The World's Shortest Personality Test

Your Personality Profile

You are funky, outdoorsy, and down to earth. While you may not be a total hippie... You're definitely one of the most free spirited people around. You are very impulsive - every day is a new adventure. However, you do put some thought behind all your actions. Still, you do tend to shock and offend people from time to time!

The World's Shortest Personality Test

Don't ask

Don't ask me if I'd like to go for dinner with you, because I've never turned you down before.

Don't ask me where next, because I don't really care where we go as long as we go there together.

Don't ask me if I'm alright sitting there alone, because I'll always be alright as long as you're close by.

Don't ask me if I mind hanging out with your friends, because I really don't.

Don't ask me what's on my mind if I'm unusually quiet, because I may be just really tired.

Don't ask me what's wrong with me, because I don't know the answer myself.

Don't ask me if it's alright that you want to head home early, because I know you'll want me to say yes.

Don't ask me if it's that time of the month, because I may be sad for many other reasons.

Don't ask me not be angry with you, because you know I'll never be.

Don't ask me why my eyes are swollen, because I don't really want to tell you why I was crying.

Don't ask me why I love you, because I just do.

The truth about girls

Got this off my Friendster bulletin.

1. Gossip isn't a sin. It's an art.
2. We aren't ashamed to cry.
3. We must go to the bathroom in groups
4. We have this thing called feelings. Don't hurt them.
5. We don't wake up looking pretty. It takes time and effort.
6. Sometimes is just never quite enough.
7. We need girls nights OFTEN.
8. We hold grudges and we never forget the things you say to us that hurt.
9. It doesn't matter who dumped who or why. Whenever we see an ex with another girl, it always bothers us. Not because we're not over you, but because we know we used to be that girl.
10. Makeup can hide so many things, like puffy eyes from crying to huge scars from a broken heart.
11. Never ever ask a girl what she weighs; or imply anything about her weight being too much or too little. Just don't do it.
12. Never ask a girl if she's being so bitchy because of PMS...because other things annoy us...duh.
13. As much as we say we didn't like you that much...we did.
14. Girls notice every little thing so be careful what you say and do.
15. Our eyes are located in our heads. Not our chest or butt. When you're not looking in our eyes, WE KNOW.
16. We get a feeling in our gut when things are wrong (seriously true).
17. Sometimes we trust you because we want to even when we know you are lying, and it hurts.

Don't ask me to validate all these statements because I'm not going to. Why? Please refer to no. 4 *cackles evilly*

Whatever.

My favorite lecturer

Because I like Mr. Chee so much, I snuck a picture of him during last Friday's class.

The shutter went click.

And he yelled at me, "This is not a photography class!"

I like Mr. Chee. He's cool. I'm serious. I was yelled at 2 seconds after this picture was taken.

La Vie en Rose

A Friday ago, I was 10 minutes late for my Journalism 112 class.

As I brisk walked to class, I was surprised to see Mr. Chee having his nicotine break outside.

Too early for a break, I thought to myself.

I mumbled my hurried apologies and he said something along the lines of getting my ass into the class.

Some dude (from Marketing or somewhere, I think) was giving out evaluation forms to the students. It's that time of the year again when we get to bitch about who we really like (and think is doing a good job) and who we think should be shown the exit when the semester ends.

Mr. Chee is about 62 years old and hard of hearing. He has a smile that reminds me of my grandfather; it lights up his face and makes him look young despite the crows' feet at the corners of his eyes. He's probably one of the only lecturers that I've met so far who's honestly interested in sharing his knowledge with his students.

I liked Mr. Chee, of course. I like the way he made us sing that Brother John song in about a thousand languages.

To develop an appreciation for language, he says.

I like the way he's never stingy with praises, and very generous with criticism.

He hates that we have to study from books, and encourages us to read the papers and surf the internet more often.

So, anyway, when Mr. Chee reentered the class, he barked, "Oh, come on. How long does it take for you people to condemn me in that piece of paper anyway? Just do that damn thing and let us carry on with the class."

Someone's in a foul mood today.

And so we got on to our lessons.

People walked in an hour into the class. People sauntered in without looking the slightest bit apologetic. People talked and whispered in class. People banged about in class when they brought in the extra chairs for themselves.

He had enough.

And he lectured us about the importance of being punctual.

"It's not too difficult to come to class on time, is it? Why are you late? I know studying is not the easiest thing to do in the world and at times it can get pretty uphill. I know because I've been there, too. You're all privileged enough to be sent to pursue your tertiary education. Why don't you like what you're studying? Why don't you try to like it? Why do you produce lackadaisical work? Why don't you have passion for what you do?"

He left it at that.

At the end of the class, he said to us, "Before you go, I want you to listen to three versions of the same song. It's called La Vie en Rose. The first is by a soprano from Hong Kong, recorded in Mandarin, the second is by a Spanish singer called Julio Iglesias. The last one is sung by a French singer called Edith Piaf. Listen to all three and let me know which one sounds the most passionate to you."

La Vie en Rose.

Most of us agreed that the version by Edith Piaf sounded the most passionate.

And then Mr. Chee told us that Edith Piaf was born in the streets and was blind at one point of her life. Her mother was a street acrobat and she was the singer alongside her mother's shows. Life was difficult, life was harsh. Yet, la vie en rose. Life is rosy, she sings.

"Class, life was difficult for her, probably a lot more difficult than a lot of yours are. But she has passion in what she does. Life is still rosy to her. I hope you'll all find an Edith Piaf in you one day."

I sat there, stunned.

"Class dismissed."

