Something must be said about grandmothers. While mine is perfectly delightful as far as cooking is concerned, the 81 years old lady is rather aggressive when managing the family grapevine. It seemed that she has an opinion about just anyone with her husband’s surname. Over dinner tonight, I was grateful that her analysis (with one of the aunts’, no less) of the resemblance of my facial structure to that of my parents has moved on to the scrutiny over my brother’s new hairstyle, au naturel, which supposedly should justify his introduction to everyone outside the family as Rain. In turn, his narcissism pride over his long unruly weird curly mane (drawn on a piece of paper to the approval of the father) was met with righteous verbal disgust critique (this time including the cousin sister’s), and the subject himself was not present for self-defense. God bless him.

Over dinner, I considered the benefits of my trip to Penang. I had to get up at five this morning, much to the displeasure of my nocturnal nature. The sleep in my father’s car would have well made up for this abomination if I was not forced to open my eyes some hours later to a very warm car with the keys missing in action. Apparently we arrived at a construction yard in Taiping and he was attending a meeting in this flimsy trailer-looking building, leaving little gaps in the car window for me to breathe. I might have thrown an unsightly fit for an engineer’s daughter over child abuse if it was not for the buffaloes my father and his associates pointed out to me, grazing on idyll muddy grounds around pilings too high.

“You don’t have to pay to see them here!” One of his associates merrily pointed out to me, as if the visit of buffaloes should well make up for a project that should finish in four months. A project still in its foundation stage, no less.

“Unproductive meeting,” My father lamented, after we left. “I’ve been here at least 10 times.”

Which comment brought my mind to the main reason I wanted to come to Penang in the first place. Recently over a joint or two in the States, I came to realize that out of all my family members I knew my grandfather the least. This is a man I was told to have taught English in Thailand; the same man who was responsible for my father’s interest in English and indirectly, my own.

Over dinner, in his usual soft-spoken demeanor, he told me he forgot how to speak it, in Mandarin.

Including his childhood, his youth, the war, and his marriage proposal to his wife.

He did not remember any particular interest during his more robust years, nor did he remember having any ambition. Though, he did recall leeching living off the interest from his father’s rubber estate in south Thailand.

Life, according to him, is viewed with frustrations. Particularly due to old age. He is 86 years old this year after all.

Death, according to him, is hard to talk about.

I asked him what he has accomplished ever since his school years.

“I didn’t really do anything,” He replied in Mandarin. No further elaboration offered.

I don’t think I had a more depressing interview.

There has been this roaring barbarian of a woman within me attempting to overthrow the soft power patriachalism has been asserting (quite successfully, unfortunately) over the centuries (or millenia, if you’d please). For nearly two months since I’ve been home, I have been quite resolute in trying to prove my independence of the male’s (or female’s, for that matter) assessment of my physical attractiveness by proudly binging on comfort food of saturated sin, of the likes of nasi lemak and char siu. Not to mention that scrumptious chocolate torte in Chinoz in the Park. I believe that I have developed a rather unnatural addiction to rose syrup with condensed milk as well.

Oh, the unused carbs. Which would have been left unnoticed if it did not look like I was capable of curving my fingers into a perfect ‘C’ around a certain upper arm today. Or if a certain someone did not look like she was born with a waist of a large hourglass and perfectly long, tanned pins.

Okay, so she is a professional model (”A commercial model,” she emphasized.) and Aldo clearly produces suicidal stilts for stumpy hobbits like me.

A point which would have been driven home with the full force of a Ferrari if she did not keep exclaiming over how “tiny” I am (though subconsciously I’m somehow convinced that it’s better to fit a size zero than a size two, or four), or how she doubted she would have looked good in ballerina flats like mine because they’ll make her legs “look short”.

Whatever she meant. Here’s a woman of healthy sexuality and the body of a mannequin who is called “fat” by people in her industry.

I really don’t know how I was approached in Laundry Bar some time ago to frolic in Japanese roadshows.

And as I felt the soft bulge on my abdomen my mother has ceaselessly warned me against (not to mention waged a personal war against too) since I hit puberty, I suddenly find myself wondering where I left those promotional flyers by FitnessFirst.

You know what I wanna do to three friendly, oh-so-concerned-about-the-crime-rates souls?

First I’d like to stab their throats so only they can hear their fears.

Then I’d slash the back of their knees so they know what it’s like to be at another’s mercy.

