Being Flowered

Me and my friend talked about Mandi Bunga last night.

We were chilling at a warung (Stall) me having hot Horlicks and Fried chicken as my Sahur and him having Mee hoon goreng with Telur sunny side up when mandi bunga came up in the conversation.

Right after our talks on infidelity.

“I did it once.”

“Serious?”

“Yeah.”

“You mandi Bunga?? Cari jodoh?? Wahahahahaaaaa!!”

Okay… thanks for your understanding. Beruk betul.

Before anyone else crucify me on the whole Mandi Bunga thing, let me explain what it is to people who have never heard of that term before.

Mandi Bunga is some sort of a ritual bath whereby the recipient would be bathed with water full of 7 types of flowers (This differs according to the person who bathes you, some said any flower would do, not necessarily seven types) and sometimes a bit of non - alcoholic based perfumed oil. The recipient must have a ‘niat’ or a pre – thought wish or intention when going through it.

Often, it would be to meet someone for the purpose of marriage or to cleanse yourself from bad vibes.

I had to undergo this ritual because my Dad insisted on it. I have been single eversince he could remember and apparently, this made him a bit uneasy. So he asked one of my Aunties to give me the bath.

On the night of the bath, I asked her on ‘niat’, or my wish. I was the skeptic. I am a bit old fashioned when it comes to this.

Ehem, I believe that would be;

‘Jodoh dan ajal tuhan yang tentukan.’

Or something like that rather. My Malay is a mess.

My Auntie told me that my ‘niat’ is mine alone, something that comes from the heart. It does not necessarily have something to do with marriage.

“Soooo… I boleh niat benda lain la?” I sheepishly asked.

“YERK.”

Instead of wishing for a husband, I wished for a better paying job, and that was fulfilled less than 5 months later. (Take some time for it to take effect la kan.)

So, it kind of worked, though you could put it as a well timed coincidence.

As for marriage, well, like what I would tell most of the people who asked about my Big Day;

“Aku tak cukup miang lagi nak kahwin.”

I am not against the whole idea of ‘building a masjid’ or having kids, but I don’t think it’s my time yet. I am not quite ready to sacrifice my single freedom to take care of my husband’s needs and my children’s whiny call for attention.

Contrary to what other people would have thought, I do have ideas of my ideal wedding, and it involves saying our vows at Masjid Sultan Abu Bakar. I thought, we could get good shots there. I am practical like that. Plus, the interior is amazing, and it overlooks the sea. Everyone knows I adore the sea.

My husband is supposed to be someone tall and fair, if I am to go according to my Mum’s dream. Somehow, the prospect of me getting someone like that is most unlikely, for I like em’ tall and tanned.

Asked if I am willing to ‘mandi bunga’ again to get a husband, no – la… mengarut itu semua. Things will happen when it will, in good time.

--

Saya tergerak hendak menulis dalam Bahasa Melayu hari ini. Kebolehan saya dalam menulis karangan dalam bahasa ibunda ini sangat terhad. Kali terakhir saya menulis (menggunakan pen, ataupun dalam erti kata lain, secara manual) ialah semasa saya masih berada di bangku sekolah semasa otak saya belum lagi dicemari dengan ideologi – ideologi barat dan semua yang sewaktu dengannya.

Saya telah diberitahu oleh kawan saya bahawa Bahasa Melayu saya tidaklah teruk sangat. Kawan ini juga merupakan orang yang sama yang telah mentertawakan saya kerana saya telah memberitahunya yang saya pernah mandi bunga.

Kawan saya ini memang sedikit keberukan. Nasib baiklah cawan yang berada di atas meja warung itu bukan kepunyaan saya. Kalau tidak, memang sudah lama saya lontar.

Walaubagaimanapun, saya terasa sedikit lega apabila kawan saya itu dengan penuh keyakinan memberitahu saya yang Bahasa Ibunda saya, walaupun tidak selalu digunakan dalam laman web ini sebenarnya tidaklah seteruk yang disangka.

Menurutnya, saya boleh bertutur dalam Bahasa Melayu dengan baik, walaupun perkataan – perkataan yang saya gunakan itu tidaklah setanding sasterawan-sasterawan Negara. Saya memang maklum yang dari segi pertuturan saya masih ok lagi, walaupun saya lebih selesa menggunakan Bahasa Penjajah iaitu Bahasa Inggeris. Tetapi dari segi penulisan, saya mengaku kalah kerana saya hanya boleh mendapat gred C3 dalam peperiksaan SPM saya berbanding dengan Gred A1 yang saya perolehi untuk kertas 1119 saya.

