Anisah's Pet Peeves

Yay for Al-Risalah!

2011-10-31T22:39:00.000+08:00

Quick update, because it's exam week and I shouldn't be wasting precious studying time on the Internet!

Anyways, as most of you probably know, Issue 2 of The Torch was released last Friday, with the remaining 300 distributed today. I remember eagerly grabbing hold of the copy for the first time, anticipating how my articles would look like in print, before getting down to the business of distribution.

But before I could even open it, one of the other reporters, Hamed, pulled me aside and cried out, 'Anisah, you get like two whole pages to yourself! Look at it! It's like a takeover!'

Oops!

So, yeah, all the articles on both page 10 and 11 have my name on the byline. I honestly had no idea that the pages for Al-Risalah and Learn It would be side by side. It really does look like I took over Issue 2, doesn't it? :-/ So I think an explanation is in order.

Originally, I volunteered to fill up the pages for Learn It only. Which, I did, obviously.

Al-Risalah, on the other hand, was assigned to other writers. Nazriq (Issue 2's editor) had already made it clear to the editorial team what his vision for Al-Risalah in Issue 2 was: make it engaging, easy to understand, and most of all, easy to relate to.

But, well, stuff happened and I ended up volunteering to rewrite Al-Risalah at the last minute.

Alhamdulillah, so far, feedback for the Al-Risalah articles has been good. I noticed, though, that those who enjoyed Having A Bad Hijab Day? tend to be girls who already wear the hijab. I'm really curious to know how it made an impact on the real target audience... Did it help them in any way? Or did it (yikes!) offend them?

Anyway, now that Issue 2's been printed, I think it's safe for me to post the other article I wrote for Al-Risalah, which is How We Define A Hypocrite.

(Original title I came up with was What's In A Hypocrite? Tapi mesti NST tukar because the hijab article also had a question mark in it. Oh well!)

***

How We Define A Hypocrite

“She wears the hijab, but I hear she has a boyfriend. What a hypocrite!”

“I hate how people are wearing hijab just because of fashion. Hypocrite, much?”

Hold it, gossipmongers! Instead of pointing fingers at other people and labelling them as hypocrites, we should all take a breather and attempt to understand what a hypocrite really is.

According to Islamic law, there are two types of hypocrites; the greater hypocrite and the lesser hypocrite.

Greater hypocrites present an outward appearance of believing in Allah and the other five articles of faith, when in their hearts they don’t believe in some or any of it all.

For example, if someone goes around loudly proclaiming “Allahu Akbar!” while secretly wondering whether she will inherit her grandmother’s saka in time to find a husband before the crow’s feet sets in, that person is probably a hypocrite.

Lesser hypocrites, on the other hand, present an outward appearance of being good and performing good deeds while concealing within their hearts that which contradicts their actions.

For instance, if a person volunteering at the soup kitchen thinks, “this is such a waste of time and resources, but it sure makes me look noble!” as he hands over a plate of nasi lemak to the hungry homeless, then he might be a hypocrite, too.

The important point here is that what defines a person as a hypocrite lies in their hearts. So who are we to label anyone as a hypocrite, when only Allah knows what is in a person’s heart?

Besides, if we ever do come across a girl who may have been influenced by fashion to take up the hijab, the word “hypocrite” shouldn’t be the first thing that springs to mind. Instead, we should be grateful to Allah that people feel more encouraged by society to cover their aurah.

And if you see a hijabi indulging in what you believe is un-Islamic behaviour, then that doesn’t necessarily mean she is being a hypocrite. It means she makes mistakes – just as everyone else on this planet, hijabi or not, makes mistakes. Rather than making snide remarks behind her back, take the opportunity to step in and encourage her to become a better Muslim.

“Invite (all) to the Way of your Lord with wisdom and beautiful preaching...” (16:125).

Meanwhile, the following are signs of a hypocrite – not as a guide for you to initiate a hypocrite-hunt among your peers and burn them alive, but for all of us to ponder on whether we may unconsciously be dabbling in it as well.

1) 1. When he speaks, he lies.

2) 2. When he argues, or is involved in disagreements, he becomes overtly angry and explodes.

3) 3. When he is entrusted with something, he violates it.

4) 4. When he promises, he goes back on his promise.

If these signs are making you doubt yourself, don’t worry: it’s perfectly natural. Ibn Abi Malaika said: “I encountered thirty Companions of Rasulullah (SAW), every one of them fears hypocrisy for himself and Al-Hassan Al-Basri used to say about it: No one fears it but a believer and no one feels safe from it but a hypocrite.” (Bukhari)

And if we ever feel that we might be exhibiting signs of hypocrisy, there is no need to resign ourselves to the lowest depths of hell-fire.

“... for those who repent, mend (their lives) hold fast to Allah, and purify their religion as in Allah’s sight: if so they will be (numbered) with the Believers. And soon will Allah grant to the believers a reward of immense value.” (4: 146)

I don’t know how to say this, but...

2011-10-26T19:58:00.000+08:00

You know, when I see hijabis dressed up so...there’s no other word for it... outrageously in a way that totally makes people look twice (usually in shock and bemusement), I really get confused.

It’s especially confusing when they post endless photos of themselves in all their crazy getup on their blogs, as if to invite more people to ogle and heap praises at them.

Example:

Am I the only person who thinks it defeats the purpose of wearing the hijab in the first place?

Hijab is, among other things, meant to symbolise modesty...isn’t it?

I don’t know la... I know this is a controversial topic, and I know I personally have a lot to improve on when it comes to aurah, and I really don’t want to come off as the haram police or something...

But it just bothers me.

And that's why I'm posting it here. I'd like to know what you guys think. Is it a good way to encourage more muslim women to don the hijab? Or is it an affront to the meaning of hijab?

Having a Bad Hijab Day?

2011-10-09T02:22:00.001+08:00

Salam everyone!

Remember I said I was going for the production meeting of The Torch on Friday? Well, one of the outcomes was that I ended up volunteering to write an additional article for the Al-Risalah section, the home of the Islamic articles.

I'm really excited about what I wrote and just can't wait until October 28th for people to read it, so I decided to post it on my blog, just to share it with you guys :D

Even though its an article about hijab, which is a female-centric topic, I hope you males out there could read it as well and spread it to your female friends.

Also, again, allow me to warn you that on October 28, when you get your copy of The Torch, Issue 2, you might find this article either radically altered, or absolutely non-existent. You have been warned!

***

Having a Bad Hijab Day?

By Anisah Shurfa Mohammed Shukry

Out comes the hijab from the front compartment and shoved hastily onto the head; from the backseat, an abaya (robe) is swiftly retrieved and thrown over the body.

“I’m just not ready to wear the hijab full-time,” the sister sighs as she drives through the literal gates to The Garden of Knowledge and Virtue.

There are many reasons she may give for being underprepared; (1) she doesn’t want to be branded a hypocrite, (2) she feels that it’s unflattering, or (3) she just doesn’t think it’s necessary.

“I don’t want to be a hijabi hypocrite!”

Many of us feel that we shouldn’t be wearing the hijab unless we’re paragons of goodness and all things wonderful in Islam.

Otherwise, wearing the hijab when we don’t really “mean” it or aren’t “sincere” about it will cause us to languish in the lowest depths of hell-fire for being a hypocrite.

The real truth, however, is that donning the hijab, even if it is with mixed feelings, is a step towards the right direction: that of becoming a better Muslim.

After all, as Yusuf Islam says, “Islam is not a state of being. It is a process of becoming.”

It’s perfectly natural to feel awkward, or uncomfortable, when first wearing the hijab; to expect otherwise would be unrealistic. But give it some time, and eventually you’ll become so used to wearing it in public, not wearing it would be as weird as leaving the house without pants on. And you’ll appreciate it just as much.

But if you still feel like a wretched “hypocrite” for wearing the hijab while indulging in certain “activities”, here’s a suggestion:

Don’t quit the hijab – it’s your conscience calling out to you. Instead, quit the activities and find something to do that won’t make you feel like ripping that cloth off your head in shame.

“But people say I don’t look pretty when I cover up!”

Ask people what they think is attractive, and you’ll get all sorts of answers; tall and thin / voluptuous and curvy /small and cute. In fact, some people even have an affinity for sparkling vampires.

The bottom line is, what people think is beautiful doesn’t matter. We humans are fickle and our preferences are shaped by our society and cultural values.

