FATT.
WAHYUNA.
FATZ.
AYMAN.
HARITH.
HANZ.
JAYN.
LYANA.
RAYMOND.
Friend

February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009

Relevation.

On days when it matters most, i never woke up on time for anything. Not even work. Yet on days where there is a football match between two teams (especially if one of the teams are in red and one of the players in that team is superbly cute and just happen to have a name that starts with the letter 'R'), i would definitely hear my alarm at the stipulated time. I might have mixed up the casualities of life but hell, that's how it goes for me.

So i'm up bright and early thanks to Man Utd and Inter Milan, anticipating a fight between Mourinho and Sir Alex...but nothing of the sort happens. Nothing happens at all, in fact. No goals. No action. No drama. No smile-worth dive from my Ronaldo. Nothing interesting enough. The only thing i managed to learn from that match was how Carrick, O'Shea, Fletcher and Evans all look slightly alike.

Guess i'll stick with EPL until Man Utd shows that they are ready to win something in the Champions League.

Oh. I almost forgot. Something did happen yesterday morning during the match. While i was just waking up, getting off the bed and walking pass my sisters who were still asleep...

...Barney fell on me.

I almost did a karate (if i could, what with my non-existense fighting skills and all) before i realise my dearest niece had thrown her Barney stuff doll on top of the cupboard and at the precise moment, it just decided to leap out on me. After his (HIS? Whoever said Barney was a male? It's PURPLE for God's sake) little jump, i thought of it again, and right away i'm pretty convinced that Barney ain't as harmless as he looks.

Though the whole actual idea was to find a violence free, harmless children’s show to watch, i disagree. In my opinion, Barney should be used tied to a chair and forced to listen to Paris Hilton's single ‘Stars are Blind’ for four hours, or strap antlers on his head and lose him in the forest during Christmas.

Think about it. While you emphasized to your children that they should never talk to strangers, Barney ruined all that with an episode of the show title, ‘A Stranger is just a Friend You haven’t Met.”

For further proof, thanks to Roman Numerals (i need the internet to research on this of course), take the words: CUTE PURPLE DINOSAUR and turn all the U’s to V’s:

CVTE PVRPLE DINOSAVR

Now randomly (okay so i lied. I actually did a calcualtion before i choose the letters. but whatever), take out some letters:

C V V L D I V

Turn them into regular numbers:

100 5 5 50 500 1 5

Add them:

666.

Satanic, eh? Well, told ya Barney's evil.

HTC Dream is a disaster. No. Not the handset. The new phone seemed to be a little bit more brilliant than Apple's iPhone. But the day of its launch was a nightmare.

Particularly for those like me who had to sit in front of a glaring computer screen and pick up calls from supposedly potential customers who enquire everything about the HTC Dream, only to leave the line criticising it. Now THAT is a real horror.

And it's not helping when there is this cheerfully stern looking woman walking around the office floor in a slow stride, peeking from the corner of her eyes to see whether we are really answering calls, or checking on the illegally and banned SingTel website call Facebook. I couldn’t quite tell if that creepy look was because she didn’t want to be out there checking out on everyone, or if she was actually enjoying her slow, utterly painful patrol of the little room.

I glanced around at my colleagues who are all shifting in their chairs, faces screwed up in confusion, and i'm remarkably brought back to a school classroom setting instead of a call-center work office. I do not want to be reminded about school, so i have to escape from this office (probably make a toilet trip or something), but first i need to exit this browser where i'm updating my blog.

“Is that a customer's case?” I'm imagining that was what she'd asked if she caught me on blogger.

“No,” I would replied bluntly. Hey, if she’s going to make me close it anyway, i may as well be honest about it. She might stiffened slightly, but the overly cheerful look will definitely remain. After all, i was busted anyway.

“Shut it off, then,” she would clipped and then walked away to reprimand Raymond for playing Sudoku online and jabbing Hanz in the shoulder to remind him to close that YouTube video. A minute later (if i'm still bored), i would decide to play Solitaire. But soon enough without a doubt, our lady would have caught me again.

“I’m sorry, but solitaire counts. Shut it off.”

I would know by that irritating look in her eye that, no, she was not sorry at all. She was not at all remorseful for bringing me to the brink of death by boredom. I was not allowed to do anything online that does not involved handphone sets, unco-operative customers and a big SingTel logo.
SingTel Call-centre Rule Number 1: use the computer only for office work. and we don't care how young you are.

