Curses! Bar of Soap Anyone?

Hanis : I'm such a blog whore

This convo happened after leaving a comment on Mozart's latest post barely a few minutes after he posted it. Yes, since we talk as much as possible when both are awake a lot, most of the time when he post a new one, he'll tell me and I'll go and check. Sometimes I leave a comment. Sometimes I just tell him through chat.

Mozart: You're not just a blog whore. You're my blog whore.

How hard I laughed at that? Quite so till I can feel the six packs forming my tummy hurts. It was such a proud moment and I knew instantly that I have to brag about it on here. Then another thought came to my mind.

Hanis: If people read my blog, they'll know that Noelle's my bitch and I'm your blog whore. What will they think of me?

They might think I'm an overly sexually charged girl. I'm not. I just believe in freedom of using words. Curses. Words that will totally get my mouth washed out by soap. Wait, don't go and get the wrong idea of me having a dirty filthy mouth that sprouts out curses every few mins.

I'm not. Even when I got mad at some people the past year, I restrained myself. But I should have called that one person a "Dumb plagiarising bitch," to her face. Oh yes. I do hope she or someone who knows of this incident read this. I still think you're one, bitch. I should have taken a baseball bat and aim for your car. You know, a scratch for a scratch? Yes, I hold grudges. I'm proud of it. I'm not that mature, you know.

But honestly, I use more curses in this blog or while chatting compare to real life. Unless, when I'm driving. I blame the drivers here. Most of them just think that their car is the only one on the road. I shall quote the lil bro:

"If you want to see Hanis cursing, sit with her in the car while she drives,"

Unless my parents are there. I'll just curse in my mind while wishing I can just slam into some cars and get away with it. I know, I have desire for road rage. But thankfully, I only have a violent mind. Not a violent nature. *smiles sweetly*



Talking about curses, I never really get the purpose of typing out curses but using * or any other symbols to cover up the word. For example:

F*ck off.

Only a young innocent child will not know what that stands for. This leads to another convo I had with Mozart (Boy, I know how proud you are reading this. A Mozart inspired post. Wait, that sounds so wrong). This particular convo was about how he has some rules in approving the comments he get. There's more than one but the only one I remember is the "No curses,". Oh wait, no violence too.

Damn. Strike 2 for me. Imagine if I leave him a comment such as "That's fucking good," or "Tell the ass to fuck off,". It might get deleted. Not approved. So I have to use the symbols on my keyboard here. Which is lame-ish. But a challenge. I'll just see if I can get a chance to send a comment with so many * that it won't be readable.

Wahahahahaha.

So keep cursing people. But do remember this rule of thumb:

If you want to curse in your blog, make sure you fall under the category of people that makes it look cool/funny. Not the other category where you look like you're trying too hard. That's sad. And do respect others when they don't curse. xD* feels like giving a message to the community*


Oh yes, while writing this out, I was listening to this wonderful song that is Mamon's fave.

Peace Out.

Early Morning Rambling.

Good morning, wonderful people. Its a nice, not so sunny Wednesday morning here after a night of heavy rain. I can just smell that freshness in the air. I'm still in my jammies, with Justin Bieber's Baby on repeat from my phone. *imagines Mozart rolling his eyes or scoffing* What can I say? I woke up with a need to listen to the Baby baby baby owwwhhhhh part. And you have to admit, it is a pretty sweet song that lacks any jaded-ness.

Dad told me within 5 minutes from waking up that I'll be dragged we'll be going school supplies shopping this morning. Amazing. Can't I just give him a list that compromise of few notebooks and a handful of superfine ballpoint pens (in blue and black) with a pencil and some erasers? Its simple as that.

I'm more interested in getting a new bag. Like, a satchel. Or is it a messenger bag? I want a big one to fit in my books, water bottle, purse, novel, sweets and other junk. *googles* Oh yes, a messenger bag. And also shoes. Sandals. There will be a lot of walking and I'm not going to twist my ankle by wearing wedges or anything with more than a one inch heel.

*once tripped over a flat surface, barefooted*


Dad just told me to get my ass in the shower and get ready. *pouts* I'm that lazy. I won't even wear my lenses. Before I go, I would list down certain posts to come. Its all in my mind, all it takes is anti laziness.

1. Why I hate buying vegetables for Mama
2. A rant on starting classes
3. New Year's resolutions
4. Pro-Ana

And a page of "About Myself". I just need to find out what to tell D: Ideas?

Wonderful people you all are, do tell me if these are interesting. I'll give you the godkids I'll get from Mozart.

Peace Out.

A Short Rant. Again.

