Little memoirs from the land of beauty

My current life of internet-less-ness brings memories a flooding into my head. When I was 19, having first moved to KL and being completely at a loss for internet, I'd taken daily visits to Ikano's Starbucks, where a certain friend of mine had worked. I sat there for hours, every day, for days and weeks until my house internet finally kicked in.

Now, having moved into a brand new internet-less place, I remember what it was like. I'm much the same, though. Four years later, I have a steady job, a new laptop, and lots of new ideals. Yet I'm doing the same thing--talking to my white boy, and to my hubbie on Skype, and pretty much playing idle games while enjoying little sips of Light Coke.

Oh, that's changed. I used to drink Coke--the fat version.

But other than that? I'm not that much different. I love it.

One afternoon in Milan, my colleagues had gone shopping at La Galleria Immanuelle opposite the Duomo. I was not in the mood to shop, and as such went to sit in McDonald's, notebook in hand. I sketched, wrote, and enjoyed myself immensely with my ice-cold light Coke. Granted, it was freakin' freezing cold there, even with my heavy coat and leather gloves on, but it was likely the best McDonald's experience I had ever had. Ever.

Now, back in Malaysia, sitting in McDonald's to steal internet, I am reminded of that day. How happy I felt.

I want to go back there. And maybe I will, someday.

Je vais a Paris. Un aller-retour, sil vous plait?

I am learning French. QED - apparently we're going to France come this Spring, the 2nd of March to the 8th of March. Rumour has it the tickets have already been booked. I'm not sure how true this is, but the trip is apparently confirmed.

And so, I am learning French. Harper Collins' easy learning, French in a Click, you had better work or I will be very angry. Merci.

At any rate - wish me luck, man. French is SO not easy - especially for someone who cannot roll her R's properly. This is going to be... interesting. Very, very interesting.

Familiar and unfamiliar: another year forward

I don't know if I want to gush. I've never actually been the sort of person to enjoy the dawning of a new year; for most of the previous new-year-eves' that I'd lived through, life stood the same. It's like any other day, really. You wake up in the morning, there's far too much sun streaming into your room, and you wonder for a moment if you're late for work before recalling that it's Saturday--a holiday. You breathe a sigh of relief.

And then it begins.

People ask, all the time. What're you doing for New Years' Eve? Most of the time, I have no response. Not because I'm too badass to celebrate - the honest to God answer, I'm afraid, is that I'm simply too much of a boring, housewifey homebody to even consider going out to party. The idea of sitting in a stuffy, smoky room with complete utter strangers in various stages of smelling-like-rotten-fish isn't particularly appealing for me. I'd much rather be at home. Stalking my friends on Facebook. Eating pot roast. Cooking that pot roast. Digging huge spoons into ice-cream. Reading cookbooks. Watching dramas.

It's the little comforts in life, after all, that make or break a day. These are my little comforts. They keep me whole and keep me sane. The comfort of knowing that I have a little kingdom to come home to, and to immerse myself in heart-and-soul. The comfort of knowing that I am loved, despite my shortcomings. The comfort of a hot, spicy bowl of soup on a cold, rainy day.

After all, what is life without all those?

So love yourself. Today is any other day. It's the dawn of a brand new year. But every day is a new day, and every dawn brings light anew. Live each day. Celebrate each day. Be grateful for it. Because at the end of it all, these days tell your story.

Cheers, folks.

Badass snobbery - not quite

We all do it. More than anyone in the world, I'm guilty. My cousin tells me almost every other day that I'm a difficult person to impress. She's right. I'm a hard, tough, unimpressed bitchface who thinks very little of people who do not pull their weight, or do their part. I scoff at wannabe writers because I think the English language is a gorgeous and complex thing to be cherished - not destroyed. I am, in essence, Professor Henry Higgins - with a vagina.

I'm neither perfect nor always right, however. As much as I am loathe to admit it, and by George, I -am- loathe to admit it, I make mistakes. Hell, I mis-spelt 'reading' (rheading, what the heck) this morning while updating a status on Facebook. Truth is, I'm like any other person - only I read, and I read a lot. AND I make sure what I read is absorbed into my head, so that the next time I apply pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as it were) I know what is right and what is wrong.

I'm also a snob in one other way. I absolutely hate when I love something obscure, and then suddenly some big-shot Hollywood director makes a movie, and then suddenly everyone thinks they like it. Call it snobbery of the highest form if you will, but I detest the idea of people thinking, "Oh, ima like this song because the lyrics are so damn emo and they make me sound cool! Ima slit my wrists nao."