Followed by slices of their dirty fingers for contaminating my fucking money and my fucking skin and someone else’s skin. Before I give them karma the Arab way.

“Tegas…”

A slow, sensual, fulfilling piercing. With your basic corkscrew.

One bloody eyeball. One open mouth of gurgling horror.

“…adil…”

Another; his comrade’s. They could have been in the choir.

“…berhemah.”

The last accomplice’s. Again, just one. They could all use an eye patch.

If they feel like it, that is. Or if they have time to find one.

.

And I’ll make sure that the last thing they see is the badge on their caps.

Royal badge, my ass.

Upon my return from Bushland, I was thinking that a political reform in BNland also meant a reform in civic consciousness. In other words, I was hopeful that Bodoland is now only a legend.

But I counted my eggs too soon. For last Tuesday at Cold Storage Suria KLCC showed me otherwise…

Me: Excuse me. I bought these cookies about 20 minutes ago and I would like to return them for a refund. [gestures towards receipt that announced "perishable goods are refundable within 2 days. Non-perishable goods are refundable within 7 days."]

TudungGirl: Um, why, what is wrong?

Me: Nothing. I just changed my mind and would like my money back. I did not open these bags.

TudungGirl: Um, sorry, but we cannot allow that. You have to take something else.

Me: Excuse me wtf?

TudungGirl: Um, hold on.

Me: …U dun understan my Amedika issit

TudungGirl: [hollers to the counter next to TudungGirl's] Bang (or something)!

Bang: Ape? (What?)

TudungGirl: Die nak bagi balik ni. Tak boleh kan? (She wants to give back. Kenot, rite?)

Bang: Kenape die nak bagi balik? (Why she wan to give back?)

TudungGirl: [looks at me] Why do you want to return?

Me: I just changed my mind. I need the cash.

TudungGirl: Die kate die lepas beli tak nak ni. Nak wang die balik. (She say after she buy, she dowan. She wan her money back.)

Bang: [frowns and walks over after 5 seconds] What’s wrong, miss?

Me: First of all, did you know that in the States they call me ma’am, not miss, you rude fuck I bought these cookies twenty minutes ago and I would like to return them for a refund.

Bang: Is there anything faulty with them?

Me: No, I did not open them. I just changed my mind. I really need the cash back. And according to your receipt, apparently perishable goods are refundable within two days.

Bang: [stares at Me for 2 seconds and turns towards stupidTudungGirl] Pergi carik Manager.

TudungGirl: [nods and trots off to a nearby storage room or something similar]

Me: …At least Bush wouldn’t let this happen.

[5 long minutes later. The Bang left.]

TudungGirl: Miss, I’m sorry, but we cannot let you take your money back.

Me: Excuse me?

TudungGirl: You can take something else with the price.

Me: Take something else?

TudungGirl: Yes. You can take something else to have your money back.

Me: Why would I want to take something else? I just want to have my money back. I’m returning your goods here which are unspoiled and according to your receipt I can have my money back.

TudungGirl: Actually, no, we don’t allow that. My Manager say kenot.

Me: [torn between wanting to see the sohai MIA presumably diplomatic Manager and forgetting about it and rushing to next appointment] …Why cannot? I’m here for a refund like what your receipt allows me to get.

TudungGirl: [shakes head] We cannot give you your money back. It’s our policy. You have to take something else.

Me: [fed up] What if I were to take this (the cheapest of the three bags of American cookies) and ask for the rest back in cash?

TudungGirl: Cannot. You have to take something else that is as same as the price [points at Me's receipt total of RM47++] or more.

Me: Why the fuck would I want something I didn’t intend to buy in the first place And that’s according to who?

TudungGirl: The bossThe Manager.

Me: Do you understand that according to your receipt, I can get my money back?

TudungGirl: Yes.

Me: And I still cannot get my shit back?

TudungGirl: Yes.

Me: [louder voice] Okay, look, I don’t have time for this, but just so you know, as a customer, I am very dissatisfied with (your service). I’m looking for a refund like what your receipt allows, not an exchange. Get a real London teacher, dumbass. Your receipt here is an official statement from your company and what your manager has told you is inofficial (so it’s technically invalid, you dumb fuck). Do you understand?

TudungGirl: Yes.

