On Being Forgetful

Have you ever seen those scenes in movies or dramas, where this one guy worked so hard that he completely forgot that it was his birthday, until, say a group of friends surprised him with a party? Or, another guy, who came back late from work only to see his wife fallen asleep on a dining table beautifully decorated with dinner and candle lights and all, and upon checking the calendar only did he realize that it was their wedding anniversary. Well, I used to laugh whenever this kind of scene came out on screen. I mean come on, there is no way people can forget those kind of important dates, ones that do not come often in life no matter how busy they might be. It is just ridiculous.

But alas, that is exactly what’s happening to me lately. I start to be forgetful of stuffs especially ones that deal with dates. No, not exactly like the scenes I mentioned above, but something of that manner.

I guess it is true what people always say, that things portrayed on the screen are indeed real happenings in actual life. After all, where else do you expect the movie or drama director gets the idea from if not from real-life experience?

Perhaps next time, whenever such scene appear on the screen, I should just shut my mouth up and concentrate on how the first guy reacts to his friends for organizing the surprise party, or how the other guy wakes his wife up and says sorry for being forgetful.

Here's the Long-Awaited News

This posting is long overdue; I guess I was just waiting for the right moment for everything to be put into place and run well to come before having it announced here.

I am officially a player for the UNSW Basketball Team that plays in the Division 2 in a local league. Nothing really great, but good enough for me. There are of course the Division 1 and Premier League teams whose standards are higher, but I guess Division 2 is not bad at all, in fact much better as far as most of the tournaments I used to enter back in Malaysia are concerned. How I managed to get into the team is another story, but one thing for sure is it took me through a hard way.

The transition in playing position from being a big guy to one who does the running and a lot of ball handling for one is never easy. You see, I had been playing as a center, traditionally the tallest player in a team for like five, six years, and now I am shifted to a forward position, a center’s total opposite down to the size factor, obviously. And yes, if you have just been guessing, I am among the smallest man in the team. Another hard part is definitely one that is dealing with communication, but I guess I prefer to see it more as a way of building up my oral fluency rather than a reason to grumble.

Anyway the team has been through 5 round-robin games, one each week, the earliest two of which I missed because I was not yet in the team. I did not fare well in the first couple of games I featured in; in fact they left me pondering as to whether I am good enough to play at this level, and frankly I even had a slender thought of giving up. I did not, nonetheless, and into the third game which was yesterday I was back to the old me. I did the things I know I am good at, and eventually got that confidence in me built up. I owe a huge portion of that to my supportive teammates.

As for the jersey number, of course I would love to pick up 41 or 10 at first. The latter, in fact, was my number in two consecutive glorious years back when I was with the Cagers. The sad news was my coach brought with him only three jerseys for me to choose from before one of the match; with options of 3, 9 and 50 as the jersey numbers. So there I was, bidding farewell to the dream of wearing number 41 or 10. Anyway, thinking that I was nowhere as flashy as Dwayne Wade or Allen Iverson wearing number 3, and the fact that 9 is a bit too common, I settled with 50. One good player I could recall wearing that number was David Robinson, so I guess it is not that bad a choice at all.

I should say that this thing keeps me a little bit busy especially towards this end of semester, with final exams and stuffs, but I reckon I have come a long way to get this chance, and it is my choice and I am happy with that.

Spring Ends Here

It is funny that I chose to have the above title when it is only the start of October. But then again, my spring has indeed ended.

Forget the blossoming flowers, I guess for the time being all I need is a breath of fresh air, and perhaps a cup of hot coffee. Oh, an addition of a gentle pillow would be perfect.

These are the faces that I am going to miss, the image that will haunt me both in my sleep and when I am awake, at least for the next couple of weeks.

Sunshine fades and shadows fall, but tender memories remain always, so they say. Thanks Lord for the wonderful spring.

'Daddy'cated to Abah

I wanted to post this much earlier, during the Father’s Day in June to be precise but I was too busy back then. Nevertheless since Australia’s version of Father’s Day fell only early this month, I reckon this does not come too late in Australia’s context. As suggested by the title, this post is dedicated to my father whom I passionately call Abah.