Today, an online friend asked me how was my day yesterday. I said it was interesting. Which lead to him asking how so. And it became to me telling few discoveries I've made. And yes. They're angsty. Moody. Ranty. Sad. Pathetic. Basically like that. What did I get as a reply? Nothing much, just an "Owh," before they started to tell what an awesome day they had yesterday.

This went on with me inserting "Oooooh" and "Ahhhh," along few questions in making them tell me more about their wonderful day. Then, the conversation just stopped there.

So I learned something new this morning. Well, I've known it for a while but I just didn't want to accept it. But the lesson is:


If someone asked you how was your day or how are you, just give them a non commital answer such as

"Good,"

"Okay,"

"Normal,"

Before you ask them back so they can tell you all about their day. 8 out of 10 times, that's the reason they even asked about your day in the first place.


Hey, you might think I'm acting like a self centered attention whore, which I admit I can be at times. Its how I feel like whenever this happens. And boy, that so means that most of the time, I do feel like a self centered attention whore. For most of my life. See? I'm totally proving it right now.


*takes a deep breath*


On a completely different note, Mozart has dedicated the Song of The Day to me. Do check it out. I mean, the whole post. And while you're at it, the whole blog.


Peace Out.

Being Lazy About Food. I Know. A Shock.

I'm so lazy this weekend that apart from chores, I'm laying in bed with my wonderful laptop all day long.

Fine.

I do get up to shower and drag myself to the kitchen so I can feed the lil bro cook up some additional things. On Friday, I once again made tuna and mushroom mayo pie which was meant for lunch but somehow became dinner. Yesterday, we survived from hunger made beef soup for Mama, with potatoes and carrots.

One thing. Yuck. For me. Mama, Dad and lil bro ate it up with rice for lunch.

Around 5.30, I had this conversation with Mama.

"Have you ate lunch Hanis?"

".. No,"

"Why?"

"I had a late breakfast."

"At 10.30. What did you have?"

"A tuna sandwich,"

"That's it. Go eat some fruits that I got from my friend,"

It ended with me having half an apple and a BIG handful of grapes. Then I popped some frozen pizzas into an oven for dinner. And chowed them down like I had been deprived of food for the past week hour.

Today, is better. Mama made Dad buy some chicken parts and send them over to Grandma, who cooked them into yummy Chicken Sambal. She also made a vege dish and oh god, my tummy is growling now. In a bit tummy of mine. Just few more mins.

If you ask me what I realllly want to eat, I'll tell you that I want to have a Spicy Italian Sub on Hearty Italian from Subway with 3 chocolate chip cookies. I'll be very grateful to the kind soul that will buy me that. I'm not even gonna offer my godchildren (Honestly, I ran out of them, but wait Mozart let me be the godmother of his kids so I'll have fresh supplies) but I'll offer my sweet gratitude. And love. Well, not that kind of love. But you get me.


Peace Out.

Bring Your Tissues. Award Time.

The first thing I thought of when I saw not only Kamila but Jodie-Ann had awarded me this amazingly awesome award was that:

"Fuck. Seven other bloggers. Can I re-award the people who gave me?"

Well, that was after the slight gloating to myself and dancing around in excitement. So, here goes.

*takes a deep breath*

*is currently on her tummy in front of the tv downstairs while Mama sleeps on the couch*

Now, I must say 7 things about myself and give the award to 7 other people. Whoever I award this to, MUST say 7 things about themselves as well, AND give it to 7 flexible, adaptable, VERSATILE bloggers. (I'm just going to give the award to bloggers I like.) <---- Total copy and paste by the way.


7 Things About Me

(Please tell me I'm not the only one humming Miley's 7 Things while writing the title above)

1. I like flip phones. I do mean, flip cell phones. Mobile phones. Hand phones. Whatever you call it. It just seems to have more privacy.
2. I totally totally find it urgh when I see someone chewing gum so openly. Like, while walking around. Or *gasps* while talking. Its easy. Spit. Talk. Get a new piece of gum.
3. I don't really watch tv. If I do, most of the time it will be cooking show/ travel show/ CSI/ Project Runway.
4. Online-wise, I talk the most to Mozart and Noelle.
5. Ariel is my favourite Disney princess while Prince Phillip is my favourite Disney prince.
6. I don't really like the sun. Yes, I live in a tropical place.
7. OMG, No. 7 already. Hmmm, people often guess I'm an only child or have elder brothers and sisters. And they get shocked when I tell them I'm the eldest with one younger brother. Yes. I know. I need to look more ... something. I'll figure it out.


And here's the hardddd part. I'll try to get to 7. Even with re-awarding the people that awarded me since I totally think they deserve it :D

Jodieeee, the amazing Jodie of The Run-On Sentences of Life. I just love her blog. Her posts. Her comments on mine. ( Yes, that's the best one ever for a comment-whore). She's just so amazing.