For instance, now vampires are all the rage, but who says that by 2012, human-robot-fish hybrids won’t be The Next Big Thing?

On the other hand, Allah’s preferences always remain consistent throughout the centuries.

And, honestly, would you prefer Allah see you as beautiful, or that greasy guy with the smoker’s breath you bumped into on the streets last week?

Besides, nowadays, so many hijab-clad women are emerging in the media to challenge the notion that Bare Skin is Beautiful.

Hijab hotties: Yuna and Hana Tajima

For instance, Malaysians are currently head-over-heels with Hana Tajima, the petite, adorable fashion designer from London with her own unique style of wearing the hijab.

Even websites like welovehijab.com, which offer suggestions on how to pull off a look that is simultaneously beautiful and modest, are cropping up everywhere.

In the end, ask yourself this; if you can cover parts of the body that the Westerners deem inappropriate for the public eye, why can’t you also cover the parts that Islam says are too precious to be exposed?

“I don’t need to wear the hijab to be a good Muslim.”

You could say that there’s more to Islam than covering your body, which is completely true.

You could say that hijab isn’t a measure of one’s faith, which is an undeniable truth.

You could say that the most important thing is to have a purified heart.

That is also true.

In fact, it is mentioned in the Qur’an that on the Day of Judgement, “...only he (will prosper) that brings to Allah a sound heart” (26:89).

But then, ask yourself this – how do you go about purifying your heart in the first place?

Being a real Muslim encompasses your physical aspect, and not just your spiritual aspect.

Otherwise, we might as well have been created as gassy substances doomed to worship God in spirit form alone, for all the good that we were doing with our limbs.

As such, covering your aurah is just as monumental a part of being a Muslim as praying five times a day, performing acts of charity, and sharing the beauty of Islam with one another is.

Remember, your end goal on this planet is to attain Allah’s love and pleasure. So would you honestly let your hair get in the way of that?

The Torch, Issue 2 In Progress

2011-10-06T22:13:00.010+08:00

So, tomorrow me and the other team leaders of The Torch Issue 2 will be storming NST headquarters once again for the production of Issue 2! We'll be deciding which article will go on which page, which won't make the cut, which will make the cut but require major reworking, etc.

Nervous like MAD because Issue 2 is our baby -- or to be more specific, Mine, Nazriq's, Leila's, Aisyah's, Hamed's and Naeema's baby -- cuz this time the six of us came up with the story ideas for this issue, with Nazriq at the lead as Issue 2 Editor.

(FYI, different issues have different core teams managing it. So this issue may have a different... feel to it compared to the first one, thanks to the people at the helm! Whether its better or not, you'll be the judge... ;-) )

The Torch Issue 1, at last week's distribution

For this issue, I happily volunteered to be the head of the Life and Learn it sections -- arguably the most potentially interesting sections of the whole paper. (I mean, come on -- I doubt I'm the only person out here who always skips to the Variety section of The Sunday Star first thing in the morning...)

So most, if not all, the stories in Life were the result of my squeezing my brains out and capturing the juice to form ideas that I believed could captivate readers' interests, and then assigning the most suitable reporters to flesh 'em out.

For Life of The Torch, Issue 2, the articles included are concert reviews, food reviews, book reviews, and more!

Are you excited now? :-D

Ironically, I haven't written a single article for the Life section -- the guy in charge at NST, Michael, rejected the story I assigned myself to write -- a piece about Fashion Do's and Don'ts -- because he said it had the potential to be too judgmental.

(Apparently, you're supposed to be objective when writing an article unless its a column or editorial piece.)

My reaction:

Me? Judgmental? *Gasps in fake indignation* All I wanted to do was...advise my fellow sisters and brothers that certain items of dressing were...less pleasing to the eye.... For the betterment of the Ummah, you know?

Anyhoo, for Learn It I'm doing an article called "From D to Dean's List" -- basically some advice on how to go from zero to ~~the ultimate dork of your department~~ hero.

If that title sounds familiar, its based on a series of blog posts I wrote...and never completed beyond Part 1.

Anyways, here's a teaser of the article, just for fun!

From D to Dean's List
by Anisah Shurfa Mohammed Shukry

There it hangs: the coveted Dean’s List; a list of names of students who achieved a GPA of 3.5 and above for the previous semester.

Draped amid urgent announcements and posters warning you to cover your aurah, the Dean’s List elicits a variety of reactions from passersby.

“Every time I see it, I feel inspired and think, God, I really want to be on that list,” shares Dyg Nurfaizeleen, a 4^th year student.

Yet, many students, especially those with a less-than-stellar CGPA, think getting Dean’s List is as impossible as winning the Nobel Peace Prize.

In actual truth, upgrading from D Lister to Dean’s Lister is possible – in fact, many have done it and lived to tell the tale.

Interested? Then ask yourself a few crucial questions, such as:

Am I in the right course?

In some cases, the problem is not you, but the course you’re in.

For Mohd Nazriq, it took two course changes and readmission with a clean slate before he finally settled on his dream course.

“I’ve been maths-illiterate all my life, so, no, Engineering was never my first choice,” he confesses with a laugh. “But I decided to just stay in it and see what happens.”

What “happened” was unfortunately a dismissal letter mailed to him after he received dismal grades for his first semester at the Centre for Foundation Studies (CFS).

Now an English Language and Literature student with four Dean’s List certificates under his belt, Nazriq has never looked back – unless it is with regret that he hadn’t changed courses sooner.

So if you’re an Economics student who secretly desires to be a world renowned surgeon, or a Law student who would rather spout Qur’anic verses than Article 153 of the Federal Constitution, perhaps you might consider a change of major.

/end of teaser

...to continue reading the article, you'll just have to wait until Issue 2 comes out! ;-)

(WARNING: NST might edit the article like mad once they get their hands on it, so there's the possibility the only similar thing about this and the published version of the article is my name on it D-:)

Yesterday, I also interviewed Dato' Hamidon, director of the International Cooperation and Exchange Office (ICEO), for the second article of Learn It.

Yeah, I know, you're probably all, what Office?

I'd never heard of them, either, until the Director himself personally called Nazriq up for an interview.

So, three words for you guys:

Student. Exchange. Program.

HEEHEE I can't wait for Issue 2 to be published! Can you? *happy dance*

The Rector holding up the Torch... which just
happens to have her face on the front page.

GET YOUR FACTS RIGHT, ZAINAH ANWAR

2011-10-02T12:58:00.008+08:00

Wow, just wow. Was I the only person reading one of Zainah Anwar’s insipid columns in today’s The Star while frothing at the mouth?

You know, for all the faults New Straits Times have, and the misgivings I had about working with a paper that was clearly controlled by the government, I can at least say this about NST: they never hired Zainah Anwar.

In her column today, entitled No hudud please, we’re Malaysians, Zainah Anwar proves once again that her fuel for her writings is a twisted understanding of religion rather than a solid background based on cold, hard facts.

You know, it’s okay to be ignorant about certain things, especially if it’s something as complicated as the Hudud law. But if you’re going to argue about something and get it published in a paper for the public to read, shouldn’t you, I don’t know...read up on it first? Or at least ask someone with a qualified background in hudud law?

(And no, asking someone from “Sisters in Islam” or, as my lecturer liked to call it, “Sisters Out Of Islam”, does not count.)

From the paragraph below alone, it’s clear that her idea of hudud is so sadly, pitifully narrow that it could make even a cold, cynical 22-year-old like me weep.

“...what do we get? An offer of the hudud law and its grim serving of chopped-off Muslim hands and feet, and stoning to death! What kind of future is that?” she writes.

Yep, focus on the shock factor. That’s all the hudud law is about. Mutilating Muslims.

Or “brutalising Muslims”, as she writes.

But no, it gets worse. Way worse. Bear with me, k?

She defends her lack of expertise in Islam, saying she has a right to voice out what she says despite her acknowledged ignorance because:

“...I can be flogged 80 lashes for qazaf (slanderous accusation) if I report I have been raped and am unable to produce four pious and Muslim males who witnessed the rape... and even if I could produce the four men, I would be torn apart wondering why four supposedly pious and just men watched me being raped.”

Facepalm.

(No, I will not let my anger get the better of me. I will not.

But I shall indulge in some keyboard bashing.

sahfddwqkeuqwbdsznxcbkue;qwieqpoejcalksd!!!**!@$!)

Its official, you guys: Zainah Anwar is so caught up in her unrighteous indignation that she has no time for such trivial matters as getting her facts right.