Abah and I are not that close. We are not the type of father and son who take pleasure in having morning coffee together, or go out fishing over the weekend. We barely talk to each other. Some say it is human nature that a son is closer to his mother compared to the other parent of his same gender. But I think it is more because of the manly egoist in both of us, neither tries to bend the nature. I guess that is how the world around us makes sense, both of us behaving like men.

Abah is not the type of father who yells at his children over the mistakes we did. Most of the time, he seems to be more comfortable to remain in his shell of silence. But when he gets upset, you can definitely tell by looking at his face, and of course we learn not to repeat the same mistake.

Abah is a kind of father which everyone dreams of to have as their own because in terms of materials, whatever his children want he would not wait a second to go get it. But of course that did not turn us, his children, into a materialistic bunch of kids. I guess because we seldom speak to each other, that has become the only way for him to express his love for me. I remember back then whenever my basketball sneakers could not be used any longer, I would just relate the news to him and soon I would get a new pair. And that was not only once or twice- from the age of 13 I guess I have damaged more than ten pairs, and apparently basketball sneakers do not come in cheap. Once, he even posted the new pair all the way from Shah Alam to Kuala Kangsar because I had a tournament coming up and could not get home in time.

I used to dislike the notion that behavioural attributes of a father eventually go down to son- I shrugged off Umi’s complaint that I was getting grumpier these days, just like my father- but as I grow up I guess not all the traits are bad after all, and I start to feel glad whenever Umi or anyone else repeated such statement.

Umi broke down incessantly amidst the debacle of me undergoing operation on my left hand when I was six, but not Abah. I remember emotionally he was strong enough he even got into the emergency room, trying untiringly to calm me down while the medical staffs struggled to get the many tiny pieces of glass out of the opening in my left palm. Now, if there is one thing that does not go down to me from Abah, I believe it is his sheer ability, his toughness to resist from crying. Man, I even cried for losing a basketball match.

I remember Abah always wanted me to become an accountant, or at least venturing into commerce field. Because he is now a retired bank officer, Umi said he wants ‘his legacy’ to continue in the family, and being the only son it looked like I fit the job most. I could not be bothered at giving it a serious thought though, until much later when Petronas stepped in to offer me scholarship, then only did I realized how bad a son I have become. If I can turn back the time, there is no doubt I will try all the way to fulfill his wish.

The Past Few Weeks

Sometimes we come to a point in life when we simply want to give a full stop at something, or a temporary break just so we could sit down and relax, breathe in deep and take a nap. We feel tensed with the situation we are in but there is apparently no way to escape. Well, I make reasons that I would not be writing for sometime because of commitment to university stuffs, but then again as I think, I guess I ought to rephrase the sentence and instead say that I simply need a quiet break. It is true that my schedule is rather demanding as of now- I am in the middle of three weeks of back-to-back-to-back test period, add that up to a geology excursion this weekend- but most of the time in the past I never looked at such things as a reason. Probably I am just tired, you know, the kind of tiredness you experience when things you learn and discover never fail to frustrate you.

I cannot really tell why, but I am in no mood to celebrate our 50th Independence Day. Perhaps a large part of me believes that our Independence Day actually falls on September 16th and not August 31st, or perhaps I do not think there are plenty of things we could be proud of after 50 years of nationhood, I do not know. Nonetheless I still made my way to the city yesterday, Darling Harbor to be precise to attend Malaysia Festival, or MFest as they put it which I believe was held in conjunction with our Independence Day. Well, I think the event was quite outstanding given the large turnouts that I observed and the fact that it was solely handled by students. Besides the food, I especially like the sketch which I think was quite brilliant in its own way given the time and space constraints that they had. But of course in such event the ugly side of Malaysian was there, but I guess I would rather not to touch on this matter in details simply for the reason that it irked me, and strengthened my original idea that we are just not yet prepared to be part of a nation of 50 years of age.

