyan". His eyes were red and swollen and very devil-like. He had tears streaming down his big puffy cheeks (oh you poor cry baby.. boohoohoo~), and his face was almost ready to explode (he claims it was from the spiciness of Paan's cooking but i honestly think it's just due to the simple law of Physics where if you put too much in - kaboom!! hehehe).

Now that, if you can imagine my friends, would have been a mugshot worth uploading. This, i'm sorry to say, is rather blehh! But anyways, this is what i have to work with, so here goes.

In many respects, Azrina is kinda normal. Just like your average Joe. But underneath all those layers of flesh (and fat??) lurks an evil too disturbing to reveal. I've tried on countless occasions to tame this unruly ball of evil with my power of goodness, but every time we meet it's just another new battle.

Take yesterday for example. All i wanted to do was snap a nice candid picture of him, but he actually shooed me away with a broom (So uncool!). Every time i pointed my lens his way, he gave me the middle finger (So so uncool!). He says "I'm sorry" in one breath, and then mutters "I actually don't know what i'm sorry for" in the other. (how can you get any more uncooler than that?)

Oh i can tell you more, but time is of the essence now, what with 2 psychiatry reports to write up before tomorrow's deadline. All i can say for the time being is that Azrina is a disturbing aberration from my happy, normal, and somewhat complacent life.

He is disturbing. Fullstop.

But hey, on the plus side, Azrin(a~) is actually kinda special too (you know, in that way special Olympics is special~). I've never uploaded anyone's mugshot on the internet before (but of course, i've never had any reason to) and I've never actually felt compelled to write about someone (twice!).

You should be proud, old buddy! 2 entries mean you've gotten on my nerves more times than most people i know. Congratulations =)

p/s: see, i told ya i'd be nice. (Consider this an open apology for my last entry about you - the one you still can't figure out. Man, you're CLUELESS!)

Cold and Lonely

Ms Mirror is no longer my friend. Nor is Ms Scale.

They have both betrayed me, and betrayed me horribly they have. They used to be my friends; they used to sing me sweet sweet poetry. Now they just insult me and spit right in my face.

I mean, what kind of friend would make you feel like a big, pregnant elephant? That would be Ms Scale, indeed! And what kind of friend would say you look like a pizza-faced mutant? Ms Mirror her name, you got that right!

I feel so hurt right now I can't bear looking at either of them.

I feel so bitter I've started befriending the tall, handsome and highly sought after Mr Fridge. He gives me sugary gifts of love, and comforts me with triple layered chocolate cakes. He makes me feel so good I keep coming back for more. The only problem is that these instant pleasures fade away the moment I turn my back.

Is my heart not really meant for him? I wonder.

People tell me Mr Fridge is a conniving and manipulative con-man. They say he has some devious plans brewing somewhere in his cold, chilly interior. They tell me to stay away from him, but I'm just so sad and lonely without my two (ex) best friends, I can't help but fall for Mr Fridge's charming gestures.

And the worst part is that the closer Mr Fridge and I get and the more intimate we are, the more my two (ex) best friends hurt and insult me. Why would they do this to me?

*sob*

Maybe they're jealous??!

*sob*

I don't want them to hate me.

*sob*

I'll tell you a secret. I actually miss them - both of them!

*sob*

I wish they'd be my friends again. I really wish they would! But that would mean i have to say goodbye to my new found love - Mr Fridge.

*sob*

I hate having to choose one over the other.

*sob*

I don't know what to do.

*sob*

I'm spiraling deeper and deeper into despair.

*sob sob*

Tell me, is life even worth living like this?

p/s: Urgghh, I'm fat and ugly and ultimately hating it! @____@

p/s: No, there's no need for you to nod in agreement!

p/s: I'm serious!

Cafe by the street.

We've never been properly introduced before - Me and her. But I've seen her around - along the corridors of the hospital, in the computer suite, at events and gatherings. Whenever we crossed paths I always make a point to smile her way. She would usually look straight ahead, steps set in a purposeful walk, her face serious and unsmiling, totally oblivious to my friendly advances.

So when I asked her to join me for a cup of coffee that day, I was expecting her to say no.

"I don't drink coffee..." she deadpans, unblinking.

Bingo! Exactly what i had predicted - she would turn me down! As I was giving myself a half congratulatory, half consoling pat on the back, she looks at me and says:

"...but I don't mind a cup of hot cocoa."