Zainah Anwar, I will say this to you v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y a-n-d c-l-e-a-r-l-y so that you need not humiliate yourself, your religion and other Muslims any further in your writings.

YOU ONLY NEED TO PRODUCE FOUR WITNESSES IF YOU ARE ACCUSING SOMEONE ELSE OF HAVING PREMARITAL/EXTRAMARITAL SEX.

You get me?

Let me repeat it again in case you still don’t get it.

ONLY. IF. YOU. ARE. ACCUSING. SOMEONE ELSE.

Of what, you say?

OF PREMARITAL/EXTRAMARITAL SEX.

NOT RAPE.

That’s right, gurl! If yo doin’ the accusin’, you goinna need yo four men!

On a more serious note, do you notice the beauty of hudud there? The fact that you have to come up with four extra witnesses means that you can't simply accuse others of having premarital/extramarital sex so easily. Even if you derive vindictive pleasure from seeing your enemies get stoned to death, it's not gonna happen unless you can rustle up four other witnesses.

This is why Hudud is more of a preventive law rather than anything else. The punishments are harsh to scare people away from flouting the law, not to brutalise people who knowingly committed a wrongdoing.

And while we're at it, why not criticize the current justice system? Wrongdoers go to prison, where they spend several years repenting for their sins and come out a new person.

In some alternative dimension, maybe. But we know for sure that the prison system is a failed system. Zimbardo's prison experiment, anyone? Look it up.

That's why Hudud law doesn't involve prisons at all -- instead, we punish the wrongdoer and let them mingle with civilised society again. Why? Because your personality is shaped by your social environment. Chuck a bad guy in a building full of other bad guys, and what do you expect will happen?

So, Zainah Anwar, do yourself a favour, read up on your religion (or ask the right people – here in UIA we have plenty of IRK lecturers who are more than happy to guide you) before being all indignant about its “injustice” and “brutality”.

(ok, random: I just went to NST’s site to confirm my statement at the beginning that they never hired Zainah Anwar as a writer. And you know what? While they’ve never hired her, they wrote about her. Turns out she founded Sisters in Islam. She founded it. Yes, it was she. Zainah Anwar.

NO FLIPPING WONDER)

(I’m also going to write a letter to the editor of the Star, once my emotions are sufficiently stable and I get all the facts and evidences I need from my brother-in-law and my IRK lects to lambast this women’s column to kingdom come. Pray for me)

(Also, I'd love to write more for this post, because there were so many things wrong in her column, but unlike Zainah Anwar, I'm going to do some more reading up (and asking around) first. That's why I only tackled one small part in her column.)

(Plus, if any of you guys have read her article and have some knowledge about hudud law, especially when it cames to rape, please do share)

(And: Go away potential Zainah-loving anonymous commenters. TQ)

ETA: Do read the comments section for a deeper understanding about the rape-as-sex misinterpretation in Hudud law! Oh, and thank you, anonymous #1 for providing me with the article that gave me a deeper understanding of Hudud misinterpretations :-D

New Jusco at OU, yay!

2011-08-25T21:42:00.002+08:00

Yes, I’ll admit it.

I shop for my clothes at departmental stores. And not high-end ones like Parkson or Metrojaya either, but the middling to cheap ones with bad lighting; you know, the type that always highlight your chin-fat in the mirror and make you wonder at what time exactly between leaving your house and entering the fitting room that your thighs got exchanged for tree trunks.

For instance:

My grey cardigan?

Brands’ outlet.

My pants?

Jusco One Utama.

My colourful tank tops?

Tesco Mutiara Damansara.

In fact, I make a very boring shopping partner when it comes to clothes. If you ever spot me in Elle or MNG, you’ll witness me flipping over price tags and muttering “I could get this for 10 ringgit at Tesco!” all passive-aggressively before chucking them back into the discount bin.

There are exceptions, of course. Like sometimes, Forever 21 has attractive clothes with price tags to match, and then there’s that cute little shop at Ikano (LG floor) where you can buy deceptively-simple yet gorgeous maxi dresses for under RM50. And do stop at that gem of a shop on the top floor of Amcorp Mall, where they sell out-of-season branded, good quality clothes for under 50 ringgit.

But anyway, moving on, have you checked out the new Jusco in OU? Finally they finished renovating it after almost a year of suspense, and, I must say, it’s massive.

I checked it out on Monday with Nazriq, and again on Tuesday with my mum and siblings. (And I think I’ll go again this week alone because people always complain I take too long when I’m in the fitting room. I can’t help it when I have four brooches and four jarum peniti to keep my tudung in place :-/)

The first impression I got was, it’s so shiny! The floors are all white and glossy and sheeny, like Parkson, while the size of it reminds me of Midvalley’s Jusco. The ground floor is completely devoted to the supermarket and food stalls that was originally located near the Johnnies Steamboat area. You can get sushi at 99 sen for a piece at the sushi stands and sushi always makes me happy because it’s tasty and healthy :-)

It’s strange; when I went out Monday, a typical working day, the place was practically jam-packed. I mean, I know it was Jusco’s opening day, but don’t tell me people actually take leave from work just to visit Jusco. I found it really weird :-/

But it was worth it for me, too, because since it was opening day, I got to buy a pillow that usually costs RM 50 for only RM 20! Awesome or WHAT? Now I can finally chuck out my old Tesco pillow out!! You’d think my old pillow is stuffed with broken wood by the feel of it; I had to relegate it to a footrest these past few years just to spare my head :-(

At the female apparel section on the first floor, I was surrounded by my usual old, underrated friends; T’zed and Arcadia and Scarlet and Creme. The thing about these brands is that, if you look hard enough, you could find something really nice for a super cheap price among all the shapeless, sack-like outfits that come in droves. Like my Creme black cardigan, which I’ve worn so often that it’s gone all bobbly for being tossed in the washer so often...

Sad to say, though, they still don’t have enough fitting rooms... and the flourescent lighting is as unflattering as ever :-(

On another, completely unrelated note, the end of Ramadhan is fast approaching. It’s really sad; among the many practices I miss will be performing solat terawikh at the majestic Masjid Wilayah. Have you ever been there for solat terawikh? If you haven’t, do go for the remainder of the week. Even though I only went thrice, it left a huge impact on me. The recitation by the imam is absolutely beautiful; more melodic than any music I’ve ever heard, and so uplifting I felt my heart and spirits soar as I stood among the jemaah. I felt like my soul was being cleansed and purified with each rakaat, and, for the first time ever, I felt that the terawikh prayers were too short. Unbelievable? Believe it.

Also, me and two other siblings will be completely alone in the house for the rest of the next two weeks as the rest of my family balik kampung. As you have probably guessed, neither me, Kak Aisya nor Firdaus are skilled enough cooks, so if you want to visit, be sure to bring your own ketupat and rendang! ;-) All are welcome, just warn us in advance though – unless you’re willing to wait outside the house for half an hour as we change out of shabby caftans into our Eid finery :-O

So anyway, that’s all from me. Eid Mubarak in advance, and do make the most of the last days of Ramadhan! :-D

Book Review: A Game of Thrones

2011-08-08T01:27:00.005+08:00

Salam everyone!

Okay, this blog has been so quiet and deadly dull, it kind of saddens me that it still exists here in the cyber world, neglected and oh so...sparse.

Anyway, loads of stuff happened since my last faux-news-report post (which, btw, was inspired by my amazing-but-brief training at News Straits Times) that I haven’t covered here. I won’t bore you with a list, so I’m just going to randomly type out whatever pops into mind, then decide the title for this post.

Oh...yes.

A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE: A GAME OF THRONES IS SO EPIC!!1!!!!11

YOU GUYS HAVE TO READ IT! READ! IT!

IT’S LIKE LORD OF THE RINGS IN ITS SCALE AND EPICNESS, ONLY MINUS THE CONFUSION OVER HOBBIT ORIGINS AND LONG SONGS OR FLOWERY DESCRIPTIONS OF SCENERIES, BOTH OF WHICH I ALWAYS SHAMELESSLY SKIMMED THROUGH WHEN READING LOTR!!

Ahem. End of capslock party.

Ever since I finished reading the Hunger Games, I was endlessly wondering what else could I read that would consume me so completely (and provide me with a fictional character I could fancy. Man, I miss my Peeta Mellark lovelorn days) and keep me absolutely riveted. Honestly, nothing can compare to the experience of reading an Excellent Book...