Kamila from Basket of Dreams. How can you not like a blog with such an awesome name as that? She's sweet. And brave. I love her 10 days challenge thingie where she put up a vid of her singing. Hell, I'll never do that. But she did :D

Delaney of Diaries of a High School Sophomore. What can I say about the girl who puts up cute pics of kitties and emails me? She's amazingly lovely and sweet. And what can I say, I just love reading about her and her boyfriend who share the same surname! (Please tell me you think this is just wow.)

Now, this blog, is so cute. I've shamefully, only commented once but that doesn't mean its less awesome. A cute cow, pictures of fooood and even a goat. Please click and read Beruchi's Tsuki Adventures.

InsomniaStrikes got a purple layout thingie going. Okay, I love purple. So, I just love staring at the colour. Then, PurpleMist, the blogger of such purple-ness has enough will power to do one of those blogging topic list and stick to it! I know someone (me) who couldn't even finish the first topic. For that, she deserves this award.



Okay, I can only do 5 D:

To the ones that gave me the award, you have a rainbow coloured heart!

To the ones listed, you get an award! Even if I'm the second person to give so.

To the ones reading this thinking "Damn, Hanis is MEAN", I'm sorry :( I'll give you a godkid of mine :D

Peace Out.

Confession No.9

Always second fiddle,

Never the first.

I'm Acting My Age? Wow.

While having lunch in the kitchen today :

Mama: You know, since I went into the hospital for the surgery and then came back, I realised that you're finally acting your age.

Hanis: Wait, what?

Mama: You're finally acting like a mature 21 year old.

Hanis: *speechless*

Mama: Before this, you were like a 16 year old.

Hanis: *still speechless*

Mama: I'm proud of you


I'm still speechless about that until now. Does this mean I'm mature? Oh My Gawd. That's kinda sad. I still have a vendetta against some people. And I have mood swings. But then, I'll be mature in front of the parents.

Don't Mess With My Lil Bro.

Earlier today, around 6pm I heard the sounds of kids playing outside. There were screams and laughters. You know, joyful sounds. It took me about 30 mins to come to the realisation that I don't have any neighbours with kids that young. Most are around my age and older with a small group around my brother's age.

As I was trying to figure out if the empty houses beside and in front of my house had new tenants, the joyful laughter turned to cries. It was pitiful. The screams turned to shouts. I got curious and eventually set my laptop down, abandoning my chatting escapades to peek out of my bedroom window which face the other houses.

What did I see?

There were 4 boys, around 4- 7 years old. The smallest, on his bike were the one crying while I assume, from the shouts coming from two other boys, his brothers told him to go back home. One of the brother started to shove the lil one on the shoulder with shouts of "Go back home!!"

Subconciously, my fingers curled around the grills on my window as I continue watching the scene in front of me. My other hand reached out to push my window wider. I had a desire to shout to the brothers to stop bullying the little one. I wanted to run downstairs and out of my gate before shoving the bully's shoulder.

Just as I was eyeing the bullies, the little boy, weeping, cycled back home to a house I once thought was occupied by a Sikh couple with two daughters older than me. I watched as the boy's mother or someone called him in. I remember thinking

"If you dare bully your brother again in front of my house, you'll get it from me,"

I'm the stranger lady who tells you off at the mall for picking on your lil sister while Mommy is too busy shopping.

And that, wasn't even my own brother. I admit that I have that perhaps common case of "I'm the only one that can bully my sibling,". Just earlier this year, my brother came back home from a game of futsal, with tears running down his face as he bends over slightly, clutching his stomach in pain with his shorts torn slightly.

There were bruises on his stomach and Mama took him to the clinic. After asking over and over, we found out that another boy, who got in the way in the ball kicked by my brother ( This is very common. Trust me. I once played for 15 mins. I got hit on the shoulder once and on the side of the head once.) had kicked and punched my brother in anger. Even when my brother had said sorry when the ball had hit him.

Even as the other boys dragged them apart, the boy threw a water bottle at him. And of course, using her mother connections, Mama found out the boy came from a busy family. Dad works. Loads of siblings. Mom's too busy to pay attention to each child. He has an older brother who's a bully at school. Mama told the lil brother not to mess with the boy.

My reaction? I found out in a phone call on Tuesday (the day of the incident) cause I was at the hostel. I came home on Friday and told my brother:

"Lil bro, you get your baseball bat, I'll get Dad's golf clubs. You know his house right?"

"Err, yes?"

"Let's go and fucking beat his ass up."

Mama intervened.

"Hanis! That boy has a brother,"

"Oh please. I got a cousin with even more power there,"

"Hanis! Don't teach your brother,"

"He kicked my brother's ass. Let's go and hit his balls, lil bro,"

Of course, I didn't go. Mama hid her car keys. Damn it. But I did told the lil bro next time someone hits him, he needs to hit him back.

