Pink in the Geek

Getting on with the topic, the reason why I would like to dedicate this entry to Muni… isn’t because she’s that that special to me (duh). Rather, there is one recent cause of celebration that both she and I need to have.

We went through 01S06 and the same Physics tuitions, idolizing about our hero. The common hero we both discovered we loved. This star had made us almost teared in desperation when he announced in 2002 that he was going to be a father and broke our hearts for a while when he said he was going to play for the Spanish giants, Real Madrid. But we regained our composure when we convinced each other it was probably for the better of his career.

His pretty boy face of 18-22 years old of age are still etched in our minds, his beaming smile when he scored a goal as a lone ranger. It was magical how the striker of his stature (1.7m tall) could pass the burliest defenders and beat the goalkeeper. I could go on and on about how much we admired his looks and skills but I could sense some people puking at the overt display. Heh.

As a promising striker who made the youngest debut for England (record only to be broken by that chimpanzee look-alike later on), he was a boy wonder who amazed skeptics with his sudden bursts of runs that caught defender offguard. With clever chips and intelligence with possession of the ball, no one could predict the trouble to come that made everyone certain of the end of his career.

Plagued with injuries and playing only second fiddle to the Real Madrid’s coach, it was devastating for us to watch, read and hear of too many criticisms about him. The news that he was no more as sharp as before was too common but what made our hearts break was seeing him crumple on his own leg in the 1st minute during last year’s World Cup against Sweden.

No matter which striped shirt he don now instead of the colour of our MP3s, we both hoped, he will return as before, our boy wonder will prove everyone else’s taunts wrong.

And our hope has shown glimmers of truth.

As Man of the Match in the match against Russia for scoring 2 goals and assisting the other, it was truly a sight to behold to see he is back to the sharpshooter we knew he always has been.

I almost cried again… This time, over relief and pride, that Muni and I have never supported the wrong player.

Thank you, Michael Owen, for regaining the faith that the two of us have in you.

In it, he defined an EHM lady, mainly known as Emotionally High Maintenance.

And I have finally found my identity.

To sum up what it actually meant in the article, a lady who is EHM is actually a financially-independent lady who "acts all ballsy and confident. but when in private, needs all the attention she can get and that means her man must be a giant sponge."

Adam actually finds it a problem to deal with this type of ladies, and I actually indentified the main reason why I have been having so many failed relationships.

You see, I am known to be someone who embraces the ideas of going Dutch, burning holes in my pockets everytime I step into Zara and never fully appreciative of expensive gifts and even flowers (except faking it up front to make the guy feel better). I have this weird notion of materials’ inability to make up for true delivery of emotions. But of course, if any one of you would love to sponsor my next shopping spree, it would be of great assistance.

Talking about flowers, I remembered being envious of girls who received roses for Valentine’s Day in secondary school. But after receiving my first bouquet in college, I realised I didn’t miss much; it was the note attached to the flowers that meant much more, from what I remembered, that is. And expensive gifts like branded watches and jewellery was never the top of my most favourite gifts either.

For Adam, I would like to remind him that in most cases, the men who can really appreciate the EHMs are mostly attached or married. The single ones are probably in a 11:1 ratio of minority. And Adam, I would not think you are included in this group of study.

So, in other words, single women like me, have to fight our claws to get into the books of the single unit ratio.

I can safely say most women are EHM. The rest are probably MHM (Materially High Maintenance). And trust me, these women burn a hell lot out of their men’s pockets to buy the latest Louis Vuitton than the EHMs burning the men’s energy.

I want to summon the ladies a question, who doesn’t want a man who can make us laugh and be there for us when we need them?

Adam probably has never met a MHM before, I reckon.

For one thing, being an EHM, I fully appreciate the guy to double up as my best friend, just like how Zahari has been for me. If the guy can’t make me smile and laugh like how he does with his sarcastic and narcissistic jokes, I’d send the guy straight out of the door. But just to set the record straight, Zahari and I are strictly platonic best friends for 9 years who date each other out of convenience since both of us are single anyway.