...and fancying a lovable male character.

Like the Hunger Games, I decided to try out A Song of Ice and Fire: A Game of Thrones because of all the hype from the Internet. (Kind of funny, actually, since those two books are so different.) I think I learned from good ol’d TWoP about how a HBO series had been made based on A Game of Thrones, and that it was supposedly really excellent. The clincher? Boromir was acting in it.

Unfortunately, due to the fact that Mama had stopped paying Astro bills about ten years ago in a desperate attempt to get us Shurfas to hit our textbooks more often (it failed in my case), there was no chance of me actually checking out the show to evaluate its overall excellence-ness.

I was in a dilemma. Gone were the days when I could just sit cross-legged in MPH and devour a book in one sitting. Nor did I want to risk purchasing a book I might not even like (with money earned doing subtitles from Astro shows. Let us all take a moment to bow our heads and relish this irony).

So, like The Hunger Games, I was left with no choice: I set aside my ethics, subdued my conscience, donned a pirate eyepatch and scoured 4shared.com for a pdf version of the book. Within a few minutes, the book was safely downloaded onto my phone for me to consume at my own leisurely pace with nary a dime spent.

I’ve been reading it for the past three days now, and I still haven’t finished it. Now usually this means the book is not good at all, cuz I normally take only one night to complete an Excellent Book. But finishing A Game of Thrones in a few hours would be impossible, even if I cheerfully forfeit my basic rights to eat, sleep and take trips to the loo. Because this book? Is 900 pages long.

Which, while being a mind-whammy, is also perfect because, think about it: the excellence just keeps going on and on and on and on and on...

Because this book is honestly great. Set in a medieval fantasy world, it’s an intricate story of how many (emphasis on many here – there were a lot of times that I lost track of who was who and I’m not even half way done here) key people either a) vie for the throne or b) attempt to protect the throne or c) just happen to be related to either (a) and (b). So you can already assume there’s lots of intrigue and murder and mystery and... you know what? I suck at summaries, so just read the book or check out the reviews at Amazon.

Thanks to the power of A Game of Thrones, my text messages on Friday went like this:

Nazriq, 6:17 pm : How are u doing anisah?

Me, 6:21 pm : Tgh baca buku!

Nazriq, 6:46 pm : U buat apa skang?

Me, 6:46 pm : Baca buku!

Nazriq, 10:10 pm : What are you doing now? I baru keluar masjid!

Me, 10:11 pm : Baca buku!

...and you get the gist.

I’ve also downloaded the first two episodes of the HBO series (yes, again I donned the pirate eye-patch as I waded through the murky waters of warez-bb.org under the disguise of my sister’s username) and, while seriously EPIC to the power of 88, it may be confusing for people who haven’t read the book because the characters keep flinging around names of places and people and terms like “the Hand of the King” without making it obvious that it’s capitalised, so you’ll be like “lol-whut.” Also, Jaime’s hair is too modern.

Its kind of hard to swallow that everything is supposed to be set in medieval times when the dude walks around with such neat, post-millennium tresses. Compared to, say, this manimal*:

BE STILL, MY BEATING HEART.

And while we're at it, why must there be so much nakedness on the show? Honestly, it’s really unnecessary and makes me super uncomfortable, even at my ripe old age of 22! Thank God I watch it alone; I can't imagine how awkward it would be if I were watching it with my Mum...or my little sister Aida...

Whoah, okay, so this post turned into a book review. Kind of. So what’s the title of the blog post going to be?

An Update!

No.

A Song Of Love and Praise?

No.

Boromir is Awesome?

Ye—No.

Real Men Don't Comb Their Hair?

....

You guys, this is hard.

You know what? I'm just going to keep the title clean and simple.

*manimal = man + animal. Noun coined by Kak Aisya. Used to depict a man so hot and rugged, other words found in the dictionary do not do his physical beauty justice.

Breaking Dawn: An Exclusive Interview

2011-06-08T13:59:00.004+08:00

Within a month, Breaking Dawn – a movie starring a sparkling pedophile, a love-struck misanthropis t and a furry animal – will be whimpering its away into our cinemas. The official trailer, released barely a week ago amid howls of ecstasy and heartbreak, is merely a taste of the madness that it is to spread, like Edward Cullen’s leftover semen, into people’s lives; forever changing vampire lore as we so fondly knew it.

We here from The New Straight Times have had the chance to get up-close and personal with the three main stars of Breaking Dawn – Edward Masen Something-Or-Another Cullen, Isabella “Mary Sue” Swan, and Jacob “The Afterthought” Black – as they share their thoughts about the upcoming movie.

‘I hate this,’ mutters Bella in her signature monotone as she shoves a strand of hair behind her ear glittering. ‘I hate the attention, I hate this dress, and I hate the Merc you bought me.’ She turns to glare at her husband with dour, red-blood eyes. ‘Why does my life have to be so perfect?’

‘Ah, hush, my young love,’ her 100-year-old husband, Edward, chides her softly, his golden eyes brooding as he gently traces her face with one sparkling, French-manicured finger. ‘If thou doth hath nothing nice to utter, then thou should stay quiet and serve thy husband, like ~~a first-class prostitute~~ an obedient wife.’

The movie will be the first of two parts ~~in a typical move to milk as much venom from the undying saga as possible~~ in order to pacify fans who loathe to see the end of Bella and Edward depart from their sad, lonely lives. One particular fan was almost in hysterics at the prospect; at one point even questioning her existence after it was all to end. What, in all honesty, do Bella, Jacob and Edward think of that?

‘Forsooth, it is dark tidings,’ murmurs Edward with a fragrant sigh. His sparkling face belies his troubled feelings as he looks out at the horizon, the sunshine illuminating every miniscule pore that dots his marble, angelic skin. He shifts in his seat, and the leather purrs audibly in satisfaction at his velvet caress. ‘But was it not Romeo,’ continues Edward, ‘who uttered the cry “All Good Things (Come To An End)", before he plunged the cursed dagger into his heart, and so ended his short, wretched life while pale, beautiful Juliet slept on?’

It is this statement that finally snaps Jacob out of his reverie. With all trace of his boyish smile gone, he says, his voice intense, ‘Dad, that was Nelly Furtado, not Romeo. Fail.’

Now that Jacob has finally joined us, I am curious to know what has been on his mind for the past half hour of the interview, as well as his thoughts on the upcoming movie.

‘Renesmee,’ he breathes, his face slowly lightening up. He runs a shaking hand through his hair – the room is at once filled with the overwhelming stench of burnt follicles. ‘My soulmate, you know?’ he explains, his dark eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. ‘She’s just so… beautiful. And so smart – so much smarter than the other girls her age. Today I taught her her ABCs, and not only did she not stumble even once, but she was pitch-perfect, too – other kids’ voices usually crack when they reach the letter ‘g’.’

Edward nods proudly. ‘That’s my daughter. A prodigy at two years old.’

Jacob leans forward, his expression eager. ‘She’s really excited about the movie – I would know, ‘cause I got a glimpse of what’s going on in her head when she touched my face as I tucked her into bed last night.’ A smile of infinite satisfaction spreads across his face at the memory. ‘I’ll never forget that experience.’

‘What time did you put her to sleep?’ cuts Bella sharply, her lips pulled back in a dangerous snarl.

‘7 p.m., of course, Mom,’ replies Jacob, rolling his eyes. ‘Don’t worry, little Nessie is in good, warm hands.’

I am desperate to steer the conversation back to safer topics, but it is clear that the legendary family have other things on their minds. The three abruptly leap to their feet: Bella, scowling and tossing her mane in a manner that would have put Rosalie to shame; Jacob, eyes dazed as he absent-mindedly flexes his impressive biceps, and Edward, ever graceful and apologetic as he prances his way towards the door, leaving behind a scent of rosemary and thyme.

‘Wait!’ I cry out frantically, pen and pad in hand. ‘Any last words?’

Only Bella bothers to reply. ‘Yeah,’ she says, pausing thoughtfully by the doorway. ‘People always ask me, “what’s it like, tying yourself in every humanly possible way with a cold, marble, godlike being such as Edward?” Since none of you will ever be as lucky and perfect as me, here’s a helpful hint: Go here, and experience it for yourselves. The reviews pretty much sum everything up. In fact, I wrote one of them myself.’ And with a naughty wink, Isabella Marie Cullen Swan joins her comrades into the horizon.