Saya masih lagi ingat betapa sukarnya untuk saya mengarang ucapan di dalam Bahasa Melayu semasa masih lagi bekerja sebagai seorang pegawai perhubungan awam. Saya juga terpaksa menjadi EMCEE untuk salah satu daripada majlis makan malam yang diadakan untuk kakitangan kerajaan dari bahagian Kastam.

Mengapa saya yang dipilih, masih lagi menjadi misteri kepada saya hingga ke hari ini.

Jadi buat masa sekarang, saya hanya boleh mengarang setakat artikel-artikel yang bodoh dan poyo seperti apa yang saya baru sahaja lakukan di laman web saya.

Untuk nukilan Bahasa Melayu saya yang seterusnya, tunggulah 12 bulan lagi. Mungkin saya akan tiba-tiba mendapat ilham untuk menulis dalam bahasa yang amat rumit ini.

Being reflective over Mocha

I love my kopi mahal.

Especially Starbucks’ Mocha. Sarcy loves it very much.

At times, it keeps me sane, even. I know it sounded weird, but it does.

My mocha keeps me sane.

More often than not, I would be thinking of the less fortunate people around me, those who will not even get to smell the aroma of my Mocha.

It’s hard to not come to that realization in Starbucks here in JB actually. There would always be kids begging for alms from the people who chose to drink at the Al Fresco part of the complex. They would look at you with their somewhat dead eyes, holding out their palms to you.

They don’t go to school, and they don’t hop on swings at playgrounds, and by the looks of it, they lack basic hygiene as well. Their dream is to have the simplest things in life, I figured.

One that would not so much include their need for a hot mug of Mocha.

More often than not, I would be practical and realistic. I would assume that they are actually a part of a vast begging syndicate and that they might have two sets of Television plus a DVD player at home. This happened, and a few of them were rounded up by the authorities.

But sometimes, I could be sympathetic too. It could be that they really don’t have a proper roof over their heads, getting by with less than RM 10 for a few mouths to feed in a day, they would find joy in a few cents given to them by passer bys and those rich people having coffee in designer mugs outside the shopping complex.

Yeah… this happens too.

But, it is all a bit strange as well to later realize that somehow, we could always see only the mother and the child begging for charity at the roadside along Wong Ah Fook Street.

Those kids in a tow could not just happen in a blink of an eye. The woman surely must have had a husband to make those possible?

Now where is the husband and the father to the beggars?

Mocha does that to me sometime. It keeps me sane, it makes me wonder and it rarely makes me feel generous enough to contribute more than RM 1 to the kids holding out their palm to me.

I guess, practicality overtook sympathy when the same kid came over to you more than twice for money. It’s either they could not really remember the people whom they have approached or they just thought that these people might not be able to remember them as all of them kind of looked the same and will give them money anyway.

Unfortunately kiddo, I remember every one of you, thanks to my 4 times a week Mocha fix.

That’s a thought.

Being Strange and indifferent

I was throwing tantrums.

Major ones.

With Phil.

Minutes after my meeting with Ex(BF).

For the first time ever, I was shouting at Phil and Phil, after keeping quiet for sometime, decided to shout back at me.

We were shocked at ourselves, of what we are capable of doing, shouting to each other. I picked up my bag and drove home.

A few minutes later, when I was still in my car, pretty much still repulsed over the whole thing, Phil texted me;

“Honey, I am sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

It wasn’t until 11 pm did I replied his text;

“Sunday. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

My Ex(BF) had that effect on me. Whenever I meet him, I feel inadequate. The only reason why the relationship didn’t work in the first place was because I was not the one. He wanted someone who could baby him and give in to all his whimsical needs.

I was not that person. I am not that person to start doing housework in his apartment just because he MIGHT be that one I will share every thoughts and opinions with for the rest of my life.

I WILL be that person, when he IS that one I will share every thoughts and opinions and possibly our lives together with.

I wanted to be sure, I have never been sure about anything my whole life. It wasn’t until I am thrown into a situation would I find out that I could actually do it.

Life has been rough on me the past few months. More commitments, frustration, disappointment and the realization that I was only hanging on to someone because of my thirst for affection that I have not been getting for the longest time broke me sometimes.

“You are really concerned about that? About not having someone?”

Someone asked me that before. Someone whom I thought was just pretending to care about me. Recently, I feel that he wasn’t, and he won’t. He will not care, he never does.