Honestly, lil bro is not a pansy. He just don't think provoking people is fun. He thinks its not worth it. But when someone hits him, I expect him to make that boy bleed. Oh wait, in 5th grade, a boy punched his eye. Lil bro punched him, making the boy have a split lip and a loose teeth. Mama was scandalised. I was proud.

This aggresive part of me came out when lil bro was picked on by a little girl at the playground about 9 years ago. What did I do? I screamed at the little bitch. And when her mom got offended. I flipped her off and told her that her brat will be a mean girl in the future. She said I was rude. As if I care.

I'm not even gonna mention the time I nearly kicked a cousin. He was picking on my brother. Of course, since then the cousins knew if they pick on my brother, they'll get it from me. Hell, I don't even think aunts and uncles are allowed to scold my brother.

"Like, excuse me? Did you raise him? No. So shut up,"

Yes, I did say that when I was 14. I became the black sheep because most people are idiots and don't listen to both sides. Bitter me. I'm protective of my brother. Sometimes, even with my parents. So, the point of this long-ish post is that, I love my brother and if you even dare mess with him, I'll get the car and ram your ass with it.

Or get the golf club.

Don't you wish I'm your sister now?

Peace Out.

A Bet I Want to Lose. Maybe.

Last night, I had a dream. It was one of those random, everyday life dreams. Usually its not memorable, at all. But not this one because it had him. Yes, I'm not even gonna give this guy a nickname but I'll just refer as him. He's the one that inspired this pretty little post. And god, I swear if he reads my blog and this post, he might know I'm talking about him. If he's as smart and sharp as I think he is.

So what if I had a dream about a guy? Its a common thing, true? But then, this is the guy I haven't seen in a number of years. And who I have to admit, was crazy about for some time in my last high school year.

I got to stop rambling.

Anyway, last night dream was the second dream in few weeks that had him in it. Thus it became a memorable dream with me telling Mozart and Noelle about it, hoping for some kind of wise insight. I did end up moping to the latter on how my dreams are mocking me by letting him appear in them. To which I can't explain the reason behind that. Typical Hanis.

While telling Mozart about the dream, him and how my friends are worse than me in the hopeless romantic sense, I remembered a bet I made in 2006. To be exact, 20th February 2006.

*clears throat*

I call it ...

The 20 Year Bet

I know, but my friend chose that number. I think I'll explain it in point form. Easier to understand in my opinion.

- Yes, its going to go on for 20 years, right until 20th February 2026.

- It states that if we (me and him) ever get involved in a semi-serious way, I lose the bet which means my friends were right.

- Yes, this can even apply to one of us getting married then divorcing before getting involved with the other. As long as we get involved.

- Whoever loses will have to pay the winner 100 ringgit or whatever that match the value of 100 ringgit in 2006 at the time of payment.

- Its only between me and one friend. Thank god. Well, that is if I lose. Not that I'm wishing to lose ...

- If I get involved with him on the 21st February 2026, I still win.


But as I've told my friends jokingly, if I lose, I won't be the one paying up. Its nearly 5 years now since the bet and I'm going on strong. God, is it just me or does that sound depressingly hopeful? To quote my friends,


"Its in the stars,"


BAH.HUMBUG.


I told ya, worse hopeless romantics.

But of course, if by any chance him is reading this, give me a call. *winks*

*smacks head on wall*

Do ignore that small burst of optimism.

*looks up at the stars, trying to see what my friends see*

And that one too.

Just 15 more years. *grins*

And who knows, Hugh Jackman might have snapped me up.

Peace Out.

Cause I Want To? Fuck Yes.

If you can ask someone who's on my yahoo friend list and talk to me often, there's a big chance they'll say:


"Hanis was a grumpy person today,"


Today is a perfect example for the chance to use one of the oldest female excuse in explaining their less-than-normal behaviours. Yes, I'm talking about:


"Its the time of the month,"


Blame the hormones.


But not today. I'll be honest today. As I told Mozart earlier to his

"Why are you so grumpy today?"

"Cause I want to,"


There, I have a right to be grumpy without having hormones running around in me. And like duh, I'm that unique that usually, during the time of the month, I'm alright. Unless someone deprives me of my chocolates. Then, I'll grab a keyboard and smack them hard on their face while cackling.


Peace Out.

Confession no. 8

I like looking out the window late at night.

It would be dark and windy with the stars winking at me.

I would like to think that somewhere in the world,

The person meant for me looks at them and think of the same thing.

Hopeless romantic, am I not?

Three Bits of News.

I can officially say that I've completed my Diploma in Actuarial Science with an average of 3.32.