I watch, hidden in the shadows and despairing in my mortality, as the three mount their sparkling unicorns and make their way, with all the grace of vampire royalty, to their dream cottage deep in the Forest of Forbidden Fairytales.

*Breaking Dawn will be out in cinemas on November 18, 2011

The Beginning

2011-06-08T00:34:00.006+08:00

I started out my old blog with the intention of getting my voice heard. As a sixteen-year-old who felt like her social environment was stifling her “talent” and identity, blogging in The Not-So-Secret Dreamworld of a Bookaholic (later, shortened to The Secret Dreamworld of a Bookaholic, and finally changed to Anisah’s Pet Peeves to stop misleading innocent people into thinking the blog was chock-full of nerdy book reviews) was the ultimate escape – there, I could indulge in writing to my heart’s content. And getting comments from strangers and friends alike was the ultimate ego boost for any teenager with a confidence level as low as mine.

But I’m not sixteen anymore. Reading back my old posts was like reading a teenager’s diary – sometimes amusing, but mostly obnoxious and self-absorbed, and definitely not suited for public consumption.

So I’m starting anew. Would you care to join me? :-)

PS: However, if I'm in the mood for it, there are several posts that perhaps I'll repost here, and maybe even make a continuation of -- like my movie review of Twilight. Speaking of, did you guys catch the reactions of the twihards watching the mega-cheesy trailer of Breaking Dawn? The one below is Epic.

Though I saw his face, I'm no Belieber!

2011-04-22T12:41:00.001+08:00

It all started with a very unexpected SMS from KakAisya several months ago.

"Anisah, do you want to go to the Justin Bieber concert to chaperone some kids? Haha."

My reply was swift and eloquent.

"UGH NO WAY NOT IN A MILLION YEARS!!! NOT EVEN IF SOMEONE PAID ME. Why, who wants to go? Don't tell me it's AIDA. My own sister...I'll never be able to look at her the same way again."

"No...KakAmnah's friend Zul is looking for volunteers to chaperone orphans to the concert. I thought it would be fun. Haha."

"Oh! Well, since it's for a good cause, then count me in!"

And so began our Epic Journey to the Land of the Bieber. Along the way, we were able to rope Awi and Nazriq into The Quest. Grim, hardened and battle-weary, guided only by pure courage and the weight of a mighty responsibility, the four of us joined The Fellowship of the Non-Beliebers.

The Fellowship of the Non-Beliebers were made up of 150 strong volunteers who had been divided unevenly into 21 teams, each tasked with a specific orphanage to take care of. Awi, Nazriq, KakAisya were assigned to Sunway Mentari Learning Centre, and had to chaperone 17 ~~hobbits~~ orphans from ~~the shire~~ their orphanage to the Land of the Bieber.

Waiting for our fourth member to join us

Unfortunately, just as the four of us were to embark on our Journey, we learned disastrous news: our particular orphans would not be going to Bieber Land. With no one to chaperone, well, we couldn't just up and go on our own, innit? It would miss the whole point of the quest entirely. So we were asked to join another team and take care of a different orphanage: the Zomi Learning Centre.

And So It Begins.

On the bus to The Land of Bieber

We arrived -- all 79 of us -- at the Stadium Merdeka at around 5pm, excited and ready. The gates were to open early for us, so that we wouldn't lose the orphans in the crowd.

I was personally in charge of six orphans, ages ranging from 8 to 15 years old. They were all Burmese refugees, all boys, and all very sweet. I didn't ask them their names, since I knew I would promptly forget it a second later, and since people's faces always look alike to me, I was at a loss to how I was supposed to remember who my kids were. Then it hit me. Duh. The colour of their t-shirts. "Okay," I muttered under my breath. "Two red t-shirts, two white t-shirts, one black and one green. Two of them are wearing caps cocked to the side, and that one in green keeps looking at me and smiling."

The one in green, (Tuang Pin, his name was, I later found out) towered over me and asked, shyly, "how old are you?"

My reply (21 years old!) elicited a chorus of groans from all six boys --some even smacked their foreheads in frustration.

Then they promptly asked me whether I was married.

Me and my kids

Meanwhile, we were waiting on the road, outside the stadium for the person holding the 300 tickets to show up. The kids were getting restless as half an hour passed by, but they remained well-behaved -- staying with their designated group of six, chattering at the top of their voices in a language I couldn't understand. But none of them strayed away or showed any signs of anger.

Then everything went downhill from there.

First came The Rain. Nothing could compare with the thunderstorm that drenched us to the skin. We were wearing raincoats, but after an hour of waiting in the thunderstorm, my socks began to get all wet and squishy. The raincoat was quite short, too, so while my tudung and t-shirt stayed dry, knee-down I was soaking wet. But I'd been through worse, so I didn't complain. Much.

Throughout that ordeal was The Wait. For the man holding the 300 tickets. At about 6.30, we were told he'd arrive at 7 p.m. "Alright!" I thought. "Just another half hour. Not that long, since we've already waited an hour and a half for him."

When the rain stopped, I amused myself by hanging out with my 6 kids. They kept asking me really silly and random questions, like "how old is your father?" "what is your hobby?" and thrust out their fists to me, as if they were holding a microphone.

So sweet!

One kid asked me, "how many teech you have?"

That one stumped me. "Uh, what did you say?"

"Teeth," one of my other kids corrected him. "He means, how many teeth you have!"

"OH!" But I was still stumped. How many teeth did I have? Two less than the average person, thanks to my braces, but the exact number was beyond me. So I just grinned widely and allowed them to count my teeth for themselves.

7pm came and went. Two hours of waiting, with more to come. By now, all the orphans were downright depressed, and the rain began pouring down again in bucket loads. One of Nazriq's kids sat at the edge of the pavement, shoulders hunched forward, refusing to move, look or talk to anybody. Others simply cried. Some asked, plaintively, where the tickets were.

My kids were doing alright, though -- they were coping by kicking rainwater at one another.

7.30 p.m. and still no sign of the tickets. The chorus of excited screams coming from the audience safely inside the stadium were torturous. We were told the ticket-holder was stuck at KL Sentral. Zul was trying to negotiate with the concert manager, to allow the orphans in even without the tickets. No one knew if it would work.

"Yang aku tah fahamnyer, apasal dia tuh tak bertolak awal-awal?" one of the other chaperones was saying with clear exasperation. It was a question no one could answer.

"At this rate," I said grimly to Nazriq, "we'll probably just be watching the concert from outside here."

It felt so cruel, you know? I mean, these were refugee orphans who had gone through a lot in their lives. Today was supposed to be a special day for them -- they were going to watch a concert, see a famous pop star, have fun. How often do you think these orphans had such kind of entertainment in their lives?

At about 7.45, the rain had stopped so we distributed KFC around, since KFC had sponsored meals for all the orphans and the chaperones as well. While distributing the food, one of the security guards simply came up, took one of the KFC containers from the plastic sack Nazriq was holding, and ran off with it. Can you believe???

Finally, at 8, after more than three hours of us waiting, the tickets arrived. I grabbed 6, called out blindly to my kids among the sea of people, and they all came to me eagerly. With trembling hands, we divided the tickets, and I yelled out to them, "Go, go, go!"

But the nightmare was far from over.

The pushing and shoving...oh my God. It cannot be described.Within seconds, I'd lost my kids in the throng of Beliebers. Hundreds of people, mostly adults, all trying to get through one tiny gate. All in a frenzy with Bieber Fever. You can imagine it for yourself.

I was being squeezed from all sides, while my body was starting to feel numb. It was getting difficult to breathe, so I turned my head up to the sky, desperately gulping down the night air. It's moments like these when you curse having such short height.

However, I wasn't the worse off at that moment. To my right side, a tiny little girl who barely reached my stomach was being slowly crushed by the adults around her. By this time, I was literally screaming in outrage. "STOP PUSHING!" I shrieked, my voice cracking from the volume I was using, and perhaps popping a few nearby ear drums in the process. If anyone of you have ever heard me present, just imagine that volume magnified ten times louder. I grabbed the little girl, trying to protect her, while still screaming my head off. "THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE! STOP PUSHING!"

Didn't make a damn difference, though.

Finally, one of the other chaperones was able to persuade the guards to unlock one other gate, just for our organisation, though. I ushered the little girl in and literally threw my ticket at the guard, not even bothering to wait for him to rip the stub and return it to me.

We were in.

