Snow Flakes Random Knit Knit Neslo Scary Dog


4. I'm drinking hot chocolate + coffee (my mat salleh version of neslo). It's fabulous -although not quite as addictive as my Kakak's neslo-, but for one detail: I bought the wrong 'type' of coffee...i was in a massive rush with my grocery shopping, and instead of buying 'instant' coffee, I grabbed the type that requires a coffee maker. So now my 'neslo' has chewy, bitter coffee bits in it.

9. It snowed so very lightly today as I was walking to class. Twas very pretty. A snow flake got caught in my eyelashes. I left it there to see how long it would remain. And then I forgot all about it. (*I just checked: it's not there now though. Pity)

10. I intend to learn how to knit (*ok, pick yourself off the floor and stop spitting blood at the thought). Elaine has assured me that I am competent enough to be able to learn it. I hope she knows that she will probably have a better chance teaching beavers how to figure skate. But I shall remain optimistic (or stab the eye of the person next to me with my knitting needles).

2.. Bread pudding with lemon glaze tastes very nice.

7. I wonder why I have so many things that are red in colour? Is red my 'favourite colour'? I'd rather not think so. I like all colours....except swamp green / brown. No, no...that could look good too.

5. I feel like I have to re-learn how to read non-academic books. Today I made a list of books I'd love to read. But this comes a day after my list of movies to watch. I fear the movie-list may be ticked off sooner, simply because of greater access to movies. Or maybe I need to expand my book circle, and start borrowing loads of people. Oh, and that place they call the library.

3. My classes this semester excite me as much as they terrify the little voices out of me. Advanced Statistics, Research Lab, History & Systems of Psychology & Psychophysiology & Perception shall be my last classes as an undergrad. *Shake, Courage, shake...

8. I miss my dog so very much. I shout out 'dog!' and point everytime I see a dog. Much like a 3 year old who has just learnt that word. Hmm.

1. I'm terrified about being interviewed for a job. I feel like I have no real skills or competencies to boast about. And I'm not even a modest person, so these feelings Really scare me.

6. I laugh alot to myself. I wonder if I do so more than others. Knowing this isn't at all important to my well-being or my life in general, yet I'm very curious.

~*~

Images that have absolutely nothing to do with anything here. Or maybe they do, in some very odd way?


Iris' Russian Balls


Sheera At The Dentist



What the fiddle sticks is this?



Happy days, mate


Sheera After the Dentist-me(a)et.

Healing


At Mass last night, Father Vincent said something that struck me.

His content of his sermon that night was in light of the anniversary of the Roe vs Wade decision. Without getting into the details of it (for others do a far better job explaining it compared to my attempts), this Supreme Court decision made abortions legal in the United States. Since then, there have apparently been about 42 million abortions (recorded).

Upon sharing this figure, Fr. Vincent very poignantly had us consider that it wasn't just the 42 million unborn children that were affected by abortion, but that at least 84 million others were, for every one of those children had a mother and a father...how tragic of us to ignore the grief and pain that they too must have felt.

So he asked us to pray that night, not only for the children who weren't born, but for these 84 millions moms and dads, who have had to carry the grief with them...he had us recognize the utmost importance of praying for their healing. Pain has a way of living through generations, surviving death and living again through newborns...if our parents carry grief and are unable to heal, that pain becomes very real to us.

There is too much pain in the world right now...so, let us pray for healing...

America the...?


*Taken from Adbusters.org

I’m in search of the real America. My cousin asked me when we were in holiday in London, what the American culture is. London is jam packed with people from every corner of the globe…most seem to still represent the distant (and not so distant) lands that they come from, even in subtle ways. Looking around, I wasn’t quite sure how to answer her. What is the budaya America? Growing up on a steady diet of American television (filtered through the censor boards), and reading, listening and viewing American foreign policy in action, I hesitated to give the standard stereotypical answers – there has to be more to America than Dubya, cheerleaders and Walmarts.