My friends, Gao and Boe

I was fast asleep in bed on a cold Thursday morning.

My eyes flew open at exactly 4.56am and the first thing I saw was that the screen on my phone was lit.

1 message received

Funny, I didn't hear the message tone. So why did I open my eyes then?

It was from Gao, sent at 4.50am. It said:

Hello friends, I will be leaving Malaysia tonight to begin a different chapter of life. It's been a lovely stay thanks to all of you. Hope our paths will cross again in the near future.

I didn't fall asleep again after that even though my class is at 10am. Much later.

In stark contrast to the post below to mark my 100th entry, I was struck by a sudden pang of sadness when it finally hit me that Gao and Boe were leaving for good.

Gao was the one who drove my car and chauffeured me to Bandar Sri Damansara because I didn't know the way there. It says a lot about my sense of direction when an African boy knew KL better than I did.

The African boy who drove me places in my car, November 2004 at Jon's place.

When we went to Penang last year, it was Gao who bought us tickets from Pudu the day before because I was just as clueless as Boe and Michelle were.

Michelle, Jon, Gao and I frolicking in the beach, August 2004. *photo courtesy of Thomas and Jon's Nikon D70*

Gao, Michelle and I, lost in Gurney drive August 2004. *photo courtesy of Boe*

The nights and mornings when we were shooting echoes were long and tiring and Gao kept me awake on most nights.

There is a small Italian restaurant a stone's throw away from my house that I've always been wanting to go to. On the way home from college one day, Gao suggested that we have lunch there. The food was delicious.

There were mornings when I'd go over to Gao's place for editing and I'd end up sleeping on the couch while he worked, only to wake up to the finished product.

Last month, Gao came over and ate a whole tub of Ribena jelly that I had made. A whole tub. And he didn't complain at all.

Gao, reluctant to be photographed with a slightly tipsy me, November 2004 at Jon's place.

We were on many shoots together, big and small. We've worked on group assignments together many, many times. We've been to focus groups with students from various universities and Gao outshone us all with his quiet demeanour and rational debate. Yes, that sole African boy surrounded by about 10 Malaysian undergraduates.

This same African boy who grew up in a farm in Botswana. This African boy who told me about his hunting trips in the wild, and of the bitter cold in Botswana when winter comes around.

This African boy, my friend.

*photo courtesy of Jon and his Nikon D70*

Gao made me laugh, many times, with his put on Malaysian accent and his exaggerated use of lah. Yet, at times, Gao catches me by surprise with his observation of Malaysians. Things I've overlooked before when it comes to my own kind.

In the years that I've known Gao, I've enjoyed his company. And I'm always bowled over by his intelligence and wit.

He's probably halfway home to his farm by now, and I'm missing him already.

I hope to see Gao next Christmas. I want to ride in a tractor around the farm and go hunting at night. I want to know what winter's like in Botswana. And then maybe, we can go to Boe's place after that.

Boe, my other African friend who can leave me laughing till my sides hurt, November 2004 at Jon's place

I hope to see you next Christmas, Boe, July 2005 *photo courtesy of Tania with my Kodak DX7590*

My 100th post

To mark my 100th post, I've decided to honor a certain sor poh who's been bugging me to blog about her for the longest time.

She is special to me, no doubt. Almost all of my balai polis visits had been with her, anyway.

I met her in college shortly before I turned 18. She bought me "birthday cake" and with a few other friends, surprised me in the student lounge on my birthday while they sang Happy Birthday to me. She bought me a helium balloon and we traipsed around in the pasar malam that night, much to the envy of toddlers and pre-schoolers. We got balloon you don't have.

She'd dragged me shopping while my left foot was still swollen and bandaged from a sprain days before. And she'd stood at the other side of a very busy road watching, mocking me, saying, "Eh, quickly lah run across. A lot of cars lah" while I tried very hard to limp across and not get hit by cars whizzing by.

I had her teethmarks on my arm once when we went clubbing. I had been slapped, vomitted on, screamed at, had my toes stomped on. All in the same night. With her.

And then there was a time when she sought refuge in my house for a couple of weeks and was being pursued by a "friend" of ours. That "friend" had flowers delivered to my house, where upon acceptance, the flowers were asked to take their place in the toilet.

How could I also forget the time when, under the pretext of being drunk, she'd kissed the guy I was having a crush on, right in front of my eyes? Of course, that episode was quickly forgotten when we had a near-fight with that guy and his friends the weekend after, 4 on 4.

I've seen her pick men up in clubs, I've seen the men do the same to her. I've never agreed to the way things are done. And I even had to rescue her from the washroom in Rox once. But she could've kicked him in the nuts or something, anyway, even if I wasn't there.

There was a time when I "ran away from home" and she provided a roof over my head for weeks. I slept in her bed, because she was seldom home; away at her boyfriend's place, I suspect.

Once, I went home with her to Penang, and for the 3 days I was there, I was treated like a king. I was fed and I was fed. And then I was fed, right up till the second I boarded the bus that was KL-bound.

The year I got my driving license, she asked to be chauffeured to an interview in Summit. At peak hour. With my Mum's 4WD. I had to brave the eternal Subang jam, that dreaded roundabout with about a million cars, and then I even had to park illegally because she claims that she was late for the interview. I had almost shat in my jeans then because I didn't know how to park, whether legal or illegal. And then she took over the steering wheel, and I almost shat and passed out because it was my mother's car. But all is well and she didn't get the job. Ha-ha.

Auntie, I hope you're happy that I finally blogged about you. And I hope you'll be even happier when you see the picture I posted up.














P/S You know I still love you, right?