On another note, I realize that I have not been nice to people of late. More than once as I strolled past the University Walk at the university and came across a group of other Malaysians, I simply turned my head over, pretending that I did not belong to them. I rarely smile these days, and when I did, it felt awkward. Things do not go fairly well with old friends either, I just cannot explain why. Anyway I did give Nageb a call yesterday- only the second time since I came here- and we talked for more than half and hour or so, which was quite impressive if you know me well; I do not talk much to people especially those I have not been interacting with for long. Nageb and me, we were very close friends back then until past-MCKK days separated us into different paths, both chasing for different goals in life. I remember he was the only one I talked to on personal matters back then, and I believe so did he. It did not take long for both of us to grab back the close rapport we once had as I called him yesterday; minutes into the conversation we were again turning into good friends we both used to be, like nothing had actually happened in the last two years since we both made our own separate ways. I guess by giving him that call I did a right thing, and the last thing I have in mind to do now is letting the friendship to numb again. Anyway to the others, do not be surprised if I suddenly give you guys a call in a middle of night in the future, rest assured that I just want the friendship to go on.

I made new Malaysian basketball buddies these past few weeks, including a few Chinese guys last weekend. I used to play with one of those Chinese early this year but we never talked to each other; I guess that is how apparent the racial line separates us, two chaps coming from the same country and playing in the same court, same team and then full stop, nothing else. I always tell myself that I should start to befriend people from other races, - in fact I really want to- but until now I did little to turn it into something real. I guess being quiet never helps. Anyway those Chinese are indeed good fellows; apparently we just did not bump into each other's path before and once we did- in this instance playing together- it clicked so well that it seemed like we have known each other for so long. We even had good laughs in Malay in between plays that left this only non-Malaysian in the team puzzled on what actually was going on. I guess I really enjoyed such moments. But one thing, I could not stop but starting to miss my old CAGERS teammates, with whom I spent four, five years of playing career back then. I would ponder back at the moment when Bob and I had this nice little giggle at the scene of Pozer continuously missing his shots, or Didie making those weird sloppy plays that eventually went into the basket. I would reminisce the moment when I pushed so hard during roadwork just so I could be ahead of Nageb and Geto at the finishing line, or even when I failed, the three of us would regroup right after the stop to laugh at Mijie for finishing last. Memories, how sweet are they. I guess I am not the only one missing them; Nageb related to me the same feeling he had in our phone conversation last night.

I guess that is all for now, I am signing off.

Of Getting Fit and Bouncing Back

My stamina sucks. I mean it. I just had a morning jog and I was like, exasperating even before I completed the first round of the field. Heck, there was in fact this one Mat Salleh lass running faster than me. Well, probably the IPod she was listening to was the reason, that with music, she somehow forgot that she was running. Oh look, I cannot stop from giving reasons here.

In another case, I also had a 20-minute basketball game last Thursday, which was like my first competitive game in one year. Enough said, I ran out of gas and could not run entering the second half of the game. How bad is that?

I remember that the last proper workout I had was way back to more than two years back when I was still a basketball player at MCKK. Back then, it was not really hard to be a bit pushy to myself when it came to stamina building. After all, I was the captain of the team- if I was not the one to be pushy who else would, as simple as that- while another reason is Mr. Liew was always there keeping an eye on us. These days, I always find hopping back to bed after Subuh as more tempting than anything else, particularly going for a couple of rounds of the field jogging. Meanwhile on the basketball court, my priority has always been playing; stamina building has never been on the list. Of course most of the time I only played half-court which is relatively easy and does not really demand superb fitness level from anyone who is playing.

I have been thinking hard on enrolling myself for gym, but could not find the way to do so at the moment. My financial status is obviously one of the major reasons, where a single month of gym membership would cost me like a huge proportion of my monthly allowance. I made a promise to myself after the winter break that I would enroll if I could find a casual job thus pocketing some extra money, but then again the sight of job was nowhere to be seen after dozens of work applications and three weeks of job hunting.