My moodswings have been murderous to me that past few weeks. No amount of Xanax could help me there. I text people I have never texted before and I look at everything negatively. My sarcasm is not helping either. I get painfully angry, and full of angst.

Phil was my punching bag. That Sunday, I told him we should not see each other again. I don’t want to waste his time, and I don’t want to waste mine. I don’t want a rebound fling. Phil is too good for me.

He doesn’t deserve a drama slut.

Nobody does.

--

People talk behind others’ backs.

I tried not to, but sometimes, it’s hard to do that when everyone in your circle just, do.

Recently, I got to know that some of our relatives, my aunties namely, have been talking about our family.

I was indifferent to it. I acknowledge it as human nature. People talk, gobs could not be cemented shut. We could only wish we could literally make that happen.

People are only interested in bad things, never the good ones.

They talked about me still single, boyfriend – less and my tendency to hook up with foreigners, my so called ‘lavish’ lifestyle that was summed up from the number of shoes that I have (you could say that I am the Imelda Marcos in the family), my arrogance and my family’s awkwardness in helping out in the kitchen during ‘Kenduris’.

We admitted to us being untrained in the kitchen, as far as these things are concerned. We made up for it by contributing cold hard cash.

We are no hypocrites, if there is one thing that is outstanding about my family, it’s that. We stay true to who we are, and never tried to pretend as if we are something else. Unlike some of those two – faced relatives we have hovering on our back.

‘We jaga tepi kain sendiri, tak ada masa nak jaga tepi kain orang.’ I told my Mom.

And so what if I am still single, so what if nobody wants me because I am too frikkin’ opinionated, SO WHAT? I make more money than anyone of those bitching housewives get from their husbands.

I look better than them lot too.

So, open those gobs wide, be truly Malaysian and kaypohchee your way to hell, honestly, I really don’t care, just as long as I don’t stoop down to your level, that’s fine by me.

Being Duh...

I have a new source of entertainment on telly. Come 8 PM I would be sitting on the couch in front of the idiot box.

Forget America’s next top bim… eh… Model, this one’s even better.

Yes, I watch TV3’s ‘Buletin Utama’ like, religiously now. as a matter of fact, I am going to rename it to ‘Malaysia’s Next Top Idiots’, starring… the MPs at the parliament house and the Deputy JKR fella who unknowingly read from whatever it was that he was reading out from without knowing (Or even noticing) the implication of his statement.

Now the media is frenzied over building specifications and if the government knowingly decided to swerve from the correct specs in order to be more cost effective ie cheap skate-ish. Anymore wrong statement, it would definitely backfire.

Oh yeah, not to forget the security guard yang tersangat over. For heaven’s sakes, your job requirement does not include being emotional. I can’t really blame the reporters, everyone loves a huge scoop, especially those involving the government.

I know I do.

Another one of the big stories last night was also of how about 40 plus of the government buildings in Johor never had the Fire Department’s safety approval. Upon inquiries, at least all of us Johoreans would sleep soundly at night knowing that the government’s office on Bukit Timbalan is deemed safe for occupation. That leaves some 39 other building that are maybe not that safe.

Any Ali, Chong and Muthu who are Johoreans know that the Wisma Persekutuan is not exactly the safest building in JB. The area will be flooded everytime during heavy rain. I have been stuck there twice, so when it was announced yesterday, we were smug about the whole thing… we had the ‘as if we dunno’look plastered on our faces.

All that water has got to affect the foundations of the old building somehow.

This issue, I believe, was brought up after the ‘Bocor’ agenda in the parliament when one of the MPs highlighted the leaking ceiling in the very hall they are childishly arguing in. After making the sexist remarks, the two bozos apologized. I thought Dato’ Shahrizat Jalil, in her composure, would maybe want to slap the two of them silly.

‘Tak malu. Mulut tak bleh jaga. *piak piak* Cakap je ahli parlimen, tapi otak macam budak tadika! *piak piak* Budak Tadika pun lagi pandai daghi hang berdua *piak piak*’

Our ever so ‘charismatic’ leader, then came out with a statement that the leaking ceiling should be seriously looked into. And not 5 days later, the Jalan Duta courthouse was ‘Bocor’.

Good timing, I say.

Which brought my attention to the other star of the 8 pm ‘show’, the MPs. When the government launched the ‘Tak Nak Campaign’, I wonder if they actually properly briefed these MPs beforehand, not that it needed much briefing on, it’s only a campaign that involves people not smoking. All that education and the MPs still could not decipher a simple very visible ‘No smoking’ signs in the parliament building itself.

