Currently Listening We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things By Jason Mraz I'm Yours. see related

In what ways are you similar to your mother?

This is great. Really. Mother's Day is coming, and my mom's and my birthdays are coming soon too, and this question is featured.

First, of course I look like my mom. The features are a little blended with my dad's, but I think I look like my mom more. I have her pointed nose--which we both claim look like Andy Lau's or Carina Lau's (no, seriously)--only mine is not as hooked; I have her mouth, the same slightly unsymmetrical lips, and even her genes of uneven teeth, but of course, mine are fixed with braces; her high cheekbones, and prominent chin. Sadly, my eyes are an equal blend between my dad's and hers, so the folds of the upper eyelids are not cavernous like hers, and they are not as brown as hers too. If she looks like a mixed (half-Chinese), I look like a half-mixed (three-quarter-Chinese). A lot of aunties claim that I'm like a clone of her.

We also share the dream to live in the fab lane. She had the dream, but then her family was rather old-fashioned, and were afraid to venture far out into the real world, therefore she's not living her dream. My grandma actually told her things like, 'You want to be a singer, you'd have to sleep with producers and record-dealers to get there.' which obviously frightened her. Now, she can never become a singer because she trashed her voice over-screaming at us [my siblings and me] for all these years. And now, I have the dream, I don't know if she knows it, and I actually want to give it a shot. I hope I can pull her into the fab lane sometime and let her at least feel it from the sidelines.

We bitch a lot. I undoubtedly got my gossip gene from her. We trash everything about other people, from the way they look and their lackadaisical or overmuch effort in bettering their look, to the ineffective ways they do things, to their queerly disparate mindset. Basically, anything that's different but bad compared to us, we'd trash; anything that's different and good, we'd try to keep up so that we have new different-but-bad things to trash. And it doesn't stop there; even when we are separated, we both have this tendency to find people to bitch with, with her being the better one because she has plenty of bitchy friends, while I but have this handful of buddies with whom I diss things.

We tend to be grumpy and bossy and righteous, and exasperated and naggy, when we have to manage things in the house in a rush. At intense times where we have to race against time to get a lot of things done, we'd scold everyone that's in our way, whether or not they did anything wrong. At moments like the aforementioned, everything everyone say or do is wrong, and we tend to hug everything to ourselves and then complain we don't get any help. It's contradictive, but that's how we are. Imagine the both of us are exasperated: omg, it'd be the end of our family.

We like the arts a lot. I more or less like the same kind of music that she does, and we like to sing and dance, only she can't sing now and I can't dance yet. We both also like art, but of different styles. She likes the traditional Chinese art, like calligraphy or Chinese water paitings, whose strokes are gentle, materials are delicate and products are soft. I like that too, but I like a lot of other styles, because I'm the more modern one. Hah! But one thing for sure is, we both like anything that's pretty, or has a meaning that we can decipher. But I think I'm the lucky one because I can draw and I can play the piano and I can write too, while she but has to resort to seeing and listening to and reading things. And she doesn't do too well on the last one; I'm just grateful that she's not illiterate--she can read okay, she always just can't remember how to write certain words when she writes. I wish she picks up English soon.

So far, those are the big parts of my similarity to my mom. Smaller ones include: my mom and I are both middle children--she's the middle among her sisters, and I'm middle among my brothers; we both like Mariah Carey; and our normal faces look like we're smiling--people smile back to us when we walk past them in a neutral, normal face, because they think we're flashing a subtle smile.

Oh, our birthdays are similar! Mine's on the 24th of May, and hers is just the next day, the 25th of May, which means, we are both Geminis. I always say, I'm her birthday present for the year 1990. Because our birthdays are just a day apart, we always celebrate our birthdays together ever since I was small. But we never share a cake. We always get one cake each.

Happy Mother's Day! And an early Happy Birthday to the both of us!

I think I look the most like my mom in this picture. Don't mind the quality; it's scanned into the computer. And don't mind the 90's fashion. I was five (count the candles if you can see them).Uber-cute right?

I just answered this Featured Question, you can answer it too!

Best Birthday Present Ever.

[Sorry for the lack of picture for the 'Currently Watching,' that's the only one I could find using Xangazon Search.]