There was an air about her that was both intimidating and exhilarating at the same time - pulling me in when i least expected it. 'This is going to be amusing' i thought to myself. So I took her to a small cafe in town and as we sipped our hot drinks on that cold Autumn day, we started talking - about small things, about big things, about all things under the sun.

I like her. She's kind of flirty and kind of flinty. And she's not too 'nice' the way people usually are when in the company of someone they barely know. She's just fairly normal, quite cool and quite real. She tells me she's often misunderstood, and she seemed very keen on trying to dispel those misconceptions people have about her.

"Everyone thinks I'm this strong, independent young woman. Naturally, they also think I'm snobbish and unapproachable. And I probably am most of the time, but I can be vulnerable too," she says earnestly.

This vulnerability, she tells me, reflects a softer side of her personality. "Contrary to popular belief, there is a soft side." she emphasizes.

I tell her that people might be surprised at this revelation given their perception of her as a tough cookie. But she just shrugged noncommittally and took another long sip of her hot cocoa.

"People have all sorts of views and opinions, and I'd be killing myself trying to make them think otherwise." she says slowly. "But it'll be nice once in a while if people could see me for who I really am, instead of what they think i am."

For a split second, her eyes looked sad.

I wanted to tell her that I saw her for who she really was, and that other people didn't really matter. But to say that was suicidal because she would think me a stalker or a stranger sprouting useless nonsense. So i ended up saying nothing.

After some meaningless few minutes of awkward chatter, she said she had to take her leave. I was reluctant to let our small rendezvous end like this. But she seemed in a hurry, and I had taken an hour, almost two, of her time. I told her I'd walk her home, but she declined, like I expected she would.

And as my eyes followed her out the door of that small cafe by the street, I can't help but wonder what goes through her mind. I knew I'd have to ask her out for a cup of cocoa again soon, if only just to talk.

p/s: Ahh, It's very refreshing writing from a different perspective after being stuck in the same point of view for so long.

I'm engaged.

I was sitting alone in the common area of St Brigid's Mental Health Hospital, minding my own business when this psych patient came up to me.

She asked questions about my headscarf and my religion - common enough questions that even normal people are intrigued on asking. I answered her as best as i could, trying hard not to agitate or offend her in any way. I thought i was handling the situation fairly well, at first.

What i failed to grasp was that talking to a psych patient is like walking slowly through a minefield. Every step is a gamble. There's no assurance that all the precautions you've taken will be of any use once you've made that one, single innocent yet devastatingly catastrophic step forward. And before you know it.. kebaboom!!

I learned this particular piece of wisdom the hard way when the psych patient suddenly grabbed my hand without warning.

"Are you married?" she asked, eyeing the ring i was wearing.

"No. I'm not." I answered instinctively.

"Then why are you wearing a ring???" Her voice was raised, her eyes were wild and her hands gripped mine in a tight knot, very obviously angry about something. I would be kidding if I said I wasn't scared. This was my first real encounter with a psych patient and no one took the time to tell me how aggressive they could be.

"Why Are you wearing a ring?" She was yelling now.

"I'm engaged!" I blurted out without thinking.

"Oh, really?.. how nice!" Her mood took a complete 180 degrees turn from the crazed person she was just a few seconds ago.

"So who's the lucky man? Is he from around here?" She gushed as she gripped my hand firmly in hers. I felt like a trapped rabbit in a small cage.

"No, he's back in Malaysia." The words rolled so smoothly off my tongue, i kind of surprised myself a bit. I guess I'm a better liar than i usually take credit for. Or perhaps, in desperate times, a person's survival instincts will kick start and go straight into auto-pilot mode.

"Awww, you must miss him a lot, don't you?"

I just smiled - partly as an attempt to dampen the conversation down a notch and partly because i find it extremely hard to say i miss someone who doesn't actually exist. Besides, what's the point of making her any more manic than she already is? Fortunately for me tho, after a few more short exchanges, she got distracted by something on the TV and left me sitting there, still a bit shaken up from the experience.

But before i could even begin thinking of regaining my composure, Ian came strolling towards me in that i'm-a-cool-guy kind of stroll.

"I didn't know you were engaged." he whispered, sounding a little bit apologetic for some odd reason, probably for eavesdropping.

"I'm. Not. Really. Engaged." I mouthed the words slowly, afraid the lady could still hear me from where she was standing in front of her object of interest.

