Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Welcome 2010 :)

Due to my overexcitement, I decided to post a new entry on New Year’s Eve instead. :D

Welcome 2010! :) 1431 has been good so far, and here’s hoping that 2010 will be blessed by Allah as well.

In my honest opinion, out of all the years I have lived in this world, 2009 is by far, the greatest year for me, and that’s because of the following…


It’s a dream for all Muslims around the world to at least perform Hajj once in their lifetime, and I managed to accomplish it at a young age. You have no idea how fortunate I was. And you have no idea how many kept telling me how fortunate I was. XD


This is the changing point of my life. Moving here opens up my mind about a lot of things, especially regarding things that I considered pointless while I was still in Malaysia.


It was exactly on February 2009 when I decided to take the plunge and prove my worth. After much perseverance and sleepless nights, I was ready to show the world about the awesomeness that is me. 8D *vomit* And I did! On 29 December 2009, I’ve finally published my debut e-book. Yet, I’m still a novice, and no doubt I won’t be exempted from imperfection and flaws, but at least I’ve made a mark of myself. :)


The ability to freely converse in another language has never ceased to astonish me. ;D Sometimes, I wish I know every language there is in this planet. 8D


Forever grateful to have them in my life again. <3


Like chyeaaahhhhh XDDDDD

…okay, did I forget anything? =.= Hmm…well, I will probably update this list if I remember anything else. If I have more of them, that is. 8D


I hope that this year will be as blessed as 2009.


Yeahh this feels great. :D

So until then…

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2010 (*^^*)

The reason for this photo...

It was a cold night…

And the night was very cold…

I wore layers of clothes but still, it was very cold...

Enough with the coldness, I suppose it was kind of cool…

That we went mad on the webcam, acting like a fool…

Look look! I rhymed… :D

Anyway, we were in the middle of a webcam session, when my friend decided to say, “Let’s celebrate New Year now!”

Me: O.O

So I typed, “It’s not New Year yet!”

A loud *ding* shattered my eardrums.



So we decided to tease (or celebrate I guess...) each other by taking a couple of random screenshots…

And here it is, the first post in my blog that actually has my face…o.o

Okay, enough about that. DX

To conclude this post (and 2009 as well) let me show you the last greatest thing of 2009!

The iMac!


I received it yesterday. It's awesome. :D

Okay, that’s all. :D

p/s: Can’t wait for the Lunar New Year XDDD

Sunday, December 27, 2009

2010: Achieving My Dream. Hopefully.

This will be my last post in 2009, and after the strange dream I’d experienced last night, I decided to get this over with and talk about my dream.

It was a quite long-neglected dream.

Until Nashuha decided to say…

I suggest you to write a novel. Seriously.

That comment is seriously one of the greatest comments I’ve ever received in my life. It made me motivated, somehow, and I was smiling ear to ear for days.

She didn’t know this, but I’ve written plenty of novels. It all started when I was fourteen and foolish, basking in the glory of Kpop instead of school and examinations, joining various forums just because it was fun.

It was fun. They taught me how to make graphics using Photoshop, I learned another language (not Korean though, but Japanese lol), I gained a couple of great friends, but the thing that caught my deepest attention was the fanfiction forum. It was amusing how their imagination could run wild, prompting them to write about their favorite idols and such. For the longest time, I refrained myself from reading those, because you know how fanfics are, but in the end, I relented, and read one of the fanfics that had the most comments…

It was awesome. At least, I thought so at the time. I was very impressed that I even commented…

If your novel were to get published, I would surely buy it.

She was thrilled, naturally, but after a note of thank you, that was it. I thought that was the end, when suddenly, she sent me a private message.

I’ve just created a new fanfic forum! There’s a lot of great fanfics here, and maybe you could write one too.

I was intrigued.

Well, not about the amount of great fanfics, but more of the notion that I could write one too.

That thought made me quiver, because aside from school assignments, I’ve never written anything like this.

But I took the plunge, and wrote my first one-shot fanfic.


The feedbacks I received were spectacular, and I can’t help but write more.


After a couple of short stories, they urged me to write a novel, of which I did, because they made me think that people appreciate my works after all.

So I wrote my first novel ever.


More and more ideas began to land in my brain, and I found myself constantly jotting down the plot and writing more of the madness that is fanfics.


However then, I was out of the loop for a while. I had a big examination when I was fifteen, and there were some personal issues that needed to be taken care of. Thus, slowly, gradually, I began to drift away from the community, no longer touching Photoshop, no longer touching Microsoft Word.

Besides, at that time, I didn’t have a laptop, only the family computer. And the computer was placed in the living room, facing everyone who passed by. You bet everyone can see what I was doing, and everyone in the house knew that I had new hobbies and apparently, skills. And those are Photoshop and writing.


I didn’t write for nearly three years after that, nor did I touch Photoshop and meddled with the graphics. Personal issues conquered my life, and I plainly didn’t care anymore. But my love for writing rekindled when my brother gave me his old e-book reader, and my father gave me his old laptop. By the time I was 18, I have completely submerged myself with the world of literature, away from the community, away from everything else…I suppose.

Having a personal laptop gave me superb privacy, and I found myself writing a story. The first serious story I’ve ever concocted.


That is to say, one of the reasons I took up writing again was because I was almost always being referred to as the ‘extra baggage’ of my family or…the black sheep, for the lack of word. Most of them (excluding my family of course) underestimated my capability, and probably thought that I’m waiting for my parents to marry me off.

Not that I wasn’t smart or anything, but again, personal issues.




Another reason for my sudden inspiration was because I somehow stumbled across Jane Green’s blog (I watched her on The Martha Stewart Show and I looked at her and thought…who is she again? So I googled her XD) and she wrote something motivational that kept me hanging on that hope for months.

She wrote, if you’re going to be a writer, then you need to write a book. And not just write, finish it. Make it complete. Don’t worry about publishing and all that madness. If you have a book under your wings, then everything will be fine.

I took that advice very, very seriously.

So when I was 18, I finished writing my first serious novel ever.

It felt good. Very good.


My mom urged me to ask my father to review it, since he was the greatest writer in our family, and he reads a lot.

My dad gave me a lot of harsh criticisms and quite awesome advices.

Example would be…you should write like this because…you need to do this to excite the readers…don’t do this because…bla bla bla he really commented a lot.

The odd thing was, he’s a busy man I guess, and often forgot to read my story. I’d be, “Umm dad? Have you read my novel? =.=” (not exactly willing because he would criticize for sure but whatever)

And he’ll say, “Oh yes oh yes.” *opens the documents* =.= *cue for harsh criticisms*

So yeah, he only read a few lines here and there…not sure if he understood the story. XD

But better than nothing, yeah definitely.

His pointers made sense, so I took them all in and implemented those in my writing. I began to read books avidly as well, memorizing the dictionary, studying the grammar, all the while constructing plots and characters.

So exactly on February 2009, I wrote the first prologue for my book, Metamorphosis.

And on April 2009 with bloodshot eyes and extremely skinny condition, I finished writing the book.

I felt freedom I’ve never felt before. Even the freedom of examination didn’t taste quite as sweet as this.

Now what? I thought. Maybe I should get it published.