When I am free, I would end up messaging or calling him if I know he was free too (which is rarely), even in the middle of the night at 3am. That’s one of my typical traits. So I am still bewildered as to how a guy I previously dated termed me as "possessive" in that sense when I clearly did not control his freedom nor was I jealous of every single feline who messages him. I seriously feel for his lack of command in English by which, in other words, he had proven his insufficiency in intellect.

Yes, the guy must be my Aunt Agony. Ask any happily attached or married guy out there whether they are not one to their partners.

So Adam, you just failed to realise, the EHM ladies are actually simple ladies who can buy their own diamonds and hence save you from hanging by your neck on the credit card debts that your so-called "kampung girl" would cause you if you upset her more than once a day. If you think we could be insensitive to your hectic schedules, trust me, it takes a mere sweet reply even after two hours’ of meeting to put us on cloud nine. And we do expect to be your Aunt Agony too so you could vent out your daily frustrations at work on us. And there you have it, communication, the most vital part of a relationship.

This license would not somehow be in demand, but it gives people their rights to act beyond traditional and acceptable behaviour, mostly girls.

You would not want to queue to pay to take the test, but you would secretly hope you’d have it at the back of your hands.

You see, this license allows the smartest girl to be an airhead yet turn into a word-welding piece of weapon.

My Glitters and Korean family happen to have this license at our fingertips. We are university-educated girls (and guy) who still experience uncontrollable fits of Bimboticity and Bitchiness.

For this license, I can assure you that I have passed it with flying colours.

I pushed a trolley of boxes, unglamorously, into the wrong office because I thought I was on the right floor. And I walked out back with my head up high despite the very obvious part where people there realised I went to the wrong floor.

Ever since in secondary school, I have been obsessed with finding solutions to tame its frizziness, not to mention also the extra natural volume that made any haircuts go out of shape. For vanity reasons, I have dyed, permed and rebonded these locks at the expense of burning a hole in my pockets. At the same time, I have to buy certain hair products like serum and sculpting lotion regularly to maintain these styles.

The moment I read Her World’s August edition, I was brought to shame.

Where the article wrote of how hair salons being a ticket for the oppressed Afghanistan women’s liberty.

I could only recall my mother’s constant noise pollution if I did anything to my hair with decibels increasing whenever she realised I had even dyed it. I had completely forgotten the feeling when I first permed my hair; it was a moment when I came home with a pair of glaring eyes and certain hurtful remarks, yet I felt a declaration of independence having done a major change in my outlook appearance. When I used to grow up with my mum dictating my haircuts (which I would love to forget the horrible ones) because she sponsored them, perming my hair meant that I had asserted my authority in determining what I want my hair to be. With my own finances, obviously.

Similarly, but not quite, the degree of oppression of the women in Afghanistan is probably infinity-fold to what my mum subjected me under. At least, I do not have to worry about getting killed for even cutting my hair. I could relate to their feelings of freedom although I could never feel the exact same way. Right now, I feel I have taken my vanity for granted, spending a bomb monthly on products, when a certain group of ladies out there fight their rights to step into a hair salon.

I applaud Deborah Rodriguez for bravely setting up the then-Kabul beauty schools where the women learned the techniques of hair cutting and styling. The schools have since been destroyed by the Talibans, who believe that they made the women look like whores.

Sidetracking, I do not want to get politically emotional here, but if that’s the case, marriages would be seen as a scarcity as almost all women are whores anyway. No apologies spared to the group which killed 2 of the Korean hostages.

So, for the women reading this, embrace your hair like never before. Its your ticket to your freedom.

The game in the older Nokia handphones.

I used to rack up scores of 3000+ on my Nokia 3310 with Snake 2 and I used someone else’s Nokia 8250 to play Snake 1 which I almost finished the game (I had slower reflexes due to tired fingers).

I had a legion of Snake lovers, mostly the councillors by which it was our favourite game next to carrom. We’d try to break the high scores on each other’s cells, just sitting on our sofa for hours, draining the batteries.

Now my 6280 only gives me Snake 3, the WORST ever version of Snake. Which snake eats apples and pears?? And its too slow even at the highest level.

I seriously miss the game. Somebody got a classic model out there that I can use to just give in to this desire?

Songs stick to your head. Like glue.