And I can officially say that I've received the offer to do a Degree in Actuarial Science.

*do a jig*

Yes, I'll accept the congratulations. And also books bought through Amazon :D

Peace Out.

And oh yes, Mama's doing well and she's coming home tommorow :D Oh wait, I better clean up around here.

I Swear, It Wasn't Me With The Golf Club.

I'm not a violent person by nature. Trust me. I might have said I want to castrate No.3 with a rusty teaspoon while tying him down in front of a mirror so he can watch.

Alright, that was scary.

BUT, my defense is, I said that after being dumped like unwanted junk the break-up and was feeling depressed and so unwanted sad before it turned into raging anger acceptance.

Now, I'm all calm and indifferent. Its what they say. The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. And No.3 , I don't even care what happens to you even though I know you have a big chance of ending up in a lame marriage and a boring a future. I'll send you a copy of my best selling book one day, alright? The same goes for, wait, No.1 and No.2, you guys don't even contact me anymore. I'm actually glad for the latter to be honest.

Going back to my "I'm not a violent person" by nature, I do tend to say violent things when I'm pissed off. When its by a guy. When its a girl that pissed me off, I'll just slag her off and insult her intelligence or something. When its a guy, well, just be prepared to hear promises of pain and torture.

If you've been reading my blog lately, you'll realised that I'm mad at someone. A guy. And here's some promotion eg: the posts to read.

1

2

Click on them!!

And I know, you're interested to know what violent thoughts I'm having.

Let's just say that I'm eyeing the golf clubs and thinking the best place to aim. High or low? Both would be good.

*smiles innocently*

I'm not a violent person by nature. Unless you piss me off.

And of course, I'm wishing the worst too.

Peace Out.

I Swear When I Get Married/Have Kids, I'll Get a Maid. A Daily One.

Its Sunday morning, Day Four of hospital visits. The hospital is a 30 mins drive away. With only the brother along, its torturous.

I'm too tired to type out something more than decent. Even though my first time waiting outside the Operation Theater is something to tell. I have little notes in my phone, of what to write about. In my head at that time I thought I'll write up a powerful post. That night, I tried and failed.

The brother is picky with me being the cook. Everytime I mention having rice for a meal he makes a face. And I'm tempted to leave him at the hospital with Mama and Dad.

That's why I have a tuna and sausage mayo pie fresh from the oven for today's lunch. Its my first time making a big pie. Not one of those small serving sizes. It led to some difficulties.

1. I didn't have enough tuna. Just bought one can.
2. I don't know how to use the pastry pieces to make it one big pie.

It looks funny. But I bet its gonna taste good *cross fingers for luck*

Yesterday, while doing a mini version of grocery shopping, I saw myself in a mirror and thought I looked so darn tired. What did I do? Bought a face mask. It felt gooood. And my skin didn't look so dull anymore.

Anyway, the bro just got out of the shower so that means I have to start getting ready. I "plan" to be out of the house by noon. But as we all know about the best laid plans. It sucks.

Peace Out.

What Mama Taught Me and How I Changed It.

When I was little, like, around 5 years old, I was this cute pig-tailed girl who love wearing dresses and skirts while playing samurai with my male cousins. Of course, I had a toy samurai sword thanks to Dad. It was kept right beside my Barbie doll collection. Yes, I grew up in a balanced environment. Being the only child right up till I was 8 and a half years old gave me a nice sense of my gender.


Anyway, when I was that little girl, Mama taught me a very nice lesson. She had first told me while sewing curtains on her sewing machine as I sat beside her, learning how to read from my Doraemon comic books. Yes, I didn't learn to read from those Peter and Jane books (tell me, did you guys learn from those too or is it just the kindergarden I went to?) but I learnt from comic books. It was in Malay of course and English started from Peter and Jane that moved onto Enid Blyton.


So, the lesson she told me was to always be good to others and you'll get the same. To never do evil/be mean to others so no one would do evil/be mean to you. Basically its the "What goes around comes around," law. Which is totally reminding me of The First Newton Law ( Something like that, I wasn't really paying attention in Phsyics) to which my teacher said basically "What goes around comes around,". I know there's the mention of force somewhere but the only concept I can remember after 4 years is Inertia.*is so proud of remembering that*


I basically held that lesson close to my heart throughout the years. Combine that with my laidback-ness and "This is so not worth it" when it comes to arguing, I got treated like shit and used by friends. Did I care? Well, I might have cried my eyes out at night, wondering how can I be friends with such backstabbers before putting on a smile the next day and live on.


Mama might said that I lack friends in quantity. And that I've gone through phases with friends who eventually turn to half strangers I wish Happy Birthday to on Facebook and vice versa. She would also say, the friends that stay are the ones that I can meet up after a year and fall back into a pattern.