Oh, you say that in front of me, and you will witness the birth of a raging demon.

That, good sir, is snobbery. I'm a snob and I heartily admit it. Is it badass, though?

I demur.

That's not badass snobbery, that's just plain ol', 'I'm better than you', don't listen to my music and taint it with your emo, don't read my books and taint it with your stupid, snobbery.

And that has to stop. So today, I am putting aside my snobbery. You want to listen to Mumford and Sons? Do it. You want to listen to Damien Rice? Sure. I'm zen. I can take it. You want to read all of Jane Austen's books, even the most obscure ones, and talk Emma with me? Oh, by all means. Because today, I realise that literature, music, and everything beautiful about art belongs to all of us. Even those of us who don't know better.

...just, please, for the love of all that is gorgeous, don't PRETEND you know, if you don't. That's a completely different story, and will earn you a fuzzy pink slipper in-the-face.

...and on that note, over. *flails*

Band aid covers the bullet hole.

Today is one of those days. Ever feel snappish, like all you want to do is to bite heads off?

...today is one of those days for me. I'm not entirely sure why; maybe I'm constipated, or maybe I'm feeling an unslaught of injustice that comes when I've been doing too much with too little sleep. To break pots would be an experience to savour at this point.

I think I may have laid myself a little bit bare as of late. Everything I realise I have to do brings me to some new levels of panic, and I think I may die if I keep this up.

Whoa, Em, neurotic much? >.<

Hello, November.

November, to me, is an enigma. A time for reflection, as I often do when confronted with the basis of what we humans call Life. I know at least ten people born in this month. It's one of my busiest times of the year. No different now - I live constantly contemplating endless hair-tearing days.

Yes, work is busy. My thesis is -this- close to jumping off the screen and stabbing me in the eyes. I am tired and I want to crawl under my bed and sleep a month away, and wake up to realise that it's Christmas. Yet I am utterly, invariably breathless at where life has taken me this past year.

Oh, the endless rampage of datelines affixed to work and assignments. Those, I can forego, but this year, in other words, has been a journey. It never gets old, Italy. I swear, I could dream about that place and never wake up. La Morra seems to have captured me mind and spirit, and all I have to do is to look at the pictures I took there to remember just how at peace I felt that morning in the empty square, on my own, overlooking what I perceive to be heaven on earth.



I think that, at the end of the day, is likely the best present I have ever gotten for my birthday. Even if it was a month early.



In other news, barring the La Morra memories, I finally caved today and bought a bottle of Moscato - this particular one is Australian 'pink' Moscato (which, bloody hell, makes it sound so damn girly). It is, I must admit, pretty damn delicious, however.

A delicious blend of this Moscato, plus Light Coke, plus endless chatter with whitey and Phyl served to cheer me up immensely post-long-day-at-work. Note to self: remember to buy this exact same label to bring home for Chinese New Year celebrations.

Another note to self: NEVER EVER misplace Danny's cards again. After thoroughly searching my room, I discovered the first two cards he'd sent me for Valentines' day had gone missing. Guilt. Oh, the guilt.

Ah, well. All the more reason to build new memories, I suppose. Mm.

The great October escape: da una parte

About this time last year, I'd taken one great escape down to Singapore, not quite so far away. I like to travel in October. It's that time of year where I know it's fall somewhere in the world, and fall is (for some very odd reason that, I swear, has everything to do with the Gilmore Girls) a season that I adore. The trees are prettier. Even if I'm standing in Malaysia, or Singapore, or any other country close by the equator.

This year, the Annual Great Escape took me to places I had never dreamed I would be able to see.

I saw Hong Kong. I saw Italy.

I saw the most beautiful sights in the world, lived the loveliest days. And at night, I went home to the prospect of a daily phone call with my favourite person in the world.

I won't have much to say on the subject here; I -do- write for a living, after all, and Italy is all about work. What I will come out and say, however, is that...

...Venice is not the most romantic city in the world. It's the small little town of La Morra in Piedmont, where the countryfolk sell the most gorgeous squash, tomatoes, and zucchini flowers. Grapevines stretching out in vineyards as far as the eye can see.

That, my friends, is true romance.

I fell in love with the earth.
I walk it still, toes deep in soil,
Knowing that my travels have brought me
To what I know is pure, utter magic.

Cheers, ya'll. Viva Italia!