Another alternative is working out on my own sans gym equipment, which I believe everyone can do. I have been searching on Google on stuffs related to this matter particularly from Men’s Health Magazine website, and apparently there is a bundle of information on this sort of fitness training available on the net and it is just left to me whether to follow them or not. I know I am being so frantic by doing all these, but the thing is I so want to rebuild my weary muscle and reclaim the stamina which I once had during my prime time more than two years back. Speaking of prime time, I used to be a believer of the idea that my time has already passed, that there is no way to come back and be in excellent physical shape I once had. But then again, I am only 19, and there are plenty of athletes in the entire world whose sporting careers are just about to start at such age. Of course I do not put my sight on being on par with those people; the thing is I have every reason to believe that I can always get my old self back provided that I work hard.

Bad Day

Have you ever had a day when suddenly everything goes wrong, when you were hoping that things could not get any worse and right at the spur of that moment it did. I have, last Saturday.
I woke up quite late that morning, which was bad enough because I was planning to get some tasks done that very particular morning. Never mind, I thought. I could always do it later, probably tomorrow. Early on I planned with a friend to go to Punchbowl, a small suburb in the Northern part of Sydney because both of us were craving for KFC, and that suburb is the only place known by us to be offering halal KFC. Another friend earlier told us that the one in the city is also halal, but both of us really wanted to jalan-jalan that particular day, we decided to opt for the one in Punchbowl, which by distance is considerably farther. So when it was already time, I walked to the bus station and thought to give that friend a call while on the way. As if it was an early sign of a bad day ahead, it happened that I called to listen to the sound of him waking up. Not a big problem I thought, because somehow I had this intuition that said this thing would happen. Because going back home to wait seemed to be futile, I chose to wait for him there, hopping from one shop to another while hoping that the time would run fast. Luckily that friend was quick; he made it to the bus stop in less than half an hour. The bus, also, arrived not long after we were there.

To cut the story short, we later took the train and arrived in Punchbowl about an hour later. The plan was either to have our lunch or to pray first; depend on which one we could locate before the other, KFC or mosque. After about 20 minutes or so of roaming around, unfortunately both were not found. So I asked a purdah-clad lady where the mosque is, and was advised that a good idea was to travel on wheels, otherwise the mosque would be somewhat far from where we were. The good news was that just a couple of hundred meters away was a musolla, according to that lady. So the idea of praying in the mosque was slashed. Anyway just after we arrived at Punchbowl, I received a phone call from Bukh asking me to play basketball that afternoon. Quite easily that excited me, and instantly I planned to go back early so that I can play. Jumping back to the current circumstance, the search for KFC continued after we finished praying. Nonetheless just like in the previous case, we discovered that KFC is also located far from where we were. In that moment of despair, we both decided to go back to the city and have our KFC there.

It was already inches away from 3pm anyway; I promised with Bukh to make it to the basketball court by 3.30pm. Since I really did not want to be late for basketball- albeit by then I knew exactly that I would definitely be- my appetite for KFC was all but disappeared. Nonetheless that friend of mine really wanted to go, so after a little negotiation we both agreed to tapau.

I already had a clear picture of what I was going to do next, timeframe included, once we boarded the bus back to Kingsford at about 3.05pm; the usual bus ride would take roughly 15 minutes at maximum, and once home I would pray, change my clothes into basketball gear and hop on the bus again to go to the court, KFC can wait. If I was not under time pressure cycling would be an option anyway, because you know traveling by bus here is mind-bogglingly costly. Also, I would expect that none of my housemates would be home because from what I heard they were going somewhere that night. No one’s home equals to easier rush afterward, I thought. I reckoned by 3.30pm I would get out of home again.

However, the usual 15-minute bus ride from the city suddenly turned out to be a 45-minute one. The traffic was bizarrely heavy, apparently that was the reason, so basically I had no one to blame. But indeed, I was so pissed off. Plans ruined. I would be late- in fact too late- for basketball. Did I tell you that I was hungry as well? I remained positive that I would make it into the court when I arrived home 45 minutes later, before another bad thing happened. Even before I entered home, I could listen to what was happening in. apparently my housemates are still there, along with a number of his friends. Songs were played out loud, guys at every inch of the corner. I feared that my temper would go off at any time therefore I did exactly what I was supposed to swiftly, and left without even speaking to one of them. Anyway I was also thinking to have a quick taste of that KFC since I was really craving for one, but the thought, because of what had happened, had to be cancelled.