Me: …People like you only justifies the deserving brain drain the government that Clorex-washed your brains are crying balls about, leaving unlucky, undeserving good folks to deal with the likes of you.

And so the heroine grabbed those god damned cookies and left in a grand fury, leaving her fellow sheep around wondering what was up her foreign ass, as the former was reminded of how company policies in Bodoland are always a Get-Out-of-Jail-Card kind of license for stupidity.

Later on, her friend Frus decided to pop her patriotic bubble further with more local news about sexy Hentai school outfits she was unaware of, which led to her discovery of how an Islamic movie can cause a nation-wide ban of susu Dutchlady. Coincidentally, HereticIndoCina told her how some Muslim sheep from 7-11 asked if he was a Malay or Chinese when he was checking out a susu Dutchlady because “susu ni haram, bang”.

She told him that at this rate, all “Malays” would have their identification cards checked just to be sure that they are not their Chinese, Indians, or Lain-lain fiends whenever they run out of breast milk.

.

(Author’s note: Also, check out Dutchlady Malaysia’s “important announcement.” Instead of saying how such Islamic radicals exist but they do not reflect every Muslim’s worldview, they condemned the film wholeheartedly, regardless of countless news reports and propagandas relating to the terrorism expressed in the film.)

The Cancerian mood is kicking in again. Fun times.

-:~:-

Statistics after being in Malaisie (again) for 11 days:

Being assumed to be a Japanese tourist: 7
Being assumed to be of Korean breed: ∞
Being assumed to be a cancer stick smoker: 3
Being hit on by random fucks: 7
Being hit on by people I didn’t really expect to hit on me: 3
Being asked why-did-you-cut-your-hair-long-hair-better-ma: 15
Being compared to thekinkyblue because of the hair: 1
Being half correctly called having a pixie hair cut: 1
Buying jewelery I didn’t needed: 6
Going to buy more stuff I don’t need: >1
Being treated like someone special from a faraway land: 23
Being accused of having an American accent: 4
Being accused of being a Western tourist who tries to be Malaysian by saying “lah” but takjadi: 2
Retaliating to one of the above accusers by saying that at least my hair colour doesn’t match my yellow t-shirt: 1
Plans made: >25
People met from plans: >15
People met outside of plans: >12
Being accused of being over-booked: 8
Being noticed for being an official hippie convert: 14
Char Kuay Teow-ed: 2
Nasi lemak-ed: 2
Wantan mee-ed: 1
Sarawak noodle-d: 1
Kai fan-ed: 1
Hailam mee-ed: 0.5
Nasi goreng-ed: 2
Ramli burger-ed: 1
Teh tarik-ed: 1
Milo ais-ed: 2
Barley-ed: 3
Bandung ais-ed: 3

Ayam lazy to continue for now. Sleepy.

-:~:-

The US (in general, after an observation of 9 months)
Pros:
1. People with better social etiquette
2. People with a more…respectful common sense
3. People with a more accepting frame of mind
4. People who sees a life outside of moolah and business calls
5. People who do their research before doing anything retarded or life-endangering
6. Godiva. And Reese’s.
7. AWESOME TGIF
8. Awesome affordable ethnic restaurants like Mediterranean, Thai, Japanese, Korean (!!), Tibetan (!!!), French, Italian, Irish…etc
9. Tibetan Cultural Center
10. Dalai Lama’s 87-years-old Dalai Lama brother who was once a professor in Indiana University Bloomington
11. Dollar Tree Store
12. Fashion of minimum lala-ness (including school wear) you would want to wear at least 5348 times before you donate them to the Salvation Army.
13. Factory outlet stores. Think Banana Republic at $10. And I wear Guess track pants. To sleep.
14. Breathable air. Bluer skies. Fluffier clouds. Greener trees.
15. Being able to distinguish the difference between government sponsored medical advice and research motivated medical advice on hemp plants, among other…methods of enlightenment. O: )
16. The opportunity to understand The Beatles, first hand.
17. Gym culture
18. Recycling culture
19. Smoking ban
20. Obamamamama
21. Marijuana legalization campaigns
22. More courteous drivers
22. Highway minimum speed limit
23. (More) Punctual, efficient public transportation
24. The currency exchange rate
25. Legality of 21
26. Spring time! Fall! Winter for holidays (only!)
27. People who are actually genuinely interested in your foreign culture if only because they’ve never been outside their gigantic state before
28. Chillout culture (Reminder: I’m mostly referring to Bloomington, Seattle, and Florida)
29. Very diverse culture. Culture shock can be paramount here, as long as you go out of your way, or not.
30. Very friendly, passionate, and casual relationships. Extremely practical/realistic and helpful
31. The non-existence of air kissers
32. The return/exchange policy
33. Amaz(ing)on.com
34. Incentives for the Creative Arts amongst other innovative fields in this land of real opportunities
35. The meritocracy system
36. The police force
37. Nationwide psychological understanding and support
38. Outspokenness and more straightforwardness; less hypocrisy and retarded censorship
39. Minority rights
40. MTV
41. More hairstylists who actually give you what you want because you asked for it. If they are not sure if something (like hair color or hairstyle) would work for you, they would refuse to jeopardize their pride and dignity for the sake of more moolah, if only because they believe in masterpieces and not half-ass jobs.