However, living in a country like Malaysia didn’t give me much opportunity in publishing an English book. Most of the publishers wanted Malay manuscript, and here I have in my laptop is an English book…

But there was one English publisher in my country, so I tested my luck and sent them my manuscript.

This was their reply.

I’m sorry to say but due to recent recession in the economy, we decided to reduce our book publications. And sadly, your book wasn’t the type that we were looking for right now.


True enough, after that, I went to the bookstore, and all they published were autobiographies.

I decided to forget the whole matter, but my mother encouraged me to ask for another publication house, preferably international.

But almost all of those international publication houses and agents wanted the hardcopy of my manuscript. And I live so far away, and they even want to meet the author. I mean, that was simply impossible.

So I tried to find Singapore’s publication houses, and I found one. I sent them an email, and sure enough, they rejected me.

Again, same excuse, economic recession.

After that, I decided not to bother anymore.

Only two rejections and I was giving up?? Sure, there are no more agencies to ask. And I didn’t know where to ask either.

Still, I read a lot. Reading has become a hobby of mine out of a sudden. And I learned a lot by reading. Like what made me intrigued, what bores me to death, what was lame, what was awesome…

I tried to write in Malay, because I still dream of being an author, but I CAN’T.


I’ll write…

Dan dia…


Pada suatu hari…


Dia berasa…



So Malay novels are out of the questions. Obviously. X.x

I did search for ways to publish independently after that, but everything seemed like too much a hassle, since I’m working on my own.



Anyway, I’ve since forgotten about that dream, only relishing my writing passion on my blog, until Nashuha decided to comment…

I suggest you to write a novel. Seriously.

But I’ve wrote them! (yeah I know you didn’t know Nashuha :P)

Nonetheless…what to do. I have no idea how to get it published anyway.

And as if coincidence decided to toy me around, I stumbled across this tweet on twitter…

“The risk of not trying is far greater than the risk of putting yourself out there and trying.”

I was motivated. Inspired. All of those things.

And everything began to land in my mind.

Including this little e-book publisher that I saw on Stanza (an apps on iPhone). I’ve been meaning to check them out, but it always slipped my mind.

This time, I was not as forgetful.

I checked their rules, and honestly, their regulations are pretty lenient. Everyone can publish, I suppose none would be rejected, only those who didn’t follow their rules.

It was like a dream comes true.

The only obstacle holding me back is I don’t have a cover.

Hence, Nashuha, the butterfly. :D

















Do you believe in coincidence? :D Back then, I don’t. Now, I’m not so sure anymore.





Nashuha, we need to discuss this. ;o

Anyway, hopefully, 2010 will give more opportunities in achieving my dream.

Personally, I’m not that concerned about the amount of books I’ll sell.

What I really want, was for me to have the chance of contributing to the society instead of sitting around like an useless junk. Hey, maybe my book will be in the bottom of the list, but at least I’ve done something remarkable once in my life, at least I’ve done SOMETHING that I loved, and at least, I’ve stamped myself with…Huda: Author.

Better than Huda: Unemployed. Or Huda: that useless person. Or even Huda: future dumb housewife.


I’m certainly not leeching off my family’s fortune, waiting to be married to some husband so I can leech him off too. I want people to see me just like my other siblings; independent, smart, creative, talented, and certainly not the black sheep.






Itgoessomethinglike…I am the black sheep of the family~


So that is my hope for 2010. I hope opportunity will open its gate for me, and make my dream comes true.


Hope I didn’t hurt your brain while reading this post. 8D

p/s: oh and that strange dream last night. I dreamt that my book was published, but there was so many typos and grammatical errors i nearly dieeeee DX

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

This explains a lot of things...probably.

I slept at 3 a.m. for a week NAO.

And strangely become too active on Facebook and Twitter and Dailybooth…

Because of this.

Completed draft – 226 pages, 104,881 words.

Currently proofing – 137 pages, 61,447 words.

Maybe I’ll reach 300 pages. Huzzah!

So my recent activity…

*type type type*
*bored bored bored*
*fb fb fb*
*type some more*
*twitter twitter twitter*
*type type type*
*mail mail mail*
*finish one chapter!!!*
*dailybooth till mad*


Lack of sleep.


That concludes this post of the day.

Now let me type some more. At MS Word I mean.


(I wrote this, because I was boreddd….)

(and hang out with too many teenyboppers. NG NG NG D: Makes your brain freeze. Kinda.)

Sunday, December 20, 2009

The Adventures of Mr. Blu: Depressed Mr. Blu

It was a lovely Tuesday morning, when Blu decided to say...

Bewildered, I spluttered, "But you have me!"

He merely sighed, averting his gaze away from me.

"Oh," was my initial reaction, but suddenly, it was obvious. His posture, his expression, his demeanor, everything seemed to point at the same thing.

There was no denying it.

"You want a partner, don't you?"

He paused, and vaguely answered...

He wasn't confirming it, nor was he denying it.

I decided to press harder.

"Tell me the truth, buddy."

It proved to be ineffective to him, because he just sat there, staring at nothing at all, a faint sound escaped from his lungs...

I had enough.


The firmness of the tone caught him off-guard, causing him to sit upright and loudly blurted...

I need not raised my voice to make him squirm in agony.

“Okay then.”

He gasped, his face shocked beyond words.

To be continued.

P/S: This is what happened when tension gets to my head and agitation claims my soul. D: Totally random I KNOW D:

Greetings from Blu! :D

Blu says Hi!

Blu was first born on DailyBooth, because apparently I don't have enough distractions going on in my life >.> [/sarcasm]

Well then, Blu...I'll await for more of your appearance! If you were going to appear at all, that is. D:

Love ya Blu :D

Friday, December 18, 2009

Ins and Outs - December Edition

Another break from those Hajj posts...because I'm working on fulfilling my dream OMG XO

I was inspired by this particular quote.. "The risk of not trying is far greater than the risk of putting yourself out there and trying." (from The Daily Love on Twitter)

So I am risking everything and putting myself out there. And trying. Oh yeah. =]

Anyway, I suddenly felt like doing this kind of post. The Ins and keep track of myself.

So here it is - The Ins and Outs of December!

>Inspiration juice is definitely in. Always count on a good book to keep your mind flourishing.
>And so is makeup...I was out of the loop for a while, but my interest in them has rekindled.
>And so is k-pop...apparently. Somehow rekindled itself.
>Movies. I want to watch more and more movies. That is absurd. I'm even thinking of doing a movie review. I must be out of my mind. XO
>Books. How odd it is that I still don't have a favorite yet.
>Twitter. I suddenly love Twitter too much.
>Youtubers. Why oh why??!! XD
>Opera songs and symphonic metal songs. Haven't heard those in ages.
>Kohl. Wear it everyday XD
>Blogs...kind of searching for new things to read each day.

Wow. No wonder I seem to lack the time in the world. Ceit.

>j-pop. Not that interested anymore.
>arabic music. I'm listening to too much kpop and symphonic metals nowadays aish. Not good. Need to rekindle this love back.
>arabic series. I'm watching too much movies...not good. not good. Need to watch more arabic series.
>Various games. Hardly play it anymore.