Maybe it was difficult to answer because I had grown up watching American telly, hence everything seemed rather familiar to me. Or maybe it was difficult because I’m finding it very hard to find features that stand out, because everything seems to be so…uniformed. Americans pride themselves for having qualities of independence, uniqueness, qualities that make them stand out from the rest…yet, on the few drives that I’ve had across Minnesota, and also from Minnesota to Illinois, each town we passed in different states seemed to be replicas of the previous one. Walmart, Target, McDonalds, Starbucks, Perkins…the stunning natural beauty of the American landscape littered with logos, each doing nothing to represent the state they inhabit, the town they reside it, the people they feed off. Doesn’t it seem crazy to you? Malaysia is such a tiny country, but drive four hours from KL to Kedah and you notice the difference…why do I not see that here? Or is it still here but difficult to notice, breathing its last few breaths in the corners between giant supermarkets and chain stores?

Perhaps, perhaps, and I shall go in search of it. Five months poking about a small part of America doesn’t do much justice to this search, but it’s what I’ve got for now; that, and optimism.

~*~

*I didn’t think I was the only one with these thoughts, but I had no idea there was a documentary about this. I’ve yet to watch the full doc, but the trailer looks promising. Do check it out at http://www.independentamerica.net/

Sky-high crushes


I had noticed him sitting in the BMI lounge. About twenty of us sitting there, strangers connected by the deep frustration of the irrational fog and our flight that was caught up in the fuzzy madness of it all. Each one had our own way to deal with it – one lady was busy engaged in a loud, gossipy conversation with someone called ‘luv’ on the other end of a line; one girl whined to her partner at every breathing interval while another couple kissed every 15 minutes or so (I should have timed them). Others sat blankly, thinking perhaps of the people waiting for them at the other end, their spouses growing increasingly frustrated, the children growing sleepy and cranky, waiting for mommy to return so that they could greet her and get to bed.


I wondered what stood waiting for us twenty delayed passengers, caught in a terminal…not quite in London and two hours from the Glasgow we so longed to reach. Christmas was in 2 days… were we all going back to families, to the warmth of their comfort, to ridiculous overeating of roast and pudding, drinking too much wine, and bad personal renditions of Christmas carols (possibly as a result of the wine consumption)? Or were there among us escapees, running away from family, eager to find a different kind of peace?

I wondered especially about him, what was he going to? Where was he coming from? Was the frown he carried because the flight delays kept him from family, from a loved one, or was it from the frustration of not being able to escape yet? I couldn’t quite tell… he let out a sigh, and looked up suddenly, and I looked away…

**

A three-seat row. Sigh. I truly dislike those. At least I got the window seat, grateful that my random selection of seat gained me that. I settle down and buckle up, preparing to sleep when I see the ‘stranger’ I was to squish next to…it was him. Ah. His seat was in the aisle, so there would be no ‘squishing’ (damn), but suddenly, all thoughts of sleep are abandoned. I pull out my book, and pretend to read.

**

About 500 glances later in his direction, and 1 ½ hours on the tarmac waiting for the flight to take off, I’m about to die. I have to say something to him. I don’t know why. It’s not like me at all. Blame it on the 30 something hours of traveling I’ve had to go through so far…chalk it up to tiredness, stress, crazy holiday spirit. I don’t know what it is, and frankly, I don’t quite care. All I know is that it suddenly seems really important that I say something. Talking to strange guys…yeah, a rite of passage of sorts that I suddenly feel I have to go through. So after the five hundred and first glance, I do it. My great opener. My fabulous conversation starter.

‘Would you like a piece of chocolate?’

The InnerMe rolls over and tries to die.

He looks up at me, and smiles an amused little grin, ‘No, thank you’. Ah…what a voice. What a lovely accent…a clear British accent (that would make good ol’ Mom E proud), with a hint of the Scottish tone. My heart melts a little.

Ok, so that didn’t go very far. Feeling brave, I try again. ‘So…is Glasgow your final destination?’. Turns out it is, and when he asks, I tell him I’ve got to travel to Dundee.

