To the Anonymous Tagboard Spammer

I did not mean to venture here. Not with exams so near, not with my new, well-meaning resolutions of staying far, far away from the Internet until I have either finished studying or until my exams actually end. I meant to exercise restraint.

Then again, I have never been good at resisting temptation.

Nothing much has happened, and yet so much. A whirlwind of crazy stunts, late nights and the conclusion that Azreen does indeed possess an evil mind and will eventually gang up with Pudtz and the Nikster in their quest for world domination. I look forward to seeing chaos unleashed.


Yes, I am stressed. My room is in a shocking state. I can no longer find things I used to effortlessly pick out from their designated spot. I discover rumpled clothing and socks as I pull back the bedsheets before bed. Chocolate wrappers and empty soft drink cans are strewn in random spots in my room. I find myself indulging in a diet of chocolate for breakfast and lunch. My eyeliner has smudged around my eyes, from my lack of effort to apply makeup remover from the last time I actually went out. I've lost track of days and dates. It takes me minutes longer to formulate intelligent sentences. I am steps away from turning into an all-time slob.

Some random has been spamming my sister's TagBoard, before she actually decided to start revamping her site and changed to another tagboard. Naturally, her friends and I have responded to the harsh comments with our own questions.

Personal comments, that attacked her physical appearance and actions, under the mocking guise of so-called well-meaning advice. Harsh words from someone who doesn't even know her for the person she is. There have been comments under different names, although the poor command of language and similar vein of all comments, including the continuous insipid, predictable use of coarse language all seem to indicate the comments being put forward by the same individual.

o my challenge to actually leave a contact number, whoever it was actually did put one up eventually. To think that they would actually bother picking up to my calls. And here I was, making a long distance call all the way from Melbourne, absolutely dying to have a little chat to my sister's anonymous spammer. Sigh.


Here's a warning, darling. No one messes with my sister without messing with me.


I don't have to sink down to your level to call you the same names you called my sister. I'm a lot more creative than that, and somehow, I suspect we're so far away from the same intellectual plane that I doubt you'd understand the finer nuances of what I'd love to say to you. Trust me, I can think of a hundred and one things I'd like to call you, and all of them a lot more creative than 'bitch'.

Bitch is overused, dude.

Then again, I'm not sinking down to your level. My sister's got her life ahead of her, and she's got so much more to offer the world than you'll ever be able to despite your best efforts, and that by itself is reason for me to roll my eyes at your sad efforts to undermine her abilities.

I don't have to understand why you said the things you said, especially when you claim to be giving advice. Advice in the form of sad, pathetic personal comments. Advice, you say? Advice from someone who's obviously got too much time on their hands to do anything constructive, but instead chooses to cyberstalk someone on the Internet in order to feel good about themselves?

I feel no anger towards you, apart from a reflection of my sister's annoyance. You obviously lack the courage and integrity to reveal your actual identity or leave any way of reaching. I just wonder what you are hoping to get out of all of this, because ultimately, you walk away. The ultimate loser.

Here's a thought.

You. Me. One on one. Just the two of us, baby.

Don't underestimate my tact for lack of emotion. There's a streak of violence underneath the surface that I would absolutely love to unleash on you. The thought of my knuckles connecting on your bones actually makes me smile. The thought of you bruised, bloody and broken. Funny, and I never thought myself as the violent type. But somehow I'll make an exception for your case.

I would love to break you. And I'll do it with a smile on my face.

Random Confidence

Late nights and barely any sleep on days leading up to the weekend, and 48 hours later I was buzzing with the adrenaline I needed to help Azreen prepare her birthday party. A throwback to the eighties; Azreen had to choose the absolute worst in the style era. Fun, but fun that came with a grimace at the sheer horror of everyone's costumes, for the most part.

When I opened the door to Eric and his friend Dincha, I was surprised, if only for the fact that he was someone we just met the night before, and at a random club at that. Granted, he did seem nice enough when we talked to him the night before, but every single bit of safety advice that I had ever been told in past years started bells ringing in my head at that moment. I was more surprised that he had actually accepted the invitation as opposed to Azreen actually inviting him.

They were outsiders. Different. They were working as opposed to all the students there. We didn't have similar backgrounds. We didn't come from the same country. Yet, the two men had the confidence to rock up to a roomful of complete strangers and take it by storm.

The two of them turned out to be incredibly fun. A bit on the wacked out side, a bit on the crazy side, but entertaining for the most part. There was no shyness, no objections about the games we wanted to play; they just jumped in headfirst.