Let's see how I'll fare next month. :D

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Hajj 1430 - Part 4 - A Day in Mina (II)

The city of Mina~ :D

The sky was exceptionally beautiful during my first day in Mina. Thick clouds decorated the twilight sky, gently swaying to the soft beat of the wind. The soft shade of lavender began to dissolve at a mere touch of the tangerine hue, creating such a contrast sky of purple and orange, tempting me to grab my camera and snap the enthralling view until the atmosphere scowls at me for blinding their visions with the flashes of the camera.

But I was too busy distressing about my pukey condition.

All I did at that time was glanced at the sky, noted how spectacular it was, averted my gaze back toward the busy tents, totally lost in direction, all the while asking the staff, “El-hammam? Hammam? Fein?”

Toilets, I mean. Where?

They showed me the directions, led me toward the destination, and finally, I arrived, with a faint dizziness engulfing my head.

I’m not sure how many toilet stalls did we have; the thought of calculating must have slipped my mind—puke and all—but there must be at least…ten. And eight water pipes for ablution. Or maybe ten.

Anyhow, all those eighteen spots—or maybe twenty—were filled with people, and behind them, stood a long trail of people, impatiently waiting for their turn while grunting aloud at the slowness of the pace.

I stilled.

Truthfully, I was scared.

Honestly, I feared for my hygiene.

I even thought of cutting my liquid intake so that I would be excused from using the loo.

And how to bathe? Oh, the thought sent agony down my spine.

I was deeply perturbed.

I remembered back when I used to attend boarding school (I only went there for a week—personal reason), the crowded restrooms traumatized me so much that I ended up waking at 4 in the morning for my shower routine.

Others woke up at 5.

It was nice, really nice, because the toilets were all empty and the morning breeze was still pure and untainted by the students’ morning breaths. I enjoyed being the first student in the school to experience such solitude.

Well, first in the school seemed like too much of an exaggeration. First in the dormitory, then.

Anyhow, those were fun times, but this particular memory was not one of those. I suppose I fidgeted a bit while waiting in the queue, because a voice greeted me out of nowhere, quietly inquired, “Ruh el-hammam?”

Did I look like I’m suppressing a pee? I must have, because she asked if I need to use the toilet.

Stretching my lips in what I hoped was an adequate smile, I answered, “La.” Pointing at the ablution spot, I continued, “Wudhu.”

She nodded understandably—or maybe not, I wouldn’t know—before entering the toilet herself.

Some people can be quite nice.

After a couple of minutes waiting for splashes of water to purify my skin, I finally had the chance of performing my ablution. By this time, my hands and face smelled horrifically terrible, and even after vigorously washing it off, the stench still lingered on my skin.

Oh well, it was not as if anyone was going to kiss me on the cheek, or kiss my hands anyway.

If they do…

Well, I could run or something.

It didn’t happen, thankfully.

I am forever grateful.

Feeling refreshed and contented, I started to walk toward the musollah.

Wherever that was.

I truly had no idea; I just followed those who had performed their ablution, or those who seemed like they were heading toward the musollah.

I found it, of course.

The musollah was larger than our tents—I think—there were four carpets—again, I think—laid down on the floor. It was a tent as well, white and flimsy, void of any real doors, only revealing openings for other people to enter and pray or do whatever they want. And by that, I obviously meant, reading the Quran, or Zikr, or…sleep?

The musollah was indeed breezier than our tent; I was tempted to doze off as well, if not for the limited space. Every nook and cranny was filled with people wanting to perform their prayer, and it was defiantly impossible to find a small spot for a little nap.

Nevertheless, I prayed, and then quietly returned to my tent. I experienced a little difficulty in locating my tent, but at the end, I survived the maze.

Upon entering, my eyes caught the sight of an aunt leisurely sitting on the floor while sipping her coffee.

That surprised me a bit. I initially thought, Ya Rab she brought her own coffee!

She was talking to my mother, expressing how in this chillingly crisp morning, a cup of coffee was necessary to replenish her energy. I also managed to overhear, “Tahukan kantin kat mana?”

She asked whether we noticed the location of the canteen.


Wait, we have one of those?

Oh. Right. No wonder. I mean, where could she find the hot water for her coffee?



Where was that again?

“Ya, ya,” my mother nodded. “Depan surau.”

In front of the musollah?

I tried my hardest to remember about a significant canteen in front of the musollah…

I failed.

I seriously need to pay more attention to the world.

My mother shifted her attention to me, simultaneously suggested, “Why don’t you go to the canteen and check it out?”

I raised my brows.



Where was that again?

However, before I could open my mouth to let out a witless reply, the melodic sound of Adzan pierced our ears.

Baffled, my mother remarked, “Bukan dah Adzan ke tadi?”

She thought she heard the Adzan ages ago.

“Yeah,” another aunt acceded, “At the toilet, right?”

My mother casted an expected look at me.

Why were you looking at me—

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

I tried to shrug, nonchalantly, if I may add, but then the aunt with the coffee quickly interjected before my shoulders could be lifted, “Yeah, but I looked at my watch, and saw that it was not in time yet.”

They began to talk about the time differences of Fajr prayer in Makkah, Jeddah, Madinah and other places, while I exhaled a deep relief of successfully evading the subject.

I didn’t hear the Adzan. Really, I heard nothing during my visit to the toilette.

My mind must have wandered elsewhere—right. I was reminiscing about my boarding school days.

Oh well.

My mother decided to redo our Fajr prayer, so I followed her lead. Then, I met up with my sister, and we decided to go to the canteen together.

Which was only like, exactly in front of the musollah.

It was quite big too.

I am so ditzy I can’t believe myself. How can I not see that?!

There was a huge refrigerator placed near the entrance, filled with every juice and soda imaginable. Next to it was a long table, holding four—I think—water heater for hot beverages. Sachets of coffee, tea and sugar were arranged in a basket, neatly placed near the water heater. There was an equally large table in the center of the canteen as well, but at that time, there was nothing on top of it. At the other side however, there were plates of what looked to be curry, but being overwhelmed, we decided to snatch one later.

We walked deeper into the canteen, and there was a small pantry with a staff handing out packets of biscuits and cartons of milk. We went to grab some milk, and she gave us two, but since there were three of us, we asked for another one.



And we successfully obtained three milks!

Rejoiced, we went back to grab the curry…

Until we saw it.

The bread.

The bread of Arab.

The bread.


You know, again, this post has grown too long!

To be continued. Again.

Wah I must’ve been writing nonsense because the morning in Mina still hasn't end yet XD

P/S: My mother rarely speaks English. In fact, I don't think she speaks it at all, but I try to be speculative. She speaks Malay almost all the time (again, vague), so any conversation that involves her with English words are just me being lazy to type in Malay and later translate into English. lol

~Awal Muharram~

I decided to take a break from all these Hajj posts, and dedicate my 50th post (or 46th, if excluding those other posts) on the start of the new Hijriah Year!

Now that 2009 is nearly lowering its curtain to make way for 2010, and 1430 will end in a couple of hours, I thought I’d make a post about wish lists and whatnot.

And so…here it is.