Apakah?

What does it take really, for them to say ‘tak nak’? A billboard in the hall?

One small detail that the media seemed to miss is that why is it that ashtrays are still in ‘abundance’ in a no smoking area? D’oh!?

As if being sexists is not enough, they have to be dumb as well…

This is truly an idiocracy. And if they are doing all this to purposely invite controversy in turn for cheap publicity, quite frankly, I don’t get it. I don’t think anyone would.

Yo! My IQ’s being challenged herela.

We are halfway to ‘Stupidville’, no thanks to middle aged bozos.

Being Teachy

The last time I celebrated Teachers’ Day was in the year 1998. I was doing my upper 6 and somehow I got dragged into an accapella ensemble with a few classmates. Imagine, me, with bigger bum, hideous 6th former uniform (white tudung, white Baju Kurung with a nice looking name badge, school logo badge and some other badges (I was a librarian… yes, Sarcy was a librarian. Sila crucify saya.) with light brown bottom) singing some Malay song that I could not even remember anymore.

What I remembered most about Teachers’ day is the pot luck food. I would usually offer to bring kuihs, because my mum was not the type to spend her time in the kitchen to prepare food for any school occasion. Kuihs are easier to find and buy. The rest would have their mothers cooking some heavier dishes, think Mi hoon goreng and fried rice. The teacher, naturally would have to chip in more. The Ko-op would be in business selling teachers’ day gifts and kids would buy them just for the sake of not getting left out. Rich kids buy their gifts outside.

Teachers are someone we looked up to, mostly it was because we spent time with them more than with our own parents. I remembered my ‘Ustazah’ in Sekolah Agama. She was pretty and I have always loved her classes more than the other classes I had to attend.

She made me want to be an Ustazah. The ambition later died after I quit Sekolah Agama to concentrate on my pursue of ‘Ilmu dunia’(Sic!).

When I was in boarding school, I hated my Maths teacher, a hatred that was triggered by my immense dislike towards all things with numbers and algebraic equations. She caused me to lose 10 points of my merit, to which I got back two folds because of my win in the State Debate Competition. Once she even threw my exercise book out of the class and punished me to stand outside of the classroom. Being the rebel that I was, I went to the canteen and got myself something to drink rather than mulling around in the corridor with guilt.

On the final day of SPM, I scratched her car, and destroyed all four of her tyres. My SPM results showed less than impressive Maths score, but to begin with, I don’t even care about Maths, still I was an A-lister with my first grade pass.

Now, my Sister and Cousin are studying to be teachers. My sister wears a tudung and has been buying tonnes of baju kurung to wear during her three month practical in Mersing, otherwise described as ‘tempat Jin Bertendang’. Kids will call her ‘Cikgu Ain’ and she will be someone these kids would aspire to be when they grow up.

I have never wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to be a doctor first which I later on changed to a Traffic Police and then a volleyball player (No thanks to Moero Attack. ‘Tamparan Galaksi berputar!’). When I was in standard 6, I wanted to join the army in the Air forces division to become a fighter jet pilot.

And right now, I don’t have any idea what I want to be. A friend once remarked, ‘Jadi orang dah cukup bagus, jangan sampai jadi cipan dah la.’

Chet!

So, let me wish all teachers a Happy Teachers’ Day. Go easy on them Merit points deductions ay? Afterall, all of us were clueless rebels once before.

Being Spidey

I have FINALLY caught Spiderman III.

The thing with catching a movie at the theatre is that it’s a mixed feeling of satisfaction and regret all bundled into one.

I love the Dolby Surround Sound, I love the caramel popcorn, and I love the plush seat. I love the clear picture and even the very literal translation of the subtitle cracks me up.

Being that it’s Spiderman, and naturally, because it is a comic character brought to life, parents have decided to bring even their 3 year olds to the movies, Nevermind that this instalment is way darker than the previous two.

So you could hear a child whining over at the back row, one even decided to break into tears halfway into the movie. Some adults have just decided for ‘fun’ to keep their bloody cellphones on, some of the idiots even decided it will be more fun if they talk to each other during the movie, as if the kid in our row who seemed to LOVE jumping up and down on his seat and has a liking to noisy movie snacks is not annoying enough.

It is not fun when you have intervals of ‘Kruk… Krak… KKKRUUKKKK… (I am guessing that’s a BIG piece of nachos.) + munch… munch… in between the movie, especially, when you are trying to concentrate on the story!

