Snippets From My Life 3: I Don’t Have To Be A Star To Be Famous

Date: First week of Form 1
Place: Block A, Sekolah Aminuddin Baki KL

Senior: *Jumps from classroom right in front of me* Adik, you’re Cikgu Ghazali’s daughter right?
Me: Err… yes. *Inching away from him. He looks like a thug.*
Senior: Send my regards to him eh.
Me: Okay. What’s your name, abang?(he was 3 years older and I heard that juniors will get a bad rep if they don’t address their seniors ‘respectfully’)
Senior: It’s Joe.
Me: Okay. Can I go eat now?
Senior: *Jumps back into his class*

(I found out later that he’s my friend’s brother and he was kinda sorta the school thug.)

Date: Orientation week in UiTM
Place: My temporary room in Kolej Seroja

Shida: Nadia!!
Me: Err… Hi! *Fake smile* (Mind: Am I supposed to know her?)
Shida: Cikgu!! *Shook both my parents’ hands*
RockerDad: Bla, Bla, Bla. Honey, Shida was with Pusat Tusyen Hashim back then.
Me: Riiight!
Shida: Don’t worry cikgu, we’ll be best buds right away. *Puts arms around me and squeeze me tight*

(We didn’t become best buds in the end because she was having problems with attention hoarder boyfriend.)

Date: 2 months ago
Place: Basement parking, Suria KLCC

I was going down the escalator with DivaMom when I saw a familiar face queuing to pay the ticket. I was trying to figure out who he was as we made our way to the queue. As I was searching for change, I saw him looking at me out of the corner of my eye.

There were two people in front of us so DivaMom told me to go to the car first. He was already making his way to his car with his (assumed) girlfriend.

Zamri: You’re Nadia aren’t you? Cikgu Ghazali’s daughter?
Me: Yup. Zamri right?
Zamri: *Surprised look on his face* Yeah. So how are you?
Me: Currently happily unemployed. You look good by the way. *His (assumed) girlfriend instantly grabbed his hand*
Zamri: Thanks. Send my regards to your dad.
Me: Sure. See you.

(Zamri’s my arch enemy back in Form 4 English tuition class.)

Lunch Date

She nipped and tucked her hair over and over again in the LRT. The other passengers must’ve thought she had some sort hair nip/tuck OCD. She had chosen to wear her white empire waist top and flared jeans. She had put on some make up and at the last minute decided to wear her striped head band. She had eyed every wearable pair of shoes that she owned and settled on her denim 2 inches kitten heels (a decision that she would regret).

She had lunch plans with Jason that day. Where else if not at Suria KLCC?

She arrived rather early and decided to linger in Isetan. Wait. Not a good idea. The last time she was alone in Isetan, her vanity had suffocated her as she checked herself out in all the mirrors. No, that won’t happen again. Not knowing what to do, she called Jason up. He was early too. Yay! Brownie points!

They made their way to Madam Kwan’s because he had heard rave reviews about it. She loved the one in Pavilion but she was rather skeptical of the one in Suria; she told him that but he was rather optimistic about it. She ordered her favourite Mushroom Chicken Floss Mee while he wanted Nasi Bojari. She had iced water while his was warm. For dessert, they had Fried Banana Fritters with Golden Syrup and Vanilla Ice Cream.

All through the meal they talked; trying to get to know one another. She was amused by how this lunch date resembles an interview. Scratch that. The first date is ALWAYS like an interview.

She find him not only good looking but he was also smart. As smart as he is, he was in no way arrogant about it. They laughed a lot and one time she felt like the water she was trying to swallow would come out of her nose.

After lunch they walked around Suria. At one point, she had peeped at her watched and excused herself to the surau. He went in Toys ‘R Us and had bought himself a Rubik’s cube. By the time she found him sitting on one of the benches outside the surau, he was frustrated with the cube.

They walked outside to Starbucks for some coffee. “Iced, grande, caramel, no-whip mocha, please,” she said when he asked what she wanted. She grabs the Rubik’s cube that he had left on the table and absentmindedly played with it.

By the time he came back with their drinks, she had solve the cube. “How did you do that? You have to teach me!” She blinked. How do you teach someone to solve a Rubik’s cube? “I knew you’re smarter than what you’re trying to make people believe,” he nudged her calf with his feet. She pouted and innocently said “No, I’m not. I’m NOT!” He laughed, she kicked his shins and he laughed again.