I wish…
>Everyone’s deep wishes would come true. Especially my family and friends. Because you know, you thought you wanted this, but deep in your heart, you actually wanted something else. I asked a couple of them of what they want, and they want this and that, but then I thought, I should just pray that their deepest wishes would come true. That is all.
>I can speak Arabic fluently, like a native, if that’s possible.
>I have better health.
>I have better opportunities.
>My inspiration won’t ever, ever dry down.
>Someone to read my work.
>The courage to ask someone to read my work.
>Would you read my work? No. Forget it.
>Things won’t change for the worse.

I kind of wish…
>I have a Coach Poppy bag.
>And a pair of Coach Poppy flats.
>Chanel stuff.
>L’occitane stuff.
>Benefit stuff?
>I’m being materialistic. But I really want a new bag.
>I don’t know. I need to think. Hmm.
>Oh yeah! I wish I have Harry Potter books in Arabic. :D

I will update this post once I’ve thought it through. lol


I was clearing my HDD the other day.

And I somehow stumbled across an old YM conference.

The conference brought back fond memories, something that used to curl my lips upwards for weeks.

We were goofing around, role-playing instead of merely chitchatting. I remembered how my mother used to yell at me for continuously YM-ing and didn’t do anything productive.

I suppose that was why I left the whole community.

Duchess, the one who always stood by the Queen’s side, even though her Duke husband cheated her off or something to that extend.
Princess, and her rebellious nature of running away with her true love instead of marrying the prince that the Queen had chosen.
Maid, the one who took care of the royal family loyally, despite how her beloved footman lived in the other kingdom.
Bear, who stood by the Princess, no matter how rebellious she was, and stood by the Queen, no matter how forgetful she was.

And of course, the kings, the duke, the princes, the footmen, and all those imaginary characters…

The Queen (me) truly miss all of you! (yes, including those imaginary ones)

And recently, I came across a thread in a forum, mentioning my username…

They asked if anyone knows where I am right now.

No one really knows, of course.

I still remember, after leaving the land of forgetfulness (how contradictory…), I used to jump into the mm wagon and spend my entire day doing nothing but mere chitchatting.

Until I realized how such activity seems to lack productivity, so I decided to leave them altogether.

I know how terrible I am, but leaving discreetly is undeniably better than announcing your departure.

Because that way, I wouldn’t keep visiting them again, reading their replies on my goodbye letter.

At least this way, I can forever forget them, and they will do so with me.

As they say.

Internet is a place where cowards could roam free.

And cowards include me, I guess.

From the bottom of my heart…

I’m sorry. m(_ _)m

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Hajj 1430 - Part 3 - A Day in Mina (I)

(ok right. So. Why is that Twitter widget displaying the account of someone else? Wait what? o.o)

(ok that was settled. hmm.)


I was downed with a terrible fever.

And by terrible, I mean, extremely incomprehensibly out-of-this-world-in-your-face terrible *dies*

Hence the lack of updates.


Anyhow, as mentioned before in my cliffhanger, my mouth somehow managed to extort the contents of my stomach out from the dark pit of my hole and into the filthy world, staining my hijab and abaya with the awful unprocessed leftovers, further manifesting the air with its horrible stench and causing me to bear the image of a walking corpse.

Okay, I did not say that. But that was exactly what’d happened…in a nutshell.

I suppose I was in luck at the time. My dinner only consisted of breads and biscuits—nothing too heavy, nothing too icky—so it wasn’t that horrible. Also, as customary per Saudi’s rule, every female was required to wear black garments in public, so I didn’t look that messed up—maybe. Hopefully.

At least the blackness of it all conveniently hid every little speck of stains from the eyes of mortals, enough to blind them from seeing my horrific state. I couldn’t be more grateful. Really. No joke. I was grateful that I wore black from head to toe. Literally. Really.

However, I did consume those edible little white things called bread and biscuit, so you bet that some of the whitish residues were still hanging on my clothes, desperately trying to contaminate me with that ferocious willpower of theirs, holding to their last breaths, wanting their existence to be noticed by all of these mortals alike, anything in their power to make me appear the least graceful…

I will not let that happen, obviously.

My mother handed me a small towel to wipe the residues away, but it proved to be incapable of battling the rest of them out of my clothes. She told me to use my handkerchief then, but really, my handkerchief was filled with booger and phlegm and all those nasty stuff—I didn’t want my hijab to suffer such a disgusting end. D:

*I’m being melodramatic, I know*

Thankfully, the residues weren’t that noticeable after several wipes, and the wetness wasn’t apparent either, thanks to the garment being black. But I still smelled horrible, no thanks to the black.

To put it simply, I smelled like dead fish, fishy and stinky, not to mention, sticky.

I rhymed! :D



After frantically wiping my vomit away with the pukey towel and booger handkerchief, the bus continued his hiccupping, but several minutes later, the bus no longer performed the notion, rigidly standing with zilch movement, only releasing the busting sound of engine into my ears.

I was fumed with desperation—I thought the traffic had no longer jammed but glued together instead. Take note, the windows were securely veiled, and in the state that I was in, I was too exhausted to even lift the curtain, so I had no idea that the reason for the sudden bus freeze was because we had finally arrived.


It was not until the males started standing and retrieving their luggage from the upper compartment did I realize that we had finally reached our destination. Relieved, I primed myself, making sure that I looked presentable. I waited for the door to open, because aside from the nauseating air, I was afraid that my uncouth behavior would repeat itself.

And by that, I mean the puking. Obviously.

I waited for the door to open, counting the seconds, pushing the gas in my lungs all in. Since I sat at the heart of the bus, the first line of the females, the door was exactly on my right. Thus, I had a greater chance to be the first to waltz out.

I was proven wrong. Instead of jolting out of the door, my mother quickly dashed out faster than me, carrying my vomit bag with her.


For a moment, I thought she wanted to escape the horrible stench of my puke, but apparently not.

I considered waiting for my sister—she sat directly behind the door—but the gas in my lungs prompted me—no—forced me to dolt out of the bus as fast as possible. Discreetly vomiting was one thing, publicly puking was…downright humiliating.

So off I went, and after a while, my sister followed my suit, but as she was about to gracefully step down, the bus started moving.

The slight movement caused uproar by the passengers, and panicking, my sister refused to free herself from the clutches of the bus. But I said, “Come on, jump!” because really, the bus was moving in a speed that could match a turtle. It moved because it was giving some space to the bus behind it. Duh.

She listened. And she jumped. While the bus was moving.

Kind of dangerous, sure, but no harm was done. Like I said, the bus wasn’t moving in such a high speed anyway.

We stood near our luggage, watching our dad unloading the rest of the bags from the bus’s stomach. I was still feeling anxious, and agitatedly, I asked my sister, “Do I look weird?”

And she answered, “No. You look normal.”

And by normal, she meant…

I shuddered at that.

Anyway, I didn’t trust her.

Not one bit.

Because I was certain that others were staring at me strangely.

I know it.

They can see the leftover puke.


I feigned ignorance, and I was not sure how effective that was, but anyway, I followed my group into the city of tents, my eyes loudly scanning the place about, my brain refused to cooperate, causing a minor conflict in my system, disabling my conscious to comprehend every single information that flew right in front of my nose. I was not even sure about the exact route to my tent, the place that I was in, the exit, the front gate—all I saw was tents, and more tents, and a whole lot of tents, and more of those…white tents.