It was slightly bizarre, considering the game we ended up playing throughout the later part of the night. The 7 Deadly Sins, a game where we were stretched to the limits of our own personal social acceptability, where we had to perform actions in order to earn the tokens we needed to win the game. Bizarre in the sense that we were performing actions that may cause some individuals to shift in their seats uncomfortably, to raise eyebrows; actions that one might be less than comfortable with performing with new friends as opposed to old. I know I definitely got more than I bargained for that night! I hadn't laughed so hard in ages, but neither have I been so self-conscious either! Nevertheless, I suppose there are less interesting ways of getting to know new friends as opposed to making complete fools of yourself on the first meeting.

I still remain wary with strangers, but there are always exceptions to the rule. We were lucky enough to have met individuals that justified Azreen's actions and I am glad that she enjoyed herself on her birthday party all the more for it. For my part, I admire the way she manages to be so comfortable with people she has just met, and wish that I could be less reserved, less shy with new people. Confidence is an art, and it is an art that I can only fake, but at least I can fake it well enough to shield my insecurities from the outside world.

I admire the individuals with natural charisma and charm, with that inborn spark of confidence, especially when it comes to being social. I admire people who can approach strangers and effortlessly strike up a conversation, knowing somehow that the other individual will respond well, to my utmost amazement.

Now if only I can figure out how to do what they do.

Guilty Pleasures

Despite what anyone says about material appearances, I doubt most people are able to deny the fact that there are certain material things that give you that little extra zing to the day. Something that makes you feel a little better, or makes gets you into the mood you want to be in.

Some people are influenced by the way they look. Good hair days make them, bad ones break them. Days where skin seems unusually clear and glowing is enough to keep them upbeat throughout the day. Or maybe it's the smell of your favourite lip balm during those moments of stress.

Some respond to clothes. Wearing something that makes them look good gives that added edge of confidence. Or comfort clothes, of sentimental value that act as a reminder of good times, or a good phase of their lives, whenever life throws them a curveball.

Some resort to food, some to music. Some to an item of personal value. Most individuals have their little comfort mechanisms rooted in material posessions, a little something that causes them to smile a little brighter, to feel a little happier, to walk with a bit more confidence, to start the night with that little extra cheer.

For me, it is my love affair with lingerie. I am more than happy to browse for hours in a lingerie store, indulging in the rich materials of silk and satin and lace and the way they feel against skin, tempted by the different designs that seem inviting, ranging from the innocent ribbons and frills to the more interesting combinations of strategic partings.

There is something about good lingerie that makes me feel infinitely feminine. It's amazing how I can always pick out something to match my mood. That said, it is amazing how my choice of undergarments make me feel happy. My collection remains my guilty pleasure, and I take as much pleasure in collecting as I do with the actual use. My closest friends have expressed amazement at the amount of lingerie I have. I have no defence, save for the fact that I love the different cuts and designs and colours. My latest purchase was a corset and garter stockings, and that was enough to keep me on a feel good high for weeks, whenever I even looked at it, much less when I first wore it.

I care not for the fact that no one will ever know what I wear underneath the surface. It is enough to make me smile, knowing that sometimes I look stunning on the inside, as superficial as it seems, but that is my own guilty pleasure that causes me to smile a little brighter, to feel a little happier, to walk with a bit more confidence, to start the night with that little extra cheer.

It's That Time of Night

It's that time of the night when the world is still and silent, and the only thing I hear is the sound of my own breathing. Steady. Slow. Rythmic. That time of the night where the whole world seems asleep and time has stood still, where you feel like the whole world has stopped spinning and time has stopped for you at that very moment. It's that time of the night where you are alone with your thoughts, with your deepest, darkest desires and your innermost secrets.

It is the still of the night where I reflect the events of the day, and cross analyze and daydream about possibilities and meanings and dissect things down to essentials. I am quiet and still and I remember the events of the night. I thought about the events of that night.

Three parties in a night, where I laughed and danced and socialized and let my snap happy fingers do the talking, before the night faded into day, and I crawled into my bed with the remnants of my energy. Three parties where I conveniently decided to hell with everything else and go all out that weekend.

Jeen's, where I caught up with Ormond friends, and we chattered on the sidelines while the others proceeded to get drunker and drunker, which gradually led to people losing their clothes, at which point I had photos to blackmail people and decided it would be wise to leave before things got rowdier, or the single guy who had lost all his clothes save his boxers lost those too.

A pit stop to Fi's 21st, where we walked in untimely in the middle of the speeches, where our latecoming was pointed out publicly and caught in the spotlight, I could only sheepishly smile and wave. Everyone was almost drunk, and for once, I felt removed from it all. It was that time of the night where I stopped and realised that I didn't really want to be there at the moment, despite normally enjoying the company of those there, but at that point I sincerely felt like I should be back celebrating with my roommate, Iyra.

So I left, and glad I was. It wasn't the wildest party. There was no drunkenness, no stripping, no loud music pumping. And yet, just chilling with other Malaysians, I found solace in the company of others that I could painfully relate to. For that moment, I remembered once again who I was, and despite blending in so well with my Australian friends, despite the new experiences and different lifestyle I was leading, it was almost a relief to just chill with people who seemed incredibly in tune with my wavelength. Or perhaps it is just culture that does that.