And so we start talking…about the weather (literally; ‘A blizzard I can understand, but a fog? A fog? – he laments over the weather that’s holding us up, to which I reply ‘Yes, well, a fog may not seem like much but I don’t know about you, but I’d like the pilot to be able to see…sight seems rather important when flying a plane’.)…about what we both do (he works in London, and is ‘in finance’…me: ‘I have to be honest, I can’t even pretend to find that interesting’…that earns me another laugh and my heart melts a little more. Gosh, I’m such a sucker). We talk about life, what we are passionate about…we speak wistfully about our dreams, where we’d love for life to take us, the paths we have traveled or hope to be travelers on…he tells me he has traveled the globe, gone to every continent except Asia...that’s next on his list. He worked in Africa for sometime, when he volunteered for the U.N. Clever, interested in cultures, a traveler, excellent conversationist, funny, volunteers AND really, really cute? I was about ready to die, except this was too good to miss, too much fun to cut short. I was so close to swooning right off my seat. I know now the importance of seat belts…forget turbulence. That pales in comparison to this. They should put this on the flight safety manual.

**

That damn fog really can’t be counted on for favors; why couldn’t it delay our landing? How rude of it to disappear, and to have us land on time…how dare it not prolong our journey and allow me more of this splendid conversation?

We land, and too quickly passengers start grabbing their stuff and filing out of the plane. I’m always very slow, I hate the rush and the pushing, and in my slowness I realize he is gone. Left the plane. Sigh. I take my stuff and leave.

But no, wait… there he is, waiting as I step off the plane. He smiles, and together we walk to baggage collection, chatting along the way, teasing each other about our families abandoning us after that long delay. He offers his phone for me to ring my cousin, and says he’ll walk with me to look for her. I sigh internally, a long, silly, happy sigh.

We chat some more, waiting for our bags to arrive. I secretly pray that our bags come last, or even better…that there has been a problem, and we’d have to wait a couple of hours for them. Oh how lovely…when I want a delay, why won’t the Universe grant me one? But never mind, for now I will be content in this, in this simple chatter and company.

Till suddenly I hear it ‘Trina?’…Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, I scream internally. Nonononononononononono… my cousin found me. I try to pretend I didn’t hear that, to will her away. I’m glad to see you but go, go go go go go…. It’s hopeless. She tries again, louder ‘Trina??’. I turn around, abandoning him, as she hugs me and starts to chat away. What am I to do? Selfish InnerKat screams ‘leave her be!!’, but I couldn’t do that…she had driven 2 ½ hours from Dundee and waited over 3 hours for me to arrive. Why, why why why oh why? Sigh. From the corner of my eye I see him pick up his bag. He looks at me and I turn to him, unsure how to do this…to bid goodbye to the best conversation with a stranger, to suddenly end it, to prematurely terminate our non-relationship. We finally resort to an awkward ‘bye, it was nice talking to you’.

He half-waves, picks up his bag, and walks away.

I look at him leave, and realize I didn’t even get his name…

Sigh.

~*~

Fogging Around in Heathrow




The Journey so Far:

-- 4 1/2 hours on the road (from Bemidji to Minneapolis)
-- 12 hour wait at someone's house (supposed to be the airport. thank God for Good Samaritans)
-- 5 hour wait in Minneapolis airport
-- 2 hour flight to Chicago
-- 5 hour wait in Chicago's O'Hare Airport
-- 7 ++ hour plane ride to London ---it all lead to: Heathrow, Terminal 1: 7.21 a.m.
-- Next flight: 9 pm (*it would later turn out to be at 1.30 a.m., followed by a 1 + hour wait on the tarmac, due to 'high traffic'. A plane traffic jam. whoo.pee.)

