honest to blog

*this is a space saved for the time i spent thinking about which category this should be in*

anyway.

was having lunch the other day with a bunch of friends when the conversation topic started moving into the realm of the world’s current most notorious race; the US election. when asked which of the democrat candidate a male friend prefers, he mentioned the BO. i nodded. but then male friend felt compelled to enlighten things further. because he believed that the woman should not hold a leadership position on that level. why? because she’s a woman.

ummm…

why? because a woman who’s able to reach that high a position must be one with a talent of manipulation and iron will. another female friend *gasp* supported the notion. saying that in organisations or societies as a whole, women on high places are generally (an adjective i freely adopt) more vicious and less fair to their subordinates or even the people around them. so i told them about a certain article i read last year in regards to some research done on the perception of men and women in workplaces. for the same managerial decisions, men often become more favoured and liked and thought wiser rah rah rah. when those decisions screwed up, the unaffected shall watch with sympathy. women? shunned. for every public tearing-up, women would be deemed as emotionally unstable. men? oh-so-sensitive. with these kinds of perceptions running rampage, wouldn’t it be more logical for carreer-minded women to adopt the dead set visage and work twice as hard for the sake of crawling up the corporate ladder? so they bitch up the game a little bit. so what? they are the ones cursed with monthly periods damn it. i’m not much of a feminist. but if the good Lord advocates mortal freewill, who the hell are we to go against it? and come to think of it, it will only be a little while before i plunge into that vicious cycle. women rough up their acts? women are seen as less capable and stuff? chicken? egg? i personally don’t mind women being seen that way. not that much. but people should just cut the crap on heralding workplace equality. i mean, come on, that’s like some high-school cruel jokes, isn’t it?

ah well, seems that ambition is only the rights of men.

ps: this entry does not in any way reflect that of my candidate inclination in regards to the democratic election (not that it friggin’ matters anyway). but i have the belief that people’s capabilities should not be judged by who they are, rather by what they can do. i won’t make a fuss if the said male friend reasoned something along the line of not feelin’ the woman’s policy proposals. but then that and pointing out how women in the workplaces generally act (like and AS IF it’s their fault, something that can actually be helped)…is just too plain ignorant. but it’s like what they say about women: damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

if you get my drift…

The gum started to sour in my mouth. Looking around the spacious airport lounge, I caught sight of the lone trash bin settling guard at a corner and the couple who was standing nearby. So I made my way to the bin and in the process of disposing the said confectionary, caught glimpse of the passport the woman was holding. I returned to my seat and started flicking absently at the pages of the book I had been reading.

“Mr. Smith, please proceed to …” came the announcement. I looked up and noticed the earlier couple walking towards the boarding counter.

Such smiles. Such weariness of ones who bear no unnecessary shackles around their ankles. Such stares like those whose experienced simple wonders in the unmonotonous. Such gestures; that of which know exactly where they are going when they exactly don’t know where they are going. They breathe of satisfaction and fulfillment. The lines on their faces tell such stories. Ones you’d only find in fictions and the likes. Or documentaries, I corrected myself.

And I looked out the window wondering if there’s something they knew that I didn’t, something they did and I couldn’t. Wondering if I could grab that between faith and love, wondering if I could grab hope.

the present state of my room reflects that of an OCD subject. nope, not the "compulsive" one. it’s a little more like that of an "obsessive crash disorder". it’s more like the reign of paper apocalypse, the aftermath of four consecutive textile fights, and random array of products post-world war 3. it’s during rare times like these that i wish for someone to just yell me into rehabilitating my room. that someone who’s been bestowed with the rights of maternal intervention. for nothing beats living with a special person who knows just how to deal with most of one’s inner demons (especially those who like to lead her room astray). and it doesn’t hurt if that someone is able to fulfill one’s martabak-shaped hole that is in one’s soul.

i’d even get on a plane right now. even if i have to sit right beside a baby terror (*read: a baby and such who constantly cries on flight journey like it’s being skinned alive). heck, even if the plane is crawling with baby terrors (which i somehow get a lot recently), i’d risk my sanity and be an aviation martyr. honest to blog. though i’d totally vote for carriers to start providing special flights for infant-carrying passengers. that would be so awesome. and that would be my cue to sigh me out of my daydream.