After a while, his cousin called and asked if she could pick him up at The Ascott. He looked at her and asked her if she could walk him there. She said yes and he hung up the phone.

As they walked towards The Ascott, she relieved the sad story of why she had to cut her hair and him of his scary experience of the time his sister had tricked him to wax his brows. They stopped chattering when it was time to cross the road.

She instinctively grab his shirt as the cars and motorcycles zoomed pass them. He had then put his hand around her to keep her close. She wasn’t afraid of crossing the street (in fact, she was one of the bravest among her friends) but she appreciates his gesture to protect. As he guided them across the street, she felt safe in his arms.

(Thinking back, that’s how he knew that her phone was vibrating )

On The Hunt

At the peak of completing my project paper (read: almost zombie-like), I promised myself that after presentations were over, I would at least take a month’s break before I start looking for a job. For the last 6 weeks, I’ve been handing out resumes and going for interviews. By now, most of my classmates are employed.

To say that I don’t have the same qualification would be an understatement. It’s all about luck in job hunting. I always say to myself that it was not meant to be when the company that I want to work for never called back.

I don’t think that I’m THAT unlucky. I’ve been assured that if I apply to this one bank, they’ll make sure that I get a job there. This is no ordinary bank. It’s not one of the Top 5 banking groups in Malaysia. This is THE bank. The head honcho itself. They even say that I can choose which department that I want to go to. What more can a girl ask for right?

The thing is, I can’t imagine myself working in the building or the organization. Despite the prestige, salary and advancements, I think that I won’t be happy doing what they do there. In short, I won’t get to do the kind of work that I want to do there. “Take your time and think about it. We don’t want to pressure you into anything. Give HR a call whenever you’re ready,” that’s what one of the managers that came to see me said that day. I like him already.

Backtrack to midterm break, I had a meeting with the Appointed Actuary of one of the biggest conventional insurer in Malaysia. The whole “you’re the girl that rejected us for another insurer” incident popped up in our conversation. So he does remember me. They weren’t employing new people in the department, sadly to say. He had just wanted to see how I was doing and to see if I had the same drive as I did 2 years ago. Glad to hear that I left some sort of impression on him back then :p

Three weeks ago, I had a call from Talent Lab. They were calling candidates for their client; one of the top banks in Malaysia. We weren’t allowed to know which bank it was or asked about it at the pre-interview party at Bisou. I was skeptical but I went for it anyways. No harm in trying something new, I’d say. The bankers who came in were great. I think I had fallen for all of them that day especially Miss J (Yuyu, you would have loved her too). I also had won the challenge that day (which reminds me; anyone wants to go grab tea at Bisou with me? I have vouchers).

Apparently, I left the party with good impressions. Saiful was green because when he mentioned ‘actuarial’ and ‘UiTM’, Miss J associated them with me (I think winning the challenge was the root of it, love). It was mind boggling too when Aidil (the CEO of Talent Lab) reported that I had impressed the bankers that day. I didn’t think I did so well. I know I didn’t talk as much as Sarah (she’s so lovely that you can’t help to like her even when you want to not like her). I definitely know that I didn’t impress them by talking about the capital market like Kim and Jeremy did. I felt rather inferior whenever I find myself with them. I mean, they talked about the capital market while I talked about being a serial blood donor and ¼ Chinese (some of them thought that I was Chinese). I have no idea which part of that charmed the bankers ^-^

(I sound squeeky don’t I?)

The interview at Equatorial Hotel didn’t go great for me. Looking back I realized that I could’ve done better with my presentation. It wasn’t even up to my normal par (in my defense, arriving there at 7.30 a.m. my brain have yet to fully awoken ). I actually realized that somewhere in the middle of the presentation and went into my cocoon. Bad reflects. The plus point for me that day is that I actually guessed the bank correctly thanks to Mr. A’s Google-ble name and position.

I didn’t get chosen for the final interview. It’s a bummer but again, maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Did I mention that DivaMom’s friend was among the panel of three who interview me? So I had DivaMom called her to get some feedbacks. Nothing that I haven’t figured out myself She did backed me up when Miss J refused to advanced me to the next round. Miss J firmly said NO. I’m glad that she did because I don’t want to be advanced that way (especially when I know that I didn’t do enough to deserve it).

Fast forward to this week, I had two interviews. I can safely say that I nailed one of them.

Early Monday morning saw me trudging along Jalan Bukit Bintang for an early morning interview. I had butterflies in my stomach and went completely cold before the session starts. My mind relaxed because that always means that the outcome will be good. The endorphins helped me a lot that day. In the end, my essay and presentation went well than expected. The interviewer even said that the question was too easy for me despite my lack of interest in investment (I had told him that it was not my forte).