I'd never been to Stadium Merdeka before, so I took about two seconds to take the place in -- the filled up seats, the throng of people down below, the stage with Justin Bieber's face splashed on the background -- then I went back down to business. I called out to my kids, and they obediently came over to me. I informed them we had to wait for all the other orphans from Zomi to come in before we could all go to our designated seats. I was worried -- Nazriq and his kids were through, but I hadn't seen KakAisya and Awi at all, nor any any of the other Zomi chaperones.

Things were getting desperate. Behind us, at the entrance, the security guard was yelling viciously at a man and his girlfriend for sneaking in through the Orphans Only entrance. The man, dgn muka tak malunya, simply shrugged his shoulders as his girlfriend pulled them further into the stadium.

Beliebers.

Our seats were located opposite the stage, but quite far off. Not that anyone minded in the least -- especially not me. On one of the screens to the left was a purple countdown indicating when Bieber would step onto the stage. I leaned over the fence, my eyes trained on the stage. People below us were getting excited, but I just couldn't feel anything at all. So I tried to imagine this was a Coldplay concert, and a thrill ran through me.

It felt a bit weird to be here, honestly, among all the Bieber fans, and me not liking Bieber at all. It reminded me of going to the Eclipse premier with Kak Aisya. I felt hollow, unable to join in with the exuberance displayed by everyone around me. Well, everyone except my fellowship, of course.

"Do you think maybe we shouldn't have gone?" I said to Nazriq, who was standing beside me. "Let people who actually like Bieber volunteer instead? I feel like it's a bit wasted on me."

But Nazriq shook his head. 'If the volunteers actually liked Bieber, takut diorang tak ikhlas nak tolong."

True, that. After all, the tickets for us volunteers were free.

Then the concert began.

Even as a Non-Belieber, I had to admit that the kid's got talent. He danced around the stage with such energy, his voice unwavering, that I began to wonder whether he was pulling an Ashlee Simpson. Still not sure actually. His songs were your typical kind of pop, his voice slightly nasal and kiddy-sounding, and also unfortunately drowned out by the instruments. Blame the sound engineer.

From my position, Justin Bieber was reduced to a tiny, over-active white dot flanked by other over-active dots. Which, obviously, I didn't mind at all. Neither did the orphans sitting below me. They were jumping up and down with such enthusiasm that my heart warmed at the sight. There. That was the reason I'd come here, braved the wet rain, and waited three hours outside the stadium on an empty stomach, with water seeping into my socks. Not for the Bieber, but for the orphans.

Justin Bieber on acoustics. One of his better performances that night

All too soon, my attention wavered and I began tweeting and smsing my friends. My ears were ringing with pain, so I stuffed Nazriq's earphones in them, as makeshift earplugs. (I'd like to think I was the only person among 17 thousand who wore earphones throughout his concert.) I even struck up a conversation with the security guard next to me; a young, pretty lady who looked as bored as I was.

After a very staged encore, finally, it was all over.

You can just see how tired we were

So all in all, it was a very exhausting, but rewarding night. :-)

And no, I'm still no Belieber.

Hari Pembentangan

2011-03-10T18:41:00.001+08:00

I tell you, there's nothing more boring than when it's presentation time in class.

There are groups who turn their bum to the audience as they mumble out whole theses from the power point slides. These groups are usually vying for three different awards: "World's Wordiest Slides", "Most Monotonous Members" and "I Can Make The Audience Stare At My Bum Longer Than You Can" awards.

There are groups who don't have a clue when I ask them a basic question (a question I only asked because I wanted to see if they actually understand what they're explaining. I know, I'm mean) and end up pleading to the lecturer for help. No awards for these groups.

Then there are groups who end up misinterpreting the source material so badly, the whole class is left more confused than they were to begin with. This is usually quite an achievement, and are thus automatically awarded the "Kumpulan-Kumpulan Menyesatkan" trophy.

Of course, the source of these groups problems are usually language difficulty. When you can't understand the language of the source material, nor can you express yourself using the language, how the heck are you supposed to present?

Thanks to my proficiency in English, my own experience as a presenter has been easy-sailing so far... Until yesterday, when I had to do a presentation, sorry, pembentangan in my Bahasa Melayu Untuk Kerjaya class.

Boy, did I get my comeuppance!

First of all, I'm not going to pull a Sharifah Amani on you all and say I sound stupid when I speak Malay. I speak Malay every day, with only a bit of weirdness in the accent (says my friends, though I personally don't think it sounds weird at all. I mean, it's not like I over-emphasise the 'r', and I even get the 't' sound down perfectly. Nor do I ever say 'jew' instead of 'je', or 'kerr' instead of 'ke'. You have every right to slap me if I ever do.). But there's a big difference between speaking everyday Malay, or bahasa pasar, and giving a formal presentation in proper Malay.

Luckily, my topic was super easy -- temu duga. Thank God for Mr. Mazlan and his Language for Occupational Purposes classes; not only could I steal some of his pointers about job interviews, but I planned to steal his jokes as well.

Yeah, you got that. Jokes. Anyone who has ever watched me present or debate or even MC know that I NEVER attempt jokes when I'm right up there. My style is formal and stiff and serious and, dare I say it, scary. I like to think I have a don't-mess-with-me vibe at the front, adopted to avoid making people fall asleep in class. (Besides, whenever I plan jokes early on, they usually fall flat when I actually deliver them. I DON'T KNOW WHY!!! *maybe because they're not actually funny*)

So, yeah, I was nervous like mad about the pembentangan, especially because the source material was so DULL! Despite the interesting-ness of the topic, the text book barely explained anything we didn't already know. And the text book was what we had to base our slides on.

For example, my first point was about susunan bilik temu duga. The point given in the book? "Sediakan bilik yang kemas, bersih, kosong dan tidak digunakan oleh sesiapa"

LIKE DUH.

I was panicking when I prepared the slides. (The one above is one of the slides, courtesy of SmartArt.) I thought, how the heck am I supposed to elaborate a point like that? It's just so...obvious! And I didn't want to be like those boring presenters who just read slides without explaining them. Hmmm, I thought, maybe I can say something about first impressions. Then I panicked again when I realised I didn't know how to translate 'impression' into Malay. The end result? "Tujuan kita harus menyediakan bilik sebegitu ialah untuk mengelakkan calon mendapat persepsi yang negatif tentang syarikat kita apabila dia melangkah masuk ke dalam bilik temu duga!"

Not bad, eh? A bit 'LIKE DUH', but what else could I say?

So that's how my preparation process went; writing out slides, panicking over lack of points to elaborate, calming down again over an idea, then panicking over inability to translate it into BM.

There was also one point in the book about temu duga yang berkesan, and the point was "menjawab soalan dengan jelas dan yakin" (see my slide below), with no elaborations given in the book. Alright, it was up to me to come up with an explanation!

Lucky for me, I learned a lot in my LOP classes and my real-life interview for my internship a few weeks back. So I figured I could explain about how, to confidently answer a question, you have to first google FAQ interview questions, then prepare an impressive answer. And one of them would be "tell us about yourself" or "ceritakan tentang diri kamu".

I immediately flashed back to my answer during that interview, which was "my name is Anisah Shurfa bt Mohammed Shukry, and I'm a student from IIUM. My degree in Sociology and Anthropology helps me to easily assimilate myself into any organisational culture. Plus, I'm pretty versatile as we sociologists study human interactions and social processes, such as family institutions, education, organisations and even politics."

I grinned. Brilliant example! But then my grin faltered. How the heck was I supposed to translate that?

And so began the tedious process of google translating, of me trying to say "membolehkan saya mengasimilasikan diri ke dalam budaya organisasi" out loud without stumbling over the words (thank God roommates takde masa tu), of figuring out whether 'versatil' was actually a Malay word...

And then dawned Hari Pembentangan...

It went quite well, actually! My classmates actually laughed at my jokes, even the ones I didn't steal from Mr. Mazlan! That was a definite WIN in its own right. Yeah, I stumbled with several words throughout the presentation, was even at a loss at one point, but I got most of the gist out. Hands trembled like mad, but they always do, so that wasn't really a big deal.

My lecturer's comments?

"Anisah nampak sangat bersedia dan bersemangat."

Yay!

"Tapi Anisah macam ada masalah sikit dengan bahasa Melayu. Tapi memang nampak yang Anisah mencuba."

Boo!

On the bright side, at least it was a lot better than the comments other presenters got, like 'muka sombong' or 'nampak pucat' or 'macam tak selesa kat depan'. All in all, I think I got off pretty lightly.

