Wanna Know Why?

Today I just wanna be blunt.

I'm so not in the mood to beat around the bush like I always have.

I know you must be angry when you found out I blocked you in Facebook. I know when you see me at the office, you smile but when I pass, you stick your tongue out and hate me guts.

But you must also know that you have not been giving me my space, you have not been my friend, let alone being my supporter when in time I need one. You love to read what I write, not to better your English, but to speculate whom I am angry with, what wrong I've done, whose toes I stepped on. You love to whisper behind my back, never to confront me for you never have balls. You love to follow my Facebook statuses knowing that you have things to talk about during lunch, during work, during whenever.

But you must know that I write because I love to. I write because it's a form of therapy. I write because I have decided that only one or two of my real friends will know how much I really hate you or despise you, but I can face you and work with you professionally. Because you hate working with emotional people like me. Because we all know that emotional people put passion into their work.

So from stopping you to speculate me and especially now in my present seat, I have to block you. From reading me and my emotions, from speculating whom I am upset with, from you thinking that I was writing about my superior.

But don't be too upset. You are not alone. There's few of you out there, because you all share the same traits - the typical Malay who will always stay typical.

Though some may only get to see my wall and not my statuses, you all actually share the same reason.

Owh, and another thing - you were never my friend.

:P

What's in My Head

Probably you wonder what have been going on in my head with all the Facebook statuses.

Probably by the time you read this, those turmoil I have would either be inflated or deflated, all formalized by a piece of signed paper.

You see, in times when I contemplate to move to a new pasture, I was offered, or rather, instructed to fill in a new post. It has been almost 3 weeks that I toyed with the idea, despite knowing that it is irreversible. Like I can do anything much, anyway. :P

What I fear most is not knowing what size of shoes I have to fill. It feels like I am venturing into a dark tunnel, all alone and blinded to all debris and whatnots there'd be on its ground. It's tough enough that I have been venturing this journey alone; now that it's pitch dark and no hands to guide me, I know I am bound to falls and knocks and bruises and oh-oh's.

I know, however, my communication instruments will not fail me. These could probably save me at the end of the tunnel. But what if there's no signal and I can't reach out for help? Do I halt my journey and pray help would fall from the ceiling?

Being here for too long, I know I'd hear voices from a far distance. Voices that are not encouraging, persuading me to give up and join them. Voices that smirk when I cry; clapping their invisible hands when I fall. And knowing that I will be alone, I will have to wipe my own tears and nurse my bruise. Do I have the strength to bear these? Yes, I know that I have been strong in my path but how do I know I can hold on for much longer? In life, whether we want it or not, when pain hits us, we still have to breathe and live. We can't end our life by clicking the Save button like in a computer game, and continue from that point onwards whenever we feel like it. We fall, we get hurt, we cry, we get up, we learn and we move on.

But somehow, I feel it's different with work. We fall, we get hurt, we cry and we contemplate whether it's worth the hurt to move on the same path again or bail out. Bailing out is always an option. But bailing out, to me, is a way of giving up. And bailing out, to me is a sign of weakness - something my ego can never agree with. I can never justify to myself that bailing out even after being battered is the way to go. Although I do feel stupid staying on.

So that's my fear.

But I also know that there'd be occasional voices that would give positive charges to my dwindling energy. Those that would cheer me on for me to get to the end of the very long tunnel. I know they'd be very faint and I'd have to pay extra attention to them, knowing that it will take yonks for me to hear them again. I will have to use these positive charges sparingly, like pawning the last of my prized jewelry.

And now you know. Why emotions swamped me the last week or so.

My fear. But I read somewhere that fear actually stands for False Evidences Appearing Real... Wonder how if that applies in my case.

:)

My 100th Entry...

Without me even counting, I have reached my 100th entry. I once promised myself that if I ever reach 100, I would seriously consider making a book out of my blog. Now that the big 100 is right smack in my face, I wonder where I should start.

Or probably I should never bother. Besides, good things sometimes roll in your open arms without you expecting it.

*chuckles*

Ignorance is Bliss. Not the Noun, but the Verb.

I know it's impolite. I know it's rude. But I also know that if I had been myself, I'd be even more sarcastic and spiteful.