I had my second interview yesterday. This time with one of the statutory bodies and I can affirmatively say that I will not be getting the job. Again, a friend of DivaMom interviewed me. Upon knowing it was her, I reverted back into my cocoon. I have no idea why this happens. I told DivaMom that I’m never going to go interview where there’s possibility that one of her friends will interview me again. It’s bad juju.

So yes, my hunt continues. It’s hard when what you’re good at and what you want to actually do are not aligned. I told Saiful that if I’m yet to be employed, I would love to be with Talent Lab if they would have me. I love what they do and I would like to explore it even though I’m not trained in the field.

Wish me luck people. I’m going to need some good juju.

Heels Should Be Considered As Torturing Tools

As she was crossing the street to Ascott, her phone vibrated in her jeans pocket. She let it be; she was not about to sacrifice her life to answer her precious Sony Ericsson. It vibrated again as she navigate herself pass the speeding motorcycles and cars.

She stood in front of the Ascott with him until his cousins arrived in a Red VW Beetle. They got out and he introduced them to her. Asher was the oldest out of the two; 22 with wavy chestnut brown off-shoulder length hair and saucer-like green eyes. Despite her gorgeous features, Asher has this awkwardness with her height (which she admittedly confessed right there and then). The other cousin, Jami, was as tall as his sister but unlike her, his spiked hair was jet black and his eyes were an intense brown. He wore black and kept much to himself. After the brief introduction, Asher announced that they have to go or they’ll be late. They’ll be spending their weekend in Pangkor.

After they sped off, she crossed the street again. A feat that’s hard in 2 inches heels. He phone vibrated again when she arrived to the other side. She took out her phone; 2 missed calls and 2 messages. MekMeks and Dancing Freak Fairy Godfather had called.

“I enjoyed our lunch. We’ll do it again soon, I hope? Say hi to your friends. They’ve been vibrating you for the last half hour.” She can’t help but think that he’s either psychic or has good senses.

The other message was from MekMeks: “We’re at the food court. Sara and Wanie is being silly, asking you to say to him ‘can I take a picture with you? Just one… pleeeease…’” She giggled. She could just imagine if they had said the phrase out loud.

She called Dancing Freak Fairy Godfather and asked how his interview was doing. It went well, he said. She was panting (walking real fast AND talking should be considered a cardio exercise), making him curious. “Where are you?” She told him that she was walking back to Suria KLCC from Ascott. “I knew you guys were there. I should’ve just gone there for lunch and ACCIDENTALLY bump into you there.”

She can’t help but to laugh. He pried for more information and she let out some things about him. “OMG. You sound happy.”

That might be the excess endorphins due to the untimely exercise, love. No, she didn’t say that. She just laugh it off.

She said good bye to him when she arrived at the food court. They were waiting for her with their Udon, McD and Cantonese Kuey Teow. She diverted their conversation about Jason to a minimal. The world doesn’t revolve around him after all.

So what happened during lunch? Maybe for another day. All she can say is that she never kiss and tell :p

Accidental Exchange

She was between Social Science and Literature, flipping through books she wishes that she could bring home. She was intently reading the abstract of Not Without My Sister when she heard someone said “You should read that if you’re into memoirs. It’s one of the best.”

Startled, she looked up to find a foreign looking guy looking back at her. She blushed, smiled and said “Is it? I’ll have a look see first.” In THAT order.

“Have you read this?” he asked, holding Dina Zaman’s I Am Muslim. She said yes; that she had read the book. “Is it any good?”

“Depends,” she started. “If you’re conventional in thinking, like my dad, you would find it rather corrupting towards young Muslim women. If you’re someone who’s a bit open minded and pro-feminism, like my friend Lela, you would find it rather liberating. More importantly, if you’re looking for a book of teachings, this isn’t for you. It’s a book of thoughts.” She impressed herself because under normal circumstances, a guy that is exactly ‘her type’ would leave her behaving like a bubbling fool.

He was amused by her comment it seemed. He had chuckled and the corners of his eyes were crinkled. “So I assumed that you’re pro-feminism then?”

“I’m a PART-time feminist,” she had emphasized and before he was able to say anything else, she excused herself to the benches in the corner to browse through the books that she wishes that she could bring home with her. She was afraid that she would resort to some idiotic behavior if she continues to let herself be in this man’s presence. Plus, her calves were aching because of her heels despite the fact that it makes her look fabulous.