I guess Ian was too busy absorbing the 'fact' that i was engaged and didn't really pay much attention to what i was trying to tell him because he continued without missing a beat, "Anyway, congratulations to you and your fiancée. When do you guys plan on getting married - after you graduate or earlier?"

Oh man, this is wrong. All wrong!

To try and explain the situation to him at this point was, well... awkward?? (and a little bit embarrassing). And i knew if i tried to fabricate a story there and then, I'd stumble miserably because - let's face it - everyone knows I'm horrible at lying. Short, seemingly harmless lies to crazy strangers are okay i guess, but to lie to a friend makes my insides churn with guilt and this will show all over my face.

So instead of trying to top a lie over another lie, I decided to opt for plan B - change the topic.

"I dunno yet." I shrugged dismissively. "Anyway, I'm not really comfortable talking about this, sorry." i punctuated the last word with a nervous laugh for theatrics sake, while trying to feign shyness.

"Oh, no no. That's alright. I understand." He smiled.

As far as Ian's concerned, I'm engaged. I'm not too worried about this slight misunderstanding, because our social lives don't really clash much. I do hope Ian's not a too much of a gossip-monger though, as my chances with a certain someone in class will be forever ruined if word ever got out that....

....I'm engaged!

(hehe. just kidding! =P )

Deja vu

"I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the university at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.

My name is Kvothe. You may have heard of me."

Dear Mr Rothfuss,

I haven't.

- heard of Kvothe, that is. (At least not then).

But those simple yet profoundly captivating words of his (or yours, i should say) were enough to lure me into this enchanting realm of kings, and magic and alchemy. And just like Ender before him, I fell in love with yet another fictitious character by his mere brilliance and utter selflessness; by the very notion that a person with such flair for greatness could be equally as vulnerable as he is strong.

As I flipped through page after page after page of your book with increasing intensity, my fondness for him concurrently grew. "Ah, how valiant he is. How sophisticated. How sweet." These thoughts keep flooding my head.

Before I knew it, I was almost at the end, with just a few more short chapters to spare. Knowing this, I felt a familiar tingling dread of losing something precious, of having something good taken away from me. "This was Ender all over again," i remember thinking.

So I stopped.

It has now been close to a year, but i have not yet been able to finish those last couple of chapters. The thought itself is too distressing. I have tried dipping into other seemingly promising novels in search of a story that could rival Kvothe's in its intensity and vividness. But alas my efforts have been in vain, as I had only expected. (*sigh)

That aside, i simply have one very important thing to say to you:

Mr Patrick Rothfuss sir, Please oh please finish the second book like you promised. (*on bended knees)

A fan of your work,

Izzy the nerd.

p/s: I'm at that point in time where my palms get itchy for some good reading material, preferably fiction with hints of imagination and originality. Any recommendations, anyone?

On a different and totally unrelated note :

->TaeKyung's voice is so manly and drool-worthy! (*faints*)<-

Sleeping like a baby.

I woke up with a start. My phone was vibrating incessantly on the bedside table. I had put it on vibrate-only mode before going to sleep in hopes of getting a good night's rest, but my plan backfired. In my half-drowsy state, i scrambled to pick up the phone before it went silent.

"5 missed calls from Private Number."

Private. Great. No chance of me returning the call then.

I've always wondered why anyone would want their numbers private when the person they're calling would know who it is the moment they pick up. Such an obviously blatant paradox. As I cursed technology and all its unnecessary paradoxes, my phone started to vibrate again.

'Private Number' flashed on the screen.

I waited a few deliberate seconds before answering. The caller owed me at least that much for not sharing his/her number.

"Yes?" I finally picked up. I wanted to sound nonchalant and uninterested, but i guess I sounded more sleepy than anything else.

"Hi, did i wake you?" That voice - I instantly knew who it was.

"Yeah. But that's okay."

"I tried calling you a few times but i couldn't get through. And then I tried again and someone answered - a guy. He said he'll go get you and then I waited 10 minutes but you never got back to me."

"I'm at home. There's no guy here." I tell him.

"I'm not kidding. Some guy answered your phone. And there was this newscaster's voice like on TV and someone talking in the background and i think i heard a dog as well." He sounded a little too excited, which kinda bugged me a little.

"You probably dialed the wrong number."