Today the Form 6 name list is out. You can go find out which school you're sent to through the Ministry of Education website. Just type in your IC number or, if you still remember it, your SPM angka giliran (okay, I don't know how to translate that; your...turn number? I'm not even sure what angka means.) and press Enter.

I'm not sure how many people know this, but I'm sure a lot of people wouldn't bother to check. That's because, they are happily studying in college now. So, checking for myself aside, the busybody me went ahead and checked for a few other people, guessing and using their SPM 'turn numbers.' And from the results, I see that, quite a number of my ex-classmates are sent to the school next door--yes, STAR. No that anyone bothers, anyway.

I got sent to STAR too, btw. But I cannot believe my mom actually wants me to print out the offer letter and go register at the school next week. That means I'll have to go shop for school uniform, cut my hair (again!), and spend money to buy books. I don't want to do all that. I don't even want to get into Form 6. I'll get a scholarship and fly myself over to somewhere overseas.

And that's my problem, and the my mom's point in asking me to do the abovementioned thing: I'm not looking at things rationally. I'm not considering the possibility of not getting a scholarship; I'm clouded by my confidence, my overconfidence--my arrogance. I'm just thinking that I am getting a scholarship--no, scratch that: I'm thinking I am getting all of the scholarships that I've applied for. I'm already planning so far ahead, training my English to get a natural but subtle and non-local accent, thinking what I would want to get myself involved in when I'm there, if I should bring along all the books that I've bought but haven't read, and even what I would miss about home and what I would promote to my future mates abroad.

I'm not thinking at all that with a simple 'no,' all that I've been planning is going to shatter like it never existed; with a simple rejection letter, I'm going to cry all day, all night, be upset and unhappy about going to school, but I'd still have to be there every single, miserable, dreaded day--just like a kid, only I'm not afraid of the homework and teachers anymore, and I won't whine about being forced to attend school. It'd just hurt so much, however happy I might be, having company from new, and maybe even old, friends even though I'm sadly stuck in Form 6--because as much as that's heart-warming and contentable with, that's not even faintly what I want.

I'm seeing all the good if's as when's, and not even bothering the bad if's. I have so much dreams of myself; so much faith in the future; and so much hope in the destiny--that I have in my mind. And now, suddenly thinking about otherwise, the potential total opposite of what I hope for and dream of and have faith in, I'm...scared. Not just normal sweat-breakingly scared, but coldly, traumatisingly scared. My mouth goes dry, my throat feels like something is stuck inside, my stomach either lurches or feels empty, I can't breathe easily, my heart skips beats--I am terrified. I really don't know what I would do if I didn't get a scholarship, when all I've been thinking of is when I study abroad under a scholarship.

I guess what my mom is asking me to do is the wise move: register for Form 6 first; no matter what happens, I'd know I still have something to hang onto, even if it isn't remotely what I want--let alone being the last thing I want. But I really don't want to put effort, and more importantly, money, into something that I might leave in a couple of weeks' time. Might? Oh great, now my mom succeeded in shaking my faith--before this I'd say, '...into something that I will leave...'

I really don't want to even start Form 6, because that would really make me lose my conviction in scoring scholarships--if just talking about registering for it shakes my faith, imagine actually sitting in the hall listening to speeches during orientation week/day.

Please, please, please, just let all the scholarship letters bearing good news come by my birthday. I'm making a birthday wish now: I want a scholarship that sends me to the States for my 18th birthday. Anyone getting me that? It'd be my best birthday present ever, I'm telling you in advance.

Currently Reading Harrius Potter et Camera Secretorum (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Latin Edition) By J. K. Rowling, J.K. Rowling see related

Strangerster.

[I'm not reading the Latin version of the book. I can't find the original cover of the English version.]

I don't get it. I just don't get it. I don't get why people need so many social networking sites to keep track of how many friends they have, and generally their social life. And more than often, they abuse the social networking sites. It's exactly like this bulletin I saw on Friendster, titled (mind its lameness) 'FakerSs~':

Currently Reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone By J K Rowling see related

Labour Day.

[Don't gasp. I read the book already. I'm just re-reading it now.]

