I love the written word. I love how much emotion words can carry when written just right. I love how open it is to interpretation; how one story can affect people in so many different ways.

I love the smell of books. I love that tingle of anticipation when I open a book I haven't read for the first time. As I flip to that first page, the musty smell of -- whatever paper most books are made from -- wafts towards my nasal cavity and I even love that smell.

Reading is personal. Rarely do you see two or more people reading the same book; same sentence; same word. There is a solitude you can never find anywhere else in the world, hidden away among the paragraphs. An illusion that only one may enter and create and color. A world no one else will ever see - safe from opinions and comments and is simply there for the sake of being there.

Writing is emotional. I suppose that is why it is so hard for me -- On one side of the balance, there is me yearning to write and publish. On the other side, there is the me that is so paralyzed with the fear of rejection. I know me better than anyone else and though it may be my style of writing being rejected, I know that in my mind, it is my views and my emotions that is rejected.

The balance is tipped.

So here is my routine when I wake up:

I wake up -- I go to my computer to check what instant messages I received while I was asleep because I am horrible at setting my IM programs to Away or Offline -- I grab my giant orange mug and head down to the kitchen -- I wash the mug and spoon some Milo powder in followed by a couple of inches worth of hot water

I like my Milo cold so I only use enough hot water to dissolve the chocolatey powder. Once that has dissolved, I go to the freezer to get some ice.

Here is where the point of the post comes in.

I reach into the freezer, pull out the ice-tray and carry it across the kitchen to the sink where my drink is awaiting to become sweet, cold, liquid chocolate goodness for my mouth.

But everyday -- every freakin' day -- when I pull out that ice-tray from the freezer, my gaze falls upon the inevitable fly that is stuck to one of the ice cubes. It is not the big chunky type of fly but a tiny one that is just a bit bigger than a sandfly.

Every day!

The first couple times I found a fly on my ice, I threw the ice cube away and carried on. But this has been happening every day for over a week.

Now it is to my best knowledge that the freezer is a piece of machinery that proves humanity has at least some grasp on the concept of heat exchange. It is a device that maintains sub-zero temperatures, has no continuous air-flow and contains no food that is not packed up tightly (plus this is a vegetarian household so there isn't even the odd piece of meat in there).

So what the fuck are flies doing in my freezer?

*ponder on*
I need new boots. Mid-calf length boots. None thick-heel boots (have enough of those as is).

I wonder what sort of boots are available in Miri. One of the reasons I love seasonal countries is because of how easy it is to buy boots there. Boots and jackets.

I know it is kind of silly to want to wear boots in a tropical country but I don't really care -- boots look too cool.
*ponder off*

My mom asked if I was going to go for that belly-dancing class. I have not gone to it since that first time. As far as I am concerned, that is not a belly-dancing class; it is a class where a group of women gather at to dance and shake their hips in a hall instead of at a club.

The lady that runs it admits that she adds a lot of "modern dancing" to it to attract more people. I guess I am too much of a traditionalist where if I went to a class for something, I want to learn it the old-school way. If I wanted "modern" stuff in dancing, I'd go to a club.

Fuck hills...

I've been accompanying my dad walking/jogging on this hill.

I fucking hate exerting the extra energy to go against gravity.

It could just be that I am grumpy because my shins hurt from it because whenever I do go jogging, it's usually on a nice, even, paved, even sidewalk so that part of my leg has not been worked as much.

Or... it could be that hills inherently suck.

Fuck hills...

Just felt like writing so I wrote. Thoughts running through a person's mind in a dark cell. Complete drivel.

The first thing I become aware of as the haze of sleep leaves is my breathing. I am panting hard as though I have been running - must have had a bad dream though I can't see how it could possibly be worse than my waking hours. Maybe I was dreaming of my life. I hope not. I like to think that in sleep, I escape and go to a place far from here, where they can't get me.

The second thing I am aware of is the pure darkness that surrounds me. For a fraction of a second, I feel my old phobia of the dark creep into me before I close my eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath banishing thoughts of boogiemen out to get me and malevolent spirits that move around in the shadows.

I lie in my cell and drown myself in memories and fantasies. Here, in the silence, there is not much to do except to relive the past; to dream of a future; to create a present.

Ming's Cafe. That's the restaurant/cafe a few ex-highschool classmates now hang out at. It is rather interesting hanging out with them -- mostly because my grasp on Mandarin has gone down the drain in the few years I have spent hanging around mostly English-speaking friends.

I often find myself lost in the conversation if I don't actually actively try to concentrate. I wonder how long it will be before my Mandarin picks back up enough to not need to spend so much time consciously translating.

I wore heels there today *evil twinkle in eye*

Since I have been back here, I usually stay away from my heeled shoes unless going around with other girls or by myself simply because my wearing heels makes me taller than many (not most; just many) men and... well, you know men and their insecurities *ahem* I mean, egos.

Is it just me or do other women feel a twisted sense of satisfaction from physically looking down at men?

My mother runs a tourism company for tours in Borneo and, as I am sure all tourism companies go through, we got caught up with weather problems.

It was a particularly hazy day today which resulted in a flight getting cancelled leaving a tour group of 20 people stuck here in Miri instead of going on to have new experiences.

It was all pretty headachey for my mother -- rescheduling, replanning, pushing back tours, etc. -- but I think I strive on this sort of stuff: the problem-solving pressure cooker. It's like a mini adrenaline rush. I am too impatient for overcoming problems in the long term but love solving things for the here and now and that's that.

Anyway, yeah... very problem-solvey day for my mom. I didn't really do much but observe; although, it was interesting seeing how she handled it. Very different method of approaching problems. Makes me wonder, yet again where my personality arose from that it be so different from that of my parents.

But for how long this time?

Who knows.

I have never been one to stick to habits for long periods of time although I do try.


Wow... my last post was all the way back around St. Pat's day. So much has happened since then. For one thing: I am now back in Malaysia.

It feels weird being back here. I had spent so much time thinking about being out of this town -- or, as it has recently been changed to, city -- that I get this completely surreal feeling about being back.

Honestly, the whole thing was pretty damn depressing. I moved to Miri when I was 12 and moved away when I was 17. Miri is my official hometown but it has never actually felt like home to me. I have just never felt like I quite fit in here. For one thing, I find it hard to live in a town where it's hard to get the books I want.

Oh well... it is a new chapter in my life. Let's see where it takes me.