Regardless, I enjoyed myself tremendously. We played the 7 Deadly Sins, and I laughed till my sides hurt and till I couldn't get a breath in. The guys, sporting as they were, performing the stunts they had to do in order to win their tokens, and being absolute sports about it. And when we were all done, those early hours of the morning, we just chilled while the guys took turns strumming on the guitar and singing songs from our school days.

Nostalgia.

And it was that time of the night, right before I dragged myself to bed with the remnants of my energy, right before I closed my eyes and fell into slumber, that I smiled and felt the optimism bubble up inside me, and forgot about the niggling guilt gnawing at me for neglecting other things.

It's that time of night where you are most vunerable. But screw it, for morning will come, and the walls will come up once more.

Yay for the Waiters!

The aftermath of the assignment left me totally drained throughout the week. All I can say is thank god for Chris's help. The boy saved my hide.

Nevertheless, by the time Friday rolled around I had plans to recharge the batteries.

Girls night in! Sometimes all a chick needs is to be with her girlfriends and do girl stuff. It was a little bit of housemate bonding as well. Strange, that all four of us live in the same unit, and yet at times, lead totally separate lives. It was one of the few times that me, Akmal and Liyana made proper plans that we would stay in and do stuff. Strange, that I've lived with them for a couple of months and yet, barely mention them, even though they play such central roles in my life now. It is one of the things you take for granted.

I had so much fun though. Lounging around in front of the computer watching Dirty Dancing, as Akmal and I drooled over Patrick Swayze, Liyana and I teasing Akmal about the sexual connotations that she totally missed, and getting mushy over romantic scenes in the way you can only do with your girlfriends. It seemed a natural progression to whip out our makeup kits and the tongs and curlers, and the many photographs we took throughout the night, which I still crack up at everytime they flash across the screen. I miss those days.

Batteries recharged in time for our Saturday night antics. I didn't expect to ever, ever step foot inside Mandate, and yet, there I was, with Iyra, Munira and Azreen, all four rather excited and tingling with anticipation. The entrance foyer seemed relatively quiet. It seemed like we were the only ones there at first. Paid out entrance fees and waited around until our waiter came down and unlatched the gate that separated the foyer from the stairs.

Be still my heart. The waiter was the most adorable guy ever. Dark eyed and funky haired, and topless, with a body worthy of a Baywatch lifeguard. And he had the sweetest smile! It was a good beginning to the night.

As he led us up the stairs, me trying hard not to blatantly perve on his rippling muscles, we stepped into the room. The first thing that struck me was the amount of people. A throng of women, all laughing, drunk, and possibly horny. It reminded me of a zoo. Their gazes filled with lust, a sense of being surrounded by predators. And men were the prey of the night.

We walked in the middle of Tarzan's act. The strippers did themes throughout the night.

Yes, strippers.

It was a strip club, exclusively for women. Men performed dance routines onstage, to the catcalls of the women, and every once in awhile, picked volunteers from the audience and simulated sex acts onstage. They teased and twirled, and suggestively toyed with the small scraps of material that covered essential bits as the crowd roared for more. I was secretly relieved when they stopped at underwear, for most cases.

Tried and tested costumes. Cowboy. Detective trenchcoats and a navy uniform, both which I discovered a personal preference for. A matador outfit, which was a little strange. Oh well. In the end it all came down to their thongs. There was a strange number with a cross dresser, which was a bit disconcerting, but the whole show was entertaining. Cheesy at times, funny at times, but definitely entertaining.

The audience mostly consisted of women out on their Hen's nights, and celebrations of some sort, be it birthdays or celebrating a recent divorce. They were highly charged, ready to let loose, and very, very drunk. I had to bite back my smiles whenever a tipsy woman 'tripped' on a waiter. It smacked of desperation at some points. I almost pitied the waiters, as they tried to tactfully avoid the women who were getting a little bit too frisky, a little bit too hands on.

We were watching the show at the back, which was perfect, because that seemed to be the waiters' hangout whenever there was a lull, which meant I got to happily take my fill in of them. Azreen and I were easily distracted, whenever our first waiter walked past, whom we christened 'Tom', after the band member from Blink 182. I was much too embarassed to walk up and ask if I could take photos with them, but Iyra and Azreen were getting well into the spirit.

I totally melted when Iyra and Azreen were taking pictures with 'Tom', while I shyly watched longingly, and he must have noticed, because he smiled at me and said, "You're not going to leave her out, are you?" Total meltdown. I am officially besotted.

It was an entertaining night. One of those things I shall look back in my older days and chuckle to myself, and say, "Well. At least I've done that."