Moving on.

We moved with the pace, passing several tents in the process, referring to our Hajj’s tag for our tent’s number—mine was 31—hearing the directions from the staff—but I was in such a dreamy state to notice, or even comprehend, their laser words—before finally, we arrived at a fairly large tent.

Upon entering, I was mentally impressed, since hey, the place looked mighty comfortable! Two giant carpets were neatly laid on the sore ground, hiding any trace of potential coldness experienced by the lack of floor. Twenty sofabeds were stacked side by side, neatly arranged near the flimsy tent’s wall. A cozy-looking pillow peeked from the head of the bed, accompanied by a furry blanket, inviting the heavy-lidded and sleepyhead for a momentary doze. I was intrigued.

Still, the clock had just strike 5, and the Fajr prayer will be in time at any moment now, so a brief nap was out of question. A nap could lead to greater things, you see. A sleep, for example.

I sat on the sofabed, gazing at nothing at all, hearing the outbreak of a supposedly minor error from the management—there was a slight mistake in arranging the people in our tent—all the while wanting to be invisible.

It didn’t work, apparently.

I tried to dissolve into the wind, become invisible, gone, far beyond, and I was too immersed in that particular idea that I nearly didn’t realize the aunt in front of me had took the liberty of actually talking to me, piercing my thick skull with her question, albeit pleasant, “Tired?”

I was caught off guard.

Oh scratch that, I was always caught off guard.

Anyway, that was awkward.

Because really, tired from a mere bus ride? For real?

If a mere bus ride could strip all of your energy in one blow, then how are you going to withstand the hardness of the Hajj’s deal? Really, how?

That did it.

I felt a chilled breeze prickling my face.

So in my defense, this was what I answered.







To be continued. D:

Because this post had grown really long, you see. :|

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Hajj 1430 - Part 2 - Jeddah to Mina

Continuing the amazing tale of yours truly…

The colleague of my father—simply known as Mr. Bandar, drove a nice Toyota Corolla, a car he usually takes whenever he needs to drive his passengers around. He's pretty nifty with the road, slick with the shortcuts and all, but I have a certain problem with cars in general—they made me nauseous.

I have no problem with 4WD, so that’s quite a mystery.

I’m not trying to be ultra-spoiled or anything, it's just that maybe the way they drove their car was too vehement and adventurous, which made my brain rebelled with anger and shook the nerves with fury, further causing my head to spin, and my stomach to churn, urging my system to blackmail me with potential vomit bursting out of my mouth. Perhaps that’s it.

So, feeling nauseous and all, I tried to sleep it off, but that was impossible apparently, so I tried to control myself, and so, I did just that, sucking the vomit all in, and finally, at long last, we arrived in front of the Al-Mi3ad’s office at 6PM, with the contents in my stomach fully intact.

Arriving, we were enlightened with the fact that none of the Malaysians had arrived yet.

Well of course, when the bus was expected to arrive on 10PM, you would expect that no one in their right minds would come four hours before the schedule.

Except for those who live far away from Jeddah, that is.

And by ‘those’, I’m referring to my family, obviously.

It was a good thing that there’s a musallah near to the office. It was fairly empty, so we were able to do anything to our hearts’ content.

Uh…not really.

The musallah is a public praying hall, with transparent glass wall and no barrier for the women’s section. At least in Malaysia, there is a thick veil covering the male and female section, but there’s none here.

We can pray alright, but if you’re thinking of doing something else, then I suppose it’s not that appropriate.

Not exactly good if you’re thinking of taking a nap.

Which you might want to if you need to wait for another four hours.

It was a good thing that the place was relatively remote with barely any person visible, or else we would feel—at the very slightest—uncomfortable hanging out in the musallah, sitting around, waiting for the bus while munching cookies.

Because you know, who does that in a musallah?

So off we waited, performing the Maghrib and Isyak prayer, studying the Hajj’s guide once more, reading the Al-Quran, munching cookies, stuff like that…

Until we had enough and decided to mingle a bit.

The staff at the Al-Mi3ad’s office noticed our expressions of boredom, so he took a medium sized rag, positioning it on the side of the office and ordered us to sit there.

We sat there for a moment, but then I stood.

It felt very odd to sit right in the middle of the path.

So I stood, walking here and there, and right on time, just as I was lazily pacing back and forth in front of the office, the sound of Adzan broke the peaceful night, summoning all the Muslims to perform the Isyak prayer together.

We had already jama3 our prayer, so it didn’t apply to us. And it was a good thing that we left the musallah early, because really, imagine sitting there while the males populating the space in the musallah, and you tried to exit from the land of males, wouldn’t that be difficult? Odd? Embarrassing, even?

So yeah, we waited outside of the office (since the office is too small to fit us all in, and besides, they didn’t allow females in either), occasionally checking the musallah to see if they’ve finished their prayer or not…

Which of course they haven’t.

Because Saudis (or maybe all Arabians, I don’t know) begin their prayer fifteen minutes after the Adzan. You bet the waiting was strenuous.

Long story short, the praying finally finished, and we waited in the musallah again. My nausea had subsided as well, and by 10, we decided to leave our shell and greet the snails. Heeh.

I’m not the friendliest person on earth, but I think I’ve proven to others to be quite the cold and gloomy person, first impression-wise.

There's a reason for that! I can't concentrate on anything else whenever my brain decided to do her dirty work.

And by dirty work, I meant analyzing stuff.

First of all, I was shocked to see the Malaysians in Jeddah. How on earth could they survive wearing colorful hijabs and trendy abaya? And some of them even had white abaya on, and I was like, “Oh, you can wear that here?” :O

Mental shock, I know…

I’ve been to Jeddah for a couple of times, and yeah, I do notice how some had colorful hijabs on their heads, but that was only…5% of the majority.

And I thought those 5% were tourists, not expats.

To see those 5% right in front of my eyes at the same time was quite of a shock.

I was accustomed of seeing women thoroughly in black with only a slit of eyes visible behind their veil, so to see them dressed quite differently compared to me made me felt a bit queasy…and I was not even wearing my niqab.

At that time, I concluded that those are the ways of Malaysians in Jeddah. I suppose Jeddah was not as strict as other states, and the mentalities of Jeddah’s people are probably far more opened than the rest of the Arabians.

So anyway, half an hour after that, we boarded the bus, taking our seat while the leader handing out the sajjadah (if we’d known they’d give us this, we wouldn’t bring ours in the first place), our name tag and face masks.

Then it was waiting time. Again.

Because others’ hadn’t arrived yet, you see.

As time ticking by, one by one, people began to arrive. The time stroke 11, but not everyone still in sight. By 12, the bus had yet to move its lazy bum. And finally, by 1, the last passenger arrived, and the bus made for his run.

Except he wasn’t running on a smooth surface.

But before I elaborate further, I have a small rant.

One thing that had been bugging me during the trip from the start was that the bus’s curtain was placed in a rather odd way. You couldn’t slide it off to see the view; it seemed as if they just hanged a long cloth from the front window to the last and called it a day. You need to pull the curtain upwards to see the views, and who wants to continuously do that, really?