"No, I'm absolutely positive it's your number. And this isn't the first time. Remember how I told you about the same thing a couple of weeks ago?"

At this point, i was more scared than annoyed. Why was he telling me stories about weird people answering my phone when i've already told him that I'm at home, alone! In the middle of the night! Besides, he knows i don't own a TV, what's the deal with newscasters and such?! Is he trying to give me nightmares or something?

I'm sure he could sense my discomfort because he swiftly and skillfully changed the topic.

"So anyway, i just called to ask how your speech went," he said cheerfully. Only problem was, my speech had gone horribly wrong, and that was the last thing i wanted to talk about.

"Hmmmm...." I was dropping a long one-syllable hint so that he'd know to steer clear away from such a sensitive subject matter.

"What happened?" He sounded genuinely concern. But for some reason, it only made me more annoyed.

"Nothing. i don't wanna talk about it" I tell him.

"Did something happen?"

"I said I don't wanna talk about it!" I snapped without actually meaning to.

"Oh okay. Sorry........" he sounded hurt.

"Hmmmm....." i pretended not to notice.

This was followed by a few seconds of silence (which in telephone-time felt more like a few hours).

"Well, you're probably tired. I'll call you again later, okay." he said finally.

"Hmmmm......" I answered with a tone that was almost too sarcastic this time, and I hung up before he could say anything else.

I hung up because I was a little bit angry and a little bit sad. I was angry because he kept saying the wrong things. I was sad because i didn't want him to say goodbye just yet. I wanted him to lend a sympathetic ear. I wanted him to stay on the line a bit longer and hear me tell him about my day; about how a friend had hurt my feelings today; about how a colleague had stood me up. I was going to tell him about my disastrous speech; my disastrous life. And then, I wanted him to tell me that everything was going to be alright.

Instead, I got angry and let all my pent-up frustrations spill on the one person who actually cared enough to ask me how i was doing. I would blame my volatile personality, but that's like saying I have a psychiatric disorder - which I'm sure i don't.

So instead, I'm blaming my own stupidity...

... and the unstable nature of my hormonally-dependent mood swings.

I'm sorry.

I'm going back to sleep.

Scrubs.

Going on-call for 24hrs in the labour ward was anything but fun. A whole lot of pointless waiting and endless groaning. It was only at the strike of 12 (am, not pm) did big pregnant mamas started coming in by the truck-load, all ready to pop babies out. Perfect timing. Like Cinderella. I mean really, if you're gonna have babies, why not do it when the normal population are fast asleep, huh? (i hope you can hear the sarcasm in that).

And that's not the end of my problems. Oh, dear me, No! There was this one night-shift midwife who kept picking on me for no good reason. She was constantly "Izzy this, Izzy that, Izzy do this, Izzy hold that..." - with a tone that was very suggestively confrontational. (I should have never told her my name, she abused it way too much).

I had been on my feet for more than 12hrs when this particular midwife started her shift. I was dead-tired, sleepy, my legs no longer felt like they were attached to the rest of my body and my back was killing me, so I didn't really appreciate the attitude. I understood the fact that the labor ward was their small, little territory and i was nothing more but a trespasser - tolerated, but not liked. And I knew no matter how horrible I felt, I had to put up a fake smile and an apologetic face every time she scolded, glared or ridiculed me. But honestly, it wouldn't have hurt for her to be a little nicer, would it? Tsk.

The only upside to my day in the labor ward was Dr. McVey Rory (We're not really on first name basis... yet. But hey, a girl can dream, right?). He's a bit mean and abrasive in a way (but what girl doesn't like a bad boy?) and he may be a bit stingy with his smiles, altho once he flashes you a glimpse of his pearly whites, you're hooked for life (drools~~).

Ehem... anyway, my main point is that with Rory around, I could finally get my hands dirty. He lets me assist in an episiotomy repair; he pushed me into delivering my first baby; and he asked me to scrub in for a C-section, even tho all i really had to do was cut off the ends of his suturing thread (What's more romantic than assisting a man in his time of need? ^^)

By the end of my shift, I managed to observe 5 normal deliveries, delivered 2 babies, and assisted in 1 C-section. And I only slept 45 minutes of the 24 hours.

Not too bad for a first-timer, huh?

p/s: I think i should mention this because it gives me immense pride. And since there's no easy way to put it, I'm just gonna go ahead and brazenly decleare that: I look good in blue scrubs. Oh yeah baby~~