Ah, what have i been reduced to? Surely there must be SOMETHING to do besides gnaw my own arm off from boredom! With no calls to pick up (yes, sometimes my customers understand the peace i desire), i found nothing to do other than to stare at the computer and waiting for a dreading call to come in.

SingTel Call-center Rule Number 4,838,468,465,168 clearly states: No doing anything to occupy yourself when you have no calls. In fact, you should read SingTel.com.sg and broaden your knowledge.

To my endless relief, i managed to end my day-dream and the possibilities of it happening, because i saw the woman walking towards the perimeter of where i am seated. I turn to the computer and pretend i'm handling a really important case of billing waiver and adjustments. Just as she reached the back of my chair, my headset alerted me of a call. I lifted my head to the heavens and thanked Allah. Truly, i had never been so happy to answer a call.

But, of course, do not misunderstand, dearest reader.

I mean no offense to our temporary floor walker - she is just another employee given the duty to supervise the call-center. Insulting those who watch us at work must be going against some office rule.

I imagine that Call Centre Handbook Amendment 480 clearly states something along the lines of “insulting supervisors appointed by the boss is punishable by death.”

It’s right up there with historical Amendment 1’s “no eating while talking to customers”, and Amendment 200’s “Employees who die in office MUST complete the cases of the day to achieve the quota required by state law. Death is no excuse. Deceased employees will be kept in the corpse closet in the guard house until no sooner than 2pm.”

Ah, work. I just cannot guess why so many people quit...

I'm chanting "Glory Glory Man Utd" under my breath (as well as the Berbatov song i found on YouTube. "Berbatov tov tov, he told City to fuck off...") and drawing little hearts all over Ronaldo's poster. Never disappointing as always. My Ronnie was in perfect form, Rooney came back after his injury with a bomb, Scholes is simply the best and Berbatov-tov-tov could have scored one more if only he wasn't offside.

T'was a great match that got me at the edge of my couch, despite the wee hours. It was great that Van de sar managed to maintain his clean sheet (after Foster ruined it all) and it was a joy to watch Fulham's keeper and defence crumble under my Red Devils strength. Five points clear on top of the league. Hah. Let's see Torres and his boys beat that.

Thank God for the guys in red; or else my mind will be filled up with some other unpleasant things that kept me up the whole night through. It was a heart-wrenching and disappointing kind of death knell. It was sad to know how you've tried so hard to help someone because you genuinely care, but your whole plan just backfired because instead of helping, you're hurting them instead, and when initially that something has got nothing to do with you, it suddenly became ALL about you.

But alas, i could not change fate. Sure i admit that i have said less than nice things to another party about another party, but it wasn't said with the intention to backstab or kill you silently. It was said for realisation. It was said to show despite the flaws, the stubborn-ess and the attitude, I still care enough to want to help. It sure hurts me that my words was taken in as hypocritical utters, even though the only reason i ever had for stating all of that was to help resolve the issue between my two most favourite people in the world.

Maybe this is the one other thing Allah wanted me to see. Human nature is a complicated thing. Sometimes you're completely thrown in the middle of all these confusing things, you do not know or understand what is to be done. You've felt like you did not do any wrong, yet at the same time, you feel that it is all your fucking fault. Shouldn't have gotten involved. Should have trusted them enough to go through this as two strong souls. Should have accepted the fact i could not be a saviour, when all i'll ever known to be is a backstabber and hypocrite.

Still, i do not regret that things between them are no longer rocky. I do not regret caring and i certainly do not regret having a self-proclaimed satisfaction that i was able to help listen to their conflict / make them feel better, despite being far away. If me being known as a backstabber would make you feel better, then i'll accept the fact, no matter how grudgingly. If me being known as a hypocrite ensure that you guys are happy with each other's company with no more pointless arguments or fights, then that is what i'll be.

I'd rather lose respect than lose a chance to fix a broken kin/friendship. I care more about what they think of each other, than what they think of me. In reality, nobody can be trusted - friends, sister, brother, family, husband, boyfriend, fiancee. But trust and love and hatred; there is a very thin crusted line between them. I'm sorry that because of me, you are entirely convinced now how friends cannot be trusted.