THE END

Keep the politics out of the classroom, would ya?

2011-03-07T01:24:00.001+08:00

Allow me to disclaim that I am neither a supporter of the government nor the opposition. Both are as corrupt as my old hard drive lah.

I have an unapologetically staunch supporter of BN in one of my classes. And sometimes, on very bad days, I have to listen to her make extremely smart political comments such as:

On the issue of nepotism:

"Mestilah kerajaan akan menolong keluarga diorang dulu sebelum tolong rakyat. Macam kita lah. Kalau kamu jadi Perdana Menteri, siapa kamu nak tolong dulu? Keluarga kamu atau rakyat?"

My thoughts:

"Sejak bila moto kerajaan kita bertukar menjadi "Keluarga Didahulukan, Rakyat Diabaikan"?"

On the issue of rising prices of practically everything:

"Cuba banding negara kita dengan Singapura. Barangan di Singapura lagi mahal, kan?"

My thoughts:

"Cuba banding gaji rakyat kita dengan Singapura. Gaji di Singapura lagi tinggi, kan?"

On the issue of licking the goverment's arse in order to get what we want:

"Kita kenalah bodek untuk dapatkan apa kita nak. Macam dengan Tuhan. Kita bodek Tuhan kan kalau kita nak mintak apa-apa? Samalah dengan kerajaan."

My thoughts:

"Pertama, sejak bila kerajaan sama taraf dengan Tuhan? Kedua, kita tak bodek Tuhan, kita menyembah-Nya demi cinta kita kepada-Nya. Ketiga, apasal kena bodek baru diorang nak jalankan tugas diorang?"

On the issue of the government's general ineptitude:

"Kamu orang muda ni tak bersyukur. Tengok apa kita ada; keamanan, pembangunan..."

My thoughts:

"Memanglah bersyukur. Dah banyak diorang buat. But that doesn't mean there is no room for improvement. Come on lah."

***

That weird howling noise outside your window is actually the sound of me, sighing.

Pre-Reg!

2011-03-01T12:48:00.001+08:00

If you're a true scholar of the Holy Land, then you would know that:

a) Pre-reg stands for pre-registration, abbreviated to pay homage to the website (prereg.iium.edu.my) and because the Holy Land insists on abbreviating every single name they can -- eg; Islamic Carnival = IsCar.

b) It is not pronounced as "pre-rej" (as it should be, Kak Aisya, a non-UIA student, insists) but "pre-reg", with a really.. err.. keras "g".

c) It is the only time when the computer labs are more populated than an AF concert, hearts stop beating simultaneously when the server times out, curse words bounce off halls with rapid succession as we are met with the words "SECTION CLOSED" (a euphemism for "too late, suckers!"), and the air is filled with sounds of pencils snapping as we come up with plan C, D and E.

In other words, Pre-Reg is when you see the Ummah at its worse.

And I? I am entering the warfare for the final time, grateful that at the end, I will finally be able to remove my armour and leave the battlefield forever. As a pre-reg veteran, I, along with other Level 4 and 5 students, am allowed to have first picks over whichever subjects I need, whereas other levels must squabble over the remaining spoils of the war in the following days.

As for you first years? You are but mere hyenas, picking at the carcasses that we lions have left behind.

(CUE SOUND OF OMINOUS LAUGHTER, THE ROAR OF LIONS, THE BAYING OF WOLVES, THE STRIKE OF LIGHTNING UPON A TREE, AND THE SOUNDS OF FLAMES LICKING SAID TREE)

But, ah! Listen, my fresh young warriors, as I share some wisdom on how to approach the Pre-Reg with your schedule intact and your credit hours sufficient. Some of you fellow veterans may already know these tricks, other may know more, so pray share it with us in the comments section.

Tip No. 1:

Fool that you are, oh warriors, if you enter the battle with naught but one weapon. Aye, the weapon may be your favourite, carved by the dwarfs deep in the mines of Elgen-dor, but what would you do, oh merry young lads, if that weapon were to be snatched from your very hand in the heat of the war? Look for another? Nay, the blow of your enemy would smite you before you turned your head!

Translation:

For every hour of the day in your schedule for next semester, starting from 8.30 am to 5 p.m., please make sure that you have at least THREE subjects in every slot. I know, you only really need that ONE subject, but what if the section became full by the time you finally got to log in? By having back up subjects, if you don't get the first subject in your list, you don't need to waste precious time coming up with an alternative subject while everyone else is snatching up all the available subjects.

Tip No 2:

The most hardiest of warriors are those who arrive at the battlefield as the first ray of sunlight unveils itself across the lands. Even if you may be mounting your steeds, dismount! and go on foot like the rest of the commoners, for those passionate beasts are unpredictable creatures. Stake out the war territory. Position yourselves at the most strategic areas -- by the moat, behind the bushes, in the forest. As the hours creep by and the battle is ever nearer, cure your boredom by refining your war strategy.

Translation:

Go hours before pre-reg starts and park your bum at the computer labs (ITD; HS Computer lab A and B; IRK lab, the labs at the library, etc) even if you have a laptop. It may sound unfair to those who don't have laptops, but get this into your heads: IIUM wifi is UNRELIABLE. You shouldn't trust it with your life, never mind your academic life. Parking your bum may mean sitting in that one chair for hours, but at least you can use the time to make the finishing touches on your planned schedule.

Tip No 3:

When the trumpets sound, do not hesitate, my fearsome warriors! Unsheathe your swords, let fly your arrows with a vengeance! Let the blood of your enemies awash the ground. And if your enemies exalt in their victory over you; let not your heart quail; for surely, your war is not over until you are dead and mourned.

Translation:

When the clock strikes 5pm, log in! Every second delayed means less chances for you. And don't be disheartened by the happy shouts of those who already have access to the website. Just keep pressing refresh and praying.

Tip No 4:

Kill all. Slay the soldiers, the villagers, the livestock and your comrades -- though it be unnecessary. Spare no one. Press upon your victory, o bravehearts. For the end... is nigh.

Translation:

Register for more subjects than you need. Again, this may sound greedy and unfair to others, but you don't have the luxury of being benevolent during pre-reg! It's every man for himself! One wrong move, and you may find yourself stuck in UIA for another year. So just register as many subjects as you can, even those you don't really need, and when the next semester opens, drop the ones you don't like.

And now: To Waaaaaaaaaaar!

To Vote or Not To Vote (for the SRC elections, I mean)

2011-02-22T02:36:00.001+08:00

Disclaimer: the level of sarcasm and meanness in this post is set at ALARMINGLY HIGH. If you are either a) Easily Offended or b) involved in the whole SRC election process or c) Both of the above, then close your eyes, count up to three, and quietly back away from the computer. You have been warned.

When I entered the Human Sciences building last Sunday for a last-minute group discussion (my usual modus operandi) my first thoughts were “Behold the carnage!"*

At every single turn, every wall, every bulletin board, and even strung up across the ceilings, were rows upon rows of paper depicting the faces of IRKHS (that's Islamic Revealed Knowledge and Human Sciences for you non-UIA people out there) students brave enough to battle it out on election today. < -- (I’d originally planned to take a photo of it and upload it, but this paragraph will have to make do, because I’m really lazy. Or better yet, experience it for yourself. As you walk down the paper-strewn corridor, you can practically hear the ghostly screams of the trees that died to make the election possible.)

The next thought that entered my mind was: “Was the sacrifice worth it?”**

Apparently not, because the end result was another bunch of rhetoric submerged underneath a string of similar-sounding words.

Improve the facilities. Promised every year, yet the computers in HS are still riddled with more viruses than the infamous lady-boys of Thailand.

Become intermediary between IRKHS and the administration. Yeah, though that wouldn’t happen if you guys keep LAUGHING at the legitimate suggestions given by certain societies.

Then there were newer ones tacked on, like:

Eliminating ‘real-politics’. Dude, the term is “realpolitik”... unless, of course, you mean to say that you plan to represent IRKHS from a massive cloud in the sky where sparkling unicorns beckon and baskets of jewels are poured before your bestockinged feet.

Installing facilities for OKU students. Good intentions, cruel execution. An international friend of mine asked me, “what’s oh-coo?” Fail. As another friend of mine said, if you want to show that you can represent the whole kuliyyah, take the effort to reach out to non-Malay speakers as well.

Install a 3D map of IRKHS. This beats last year’s “create KIRKHS’s own kiosk” for most useless suggestion ever. Just...no.