I quickly made it at the bus stop again, and jumped straight into the first bus that came. I never took that bus before, but it read ‘Circular Quay’ which I knew by conscience; the bus would go straight along the Anzac Parade, and would only make its first turn once in the city. The basketball court I was going to, by the way, is just next to the city, apparently before the bus made any turn. A couple of hundred meters away however, that bus made a left turn. Damn. Definitely a wrong bus. I rang the bell, hopped off and had to walk back to Anzac Parade to catch another bus. Some more time wasted. Bus fare wasted. The next bus came shortly, and I knew by then that things would be all over. I would forget all the bad happenings today once I stepped into the basketball court. It was not yet over, though.

That second bus went straight, as expected. I immediately rang the bell when the basketball court already came into sight, but it happened that the bell did not work. I tried with the second onel, same result. Probably there’s a slight problem with every bell in this bus, I made a guess. So I decided to stand up close to the driver, hoping to give him the impression that I wanted to get out. The bus anyhow went straight, past the basketball court straight, straight, and stopped. At the traffic light. I knew it was illegal to get out of the bus at any place except for its stop but still I made it a point to ask the driver. As expected, he refused to let me go. Not a problem, the stop is not that far in front. I could always walk back to the court I guess. But things went from bad to worse; the driver did not stop. On and on and on he drove, until we arrived at the city. Of course I got out at the first stop, not wanting the stupid driver to bring me farther. By then, as many of you might have expected, I already gave up the hope of making it to the court. It is winter here in Sydney anyway, and there I was in the middle of the city wearing mere T-shirt and holding a basketball, while people surrounding me were all covered by jumpers, thick clothes. Now you imagine.

Well as going back home was the last thing I wanted to do at that moment, I decided to saunter around town at least for a while. One thing, I remembered that I had not eaten for quite long, so going for a quick, cheap meal was on mind. After all I could think of any other way to get rid of tension caused by that entire day; I do not smoke, so probably eating is the best idea. Cut it short; I bought some chips and finished it in a split of a second before making my way back home.

Things started to subside from then on; it was so fortunate that nothing else happened when I returned home, until it was time to sleep. In total, I spent a handsome albeit futile cash of almost AU$15 for transport, and wasted a whole day planning and doing things, but eventually brought me nowhere. In reply, I received mere anger, frustration, fatigue, and the list goes on.

As I ponder back, I believe that a bad day is always there written on our fate; probably acting as a reminder from God for the wrongdoings we had done in the past. When we start to think that things happening to us are damn bad, think again, and we will soon realize that it could have easily gone worse than that. Only by doing that we can learn no to grumble, and instead be grateful for the lives we are living today.

Till We Meet Again

Good times
Bad times
Nothing lasts forever

Can we ever say goodbye?
No, we never can.
The only thing we can say is
till we meet again, someday..

I Am A Free Man

Finally the torture of exam is over. I tell you, my exam this time is much worse than the SPM. OK, I am exaggerating. But it really is tough. No, I am not talking about the questions. It is the two weeks span that was given to prepare for my two papers. Now, for those of you who start to think I am talking bullshit, think again. How many days do you usually take to complete the revision stuff? Some might take long, but I am pretty sure none commit themselves for up to more than a week. Of course some might argue that we can always sneak in some other stuff, do some other things in the wee hours in between the revision period, but then again the sense of guilt is always there to push us back to the study desk. That, for me, is the tough part.

Overall both my Mathematics and Physics papers were OK, at least I hope so. I was so excited to get rid of tension caused by this exam that I did not really think of the questions in the middle Physics exam but instead focusing on finishing it quickly so I could pass it up before time. Of course by saying finishing it quickly, I mean filling in empty spaces of questions that I found rather hard with some bullshitting so it makes a bit of sense, if not much.