Unlike some hairstylists elsewhere, over the rainbow, who would assume that they know what you like and go ahead and decide for you, giving you an end result that would make Vidal Sassoon cry (like how blonde on most Asian skin would), if only because these people are lazy to go to class or go online to get more enlightened.

It helps that most international contemporary hairstyling techniques are in English.
-

Cons:
1. Boring, disgusting, obesity/bulimia-inducing SubwayMcDBurgerKingWendy’sDenny’sChick-A-Litetcetc
pastapastafuckingpastaagainT_T
2. Party. That’s what most people my age there seem to master in. Only.
3. People whose idea of a good party is Bud Light. And hip hop.
4. Some selfish arrogant bastards
5. American Chinese food, like General-wtf-Tsao chicken
6. Bush
7. Smoking ban
8. Highway maximum speed limit
9. Legality of 21
10. Four seasons. In one day.
11. Retarded, indecisive rain of no warning.
12. Very friendly and passionate but (very) casual relationships; temporal basis relationships; can be seen as very superficial/insignificant and selfish
13. The currency exchange rate
14. MTV
15. The beach. Hollywood lies.
16. Expensive a-minute-a-US-dollar massages

-:~:-

Malaisie (in general, after an observation of 20 mostly conscious years)

Pros:
1. Local and most Asian food
2. Ramli burger
3. Chillax culture of “lah”
4. Diverse worldly ideas and philosophies; more opportunities to be more critical and analytical, especially with the fucked up political reality and contradictory governmental system
5. Largely collectivist culture when it comes to relationships; feels more significant and meaningful
6. Consistent weather (and) temperature
7. The humour in (using) the national language
8. The retardation the humour of Berita Harian, RTM1, RTM2, TV3, NTV7
9. The entertaining interesting exciting lives and times of the bold and beautiful local politicians
10. The amount of local slangs you can use to cuss express how you feel
11. Some clubs/bars/lounges
12. Legality of 18
13. MAMAK culture
14. The beach
15. Cheap massages
-

Cons:
1. Most Western food
2. BN
3. ISA
4. Sedition Act
5. Syariah Court
6. Mat Rempits
7. Air-kissing Melayu Rempits and motor shop Bengs
8. The might of the Lala culture
9. Party = Hiphop/R&B
10. Company policy; license for stupidity
11. Non-breathable, sticky, heated air
12. How you need a car to go anywhere so you won’t drown in your own sweat
13. The incentives for the Creative Arts or anyone out of the norm
14. School t-shirt designs and tailoring
15. Highway maximum speed limit
16. Public transportation that is as punctual and efficient as the 9:30am-4:30pm government workers
17. Crime rate and the police force
18. Bribery
19. What meritocracy system?
20. People who are interested in your foreign culture if only because you’re some rich/good-looking novelty from foreign land
21. Nationwide psychological understanding and support
22. High sheep mentality-cum-extreme-hypocrisy/retardation/insecurity of whatever. I’m sien to repeat myself already
23. Majority rights
24. Hairstylists who compensate for their lack of skills with long unnecessary head massages while giving you a hairwash, using Jesus knows what kind of shampoo, and charging you the same price you’re charged for getting a similar treatment by a professional who is schooled and government certified in the US.

You also realize that half the time you get your haircut, you actually had to grow to like it.

(Author’s note: To be edited as the memory jogs erratically.)

-:~:-

I’m planning a massage some time tomorrow or Monday (what’s the occasion again?). It’s been a long overdue break.