i think time flew too fast it feels like someone else has been inhabiting my shell of a body and started its own life campaign. that’s why it’s important to just take over my conscience in this new year. as for the less-than-agreeable things i did last year, just say i had periodic blackouts. so i wasn’t really responsible. haha.

anyway, i really have to start cleaning up my room if i were to keep my mental standard of living. and it’s one of my new year’s resolution this year to avoid procrastination as much as humanly possible. say, i’ll start the day after tomorrow. or the day after the day of tomorrow. err…how do you define humanly again?

to finish this entry, just a story about a certain neanderthal-esque incident that other day,

patron 1: ghharrrrr!!!! me man. you not man. chomp chomp. no buy for woman.

patron 2: grrruhhhh gruhhh. you man bad. me do what me want with me money. harrrnnn.   

one can’t help but wonder if there were some high grade recreational pharmaceuticals involved. or if it’s just plain hormones. 

ah, world…

passed the brisbane terminal checkpoint, i was reminded that i haven’t had anything to eat since morning. the plane was due at 2pm which meant that i had around half hour before boarding. considering some options i decided upon a bag of chips and a bottle of juice. as i queued up the cashier line, i started rummaging my bag looking for my wallet. by the time i reached the cashier, my wallet was still missing in action. flustered, i mumbled my apology and let the next person in line took over my turn. and so i called my little sister and asked whether she remembered any wallet misplacement. her reply was negative. i got out and went to the airport’s inter-terminal train station. filed a report on my wallet and got back to catch my plane. as i waited upon my turn for boarding, i started planning out my plan on how to deal with the tasks one faces when one loses some important cards. while i silently cursed for my lagging brain, i dazedly recalled that the last time i had seen my wallet was when i took it out to pay for the inter-terminal train ticket. so i willed myself to believe that instead of putting my wallet back to my handbag, i had somehow placed it into my luggage. a bit stupid, i know. but then i was also a bit trippy.

as i collected my luggage at the melbourne airport, i opened my bag in anticipation of disappointment. but it’s there alright, the prodigal wallet has returned. and with it came a new hope…of some kind.

say, maybe it’s true what they say about the air on plane cabin consisting of a certain amount of poisonous substances?

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=513209&in_page_id=1770

i know it’s daily mail but…you know…

ah heck…   

the thing about lengthy flight is that it makes sleeping difficult. the thing about sleep is that it’s an activity so imperative to my being that a lack thereof often result in slapstick-worthy incidents. if i may enlighten the matter,

*getting up the stairs at my sister’s apartment after getting off the singapore - san fransisco flight*

me: *step, step, up, repeat*

rest of the family: *step, up, step, up*

me: *kaboooooooooshhh!!!*

rest of the family: *stares*

me: *keeps still*

rest of the family: *stares longer*

me: *keeps still more over*

dad: hey, you ok?

me: *gets up* Yup *step, up, step, repeat*

back in oz i’ve always had frequent calls with the clayton asphalt for no apparent reason. but in the midst of the misty light-headed bubble that was my brain and the nerves’ silent hysteria, i finally gave in to the gravity and took a tumble. i was actually having both hands in my pockets; thus, the chin and the knees had to act as shock absorber. thank goodness the gums didn’t bleed and every toothe is safe and sound.  the thing is that i got some kind of post-trauma tremor on my lower jaw then turning blue as a result. the thing about that is that i practically had to perform micro-surgery on my food for the next two days.

another experience,

*checking in at brisbane airport after getting of the singapore - brisbane flight and seeing my little sister off about 5 hours before*

friendly virgin staff: hellooooooo, good afternoon!

me: hhiii…

friendly virgin staff: owww, agnes, beautiful name, but you don’t get many of those these days!!!

me: yeaaaahdufnwiordbfviwndnsdnosd… *smiles creepily*

friendly virgin staff: sorry what?

me: you knowwwjdsadienjweiuhdbnvuiw… *smiles creepily again*

friendly virgin staff: ok…your luggage?

me: *stares into space* *drools* *slurs some alien code*

and so i had to be in that trance-like dementia until i finally got a proper sleep on the way back to melbourne. what a way…