A few minutes later, he sat down beside her. She peeped at his book. “How to Date Men?” she asked with arched eyebrows “I would think that you would have no troubles in dating.”

He gave her a chuckle. “No. I was curious about what this person is saying about dating us men. Not that you ladies need a manual or anything.”

“Believe me. We do sometimes,” she said wistfully. “So are you local?” (She gave a mental slap on her head. Of course he wasn’t.)

He wasn’t (as predicted) but he has family here. He’s on a month worth of holiday, and it’s already his second week. He said he spends his afternoons there, browsing, reading and buying books. “So what are you doing here?” he had asked her back. Fair enough. She asked about him, it was only polite to answer him back.

She had just came back from an interview (“No wonder you’re in work clothes but lounging around flipping through books”) and didn’t felt like going straight home. She made an impromptu lunch date with her friend-that-thinks-she’s-like-a-big-sister at Nandos (her friend had texted her earlier “My boss said I smell of Nandos @.@”). Now she’s waiting for her friend who had his interview session after her so that they could analyze them.

“Boyfriend?” he asked with much interest. Of course she said a big fat NO and as if on cue, her friend called saying that he’ll be there in 10 minutes.

“That’s him? I guess I’d better let you out of my captive then,” he winked and she felt like it was physically possible to melt into a puddle. She said the customary “It was nice talking to you” and swivel herself to the direction of the exit.

As she was about to take a step he halted her with “This might be bold of me but can I have your number?” She held out her hand for his phone and keyed in her number. He looked at her name, smiled and said “I’m Jason by the way.” In that order, yes.

She said she had to really go, or her friend would kill her. He said he would text or call soon and they said goodbye. She skipped all the way to her friend’s car and told him all about it.

She swears that her friend is more excited about the possible text or phone call than her. He felt like if he wasn’t stuck at the interview, she would not have met Jason. She’s now contemplating to give her friend a new nickname. Dancing Freak Fairy Godfather, perhaps?

Snippets from My Life 2: It’s Her Birthday and She’ll Cry if She Wants Too

Me and B were discussing the fine details on why it’s so hard for all us girls to have an outing together.

Me: She (Hanie) complained that you guys’ (the other girls) schedules are not in sync with theirs (Hanie & Fadil).
B: Hehe… they live on another planet.
Me: Haha. And I live somewhere in between you guys
B: Hehe… that’s very apt!

Today is B’s 23rd Birthday. Happy B-Day Sayang *Hugs*

Men & Their Hands

“They touch your back as though there’s a handle there, and direct you where they want go. Or they place their hand on top of your head, paternally. Men and their hands. You’ve got to watch them every minute.” Calliope Stephanides, from Jeffrey Eugenides’ Middlesex.

In the mornings before the sun was up, he would come to my room and sit on the bed. With his warm fatherly hands, he would rouse my hair; it was time to wake up. Later in the kitchen, where I would be having my breakfast and talking to DivaMom, he would give her a kiss, a rub on her back and a rub on my head in affection before joining us. This man is my RockerDad.

His grimy hands would always find their way on my face to pinch my cheeks just to spite me. When it would tug a lock of hair/ the sleeves of my shirt, I know he wants something. With his hands too, he’ll irritate my little sister, pointing out her insecurities. These tyrants are my trio of brothers.

The fingers on his hands love to run itself through my then long hair sans flirtation because he had liked it. His hands would gesture animatedly when he is talking excitedly. When I’m talking, it would be on his chin, the rim of his glasses or drumming on the table top as he awaits his turn to talk. He had, a long time ago, patted my head with his brotherly affections. In his fury, he would ball his hands into fists. These hands belong to my friends.

His hands, in their mischief, often play eye tricks on me. Those same hands had also comforted me when I was sad. The same hands have also been on the small of my back as he walked me home. Our right hands often high fived when we accomplished something and the pinkies on our left hand had made promises with each other. These were my first (unrequited) love’s.

When he confused himself with what he had written on the board, he would muse with his hand on his head. Or he would pout his lips and rolls the marker in his hands. At the beginning of the hour, he would fan out his notes with authority with his weathered hands. Those same hands also made cakes and cream puffs. He uses big gestures when he’s intellectually provoking. These are the hands that had educated me over the years.