*Sigh*

Resolution *no 2 whenever I decide to have children;

‘NEVER BRING THEM TO THE MOVIES UNLESS YOU COULD CONTROL THEM.'

*No 1 is to not be as dumb as the parents who lost their son because they were busy shopping in SOGO. I mean, like how stupid was that? I mean like, “Eh, baju RM 10 tu macam best ek. Takpelah, budak tu baru 5 tahun tahulah dia naik bas balik rumah nanti kalau hilang pun.” Like Gila Bodoh okay?*

Anyway, on Spiderman, I have taken a liking to Topher Grace whose character was Eddie Brock, Jr. / Venom. He is just a delicious bad ass. He’s mean, he looks absolutely evil and he has claws. What can I say, I love bad boys. I am just weird and slightly demented like that.

Cute one...

Delish one...

Spidey 3 rawks!

Being a good date...

I have been back in the dating scene for a couple of months already.

Keeping in mind that I don’t expect anything to come out of it (No… not even sex), I went about it with care and stressed to the date that I am independent and honestly, a relationship is not really on my priority list right now.

It is an interesting game, this dating thing. Before this, I have never gone on so many dates before. I think I will be able to get into the groove of things. Afterall, life has been dull, work has been taxing (and boring), so dates are in a way, something for me to amuse myself with.

My first date since my break up was with an engineer, namely, Phil Da Fling. It was about three weeks since then and I was slightly bitter and was extremely cynical. The difference was that I was the one who initiated the date. I approached him at a bar because he was alone, looking bored. He looked extremely cute with his tie pulled down his unbuttoned work shirt.

Our first ‘date’ was kind of like an induction session. He was new to JB and I did not want to go to blasé western restaurants. When he asked me for a date, literally, I asked him to be dressed up as casual as he could. I met up with him in my jeans, chiffon flowy off shoulder top that I have splurged a hefty RM 300 for in ‘Guess?’ and my pair of gold stilettos.

That’s my new kind of casual.

And we went for dinner at IT ROO Café, in one of the shady parts of JB. The whole dinner costs less than 50 bucks, and we ended the night with a no holds barred convo, over a bucket of beer at one of the bars in town.

The dates I went on after that were forgettable. Food, drinks, less than interesting conversation, corny jokes, cheesy one liners, lack of personality and a lot more contributed to it being forgettable. Makes me wonder what happen to the male population in JB.

Nevertheless, I did have a good time knowing more people, coming out from my comfort (And somehow, pathetic) zone.

I remember a person most from the conversation that I had with them, as a person. I don’t remember their cute nose, their platinum card and their fancy continental cars.

Some guys that I dated told me that they are dating me for a reason and they do want something to ‘flourish’ out of it, if possible, to which I replied (Politely-la) I am not in any hurry to make anything ‘flourish’ so let’s just stay as friends.

Bet the guy will be going, great, I just wasted 20 bucks on this woman.

Come on now, it is only a date… nothing heavy. Enjoy it, kick off your heels and enjoy the company.

Being Man-ly

(Video Playing - Just Like A Boy-Ciara)

A friend of mine got so fed up with her live – in boyfriend, that she gave up and start behaving like him.

If you can’t beat him, join him at his own game.

Apparently she says, being non analytical and aloof about the whole ‘thing’ really did make him uncomfortable. She has succeeded in making him feel so inadequate, that in that relationship of theirs, he is now officially, the emotional woman and she is the jerk.

I listened to her with much interest. The conversation took place over coffee at Pelangi. It was my Tai – tai day. Before that we went to Puteri Pacific for Dim Sum hi – tea.

According to her, she enjoys it so much, that she decided that she will keep on being that jerk until she really wants to stop. She wants to prolong her boyfriend’s suffering longer, so that she would know how suffocating it is for a woman trying to figure out what goes on in that hollow head of his.

The both of us have gone through a lot in life, especially where men are concerned. We have had it up to our heads. I have had it up to mine with my previous ‘relationship’. I have eversince decided to give it a rest. I changed my life, my appearances, my philosophy (Yada yada), my friends, my approach towards all things male.

However, I am still struggling trying to handle my frustration and all. The ex did call, only to make things worst by reminding me about it. He wants to stay as friends, on a basis that we have gone through a lot together. I want to forget him, on the basis that I have gone through a lot with him.

But I am taking it all in my stride, like a man would. I don’t talk about it, I have become nonchalant about a lot of things, I have become insensitive as well.

Just like a man.

This could be good, or bad.