My principle in life is - what doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger. so let others hurt you, but don't you ever hurt others.

So it's okay, i'm okay. Man Utd has made me feel better when i'm suppose to feel real bad. I'm sorry for hurting whoever that i've hurt in the course of my life for being too insensitive and for caring too much. I won't defend myself because i've feel like i've done what i'm suppose to do for the people i love.

So here it goes again - my disappearance. Will always be wishing the both of you happiness everyday and learning from whatever i've been able to teach you while i was still your mentor. Forget about me, if it hurts too much. I know i've lost your trust but trust me on this one thing - i never meant for it to be seen like that through your eyes, and i never had any bad intention for whatever i've said. I hope you see it.

Dear God, do punish me if this was really my fault.

I haven't had goosebumps for quite some time. Okay, that's a lie. I just had goosebumps this morning when i badly need the toilet, but that's not the point. I haven't had a genuine goosebumps that left me with an awe-inspiring feeling. I haven't had the kind of goosebumps that warmed up my heart and left it glowing with ease. I haven't had goosebumps ever since i left secondary school and have no live band playing Ross Roy for me.

But upon watching that video above, i got my first ever goosebumps after a very long time. Good job, Mr. YouTube-Man-United-Video-Maker.

No joke. That little short-lived video brought me back to whole "national-stadium-tkband-anoneh-pakuke-pride" moments. It's lively and dance-able, but there's just something about it which fills up your heart with warm honey liquid. I'm not sure if it's the 'Glory Glory Man Utd' part or the fact that the lyrics shows how much the old squad was missed, but there's definitely something. Something i can't quite put my finger on. Something which reminded me badly of TKBand.

Though i haven't been updating myself with TKBand's regular conquests, i sure as hell have been busy watching StarSports (or is it SportsWorld? Or StarWorld? Or SportsStar? I can never remember channel names even if it meant saving my life), cutting out Ronaldo pics and pasting them all over my work desktop, endless debate with my sayang on why Torres belonged in Man United and NOT Liverpool, and of course, watching their breathtaking matches against Derby and anticipating the match against Fulham. I'm beginning to have a sudden emotional kind of connection with my lovely Devils, (not saying that i haven't all this while, but you know what i mean), so much so that the song/chant/cheer above could make me tear somehow.

Hmmm, Valentine's Day has already passed and i'm still a hopeless emotional romantic, no? I guess i should say that ever since i met my dearest fiancee, Valentine's Day meant nothing anymore; everyday is a Valentine's day for us! In fact on the day itself, me and dearest spend it at our cousin's house, helping out for her son's "cukur rambut" (do not make me translate that in english) event.

So bye bye to Valentine's Day and hellooooooo Premier League and FA Cup!

Watch out Fulham. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Anuar: eh, you from whose team?

Me: mala. apasal?

Anuar: mala eh...you got an edward in your team tak? customer looking for him. Disputing about her bill uh.

Me: edward? from 1626 singapore?

Anuar: yup. you have any idea?

Me: i think edward not from our department lah.

Anuar: really? abeh kau tau from where?

Me: edward dari forks kan.

Anuar: forks department ape sak.

Me: department vampire2 ah. Edward cullen.

Anuar: kepale hotak hang.

Haha. Sorry Anuar.

Wednesday. Sigh.

It's a dull, dreary, lethargic, sleepy, frustrating, insert-your-own-derogatory-adjective-here kind of wednesday morning. I seriously think that i've been hit by a wrecked wednesday blues plague or something more terrible than that, or both.

And it's not helping that all the calls that i've answered so far, since i logged on for work at 8am, were from typical run-off-the-mill, kiasu, fucked-up rude Singaporeans who ridiculously claim, "i never used my internet on my handphone you know, why you all charged me in my singtel bill. pls waived off. i'm not going to pay. i don't care. i will report this to the press." If i weren't afraid of losing my job, i would have match their ridiculousness and responded with a, "madam, if it were one or two dollars, sure i will waived for you because you might have accidentally press the browser tab on your mobile and not know it. but the amount has reached up to a few hundred dollars, $102 to be exact, and you're telling me you did not use it? are you as stupid as you sound?" These people made me so ashamed to be a Singaporean.