I was supposed to do and finish this post yesterday, but didn't get the chance to upload all the photos. Today's the 2nd of May, but I'm keeping the original date of the post just so I can crack this joke:

Have you given birth yet? Are you giving birth? No? Why not? It's Labour Day.

It's hilarious right? Right? Right? I'll just assume everyone loves me for that joke. Okay, moving on...

Yes, yesterday was the first day of May, which means the beginning of a new month, which means I'm getting my renewed monthly 100MB upload limit which I maxed out last month, which ultimately means I can finally post up the Petronas pictures. Be aware that what you see might not be true, for some pictures are highly photoshopped. Don't worry, it's just that couple of pictures; not all of them are highly photoshopped. That'd be mad, or Xiaxue, which more or less means the same thing (I'm just saying), and I don't have the time and patience to do that, as in to highly photoshop the pictures, not to be mad. Sheesh.

Oh, before I start, I have just a tiny bit to add about the camp. I said that the food wasn't my favourite thing in the world, but to come to think about it, I think there was one food which I liked: the chicken. I don't know what's with me and well-cooked chicken, but that's not the point here. The point is, for the two days there, chicken was served for every main meal, and for each meal, the chicken was just so fine. It wasn't tender, and I don't like tender chicken, so that's fine by me; the meat was just firm and the right level of toughness--just the way I want it.

But, however good the chicken was, on the last day, for the final lunch, I didn't enjoy it at all. That's because, cutlery wasn't given! During that meal time, knowing that the lunch would be the last meal of the camp and I would be able to go home soon, I was finally having some appetite, thus I grabbed quite an amount of food, only to notice, there weren't any cutleries at all! Even the napkins were missing. I looked around, and I saw that the Chinese guys were eating with their hands just like the Malay and Indian guys. I was getting exasperated watching what was happening, so much so that I randomly, rhetorically asked, 'Why are there no cutleries? Why? Why?!'

One of the Chinese guys, one who look like Brian Chow, only taller, which makes him look like a Korean, just answered me, 'Just eat with your hand. We don't have a choice.' Having heard that, my heart sank. All the impression of high-classness that the school gave me during the camp was rapidly fading away. I should've thought better; M's can never be classy, I told myself.

'I'm going to slap someone if they brought out the cutleries after I finished my meal,' I warned to Mr. Korean Brian Chow. I ate using my hand, but miraculously, just using two fingers. All the sauces and oil sank into my nails, and I totally hated it. I needed a napkin to clean up, but there just wasn't any. I don't believe this, I thought, craning my neck and looking here and there and everywhere, to see if the napkins were put somewhere that no one noticed, or if there was someone I could ask about the problem. And then I saw it: the caterer's van. I could see reflected pink colour on the windscreen. Ah hah! There it was!

And at that moment, someone arrived. He was facing the same problem: he wanted cutleries. And so I victimised him--I asked to check the van, or ask the chattering caterers.

'I think there are cutleries and napkins on the van and they forgot to take them out,' I said. He went to have a look--and it was true!

The mindless caterers didn't take out the cutleries! They thought everybody could and wanted to eat like them. Of course, after the guy took a look at the van, they took out the cutleries and napkins to lay on the table. Ugh. I really felt like slapping the caterers, but I didn't, of course. That would only dirty my hand further, and the more important thing at that moment was to take a napkin and clean up the sauces in my nails anyway.

It was my last meal for the camp, and they had to ruin it by causing drama. Ugh.

Anyway, brace yourself for high quality pictures. Or not.

This is the building that got me jaw-dropping. It is really huge, and I don't think this photo justify its enormity.

This is the academic building next to the Chansellor Complex. It's directed connected to the Chansellor Complex, where the library is located. It is, as well, huge and chic. (There is actually an unintentionally captured tree branch hanging from the top, blocking part of the sky in original picture, but I think it ruins the perfect sky; thus photoshopped it away.)

This is the stage of the Chansellor Hall. It is also gi-normous.

I love the design of the ceiling. I also love that the spotlights and projectors are hung from zig-zag metal pieces.

This is the night view of the--yes--mosque . There's a man-made lake in front, therefore the reflection.