Surviving in Heathrow:
  1. Attempted to check in my suitcase 15 hours before my flight. That didn’t go over to well. Not entirely my fault. Cute check-in guy went through the whole process, gave me the boarding pass and so forth before realizing that my flight was 9 pm, not 9 am….From all smiles to an ‘are you seriously mental’-look. Sigh. There goes all hope with him. Why couldn't he have just told me Before all that, and saved me the embarassment? And I had already planned out our engagement party (but not the wedding, of course ; what do you think I am, crazy?)
  2. Observation: Heathrow – a terribly hideous airport. But thankfully, the complete lack of any form of loveliness (or imagination, or creativity for that matter) is made up for by the very, very good looking travelers that use it as a pit spot in their globe trekking.
  3. Realization: long hours of nothingness reduces me to a state of complete shallowness. It’s a form of survival ; by functioning at a reduced state of being, I need less to get by. And if ‘appreciating the scenery’ is all I need, then it’s a good thing I was at Heathrow.
  4. Sat down for almost 12 hours straight, without leaving my seat. Now, it wasn’t quite by choice.because of the fog, the airport was a nightmare, jam packed with travelers. That I actually got a seat was a miracle. And I wasn’t going to give it up to the vultures that hung around, waiting for me to raise my bum slightly off the seat so that they could pounce on it like starved, rabid beasts ('it' being the seat, Not my 'bum'). Hah! I will not be defeated. I will instead sit here, cramped in pain, in desperate need of bladder release, food for my starved tummy, for that is surely more desirable than defeat.
  5. Took about 15 naps. Managed to control not drooling by the 6th nap.
  6. Chatted with a lovely, 'distinguished'-looking elderly British lady, who reminded me so much of Dame Judi Dench. She so kindly lent me her cell phone so that I could call my cousins and let them know the status of my flight...and she offered without me asking!
  7. Had a nice little conversation with a man from Hong Kong, who lived in Glasgow for 15 years but now works in Dublin. He had such an odd accent – and it’s no wonder...
  8. Eves-dropped on about a hundred different conversations.
  9. Noticed that people in Heathrow kiss a lot more than in any other airport I’ve been in.
  10. Had a wonderful time chatting and colouring a Shrek picture-book with a 4 year old girl called Isla. The sweetest girl I've ever met. *Isla: "I don't have any cousins. Some people don't have cousins, you know. Oh...I'm sure you already know that" (said in a darling little British accent). *heart melts

**more of crawling through UK soon.



Mother



*Taken from Malaysian Airlines' in-flight magazine, Going Places, January 2007

Eat Your Way To Happiness


Could comfort foods be causing our mental distress?

Two recent UK studies have linked somersaulting mental illness rates to changes in eating habits over the past 50 years, and particular, to the low intake of essential fas & antioxidants in our modern industrialized diets.

Fresh produce consumption has plummeted 34% in 60 years, the vegetables we do eat grown on exhausted soils, have reduced levels of nutrients, and industrial farming techniques have fundamentally altered the biochemistry of animals we consume. Chickens reach slaughter weight twice as fast as they did 30 years ago, but must haul around carcasses containing 22 % fat, instead of two, to do so.

Perhaps then, the only surprise in January's reports from the Mental Health Foundation and Sustain was that it took so long to spot the dietary link to modern mental woes of ADHD, Alzheimer's, schizophrenia and exponentially increasing rates of depression in every generation since WWII.

But there is a ray of hope, as the Mental Health Foundation chief executive Andrew McCulloch points out, "It costs $1 750 a week to keep someone in a psychiatric hospital. How much does good food cost?"

*taken from the Journal of the Mental Environment (AdBusters), May/June 2006

Same Mould No More


I killed them all today.

The green and white, gray and brown hopefuls that crouched in drawers and perched on shelves. Even the innocent little pink flecks that peeked out of a few mushroom-y ones were destroyed.

What was I to do? I give them an inch, they grow five!

How was I to know they’d take on a life of their own? Was I really left with any other choice but to empty, scrub, spray, wash (repeat process)?But do I feel guilty? No.

Well, maybe just a little – for perhaps, just perhaps, I single handedly rinsed away what could have been a significant contribution to our ecosystem.

But ah, that guilt is overshadowed by the complete satisfaction of a spanking clean fridge, stocked with fresh soy milk cartons, fruit and vege. How proud I am. How satisfactory this feels. Every now and then, I peek in, to admire the glorious freshness of it all.

Ah, no mould no more.

(Until next month that is).