Monthly Archives: April 2012

Please be teached

In my country, the standard of English has been scrutinized, criticized and satirized by anyone and everyone who has some knowledge of the language. And in recent years, it has become something of a household factor that pageant organizers harp endlessly on, because nobody wants the world to think that Malaysians, or their pageant representatives, still speak gibberish (or live in trees).

So imagine my simultaneous surprise, horror and mirth when I saw this:

Yes, Miss Universe Malaysia 2012 Kimberley Leggett has teached for Malaysia.

Teached for Malaysia.


Dear Miss Universe Malaysia, if you would be so kind, please drown yourself now. Immediately. If not sooner. You are clearly not as relevant as you would like to think you are, because it is excruciatingly and hilariously obvious that, despite your big dreams, aspirations and contentions, you have not, in fact, been teached.

– edit –

This has since been submitted to and published here. It was too good not to submit and the Tyra GIF just kills it.

The Second King

We finally got Offa a friend.

Months ago we started entertaining the idea of getting another cat to keep Offa company, because we knew he probably felt bored or lonely especially when we were out of the house all day. At the time, he was showing signs of being territorial and unwelcoming towards other cats that happened to wander onto our balcony or outside the front door, so any plans to have another cat had to be shelved.

Recently we started thinking about a second cat again, and were on the verge of going to the SPCA or PAWS to look into adopting one. But then, on Saturday, I got a call telling me about two Scottish Fold kittens — brothers — who were up for adoption, so I took one. And that was how Costa came to live with us.

My Scottish Fold, Costa, short for Constantine. Taken with BlackBerry Bold 9780

At only three months and six days old, Costa — short for Constantine, a name I decided on after reading about the ancient high kings of Scotland — is the tiniest, skinniest bundle of energy. His build, the shape of his face and his markings make him look a little bit like a giraffe, so I hope he will fill out soon and gain some weight. While it was no trouble getting him accustomed to his surroundings, the biggest surprise was Offa.

I was initially terrified that Offa would not like this new addition, and was hesitant about putting the two of them together in the living room. And indeed, he started off a little apprehensive, especially when Costa decided to take one of Offa’s furry toys for his own, and when Costa started exploring places in the house that Offa has staked out for himself. It was also a bit of a chore having to take care of Costa and make sure that Offa knew we weren’t abandoning or punishing him by taking in a new kitten.

The first meeting. Taken with BlackBerry Bold 9780

But thankfully they’re both only almost exactly a year apart, because barely two days later, Offa appears to have more or less accepted that Costa will be with us from now on, and started playing with him a little more last night. I suppose it’s a little difficult for him to resist a kitten who walks right up to him to lick him on the nose.

Having Offa has made it much easier for me to know what to expect with Costa, even if he is so much younger. I’m realizing now more than ever that having a cat is not unlike having a child, as my mother has so smugly pointed out many times. And now that I have two cats, plus a boyfriend and a brother all living under one roof, it’s rather like having four children *, I’m happy to stop here. It’s enough for me to have one cat lying on my chest every morning and a new kitten clinging to my neck all day.

And kneading everything in sight, if he had it his way:

* Yes, living with men is like having children, and I dare anyone to say otherwise.

Four years, and still searching

The Four of Swords

I have a secret interest in fortune tellers. Not the crystal-gazing ones you see at carnivals, but the ones who take one look at your date and time of birth and are able to tell you your entire life story up until the point you meet them, and then proceed to tell you what they claim to be able to see lies ahead for you.

I have met one such fortune teller, nearly three years ago. She looked at me and told me she couldn’t see beyond six months into my future, but was able to call up many things that had truly transpired in my life, as well as tell me that certain things would happen in the next six months, which they actually did.

Lately I’ve been entertaining thoughts of going back to her, to see if she saw anything differently for me. Afham thinks it’s all poppycock and twaddle, but I tell him it’s because I would like to know, however accurately, when I can finally stop wallowing in the endless uncertainty that is my life. For instance, I would like to know when I can finally stop being poor, how far I can go in my job, and if I need to prepare myself for certain unacceptable stages of life, such as motherhood. After all, I reasoned to his determinedly deaf ears, I can’t be paddling around blindly for too much longer; I’ve already been back here four years.

Yes, four years. Four years since I thought my life had ended, four years since I moved back here and struggled to find a footing that I could be comfortable with. And when I realized this morning how much time has gone by since I came back, I started to panic. Four years is dangerously close to five, a number that people use as a milestone marker or benchmark (“Where do you see yourself in five years: at the top of the food chain or the top of the Empire State Building?”), and after five, they immediately skip to ten.

I could not imagine being here for ten years, let alone still trying and failing to make something of myself after that milestone. Four years is quite enough time for me to have found some semblance of a calling by now, and even though I may have found it, there is still so much, so very much, left up in the air, and even though with each passing year I think I may be getting closer to knowing just where I stand in life, with each passing year I also feel more directionless, and more lost, than ever.

But four years have gone by. Four years that I can’t take back. And as the fifth year looms, I can’t help but wonder if whatever I’ve been trying to find was actually here in the first place, if I was supposed to come back here not to find it, but to recollect myself before setting out to look for it again.