This is taken right after the mosque photo. It's the road beside the dorm. This picture, again, doesn't justify the beauty of the view I saw. It reminds me of the Beatles' song, The Long And Winding Road.

Here comes the degrading photos of the dorm. (I purposely did not alter anything from these photos to make them look bad compared to the other photos; just to further low-classify the dorm room.)

The hideous hospital-esque curtain.

The annoying partition, as much as it gave me privacy. My side was on the right, btw, with the red hot luggage. 

The grey and dull set: the cupboard, the towel-hanger, on which is my fab towel, and the door.

The old-looking bunk with a filthy matress and pillow that do not bring any comfort, covered in the bed spread and pillow case that I brought. I brought the green blanket too; it's fab. The black bag's mine as well. And oh, do you see those tiny pink and yellow circular adornment thing that are on the cupboard and the wall? Those are actually

these totally cute but incongruous hangers!

Oh, yes, one more thing:

Optical illusion in the exam hall.

The clock really looks like it's floating mid-air right? When I was in the exam hall, I thought it was flying as well--until I moved my head from side to side. There was actually a very thin black pole thing on which the clock was being hung. The pole totally blended into one of the dark trough folds of the stage's curtain. And actually, in the original picture, there's an invigilator at the left bottom corner, but he's such an eyesore in the picture that I did him away.

 See? This is the miracle of Photoshop.

The end of views. Here comes the people.

He is practically the second Tan Lee Kiong. I'm telling you now, the way he moves, and the little actions he does, are exactly like Tan Lee Kiong! It's so freaky. I first caught him when he was walking in front of me during the campus tour. For one moment, I actually thought he was Tan Lee Kiong. And the fact that he was bald and he was carrying a big crumpled plastic bag with who-knows-what inside just made him even more similar.

I have to say, this picture does not do any good to my look at all. But the guy beside me just reminds me of David Archuleta and Deenakaran. He looks nothing like them (okay, maybe a little like Deena), but the way he speaks, the way he moves his hands while he speaks, and even the tone of his voice, are just like a combination of those two.'If I get to study here, it'd be so cool!' The way he said that line is just exactly like how Deena and David would say it.

Yes there are only two photos of people. I wanted to take more, but when it was time to go back, everyone was just rushing to pack up and soon, so many people were gone before I could even say goodbye. I missed the Korean Brian Chow, and I didn't even manage to get the contacts of a guy from Sabah who now lives at Klang Jaya.

Oh well. At least I gave a lot of people my contacts. Hope they ring me up soon.

Currently Listening Flyleaf All Around Me see related

Choosing Coconut Crusts.

Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with coconut husks. And this is not a sexist or obscene post. If anything, it's informative.

The day before my Petronas camp, I actually did some last-minute shopping with my mom and sister. The night before, to be precise. Since I wasn't the one paying, I wanted my mom to be by my side when I shopped for my clothes, just so that we only bought stuff that the both of us agreed on, price-wise and design-wise. So what we did was, we shopped for my clothes first, because that would definitely take a shorter time to complete, and then we shopped for my sister's stuff.

After I got what I went there for--which was an extra formal shirt for the camp, albeit we ended up buying two, both of which I didn't wear during the camp--we turned our attention to my sister. And guess what she wanted to buy? Yes, new brassière.

Yes, I, a guy, walked into the women's undergarment department to wait and follow my mom and sister around, and take my mom's handbag too, while they shopped for my sister's bras. But to be frank, unlike how a lot of other guys would feel, I didn't really feel awkward standing there and tailing after them, holding the shirts I bought and my mom's not-too-fancy handbag while they got their hands all over the pads and cups and front-clips and back-hooks. I don't think anything is wrong with that. I mean, like, it's just undergarments. It's not like I'm cupping my hands on anyone's boobs to estimate their size and squeezing them to see what type of bras suit them best. Orworse, taking off women's bras and strapping on different ones to see their fit.

But it was only for a short time that I stood doing nothing. Soon, I couldn't stand the boredom, and to fasten up the process, I began helping my mom choose and find bras for my sister, as weird as it seems for a guy to do that. But no, I wasn't fervently rummaging through the stacked 'hills and hills' of clothing; that would be really freaky, because I'd look like a guy with a fetish over bras. But anyway, really, it's not that easy finding the right bra! There are so many criteria to adhere to.