Which leads to my view on life. I took my mom's lesson and changed it to "If I don't involve myself in your business, you don't have the right to do so with me,". This is the key to my 3 years-ish friendship with Mamon. We're two different people and we've never fought before. I have people asking me how is that even possible.


"I don't judge her and vice versa,"


Isn't that easy, people? I basically said that as long as a friend of mine is not being pimped around/selling drugs/involved in black market/be in a satanic cult I don't mind. As long as they're not purposely hurting themself, I'll act as if its normal. Which gives me the right to not be judged. Do I judge people? If they judge me first. Or if they give me reason to do so. Such as being a bitch.


Let me tell you a story that happened earlier this year. A girl judged me based on my religious doings, well more like what I wasn't doing. I let it slide the first time. The second time. The third time came and I told her I don't think she has the right to say so. And then I proceed to tell her what she's doing wrong in the religious sense. And basically told her that "Hey, you might be more religious than me, but I'm pretty sure my basis is stronger than yours,"


Yes, she deserved it. And like, duh, when I tell people things like that after being treated like shit, you can bet it won't be all nice and polite and even toned. Well, I won't be shouting or screaming but I won't say "I don't mean to offend you," anytime soon.


How did this post started from telling how I was as a five year old to my ranting out a holier-than-thou person? I have no idea. Its just the way I'am. In my mind, its connected. In an English teacher's mind? They'll probably be writing notes "Unsmooth. No connections at all," in bright red pen. But hey, this is a blog. Not my essay. Not that I'm advocating bad writing and grammar but loosen up a bit on the rules.


Right now, I'm in a lounge on the 7th floor at the hospital. Mama got admitted couple of hours ago and I got bored sitting in the room. So I got my bag (filled with book, laptop, sweets and a bottle of water) and sat in the nearest lounge with my eye on the tv (Weather Girl is on and Byron is so hot. Note to self: Look up on Wiki at home), sucking on my strawberry and cream candy while typing this post on a Notepad. Oh well, here's my new life lesson that I'm following:


If you're a bitch to me, you don't deserve any kindness and consideration or even diplomacy.


Peace Out

I'm Being Immature, Hence This Post.

Do you know the saying:

Judge a man by how he treats his inferiors, not superiors?

Of course you do. Most people do. I think its a logical saying. Nearly everyone is nice to their superior, cause duh. But is everyone nice to the maid or some random worker? No.

And of course, there's also the " If you want to know what kind of a guy he is, ask his ex girlfriends/wives,"

Like, another big duh. If you ask the current one, chances are you'll get a biased review.


And this leads to the point of this post. Yes, its an anger-based post. But in minimal dose. I swear I won't rant. Or curse. Too much.


Defining someone's character is best made from a neutral person. Not based on a close friend's opinion. Or someone they like. People tend to be such fucking assholes and fakes put out their best qualities when they're with someone they fancy/like. Or to put it easily:


Prince Charming could actually be a he-bitch when he's not talking to you.


Yes, I'm immature. This post is too. Being mature and diplomatic? I'm not gonna do it for this. Of course, it takes a real man to really tell someone the reason of their actions. You can be 30 years old and be a fucking kid hiding behind excuses. Of course, I got a big smile on my face when I type this. I'm also eyeing my thickest hardback book.


If A can treat B in a bad way, what's the probability A'll do it to C too? Pretty big I can say.


Peace Out.

Dreaming of Stories.

I've been dreaming of stories since I can remember. Okay, since I was 17 or so. That was when I started writing more than poetry. The dreaming turned to daydreaming of being in a plot, thinking up scenes and dialogues. I got to knew the characters, felt the tension and emotions between them. I became them.

I remember the first dream I had, it was just one scene that evolved into a short story in my waking hours. I remember how I zoned out during a Biology lesson (trust me, it was that boring) and thought of how the two character will have their confrontation. It was a love story. Sue me, I'm a sucker for love stories. Romance. I love writing them. Too bad I can't write my own.

The first story started with a girl overhearing someone playing the piano while searching for her journal. It was cliche I have to admit. The guy/pianist saw her and she ran. He found her book. And you can imagine how it went. Few weeks later, I had a dream of a princess in a far-away land watching from her window the war captives her father brought home.

This one, was a story of love without an exchanging of words. It had compassion and sacrifice. It had a bittersweet ending. I remembered thinking that one day, I'll pick it up and write a novella from it. Starting from few years after his escape.

Since then, I dreamt of longer stories. It was all romance. Some were magical. Some were just everyday life. But underneath it all, it was a love story. I have dreams of friendship that turned to love. Of enemies changing to lovers. Of misunderstanding. Of unrequited love.

Love. Love. Love.