Being all this with Phil does make him uncomfortable to a certain extent. Although we have a no strings attached kind of ‘thing’, whenever we are together on those RARE weekends that he would be around, he would always snuggle up to me, reminding me that he will be there for me, whether I like it or not. I would be indifferent.

I don’t expect much nowadays. What will happen, will happen, I don’t give a frikkin’ damn about it.

I am so man… in short.

On a good note, my indifference to these things does give me the chance to prioritize my life. My photography, my reading, my shoes, you know, things like that. In a weird twist of events, it made me realize what is more important.

And it is definitely not sex.

Being Sarong-ed and Conversant

When I went to Sedili and got my tan (Accidentally), A told me that the tan made me look like an SPG.

Everyone knows what an SPG is. My reaction to it was indifferent. Why should I care if I know that I am not one? I am not overdramatic like that. And I was also wondering what has my tan (Or burn… rather) got to do with being an SPG?

Initially, my definition of an SPG is only of ‘an Asian women who prefers Caucasian men to locals, someone who is on constant prowl of a white man in hopes of becoming like them.’

I wiki-ed the term today and it came up with this;

"Common traits and stereotypes"

The stereotypical Sarong Party Girl has extremely tanned skin, a false foreign accent, and is provocatively dressed. Originally, the outfit of choice was thought to be a bikini/tank-top paired with a sarong, but that has changed. Many of them frequent nightclubs or other nightspots that are popular with expatriate white men, in order to meet and form relationships with them.

Sarong Party Girls in local entertainment are usually portrayed as gold - digging, husband-snatching Asian sirens…”

Owh… that explains the tan part.

While I don’t deny that there are women who literally ONLY date Caucasians and they do that ONLY because the dude makes more money, I don’t think it is fair to label all expat – dating / marrying Asian women as one.

Much less a tanned single woman who just happened to meet and attract a lot of these expat pricks.

I do date and have dated local men. A few of my exes were local men. I hang out at night spots. Could not do anything if it happened to be the same spot where a few expats happened to hang out at also. Takkan nak halau pulak?

What’s the big deal about having a lot of foreigners as friends? I think it’s enriching, it’s mind opening and it bares you to the world rather than to be oystered in with the ridiculous local outlook on things all the time.

I have to admit that I do get irritated with some of my guy-friends who enjoy slapping the label on all women who either marries or dates an expat. They threw crass, immature remarks across the table about how the women are just into their money and nothing else.

“Look. The only reason why you guys failed to get our attention is because of your lack of personality and intelligence. Not to mention your limited vocabulary, your inability to digest a theory any bigger than your own manhood, and also your ‘basi’ technique of getting a woman’s attention. DON’T blame us for being picky, blame yourself for not getting on with the program – la.”

I am blunt, in a ‘slamba derk’ kind of way. Although I do have a penchant for black men, I don’t rule out the possibility of me dating a man of my own creed as well. I do have a few ‘Mat Sallehs’ on my heels that I am trying to shake off. They are boring and they are just… mentally, not my type at all. They are comparable to a few local men I had the bad luck of knowing and good luck of dumping.

Clueless, men… *Roll eyes*.

Found this on the internet, and now we have our own Sarong Party Blokes!

--

Dear God,

It’s been approximately about a week since my last conversation to You. Ahh… remember that one night when the moon was shining pretty fiercely and I could see exactly how it looks like from my bedroom window… I think it was one of those lazy Saturdays.

Of course You remembered right?

I was actually just talking silly that night. I think I summarized what happened to me in that week. I thanked you for Your blessings even though what I had was a series of routine happenings. Things that happen any other day, normal insignificant things like driving in front of a gorgeous dude who drives a Beemer.

Thank You for that brief eye candy!

Hey, in my life and in this part of the world, that’ll pretty much make my mornings.

Anyway… this is my very first Blog entry dedicated to You. We have to move with the times now right? Afterall, the first person who came up with Blogs could not possibly claim the credit all to himself right? Heh.

Hell... (No pun intended...) even Oscar winners thanked you incessantly for their spoils.

Yours Truly,

Sarcy

--

Well, not quite Neale Donald Walsch but hey, for someone who has just picked up the book and has barely gone pass the first few pages, that’s my version of MY conversation With God.

The book was recommended to me by Suz, and I must say, it got me hooked. I have book I, II & III to occupy me for the whole month already.

pic courtesy of Amazon.com

Now I know what to do this weekend. Venue? I am thinking, Hyatt poolside.

Joining?