Now, as odd as it may be, here comes bra-choosing lessons from a guy.

First, do not bother about designs. No one is actually going to shred your shirt/blouse/top apart to look at your bra then, pointing at it, laugh and say, 'Omg, look what she's wearing! Polka dots!' Unless you're looking to get laid, of course. But that doesn't mean it's okay to wear bras of super bad designs, because you're just looking for more embarrassment than you already get in case an accident happens--as if having your top torn or slipped off isn't humiliating enough already.

Next, what you need to look at when you're buying a bra is not the cup-size first, but actually the length of the band, as measured from the bottom part where it circles your ribs. Your bra should not be just draped around you, as in having the right cup-size, but not actually holding up, instead just covering your boobies. For the conventional bra type, the bottom of the bra should be touching and hugging your ribs where the 'breast' part of your chest ends (where your boobs connect to your body), because that's how the cups can act to actually support your breasts. And also, if the bottom of the bra isn't touching your ribs, when you just jump and land, the bra would absolutely slip out of place. Then you'd have to struggle to pull it back down to cover your boobs and risk embarrassment.  

Now that you are getting the length of the band right, it's time to get the right cup-size. This part is easy; every girl should know what to do. Every girl with boobs anyway, big or small it doesn't matter. When you are trying on a bra, there shouldn't be empty space in the cup--that just shows that the bra cup is too big for you, unless you plan to have the space to stuff things in, so that you can shoplift or smuggle drugs, or oranges, in your bras. On the other hand, if you're suffocated by the bra you are trying on, then obviously it's too small for you. Take it off and get a bigger one. And remember, the bottom of the whatever bra you're trying on must always be touching and hugging your ribs. Otherwise, however right the cup is, dump the bra back to the racks and get another one with a longer band, because a bra that doesn't cover until the ribs can't actually hold and support your boobies.

I don't know if this can happen to fully grown adults, but for teenage girls whose boobies are still growing, wearing a bra that doesn't cover and hold your breasts fully, as in from all sides, especially from the bottom, can actually cause your still-growing breasts to 'slip away.' Just imagine your boobs as water: when the bottom and sides are not covered fully and properly, the water will actually leak. Now, you don't want your boobs to 'leak' from the bottom or sides, do you? Then wear a bra that hugs your ribs, and possibly gives you comfortable but firm hold from the sides too.

I think a lot of girls might hate this because it can get very constricting, but wear a bra with wide band as much as you can. It prevents you from having that disgusting chunk of fat that bulges out from the sides of your back. A wide-band bra also gives teenage girls more 'coverage,' and lets them 'gather' more flesh for big boobies--this is especially important for Asian girls. Believe it or not, the flesh that are gathered at the chest area can be turned into breasts' flesh.

Now that you got your bra facts (I was going to say 'bracts,' but nah.), I hope you get your bras right, especially the teenage girls, because you do not want to end up being boobless. Oh, for the not-growing-anymore but boobless or I-want-bigger-boobies ladies, don't worry, it's not too late. You know those flabby arms and the fleshy back you have? Well, you can get rid of them now, and convert them into your boobies! No, seriously, it works; every good model would and should know that. What you do is, when you are putting on your bra, using your hand, gently push the fats from your flabby arms and fleshy back to your boobs. You would want to start from directly after your elbow, and push it all the way to your back, then from your back, gather the fats, push down and over to your breasts (tuck the fat into your bra); the whole process should be one smooth movement. Do that everyday, however many times you want, each time you put on a bra, and in no time, your cup-size will increase. Believe or not, it's true; it doesn't happen overnight, but it's true. Those who know this and actually do this have gained an increase of one or even two cup-sizes.

'There are no ugly women; only lazy women.' -Vanessa Williams. (I think she said that; not the exact words, but she said that.)

Boy, am I glad I'm not a woman.

P.S.: I wanted to have more picture links to this post, but it was hard to find the right pictures, and then it struck me--linking all the pictures of girls in bras, and what not, would make this totally risque! Ugh.