Hell, I'm sure when I get a book published, it would be put under the Romance section. Okay, I prefer fiction. I can just see it now. *daydreams for a bit* Yeap, I'll take a pretty picture for the author's part in the book. And I'll be rich!!! Wahahaha. Ooopsie, said that out loud again?


Its been about four years now since I've started dreaming about stories. Plotline more like it since each of them are now a novel length one. I have names. I have the critical emotional parts in my head. Sometimes, when I'm on my bed, listening to music with my eyes closed, I'll imagine another scene for one of the stories.


Is it just me or do other people that write tend to cry while thinking of the sad scenes? If its just me, I'll blame it on my "I tend to cry while reading books and watching movies. Disney or Pixar movies most of the time" syndrome.


I got some friends asking me:

"Hanis, what would your novel be about?"

"I have no fucking idea,"

There's just too many dreams going on in my head. I suppose I'll make up my mind one day. Now, I just have to go and think up of a meeting-up scene in my latest dream. This one, involves spies for a change. Not vampires or angels.

Peace Out.

200th Post and Its Serious.

Mama, the 46 year old woman who cooks such wonderfully delicious dishes (yes, I blame her food for my weight) will be undergoing surgery this Friday. Its her third one and all of us are scared but wise enough to shut our mouths up so she won't get scared.


When I was 15, she had to remove a cyst from her breast and it went well. Two years later, she had another cyst, this time in her reproduction system. Don't ask me for more specifics cause I don't remember how to spell the name. Biology and me = disaster. I got a C.


Anyway, moving on from that, this upcoming surgery is the tummy tuck. No, she's not doing it purely for cosmestic reasons. You see, she lost quite some weight over the past few years but for some reason, she has loads of excessive skin over her tummy. Its that bad that when she sits, her tummy overflows. If she sits cross legged on the floor, her tummy will touch the floor.


With that, comes pain. Her back hurts her from all the weight she's carrying and she was living on painkillers few months ago.

Now, here's my ranting part.


The insurance wouldn't cover the surgery. They say they don't cover cosmestics surgery. Fine, I do get that. But the insurance does states that if its done for health reasons, its covered. Guess what? They said no. They told my mom to live the rest of her life on painkillers. Which eventually would be changed to stronger and stronger painkillers so it will be effective.


Which lead to my parents going to a government hospital instead of our normal private one. Trust me, I'm not a snob but still, the waiting list and service and waiting list and .. I'll shut up. At the place, there's two options.

1. Waiting list for a minimum of 3 months. Pay 100 Ringgit.
2. As soon as possible, which means when the doctor comes back from his holiday, pay 8000 Ringgit.

My parents took the 2nd option cause its been hurting my mom badly. And here we are, three more days before the operation. She'll be admitted on Thursday and will stay there for a minimum of 5 days after the operation.

Here's to hoping Mama will go through it bravely and come out well. Let's not even talk about the after care. But it will result in me going back and forth from uni for January instead of staying in a hostel and coming home during the weekends. Why? I need to take care of her. Dad will do so too but that's not enough.

And no, I'm not overly worried. I'm just hoping she'll be alright.

Confession No.7

I think its a mistake.

But then, I'm selfish.

I'm sorry for misunderstanding you.

Forgive me, please?

Its Another Book Related Post. Online Style.

Being a bookworm, the only thing about online shopping that attracts me is the books. Or the availability of a book. Especially for books that aren't available in Malaysia yet. So one day, while in the car on the way home from work, I had such a wonderfully brilliant idea.

"Dad, I was wondering if I can use your credit card?"

*insert suspicious look from him*

"Why?"

"Well, I was thinking of getting some books from Amazon. I'll pay you back!"

"Sure"


I know, I was thinking "Sure? That easy?" but I just shrugged and hummed my way to happiness. Or more like fell asleep during the car ride. I just love those car ride naps. Wonderful.
Later that night, I went to Amazon, hummed for a bit as I try to come up with a book I want.

Yes, the list is so long.

I finally made up my mind for a J.R Ward book. If you don't know her, google her. She has amazing amazing books. One is a vampire romance adventure series. And no, the vampires don't sparkle like a certain silly vampire. Boy, I wish Buffy will stake him. Or splash holy water on him. Wait, stake to the heart, spread the ashes on Bella. Damn, I got a bestseller idea there.

*clears throat* Anyway, I found a guidebook on the Black Dagger Brotherhood. We got that here but at about 50 ringgit. And not many copies. I've only come across one copy. And it was only 8 American dollars. Which is 25 Ringgit-ish.

Ding Ding Ding.

We got a winner.


But wait, there's the delivery charge.

Fuck,I need to live in the States to get it free.

How much was it? 12 dollars.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. It was 4/3 of the book's price.

I know, do curse away.