But I think what I am trying to do is the best for all parties - to ignore and thus, to avoid lashing out because I know my words would be very hurtful.

Thing is, I am the kind who gives space to those around me. I don't prod, I don't invade privacy. I don't post on anyone's walls (on Facebook) other than to wish birthdays or to put up some less than private notices that I know will not cause damage to the person's public image. I try to give nonsensical comments to friends' statuses, but always being careful to go with the flow and not too personal. Regardless of what you've read, words that come from me are usually carefully thought of.

To me, Facebook is a public area. All that is said by you and upon you can and will be used against you. That's the rule of thumb I once learnt the hard way when I was much younger. And to it I hold.

But nothing much needs to be said if one does not respect or understand the term 'respecting another's privacy'. Indeed, respecting another's privacy involves not only knowing when to stop pulling jokes, it also takes into account knowing the connotation every word brings being read by a third party.

Of course, I can talk endlessly. So let me just make my point - ignorance is bliss. Not the noun, but the verb. Trust me. It's for the best.

I Don't Want...

I don't want to step on anyone's toes.

Honestly I don't.

I just want to sit here quietly, doing my work. I don't want to ruffle feathers, I don't want to make noise. I just feel like sitting here all alone and lonesome.

Not that I don't have the drive. I just don't have the motivation to minggle with negative minds trying to be positive. I've had enough of being positive when things are just plain negative. I've had enough of trying to make a difference when status quo is of desire.

And I hate changes. I hate not knowing what I have to face. I hate not knowing how to make pace, let alone constructing sentences so that they please the ears they befall. I'm not the kind to please. I please me and only me.

So please don't make me step on toes. Or I'll just see myself to the door.

Switching Between Hats

A full-time employee... and a part-time employer.

That's me. :)

It's not that easy switching hats, especially when the full-time hat is the one that has you think less and expect less. It feels funny that one moment you talk like an employee and the next moment has you signing letters and cheques sans attending meetings and act like you own the company.

But this life has its advantages, not that I complain.

I became a better employee - less complaining, less criticising, less problematic, more open. I became a better consultant at approaching employee matters... Of course, I don't deal with those matters directly; it's only fair as I am after all a part-timer at it.

But certain working relationship issues need a woman's emotional point of view and I must say I have been wise at dispensing it... unfortunately not at the place I spend time fully... hence, I must be viewed as a little naive girl there. :D (But that works with me as well, can't tell them how smart I am now, can I?)

Sometimes I ask myself if I'll ever take the risks of being a full-time employer - not the monetary risks, but the human-factors that may affect the productivity of the company as a whole. Staff management is not as easy as it seems. Mind you, managing a clerk at my full-time job sometimes drives me up the wall, what's more managing a team of 'management wannabees'. :) I'm pretty sure my "drill sargeant" method does not work with the current workforce, leaving me beside me, myself and I if I get too unlucky!!

So for now, I just switch hats only when I am required to. I'll stay as the "Puan Boss" when "Encik Boss" goes outstation - signing documents, dropping instructions, playing counsellors at odd times and uncalled moments.

Probably until these hats wear off.

:D

Between Culture and Religion

It's that time of the year again!

The time to uphold culture that does not belong to me yet, it's adamant that I observe it to make sure that my girls know a little of what's flowing in their blood.

It's time for mooncakes and lanterns - a time to give and a time to share, in the Chinese culture.

Every year without fail at this time of the year, my eldest would bring a mooncake to school to give to her class teacher. It's a sign of respect and a give of thanks. Though she may not understand why she gets to do that every year while none of her counterparts do it, I know it gave her a sense of self and identity. Especially this year, when she's the only one of a different ethnic background in her class.

It's not because she attends a vernacular school; it's because I want her to remember her roots - one that holds much on respecting the elders.

But some may confuse between culture and religion, stating that mooncake is part of religious belief rather than a culture. To which, I'd say, even if it is, it depends much on our nawaitu (intention).

And my nawaitu stands as it is.

:)

Happy Birthday, Malaysia...

Can I blame the fasting month for me not being patriotic this year? Or may be the lack of TV watching?