I am a Class 95 convert. Through and through. It gives me hits of the 80’s, 90’s and the present (not to mention the 2 tickets I won to watch The King And I. Thank you Carol!!!).

In this case, I’d have to admit my age. Fine, I’m gonna be 23. And it also meant that I lived through the same exact generation of songs that Class 95 plays.

Be it the Spice Girls "Wannabe" or George Michael’s "Freedom",it relives back the good old times.  You gotta admit, as much as you wanna criticize them, you were still crooning to Backstreet Boys, right? Heh.

But I’ll give you another way to revive the classics aside from being passive, just listening to the radio.

K-A-R-A-O-K-E.

Do up videos of you, stupidly singing your lungs out, to Cranberries’ "Promises". Complete that with maracas and tambourines. Oh yes, ensure proper lighting. Kindly ask the counter to provide you the room with disco ball lighting.

When you sing to "Stop" by the Spice Girls, stand up and do the dance together with your buddies. Do not assume you won’t be seen however; the waiter might just barge in to give you the bill while you are in the midst of prancing around.

Learn ‘new’ old songs. Make sure you have another friend who knows songs that you don’t have any tinkering of like "The Bohemian Rhapsody" or whatever its name is. See what I mean?

It is guaranteed, that after you get out of the karaoke session, the songs will really be stuck in your head.

Like glue.

That would be how I would sum up J.K.Rowling.

I have reached the finals of the phenomenon. And it was a truly incredible journey I walked through as I fixed my eyes on her prose at every single opportunity I had; be it during my meagre 1hr-break where I rested my free left hand on the pages as my right hand fed me or the dizzying bus ride on bus 58 to go to Pasir Ris.

I would beg to differ to especially people of my age-group who think that the book is meant for kids. I think of it as another Star Wars in this generation. And was Star Wars kiddish then?

The whole 7-parter would grow with you if you had been one of those who had read the Philosopher’s Stone back in ‘97. In truth, I hadn’t been one of those. I only started reading the books after I watched Sorcerer’s Stone after being persuaded by an ex-boyfriend (whom ironically didn’t pursue anymore interest in "the boy who lived" after that). I was, as though, preparing for Chamber of Secrets for that year after finishing books 2-4 rather than my A-Levels. But it was worth it (of course I didn’t throw my A-Levels away too, I recognize priorities as much as Hermione).

Not a single one of the 7 books was bought by me. Thankfully, I have the luxury of growing up among bookworm siblings where you know whom to exploit to buy the books. Well technically, its only been my ever-so-semangat (enthusiastic) brother who would get the last 3 books delivered right at our doorstep.

But the day I move into a house of my own, I would never hesitate to buy the whole collection for myself. I could see my future kids enjoying Rowling’s Potter as much as I had with Roald Dahl’s Mathilda and Charlie.

There is one thing that has set apart in Rowling’s literature than in other’s fiction.

It is her ability to make EVERY character and event come to life, even the insignificant ones.

Like how Lee Jordan, commentator of Quidditch, would divert from the match’s actions to admiring Harry’s Firebolt into the loudspeaker.

And even the paintings and ghosts: Fat Lady, Nearly Headless Nick, Phineas Nigellus etc.

Oh how can you ever forget Ronald Weasley failing his Apparition Test because he Splinched himself (he left half his eyebrow behind…)?

FYI, these are just some of the characters (with exception of Ron) that failed to make an impact on the big screen. Which brings me to the part that movies could never capture the fluidity of the story and the essence that came with it. So to those Harry Potter "movies-lovers" only, you guys are duped. Sorry.

Going back to skeptics of the book who keep insisting on the childish nature of the story, one fact will hit you hard: The Deathly Hallows had grossed over $11.4m during the first 24hrs of the release, making it the fastest-selling book in history. In history. Not even any children book could attain to that.

Moving on, my take is that this magical journey has not ended. It will still continue to the next generation, just like how I accidentally picked up Mathilda during a book sale at Temasek Primary School and became Dahl’s fan after his demise in 1990 (yes, I might have memorised the page that came before the story).

For this magical journey, I shall embark on a new one.

For that, I will be satisfied trying to Confund and Stun people in my imagination.