Another frustration is with this blog skin. My dearest cousin Nasiha promptly suggested that i change the background to white cuz it's more "cheery" and besides, she loves black but it just "dampened her mood and made her feel gloomy" at the sight of this page. And since i loved her so much, i decided to listen for once and changed it. I liked how that white blends with the red and black, but the poster/banner that i made hastily yesterday annoyed the hell out of me. Something is horribly wrong with that banner above, and i hate that. And somehow it just makes me hate wednesdays more.

Hmmm. Some people think that mondays are bad. They delude themselves.

You can brace for a monday. Mondays are notorious. Mondays are evil and nasty and badyukky. Everybody knows that. So they're prepared. People who are about to face a new monday are among the most stoic creature on the planet. Tuesday is okay too; because it's an achievement to state that you've braved through monday, so it's a cause for celebration.

But wednesday...wednesday simply catch you off your guard. At the end of your long monday and tuesday at work or at school, you get out of the car with a confident grin, patting yourself on the back that you successfully navigated a possibly horrible day without losing any major appendages. You go to bed happy and content. But then…WEDNESDAY happens. And you have to do it again. And this time you’re not prepared. OH THE HORROR.

It’s only about 10:30 in the morning, but at the moment (whenever it is that we have snack in this cesspool they call a call center) existence has suddenly lost its meaning.

You ever have days like that?

I mean, there's something about this particular wenesday that just bites. I dunno why. I haven’t had any kind of bad cases at work that i haven't solved, i am not in an argument with my dearest fiancee, my supervisors are leaving me alone and not ticking me off, and manchester united is still top of the table. But strangely, there is just something about today that rubs me the wrong way.

What’s really the worst about this day is that i keep being all bitter and cynical about things that don't really matter and really aren't that bad. And my particular obsession at the moment is that wretched Purple Oreo my colleague, Devi, keeps munching.

You know.

Purple Oreos. Those things with the purple cream.

They’re weird. It’s still very obviously an Oreo. Black cookie with cream in the middle and all. But still, it doesn’t look all that appetizing. So… what’s the point of the Purple Oreo? Whose idiot idea was this?

“Hey guys. I’ve got this great idea! Why don’t we put blue and red food coloring in the next batch of cream and make Purple Oreos!

“Why.”

“Because they’ll be neato-keen looking!”

“Wow! That’s a great idea. You deserve a raise, Peter...”

Sigh. Bless Peter and his heart. Whoever he is.

“Life is full of precluded possibilities.” That’s from Calvin and Hobbes. I think. And it scares me to think that cartoon comic strips made for my little nieces and nephews are having a way-too-profound dialogues. I’ve never really thought about it that hard, but it really is true. Kids these days are growing too fast. Life is getting to their head faster than Cristiano Ronaldo's dive and everything around seems a little weirder than it's supposed to be. Just like Devi's purple oreo.

Right now, i’m very strongly considering grabbing that purple oreo from her hand, crushing it under my foot, and walking out of SingTel building, cabbing over to drag my baby boy from whatever he's doing and taking him over to Downtown East to meet my baristas and do weird stuff, or back to my house to laugh and joke together, and forget completely about next call i will be picking up, and wednesdays and that stupid purple oreo.

*inhale, exhale*

But i can’t really do that. I know fully well that after Devi finish eating her oreo, i'll have to walk right back into the building and back to my desk and explained to that very difficult customer why we cannot give him a phone for free just because he's careless enough to lose it.

So i stare back at that purple oreo that has somehow now come to represent everything that’s going wrong at the moment. And I think about it some more. Of course, a yellow oreo would probably look worse, so i really should shut up and stop complaining. They just do it so that people will buy more of their product. We’re all just trying to make our way in the world. And finally I understand what this is all about.

You have to keep chugging along. Keep living, working, playing, and everything else, and occasionally come up with the strangest idea that you’ve ever had because maybe, just maybe, people that you wished you weren’t having to coexist with will like it. Maybe. And even if you don’t care, you’d better put on a happy face for the camera, because we’re all going somewhere where everybody will either be ogling at our ass, or spitting into our faces. And this stupid idea, this Purple Oreo...it's just one more step in showing that the world is revolving and evolving.

So i humbly asked Devi for one, though, she gave me two (bless her heart) and i eventually braced myself to take a bite.

It tasted pretty good actually. And i realised now how much i hate myself more than the purple oreo.

Don't you like how that sounds? The Return of Absence.