Now come the next part, post-exam. Well, since my trip to Melbourne will only take place the day after tomorrow, I found it rather wasteful to stay in the vicinity of home for the mean time, not when you have grabbed the freedom to go away sans apprehension over impending exam. So I went to Aijud’s house, and after Asar we boarded bus no. 396 which dropped us just in front of David Jones of Elizabeth Street- Sydney’s shopping heaven on our sight! Ok, of course shopping does not suit us well, at least not until next month when our sponsor hands us in the next allowance, but hey, we still managed to spend the whole evening there. There was this panicky situation to find a suitable place to pray when Maghrib came though, but still it was worth an experience. In the end, amidst those high-rise shopping malls, mid-year sales, branded stuffs and designer’s boutiques etc., we settled purchasing merely a bundle of super cheap Kinder Bueno and Toblerone at Woolworths which in total cost us less than five dollar. Blame the sponsor for our stinginess.

There are still tomorrow and the day after that to kill, and plenty of things to look for before I am off to Melbourne. Atok is in town anyway while Peja is coming tomorrow from Brisbane, so apparently there will be plenty of stuffs to do. But I guess in the mean time let me take some comfort and breathe in this new-found air of freedom.

Ramblings Of An Exam-Depressed Man

I am supposed to do some algebra at the moment, but never mind. I am just too drowsy to stand the painful torture of studying.

It is exam period here in UNSW. I have two papers to kill, and a span of a week each to get my brain all stuffed up with all those complex numbers, Gauss’s Law of Magnetism stuffs etc. They call it revision week anyway, or study vacation as Aijud sweetly puts it. Heck I hate revision week. It restricts your whole week to sitting in front of the study desk and nothing else, and your whole world is perched in the realm of books, exercises, etc. But then again, it is the only means for a student like me who takes early preparation for granted to get back on track of attaining good grades. Well, they say life is not all about studying. There are still plenty of other things to look for in life beyond the academic orbit. But I say life is about studying when you already flunked in your back-to-back algebra class tests, getting merely half of the possible full marks and your only savior from getting kicked out of university is the final examination. Revision week is good then, pretty much offering me a stick while I am drowned. So I guess this makes me love revision week. Oh God, I am confusing myself here.

On another note, I failed terribly in my quest to get up early in the morning of late. Thrice I tried not to get persuaded by the sweet call of Mr. Mattress and Miss Pillow after the Subuh prayer, and thrice I was not successful. Worse still, the next time I open my eyes it was already one hour or two to noon. Well, it might seem to be a tiny matter to some, but for a person of my sort who spends more than an hour for newspaper and breakfast every single morning, getting up early is simply necessary.Well, since I could not wake up at the sight of the morning sky, I decided to reschedule my daily routine so that I would have a long afternoon span to do some revision. But wait, I am not the type of person who revises during these hours. I remember the only thing I did to fill up my afternoon prep back then in MCKK was sleeping. Even when I did not, my mind was simply too preoccupied with the prospect of basketball training later in the evening. So there you go; the other reason for me to get up early is so that I can get those pages of thick algebra or physics books sifted since afternoon is not a productive span for me.

Speaking of exam, last night I received an email from Izwan, the president of Petronas Club here consisting of some hilarious pictures which he said, ‘to ease your stresses'. Here are three of them:

Funny aren't they? Zahira laughed to tears when I showed them to her.

Moving on, it is not a good time to be in Sydney at this moment; the weather is bizarrely unpredictable. It was storming heavily the past few days where the wind was simply too ferocious that the only you can do is shut yourself up at home. Still, when the sky makes way for the sun to spread its rays, the laziness in me to get out of home pulak takes over.

It is time like this that makes me realize how terribly I miss Malaysia. Oh, this morning I dreamt of being back at home. I attended a relative’s open house and there were these heaps of scrumptious, cholesterol-abundant food, and I was about to ask for this piece of murtabak from my sister when suddenly the alarm clock came into play. Damn. Now, can anyone get me a murtabak here?

Forgive me readers for being so annoying this time, blame not me but the boredom of revision week. The good news is, come this day two weeks from now, I will be on my way to Mebourne as a free man.

For You, Sir

Berita Harian today portrays Mr. Liew Yong Choon as the man behind the success of the CAGERS for decades.