Clammy hands greeted me when we first met; who knew he was more nervous than I was? In awkwardness, his hands would fidget when he talks. If he’s confident of himself, he would put his hands on my knee when we talked. Lucky for him, it didn’t go anywhere else for I know Silat (sort of). His hands always reach for the bill first and insisted he would settle it; I appreciate the gesture even though I would go dutch. These hands belong to the men I dated.

Here’s what I think: men don’t talk about what their feeling, they let their hands do all the work. Jeffrey Eugenides was right. They have to be watched every minute.

The Girl & The Boy

She crept into his room on her tiptoes. It was only lit by the silver moon. She stood by the door frame, adjusting her vision in the darkness. She could make out the furniture in his small room, the clothes that scatter across the floor and him on his bed.

Closing the door behind her, she made her way to his bed. She stubbed her toe on the side table’s leg but did not make a sound; she didn’t want to startle him. She sat on the bed and watched him sleep.

He looked calmed when he sleeps. His cheekiness had melted away by the slumber. His breathing was shallow and slow glued her on his bed. It somehow comforted her.

They grew up in the same neighborhood, on the same street, on the same row of houses. Despite growing up in the same place, they were brought up differently. She was the first born in her family, making her grew up with high responsibilities and expectations. She was nurtured to become a doctor. He, on the other hand, had older siblings that spoilt him and thought him the rules of the world. He wasn’t pressured to take on any professionalism since birth. Despite these differences, they were friends when they were younger.

Eventually, they grew up and she went away. She comes back home as often as she could but he was not the same. He was no longer the boy that would eat her every word; he had found his voice. He no longer spends his time at home with his friends; they now go to THE place to be seen. He was no longer the boy she knew and grew up with.

They only fight now; he feels suffocated by her attention. They fought before, yes but now it’s far worse. She hated when he uses words that she doesn’t like hearing. Being the more persistent one, she always fought back and he in defeat would always storm off.

Earlier today, they had fought again. She stood her ground and he had slammed the door behind him. Now she felt her empathy growing for him instead. She couldn’t stand being angry at him for long. He is after all her brother.

She sighs at the thought of her teenage brother and kisses the top of his head. He shifted. She creeps back to the door and look back at him before she closed it. It was time to let go.

Tanned Skin Snow White

It has gotten normal for us (my brother and I) to be mistakenly identified as Chinese people. Fair skin, smallish eyes and button noses; who could blame them? Every so often I’ve people coming up to me and spoke in some form of Chinese dialect.

“Sorry miss. I thought you were a Chinese leng lui. Muka Cina, nama Melayu.” The guy behind the counter said after looking back and forth between my Student ID Card and face.

“Youngsters these days… never want to speak in their mother tongue!” An outraged popo complained after I said to her that I don’t speak any Cantonese.

I don’t mind the confusion really. I’m ¼ Chinese after all. Yes, I’m one of those mixed parentage product.

I do however hate that part of me when it is used as a so-called beauty scale; often times by my honey-skin friends. It’s one thing that it comes to their perception of attractiveness but another when society itself fuels it.

At one of the weddings I’ve attended:

Aunty 1: The groom’s good looking but the bride is umm…
Aunty 2: Not that pretty? Yea but at least she’s fair
My Friend: (Nudge me hard) See… it’s a plus having fair skin even when you’re not pretty. It’s always “not beautiful BUT fair” and “not beautiful AND dark”.

Ouch! (I’m not what you would call ‘head turner’ but I’m cute always ^^)

Despite the fact that I can get away being unpretty since I’ve fair skin, it doesn’t really make a difference. I still have acne (loads of it). I still have red blotches and scarred easily because it’s sensitive. And contrary to popular beliefs, I don’t always (never really) get the guy.

Even though I inherited the Oriental look, I was not cut or built like DivaMom. Instead, I had RockerDad’s height (which I’m grateful of) and structure; boxy with wide shoulders that would put a swimmer’s to shame and a big head (for real). Yet, I’m blessed with curves.

I know I make myself look like Frankenstein but it’s true. Having the ‘mixed genes’ aren’t all that it’s hyped up to be.

They’re clichés but I still believe in them. Beauty is only skin deep and it is in the eye of the beholder. I had a crush once that said to me that I’m too pale for his liking and about a gorgeous friend of mine he said “Not pretty at all. Not much going on in there *taps head*… Tsktsk” (not the nicest thing to say I know). He is now married to a caramel dipped doctor (IMHO I look cuter XD).

P/s: Darlings, you’re pretty enough as it is. Don’t make it turn the other way round with all those products.