Like an action-packed movie title featuring the hottest film star with a beautiful blonde bimbo wrapped around his waist. Unfortunately, Cristiano Ronaldo does not have time to gallivant around Hollywood (what's with the battle against Liverpool to remain top of the league and all) and i will never ever allow any blonde bitch near him - so my box office record dreams are forcefully smashed with the force of stampeding elephant.

That's okay though, considering the fact i will never get anywhere near Hollywood if i keep having this wretched writer's block every two millisecond of my time. If i can't even keep a blog alive for more than three consecutive years, how the hell do i write a script to be shown on the wide screen with date lines biting my head off? I seriously need to find my muse somehow.

Needless to say, i've emerged from my shadows and returned with yet another blog with yet another name and yet another colour. There is no specific reason for the choice of layout; it's just something i mixed and matched in hopes that it will go pleasantly well together. Which it did, thank God. And if you must know, there is also no valid explaination as to why i've revamp and move; i just badly need a fresh new start for the fresh new year. So i have not abandoned my confidante, i'm still somewhere around tiny Singapore despite my absence.

Absence of evidence is not an evidence of absence. Whatever that means.

I might not have made an appearance in blogger, but my absence is not an evident that i'm no longer comfortable confiding to an online diary. It simply translates that i'm revealing evidence as to how an independent work life leaves you with no time to blog about absolutely anything - not even that wonderful match my lovely Red Devils won against West Ham! (Giggs is the best evaaaaaa. Right leg babyyy. Awesome.)

So i understand now that i could not run away from explaining my absence. But to define it, i got to get to the bottom of it, and on second, third and fourth thoughts, i realised that absence means nothing. If i were to explain about absence, then i gotta explain about nothing. And how, pray tell, do one explain on 'nothing'?

I wish Ronaldo would define that for me in his ever-sexy Portugese accent, because honestly, the self-proclaimed concise disctionary i found at my work desk was anything but concise.

Nothing, is a noun defined as ‘no thing, not anything’.

Riggghhhtttht.

Frankly, whoever typed that in the dictionary should’ve just left it as a blank space - it would’ve been better and clearer, because the definition given in the dictionary could possibly cause brain aneurysms.

Perhaps ‘nothing’ is invisible. Or perhaps ‘nothing’ does not even exist. When you’re in school, sitting at a desk, picking listlessly at your nails or drawing little caricatures of the teacher in lieu of taking notes, and the said teacher comes up behind you and booms in your ear, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”, you’re so relieved that he hasn’t seen the less-than-flattering picture you drew of him that you blurt out, “Nothing!”

But of course that isn’t true. Even if you deny all knowledge of your artwork or mini-manicure, even if you pretend you weren’t daydreaming, you’re still doing something. At this very moment, nobody is doing ‘nothing’, not even if they’re sitting perfectly still. You’re sitting in a chair at a desk – ‘sitting’ is a verb, which indicates action. You’re blinking and breathing, your fingernails are growing, and blood is pumping around your body. You’re listening to me, you're reading this entry, and understanding it...

No, you’re not.

We are, without a doubt, humans faced with a paradox. How can nothing be something if you say it’s nothing? And how can nothing be nothing if you say it’s something?

Quite plainly, nothing could be anything at any given time, but, as I said, it’s nothing. Nothing is full of potential, yet it has none at all. Nothing could be anything. But it’s not. Nothing is both greater and less than anything in the known universe.

Nothing is what a poor man has, a rich man needs (apart from money, a BMW or Mercedes, and a good supply of champagne), and a dead man eats. Nothing is more foolish than allowing Chelsea to buy Quaresma, more savior than Barack Obama, more pointless than Voldemort's death and more humorous than Jeff Dunham and his puppets. Nothing is greater than Allah, more evil than the devil, and more annoying than horrible grammar and vocabulary. Nothing is hotter than Zac Efron and Cristiano Ronaldo, lovelier than my lovely fiancee, and more awesome than Taufik Batisah.

Having said that, even if you disagree with me completely, I hope you have gained a greater understanding of nothing. Nothing is just…well, everything.

I was seriously contemplating bringing something in to share with you all, considering this is the first entry and it's got to be somewhat special. But there wasn’t anything I could bring except nothing.

So I did.

Just thank your lucky stars that you've seen beyond my sanity and God willing, you're still sane after reading this.