Anyway, ranting aside, the bus started to move, but not before stopping to gasp for some air. And it moved again, then stopped, probably taking a whiff of smoke.

No, the bus was not problematic or anything of that sort, it was just that the road’s condition was too severe for the bus to handle. It was the Hajj’s season, the road was packed with people going to the same destination, fulfilling the last pillar of Islam.

It felt like ages sitting in the bus, hearing the noisy honking, the loud brakes, and behold behold, the nausea sensation decided to resurface again. I tried to calm down, thinking to myself that I can sleep it off, I couldn’t possibly vomit in front of all these strangers, and yeah, I sat beside a stranger as well, and I don’t want her impression of me to be tainted with vomit…o.O

But by 4AM, we still hadn’t arrived, and I can feel the pressure churning my stomach, begging to let go, gas tried to escape from my lungs, and I just can’t bear it anymore, so I talked to the Hindi auntie beside me to call for my mother.

And she did. Off she left, and my mother took over her seat.

And I puked.

To be continued. D:

Monday, November 30, 2009

Hajj 1430 - Part 1 - Rabigh to Jeddah

As I’ve mentioned before in my previous post, I went to Hajj for the past week and had just returned to my house exactly yesterday in an extremely smelly, famished and fatigued condition. In fact, while bidding our last goodbye towards everyone in the same Hajj group, I was afraid that I might lose control and puke all over their hands.

Yeah…well, I’ll get back to that later.

Anyway, reminiscing the memories...

Let's start from the very beginning.

We were supposed to gather in front of the Al-Mi3ad's office on 24 November (7 Dzuhijjah), 10PM, but since we live fairly far away from Jeddah, my father decided to depart early, and by early, he meant after 3sar, and by after 3sar, he meant right after 3sar—3.30PM.

Yeah well that was because our Malay neighbors (who introduced us to Al-Mi3ad but decided to go with another group from Yanbu at the very last minute, which was weird, but whatever) expressed their concerns on how leaving after Maghrib (6PM) is too risky—you might miss the bus.

Sure, anything could happen. Traffic jams, bla bla bla, bla bla bla…

Anyway, because of that, we had no choice but to oblige to his command, but my mother has a pretty loud opinion you see, so she tried to convince my father that 3PM was too early. After a couple of words throwing and whatnot, my father finally capitulated, and decided to reschedule to 5PM.

Which was still too early, if you ask me.

But then our neighbors were far earlier than us in terms of departing—they went after Dzuhur. But apparently they were going to Makkah first instead of Mina, so that is plausible. It would be nice if we could perform our Tawaf and Saie at Makkah first as well, but alas, we were not the one who made the schedule.

So, after confirming with my father's colleague to come and pick us up to Jeddah (he made a living of sending people off to wherever we want as well—wait, scratch that, I think only Jeddah, maybe), we started to pack.

Yeah…my parents are extremely last-minute.

So pack pack pack, and then hon, hon, hon—

My father’s colleague had arrived. :O

You know, we wanted to take loads of pictures before departing, but he came too soon. >.>

Or we were just too slow. XD

We still managed to capture a photo though, so that’s better than nothing.

So off we went, nicely clad in our ihram clothes, pure and things like that. The driver stopped at the miqat and we proceeded with our niat…

And the Hajj had begun!

Whoo…exciting. :D

This shall be continued in another post lol I’m too tired to concoct a simple sentence already D:

But I want to blog so badly lol

Toodles :D

P/S: Oh wow, this post is messy lmao

Monday, November 23, 2009

Names names names...

Continuing the topic…

How many of us, particularly the Malaysian, or Malays even, who heard of the name Malik, and instantly thought of the king?

How many of us, the Malaysian, who heard of the name Comel, and automatically thought of a cute girl? (or cat, but no, I’m talking about a person here)

How many of us who liked a name not for the meaning, but just because the name has a certain ring to it that sounded melodious to the ears?

Observing the Malay communities nowadays, it’s amazing how children’s names are rapidly growing, flourishing into a unique concoction of names that could no longer be fit on a school’s name tag. Not only that, the distinctive spelling adds some spice to the name, resulting in a very, very creative name indeed.

However, in the end, real names are neglected, nicknames are adopted, since of course, you can’t possibly be calling the full name of someone in full blast. Unless you’re angry. But who does that aside from parents anyway?

Frankly, I didn’t think that calling a certain person by a nickname is a bad thing. In fact, it’s positively endearing, announcing to the world on how great of a bond you have with your friends. Not to mention how nicknames, most of the time, are cute and feisty.

Despite how nicknames thoroughly crashed the original intention of giving a person an exquisite name with beautiful meanings and all that, it was not as if we were thinking of all those beautiful meanings when we call them by their real names either.

Sure enough, the image in our head when we call a friend by his name would be the image of his persona. Not this, not that, just plainly him. Purely him.

Yet what if someone’s nickname is Pendek, would you think that he’s short?

That’s a no-brainer, for sure.

But what if you don’t know Malay, would you think of that?

Probably no.

Which brings to my point.

Here in KSA, everyone seems to have the same name. The most common would be Muhammad and Abdullah.

Of course, back in Malaysia, almost every boy was named as Muhammad as well, but since Muhammad was such a common name, most people didn’t call them by that; they prefer to use the second name.

But not here, as far as I know. Everyone is either Muhammad or Abdullah.

Truly, back in Malaysia, I never gave it much of a thought. But standing here, looking through their perspective, I come to realize that when people called his name, Muhammad, the thought of Prophet Muhammad came to mind.

When they called him Abdullah, the servant of Allah floated in their brains.

A little confession if you may—I was quite indifferent to the name Amir and Amirah, because like Muhammad and Abdullah, those are common names as well.

But when I learned the true meaning behind the commonness, listened at the grandness of the word, I was overwhelmed with a new judgment.

Those names are definitely, definitely luxurious. All around, people are calling you as the prince, the princess. And they actually meant that. It doesn’t get any better than that.

I remembered how back in Malaysia, those people who were named Puteri (Princess in Malay) were considered high and mighty.

But not Amirah.

Because Amirah is a common name and all.

Because not everyone knows the meaning of everyone’s name.

However, now that you know the meaning as well, you can’t deny that Amir is certainly a high status name. I’m beginning to see them in a different light now.

In fact, when I opened my friends’ list on Facebook and saw their names, I was suddenly drowned in an overwhelming typhoon.

They have such magnificent names.

Back then, I used to judge a name by how good it rolled on my tongue.

Now, not anymore.

It’s all kind of awesomeness. The name is like a personal doa. Muhammad, they said. With the thought of the prophet in their mind. Amin, they said. With the thought of safe in their mind. They unconsciously want us (and by us, I mean those with Amin as their name) to be safe, silently praying for a blessed life.

But then, what if someone decided to give you a nickname? For instance, Amin became Min?

It wouldn’t give much trouble I guess, since min in Arabic does mean ‘from’—or in some dialect, ‘who’— so it doesn’t really matter, because they certainly didn’t mean to say ‘who who’ to him anyway. They have his persona in mind when calling him, that’s for sure.