But whatever it is, I know the non-anticipated passing on Yasmin Ahmad has affected the nation greatly. It does seem that we are now lost, without a voice leading us towards the feel of belonging.

But why do we need a voice to make us feel belonged in this country we called ours? Why we allow the politicians to harp on unity issues that are actually nonexistent? Why do we allow them to divide us? And conquer our minds with non-sensical non-ethical accusations...

We are all Malaysians by birth. We are all born with equal rights. It is up to us to decide what shape we take, what move we make and what future lies before us.

And for the love of this land, I will once again inspect if my Jalur Gemilang is in good shape to dance in the Melawati breeze.

Happy birthday, Malaysia...

A Firecracker and A Loose Cannon

A little firecracker, he calls her.

I can only imagine the connotation it brings. Of how much love and admiration, of how she sparkles life into their love. I can't help but envy her.

I, on the other hand, is a 'loose cannon'. I didn't know if that was a compliment. But I take it as one nonetheless. A loose cannon that has the ability to do anything it wants, hitting left right center as it pleases; one loose cannon that has the prerogative to not hit anything whenever it feels not to; a very loose cannon with an unpredictable emotional swing. :P

But, hey, give this cannon some credit just because it knows itself well. :)

The Rock of All Rocks, The Fort of All Forts

My father has been a man with little words. He doesn't nag, he doesn't talk much. He rarely expresses himself in most occasions.

My early memories of my father was that when he was a Math teacher in Sekolah Tun Fatimah, Johor Baru. We stayed in the quarters, a huge L-shaped house. My mom would close up one part of the house; she told me it's already too big for the 3 of us even with the other part unutilized.

My father must have earned little back then. We didn't have a car. Every Saturday, we'd walk past the classrooms down the hill to the bus-stop, where we'd wait for the bus to take us to KOMTAR. Coming home, if no large purchases were done, we'd still take the bus and we'd walk past the classrooms again to get home. I was 5, then... and I dreaded the walk home.

I don't remember hearing my father's voice a lot those days.

And I certainly don't remember him being angry at me much other than the incident when one day he marched towards me with his belt. All I remember was I made my mother angry and I got the belting from him instead. After that, my mother had the best weapon ever against me - "do it again and I'll tell ayah" which definitely would get immediate response from me.

But I do remember that if I can't get my mother to buy me anything, I can talk to him and he'll give me that look saying "we'll get it if I can afford it"... which would usually end with him affording it.

I remember being so safe holding his hands, so happy whenever he was around when I was growing up.

In Standard 1 through 4, I was always at the top of my class. When in Standard 5, the school had some reshuffling and I joined some of the smarter kids in school and only managed to get the 5th spot. I remember one night while in the car waiting for my mom to get some mee goreng mamak, I was put under the spotlight by my father.

"Kenapa dapat nombor 5?"

That was he asked. Short, sharp and no nonsense.

I was stumped. All I could say was that Chong Phui Fong, Azimah and Shahrizal were smarter than me and that I got almost perfect marks and yet had to settle for 5th place. He said nothing. And his silence killed me, making me wish that I could just kill Chong, Azimah and Shahrizal (and the other guy) so that I could reclaim my #1 spot.

By then, my father had obtained his degree and was transferred to the Ministry of Education. He'd take me to work on Saturdays. Back then, the unit he was in was located at the Bank Pertanian building in Kuala Lumpur. His room was right in front of a library, and he'd teach me how to borrow books by writing his name in a huge register by the library door. Every Saturday, without fail. There I was, in his room, reading books after books after books, while waiting for time to go home. And we never chat. We just sat there, he with his work, me and my books.

Not until I grew up and got married that I try to create conversations with him. That was when I realized, despite his less of words, it did not mean he is less of love. He is so full of love, only not full of words. When I was going through hard times, it was his voice that soothed me. When I try to be strong, it's his words that add steel to me. When I try to hide my tears, it's his tones that brought down those pearls.

And through numerous, and I mean numerous, times that I felt like giving up, it's his SMSes that became the wind beneath my wings.

The rock of all rocks, the fort of all forts.

The one person whom I will be lost without, the one person whose love I never have enough of.

Ayah, I love more than you can ever imagine, and I owe you more that I could ever repay you. I love you.