Say it with me.

What. The. Fuck.

There, feels good right?

The total would be 2o dollars = 63 ringgit.


Now, imagine the smirk on my dad's face when I told him. Yes, I'm crying. Well, not really. But still.

Do I Know You? Oh Wait, I Need To Take One Last Bite.

Last night, I was having two different conversations with two different people. Noelle and Mozart. It happened around the same time, give or take 20 minutes. It was two different conversations but for some time, there was the same line of thought. I have to admit it made me mope for a bit. It made me felt slightly foolish. But just for a short while.

What's the line of thought?

What qualifies me to say that I know someone well?

How many questions?

How long should I know them?

I don't think there's a clear formula of questions and length of knowing time that will let me say that "Yes, I know this person quite well,"

Its not like:

xquestions + ytime = knowing said person

God, see how the mind of a math geek works? Everything in formulas and equations. Bloody silly I say. And while talking to Noelle last night about a certain situation that creeped up in my conversation with Mozart (yes, the matter that made me mope around) I used an example with the former.

Only a chocolate lover would compare this blog topic to this.

Let's start from the left, alright?

All that gold wrapping signifies a person and the way they present themself to the society. You know, the physical typical stuffs such as appearance, the way they laugh or the way they dress. You don't have to know someone to gather this information. You can know this about a stranger just by looking at them for a couple of minutes, true?

The second one, minus the wrapping is the information of said person. Of their family. Their upbringing. Their hometown. Something you can get to know in a short talk.

Moving on to the third piece. I call this the personal information part. Hobbies. Dislikes. What ticks them off. Favourite food. Favourite colour. Generic first date topics. Something what one would write on a "About Me" page. And I might also add political views and religion.

And here we are, at the last piece (which is the tastiest of this chocolate I might say). This piece is the core of a person. One you find out through intimate talks. One you know through interest. This core holds the person's dreams. Where would they travel to if they can. That secret desire to be something. Do you get what I'm saying here?


I can't say I know a lot of people at every single layer. From the wrapping to the chocolate goodness. I know Mamon this well. I know about her family. I know some of her secrets. Some of her fears. I know she loves pink. I know how her hair is. But this is a girl I've been close to for more than 3 years. And been roommates and classmates with. How can I not know her in a full Ferrero Rocher way?

I know Noelle in bits and pieces for every layer. It's like I took a bite from the chocolate. And have half of it left. With Mozart, its just a matter of a smaller bite. Even more to know about him.

Some people, I know them by their outer layers. Not the inner ones. And for others, I might know the inner layers and not the outer parts. But still, can I say that I know them well? When its incomplete?

God, this is getting longer than I thought but what I'm trying to say is in my opinion, you have to get to know every layer of a person to really say that you know them. There's no proper way of which layer to get know first. Start from the inside and go out. Or outside to in. Hell, pick the 2nd layer before jumping to the inner most one.


One thing for sure, its going to take a while no matter what.


And yes, I'm going to work on getting to know one particular piece of Ferrero Rocher very well. As I've said before, I might not know what every layer holds but I do know that I really really like it so far.. Here's to hoping there won't be something that I don't like in those layers.


Peace Out.

A Worry of Mine.

Hello, I love you can you tell me your name?

Books: I'll Always Want New Ones.

I was moaning to a friend few days ago on how I have nothing to read. How I've reread my books so many times I can't reread it again anytime soon. I needed new books. That was the solution. My favourite solution ever.

But then, the next day while cleaning out a box on top of my wardrobe, I came upon not one, not two and not even three but FOUR books. I got a book orgasm right there with dust surrounding me. It wasn't even awkward with Mama and the cleaner there.

What books were they? I found :

Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult

Veils of Silk by Mary Jo Putney

Tell Me Your Dreams and The Sands of Time by Sidney Sheldon.


Right now I'm rereading the first book which just gave me an urge to buy another Jodi Picoult book. Which brings me back to my perfect solution. New books.

Looks like finding those books didn't stop my desire for new ones.

Oh well. Its not a problem with me. *grins*

Peace out.

I Failed at My Novel D:

Remember my attempt at NaNoWriMo?

Yes, 50,000 words in 30 days.

Ever wonder what happened to my attempt?

Let me see, it went well during the first week. Until I found out I had to send in my report and do my presentation in 4 days time.

That took me 5 days. And my report? Got rejected twice and I finallly manage to hand it in on the last date.

18th of November.

By then, half of the month had passed. And yes. I was so down by then. And add in with other related sadness, I couldn't write at all D:

So there goes my NaNoWriMo.

*pouts*

Next year? Oh wait, I'll embark on a Hanis Novel Writing Year!

HaNoWriYe.

It sounds gorgeous. *winks*

Peace Out.