But what if it was something greater than that? What if his name was Shahrir, and people called him…Sharir?

Truthfully, I didn’t know the exact meaning of the name, Shahrir, but I am aware of a handful of people bearing that name.

So what if they were unconsciously being called Sharir? Wouldn’t that be bad? Since Sharir means evil in Arabic and all?

I have no doubt that Arabians would never make that mistake since they concentrate really hard on their pronunciation and you would certainly hear them calling you ShaHrir instead of Sharir, but Malaysian’s tongue, including me, are not very much so. Our pronunciation is at the tip of our tongue, not in our throat.

No doubt, once in a while, someone will slip and call him Sharir. In a hurry, for instance.

Wouldn’t that be bad?

But still, we didn’t have evil in our mind, so it doesn’t really matter, doesn’t it? But the thought is frightening nonetheless.

Reminds me of a story once told by my cousin, on how her friend’s name is Nabila Huda. And others called her La Huda.

Their religion teacher heard of this, and quickly ordered them to not call her that anymore. La Huda might sound chic and glamorous to our ears, but it actually means ‘Not the right guidance.’ That story made me shiver.

Imagine hearing people calling you that for your entire life.

And here’s another story that I heard, this time from my sister. Apparently, a Malaysian named Akma wanted to apply citizenship in Japan. But Japan wanted her to change her name.


Akma in Japanese is pronounced as Akuma.

Akuma, in Japanese, means the devil.

According to my sister, Akma didn’t want to change her name, because really, Akma (leader in Arabic) is a perfectly good Muslim name! Why should a non-muslim order her to do something out of her will?

Fine theory, really. The name certainly is a Muslim name, undeniably beautiful and blessed by God, but take it this way. If someone’s name is Iblis, and he’s from who knows where, claiming that his name has an absolutely beautiful meaning in his language, sure sure whatever, but in our mind, wouldn’t we feel slightly uneasy of calling his name aloud?

Because we have the thought of iblis in our minds.

Same could be said to the Japanese. It’s not their fault that they are secretly thinking of you as the devil in their minds. Some things couldn’t be helped. You don’t want them to secretly wish you of being a true devil, don’t you?

And so, I’ve come to the conclusion, that if I were to name my own children, I wouldn’t just pick a name based on how good it sounded, but by the beautiful meaning behind the name as well. I wouldn’t care about the commonness of such names. Because it’s the meaning that matters the most.

Now, whenever I heard the name of my brother’s daughter, Zahra (flower), I’m reminded of a dainty, fragrant flower, blooming beautifully in the garden of roses.

Yeah I had no idea.

It just brings you to a whole different level.


I'll be going to Hajj tomorrow! :D

May Allah bless and accept our Hajj, amin.

So...enshallah see you next week my lovely blog!

Saturday, November 21, 2009 update! :D

Oh the land of Saudi,
How I love thee.

In the midst of gathering thoughts for a quick update on this blog, I found nothing particularly inspiring to jot down for my own enjoyment. Sure enough, I should’ve had ton of things to share, what with my splendidly wonderful place, the beginning of my new life, the amusing culture, the bla bla bla bla, the la la la, the na na na, and more of the blahness, but needless to say, I wasn’t that motivated. Perhaps I will give my blog more justice after my hajj pilgrimage next week, so here’s hoping that my enthusiasm will still have its sparks by then. (*^^*) I’m extremely anxious for hajj now. The thoughts of…well…you know…agitates me.

I’m not sure you know exactly what I meant.

Anyhow…moving on.

Perhaps one of the greatest charms of these Arabian countries is the language. Being a person who has always been fascinated by any language that could reach my ears, there’s nothing I like better than decoding the clandestine message that were thrown about mockingly in front of my clueless face. I hate when that happened, it made me feel left out and as if I’m not thoroughly part of their clique. Because I didn’t get the secret joke, get it?

Thus, I didn’t feel comfortable speaking my own language in front of them. I don’t want them to feel left out either.

Which is—now that I think about it—quite stupid. They need to be exposed to the awesomeness that is Malay language, and gaped at the foreign sound that is our dialect!

But I have the southern dialect which is…like…the typical dialect of them all.

The official dialect of Malaysia.

urgh asdfghjkl >.<

Oh well.

Back to the point, I am fascinated by language, but Arabic language had never gained my attention. True, every Muslim has every reason in the world to learn the language, but I guess the devil’s temptation is extremely absolute on that matter.

For one, most Malays learn Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) in the primary school (but I didn’t, because they haven’t reinforced the idea during the 89 batch) or the religion school (during my time, we started learning Arabic during the 3rd year, but by then, I have already quitted the school for personal reason) or in secondary school (some schools, particularly boarding schools, let you learn a foreign language provided by the school, and I’ve been to one of the boarding schools, but the school appointed me to Japanese language, but then I quitted the boarding school and enrolled in public school, which didn’t provide the foreign language elective subject) or in the total secondary religion school (but I went to a public one…).

With that in mind, you should probably know that perhaps public school students are the humblest of them all. We weren’t extensively taught like those in boarding school, nor were we educated thoroughly regarding Islam like those in religion school. I suppose we only studied what was required by the education government.

I was a public school student, has a lot of boarding school and religion school cousins, and most often, they would share tidbits about their student lives, things that they thought were foreign to me because I was just a public school student. My lack of comprehension towards the Arabic language prompted them to show-off a bit more than necessary, and I truly didn’t appreciate the fact that I was being left out.

Hence the unwillingness of speaking my own language in front of the foreigners. Which was stupid. I know.

Therefore, Arabic didn’t excite me as much, because almost everyone in Malaysia claimed to be an expert in that one, and often enough, they would correct me just because they have formal education and I didn’t.

Way to break a person’s self-esteem.

I mean, if they were right, then I don’t mind. But I was right and they were wrong, but they insist that I was wrong and they were right! How frustrating is that? >.> Like when I said the Arabic word for banana is mauz, and they blatantly shot me down, saying that “No, you are wrong, its mauzun!”, and then I tried to defend myself, “But those people in TV says mauz!,” and then they counterattack with, “You heard wrong!”


Even now, when I’m here, my mother who learned MSA in school also tried to correct me, but I often say, “Mother, it’s the dialect the dialect the dialect!” XD

I mean, when I utter the word ‘mauzun’ here, they gave me confused eyes.

Actually, they looked confused every time I speak Arabic.

I really need to brush my pronunciation a whole lot more. But I will talk about that later. In another post. Maybe.

Anyway, during the first few months in this land, we have no internet in our house but no matter, there’s the TV and the uncountable amount of channels in it.

It’s countable actually but but really!

Isn’t it awesome, I mean, we could count Malaysia’s channels with our hands and feet…figuratively.

They have a lot of Arabic channels that I have zero comprehension due to the thick dialects (and the varied dialects ohh man) but thankfully, they have English programs with Arabic subtitles YAY!

I say, I never watched so many movies in my life, and it was unimaginable but I watched every episode of The Simpsons and American’s sitcoms…certainly not something I would do in Malaysia.

I’m not a TV person. AT ALL.

But I need to gather lots of words in my brain, you see!