A coach, a teacher, and more than anything else, a father to the CAGERS family, he is apparently the crux behind success stories of the CAGERS who has been dominant in the past three decades.

Please forgive me for being too busy to jot down a little bit more. I found this picture rather excellent in explaining what I felt anyhow.

That is him, wrapping the bandage around my right ankle which got injured on the last day of training. Damn. This is just before the semifinal game in 2005 if I am not mistaken. Now who can tell me, if there is any other coach he/she knows that is willing to get hold of the foot of his own player? The fact that I find rather amusing in this man is that he imperturbably breaks the racial barrier with anyone he meets, and in doing so he displays the true gist of humanity, setting up a perfect example for all of us the CAGERS particularly. Personally, I learnt a lot from him.

Indeed, it is great to hear that a man of his pedigree is finally given this due recognition.

Dear Mr. Physicists

How I wish you guys- Mr. Gauss, Mr. Faraday, Mr. Lenz, Mr. Ampere, other physicists alike- are still alive, so I can do just this to all of you:

For making my life terribly difficult with the mind-boggling physics laws you guys created!

If You Go Overseas, First Learn To Cook

Physics was over by noon today and after a quick thinking, I decided to head home and prepare a meal myself for lunch, slashing the idea of having the scrumptious but costly chicken kebab or pide or meat pizza or chicken schnitzel and chips at the café on campus.

I admit that I am a terrible cook, but up until today, I keep telling myself that I could one day improve.

I suppose the meal I prepared today did me a fine reality check; I realize that I should better give up that thought.

I did not finish the meal; half-way through I felt like vomiting and a moment later I decided to throw the entire plate’s contents off. Boy, how horrible. Anyone else out there dares claiming they vomit out the food they cook? Well do not ask me what meal I prepared anyway, I am simply too ashamed to reveal the answer.

From tomorrow onwards, my lunch will be the costly chicken kebab or pide or meat pizza or chicken schnitzel and chips. Nevermind my bank account is running dry. As long as I do not have to cook. And vomit.

Books Galore@UNSW

UNSW was having its annual bookfair, dubbed as one of the largest of its kind in Sydney which only ends today. I am not in the right frame of mood for any good books lately- no thanks to the huh-hahs of the hectic university life and the dreadful mid-sem test- but I still came back from the Roundhouse last Thursday with a box full of books anyway. And I was not about to finish yet; yesterday I went there again and bought two more to add to stacks of my collection. I choose the word collection, because from experience majority of them will be left intact for a long period of time. Stuffs that we bought and kept unscathed are called collection, am I right? I pity these books, and piles of their other companions that I left in Malaysia. They always cried out, telling me that they want to be read. But what can I do?

Anyway I did not find any book that is on my wishlist during the bookfair, (that is weird enough, because I still managed to come back with the box) so I decided to casually have a look and remain optimistic that I could find ones that by the least attract me, or whose author I recognize. Ultimately I settled for Catch Me If You Can by Frank W. Abagnale which I watched the movie chiefly because it is Spielberg's, The Family by Mario Puzo because I know he wrote the widely-renowned The Godfather series so my predict says this book must be good as well, Bad As I Wanna Be, the biography of NBA badboy Dennis Rodman which I have already read but I like the idea of having it as my collection anyway partly because the fact that it bears an enganging personal experience with Zahira, Lord of The Flies by William Golding which is not really my type of read but I saw NikNazmi recommends it on his page so I decided why not to give it a try, among them. Trying to seek for something serious but could not find any that really thrilled me, I nonchalantly picked a people's almanac and a fancy dictionary of dates, added to a couple of past years' editions of Reader's Digest which cost me only ten cent each and a few copies of NewScientist (which, again, is weird for me who have never had any interest in science). Thinking about the mistress 2000 miles away, I also spent sometime searching through the heaps of books and ended up buying five for her, which I hope she likes. In total, twelve books and a handful of magazines, costing me merely a little less than $30!

Now come the real problem; I need to endure their howling for being left safe and sound in the comfort of the bookrack for possibly the next few years.