Anyway, because of my exposure towards various words, I began to notice a few random things. Like how guys seem to like teaching other guys their dialect while the girls rather teach foreigners (me) MSA. I suppose they didn’t want to cause confusion with the language, slowly letting us have the feel of Standard Arabic, then venture into the dialect realm. But it was weird when this happened.

“Why is limadza.”

“What about lish?”

“Lish? Uhh…limadza is better.”

“Okie dokie.”

But I never heard you say limadza in front of your friends, you only say lish! XD

And it took me a while to find the dialect word of ‘What.’ And that was after doing an extensive research on the internet.

And I’m not sure if I should say the dialect word of ‘what’ aloud. Because they haven’t taught me that yet lol

Once, I uttered a dialect word, and aghast, they looked at me and asked, “How did you know that?”


“Well, I learned it from the TV.”

It didn’t sound appropriate of me to admit that I learned a couple of dialect words from songs, so I answered with the bulletproof answer of ‘TV’.

Technically, it was the truth, I wasn’t lying, I did hear the music from the TV lol

And then there’s this other thing that is constantly in my mind…

But I shall discuss later since this post has unexpectedly grown a foot.

Until then, toodles :D

Friday, September 4, 2009


And when he said he wanna watch,
He doesn't mean that he wants a watch.

I posted on my twitter a few weeks back on how my sister wanted a new watch, but my mother wouldn't let her buy this type of watch, so she said she will use my old watch instead, and let me buy a new one, and then I picked the watch that she originally wanted, and now she took the new one and left me with the old, which I didn't mind, really.

Yesterday, the band of my watch was ripped, so off we go to the watch shop. My brother tagged along because he wanted a new watch, so we basically spent our time there gawking at watches and so on.

There was a watch that caught my attention, and as I was fiddling with it purely for inspection purpose, my mother asked, "Do you want a new watch?"

Baffled, I answered, "Chyeah."

That didn't last long until I blurted again, "But what about my old watch?"

"Oh, I'll use it," said my mother.

*wowzers new watch my old watch was bought when I was about fourteen wowzers darn awesome*

So this is my watch!

The price is...well, if you divide the price of my brother's watch by ten, then you'll get the price.

Kinda cheap...compared to my brother's.


Homemade Skincare Series: Bear's Toenail

Dear Mr Bear, if you don't mind me asking,
Could you scratch my paw, it's itching.

So I thought I saved my document...

Turned out I didn't.

So as you can see...

I need to rewrite the whole thing...

This will be a fairly short review...

Unless I decided to blabber or something...

Which is probably not going to happen.

Also, I've just installed Windows 7 on my laptop.

And I haven't got the chance of installing every applications yet.

Thus the unusual style of post and watermark.

Oh well.

(I lost the original file lol)


This is quite a rare item to acquire. I don't encourage bear hunting but this was given to me by my aunt, who seems to have a knack of having some of the weirdest items ever, but anyhow, she gave me this because she knows that I have a severe case of itchiness.

Just scratch yourself with this large nail and your spot won't feel as itchy again!


Truthfully, I didn't know the logic behind such a tool, but truly, when I finished rubbing myself (or rather, scratch) with this nail, my itchiness decrease-it felt as if those bacteria were wiped off my skin.

Perhaps that's it! The nail stripped those bacteria off the skin, causing the skin to no longer squeal in distress.

Furthermore, it is harmless to scratch your skin with this item since it didn't tear your skin off, neither does it contribute to infections. It is perfectly gentle.

So I say...

Bear's nail, you are my life savior from the constant attack of itchiness.

Thank you.

(I just feel like blogging that's all)

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Homemade Skincare Series: Rice Water

Rice, oh rice, how I adore you so,
Such bland taste, too hard to ignore,
Lingered forever, from my nose to my tongue,
Oh what would I do, if impossible to have some.

History claimed that Egyptians bathed in milk, while apparently ancient Chinese bathed in rice water…

Both tasted quite nice, which do you prefer?

I love me some rice water since it has a thin texture and doesn’t have the harsh milky taste…which is obvious because rice water didn’t have any milk in it thus wiped the possibility of having any milk taste whatsoever.


Rice water has been used for generations in the Chinese community; even now they still use it to wash their faces from dirt and grime. The much rated SK-II even claimed to use the mighty pitera—which could be found in rice—in their products, although some has the suspicion that they didn’t actually include pitera in it, but actually sperm—

I don’t really know. After all, I don’t have any solid basis to back up my claim.

Rice water is supposed to lighten your complexion and control your oil production. The logic behind those claims is that rice water has detoxifying properties, which ultimately rejuvenate your face, creating a youthful and fresh complexion. So when they claimed to ‘lighten’, in my opinion, it wasn’t lightening your skin pigmentation per se, but more towards cleansing the toxin out of your pores, leaving brighter and healthier complexion from inside and out.

The drawback—or plus point, depending on your preference—of the rice water is that it would thoroughly mattify your face. Sounds great for oily skin, but really…I highly, highly do not recommend people with dry skin from using this, unless you have a heavy-duty moisturizer on your side, but then, it is best to not take the risk. Drying is an understatement; you’ll experience flakiness if you’re unlucky, and if you only have a thin moisturizer to replenish your skin’s moisture, then your skin would definitely wails and writhes in pain.

Take note rice water is a great detoxifier. I actually drank it for health purpose, so if your body has extreme toxin level, big chance your body can’t handle the tension created by those combating aliens, which results in various complications, and it will drag on until the good side wins, trumping the bad side with its superiority, which who knows when, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe someday. Someday. SOMEDAY.

And so you should know that when you put a substance as potent as that on your face, your skin is bound to absorb it better and probably fight with the aliens as well. And if you are supremely unlucky, the aliens will fight each other and treat your skin as their battlefield, possibly creating disaster and marks all over your face, until the war is over and you’re left with multiple scars but hey—at least someone has finally gained victory.


So…Is it as good as it sounds?

1. Does it lighten your skin?
I honestly couldn’t see any lightening effect.

2. Does it even your skintone?
Best bet, no.

3. Does it brighten your skin?
Neither do I see any skin brightening.

4. Does it treat your acne?
It battles them! And it ain’t pretty.

5. Does it prevent acne?
It battles them! So yeah.

6. Does it lighten scars?

7. Does it shrink pores?

8. Does it help in unclogging pores?
Can’t say. I didn’t really notice.

9. Does it help in smoothing skin texture from bumps and other skin ailments?
Not really. I’m being positively vague.

10. Will your skin regain its horrible condition if you stop using this?
No. Your skin would just battle the rest of the residue.

11. Can you use this in exchange of other products?
Oil-control thingy, perhaps.

12. Have you found anything like this in the market?
Blotting paper? But even that is temporary. THIS IS PERMANENT YIKES. (if you don’t moisturize properly with heavy duty cream, of course)


Would I recommend this?

For people with deep patience who didn’t mind waiting until the battle is over then yes, go for it. Beware, the after-party is not pretty to look at, but hey, at least it is over.

For people with normal complexions who just want to brighten and control the oils on their faces—sure, I expect it won’t be as lethal. Many raves about it, so perhaps different skins react differently.

For others—maybe not.

I’m giving this a…2 out of 5.