One of the problems of the candidates is that I just can’t keep track of which party they’re actually from. Now, don’t tell me they’re all independent candidates, because then I’ll suggest that you set up residency in a cloud of your own (BONUS: feel free to add your own magical creatures to it to make yourself comfy). I know that not all of them are quietly working for either Wufi or Aspirasi or Pro-Mahasiswa (I can never get the names straight), but some are. And if they’re already willing to sneak around UIA’s rules at this stage, who knows what they’ll get up to once they’re in power?

Comments overheard about the election in the corridors:

“I’m going to vote for [CENSORED] because I don’t know who the others are.”

“I’m going to vote for a boy this time, because the last few years it was always a girl.”

“I’m going to vote for the best-looking guy.”

Honest to God, I heard them with my very own ears.

And after three years of increasing cynicism, I might even adopt one of those strategies. On the bright side, they’re all three of them better than the reason why I voted for a particular candidate in my first year: free bags.

PS: I apologise for any feelings hurt in the process. Sincerely.

PSS/PPS(?): No, I’m not going to come up with better manifesto suggestions. I’m going to bed.

PSSS/PPPS(??): If you want to reread this whole post, do it quick, because I might just delete it if too many people get angry. (No, I'm not a coward -- just battle-weary). Though really, as "politicians", these people should learn to handle worse criticisms.

PSSSS/PPPPS(???): I just realised not many people in UIA will be reading this anytime soon, on account of the campus wifi being down, and all the computer labs locked up to cater to the elections. Crap to the power of eight. Baru syok nak resume blogging again after a long hiatus.

*okay, outright lie, but it would have been cool if I had. My real thoughts were among the lines of “Eeeh scaryner if I was here at night!”

**another outright lie. I was actually wondering if my other groupmates had arrived yet.

**Update**

I caved and voted for Hakimie and Rizwan. Hakimie, because he'd been flashing me peace signs from afar all day. Even worse, as I walked into the voting booth, he and his henchmen were waiting outside, making me feel all wretched and guilty because I personally know all of them. Rizwan, I voted because loads of people (i.e.; a grand total of 3 -- afdal tu) recommended him. The same 3 people voted for and recommended Mahirah, whom I obviously ended up not voting for (Yay for not caving to peer pressure!) despite knowing her personally from Nilai. Her manifesto just wasn't impressive enough. (Seriously. 3D maps? Enough said there.)

It’s 2011! Yay! New Year’s Resolution, Anyone?

2011-01-01T10:53:00.001+08:00

Someone once wrote that the reason people never stick to their goals or resolutions or what-not is because they never write up realistic ones. So when the going gets tough, as it inevitably would be when you come up with almost-impossible targets such as “stop eating junk food for good” or “find a boyfriend who looks, acts and sounds like Justin Bieber, but is Muslim”, then that list will just end up being shoved among the piles of newspapers that you keep reminding yourself to recycle, but promptly forget the moment the cries of “Paper lama! Old newspaper! [Insert Chinese characters here]!” fade away from your street every morning.

For example, I always promise myself every year that I will stop skipping classes. Needless to say, by the time the third or fourth week comes round, I find myself crushing that promise into remnants of the remnants of debris. Hence, some adjustments. Rather than:

1. I will stop skipping classes

I will instead make it more realistic and change it to:

1. I will stop skipping classes so regularly, that my heart beats faster than a galloping llama when my lecturer even mentions the words “warning” or “barring” or “letter” (not necessarily in the same sentence, either). Instead, as Mr. Mazlan put it succinctly, I will plan my absences well. In fact, I shall keep a “skipping diary” to avoid losing track of how many classes I’ve missed, to avoid receiving unpleasant letters to my house, my mahallah and my department. *Pauses to reminisce over the semester in Nilai when I slept with warning letters under my pillow. Good times*

Another resolution that I keep making every time the new semester rolls in is:

2. Get 4.00.

So deceptively brief and simple-sounding, you wouldn't begin to fathom the amount of blood, sweat, tears and other body fluids one must shed to even come within breathing distance of that elusive digit. Unfortunately, throughout my years studying in UIA, the closest I’ve ever gotten is 3.95 – and before you start hurling rotten tomatoes at me, let me just add that it didn’t even count because it was a short semester and I was only taking a grand total of THREE subjects. So, after some amendments, it shall now be:

2. Get high enough each semester to graduate with First Class Honours

Far more manageable, as it allows room for maybe two or three A minuses.

Yeah.

*Facepalm*

Anyway, the last one I’ll share with you is so typical and cliché, it’s downright embarrassing. Yeah, you guessed it.

3. Lose weight

Honestly, though, I don't really give a fig about how much I weigh. It’s the time and energy I spend trying to suck in my protruding belly to fit into KakAmnah’s (pre-pregnancy, mind you) pants and stop myself from envying fit people, that grates my nerves. So it’s because of this nonchalance and half-hearted concern that I cannot be bothered to go jogging alone after Subuh, or stop eating junk food when I’m PMSing. Hence, I’ll change the resolution to something really simple, that will benefit my health in the long haul:

3. Stop ordering sweet drinks along with my meals. Even if “someone” offers to belanja. Water cooler water should suffice. Percuma jugak tu.

Now that’s a lot more concrete. An added benefit is that I won’t have to experience the fury of ordering Milo Ais only to find they’d given me a cheaper knock-off version, i.e. Radix Koko at Evoke i Cafe. Tastes more like corn than chocolate. Don’t you just HATE it when that happens?

So. Anyway. If you’ve got a whole drawer full of unfulfilled resolutions, why not give it a go? It’s just a matter of changing the downright impossible ones to something you know you can manage – with some effort.

However, if your goal really is to find a Justin Bieber lookalike for your boyfriend, I have nothing to say except: SHAME ON YOU

A random update that should just be titled "Untitled"

2010-12-24T20:36:00.001+08:00

Hola! It’s the new semester, and, AGAIN, I pop into my blog seemingly from out of nowhere, unannounced and most likely unheeded. You know what, sometimes, when I’m watching Gossip Girl purely out of habit (you have to admit, that show jumped the shark a long time ago – I think somewhere around the time Serena’s boobs had taken up the lead role, and everyone had successively soiled each other’s bed sheets), or reading negative Twilight reviews for laughs on the Amazon (come on, I’m not the only one out there who does that….am I?), or whatever truly time-wasting activity that ruins my eyesight, I start to think something along the lines of…

“Man, I need to do something about my blog. It’s positively fermenting up there in cyber space.”

Do something =
a) Update it
b) Delete it
c) Add some cute but totally unnecessary widgets

Updating it…well, I’ve been more and more reluctant to do that. I’m not going to fall back on the so-overused excuse of ‘oh, I busy la’ (GOD I HATE THAT EXCUSE. PATENTED BY SODDY GROUPMATES WHO WON’T COMPLETE THEIR PARTS OF THE ASSIGNMENT ON TIME <-- although when you think about it, that used to be me *moment of self-reflection*).

So, my excuse this time? I have other things that require my unwavering focus. I’m gradually (okay, a bit too gradually for my taste) crawling to my nigh-impossible goal of First Class, and have two semesters remaining to focus on it. Honestly, dragging my CGPA up is like dragging a couple of rhinoceroses up over the edge of a cliff using tali rafia. As in, goshdarnit, it’s tough, it’s awfully slow, it’s downright painful, I most probably won’t make it, but… the chance is still there.

"Uh... keep dreaming, hon"

Another important thing that’s screaming for a bit of attention is my internship – or practicum, as my department calls it, though ever since my friend Hussain pointed out the what the final three letters of that word *ahem* connote, I now prefer to use the more, err, “U Rated” term ‘internship '– which will begin in April. I’ve applied for three companies, which I shall not mention here in case of saboteurs (sorry, bouts of paranoia have a tendency to surge through me – manifested by a twitching right eye and a pain in my left toe – ever since my internship adviser gleefully told me stories of back-stabbing and treachery that went on with the previous batch).

The fact that the passport photo I used for my resume is seriously, stupendously ugly is not going to help me at all. I had it done at the shop in front of my house, and man was I CHEATED. I forked over RM18, expecting my money's worth (come on, it was a legitimate shop in Taman Tun, carrying quite the brand name in cameras – but then again, the Double A photocopy shop in UIA doesn’t live up to its name, either. Is it a nationwide conspiracy???), only to have the shop assistant bring me to a very dark room (it literally had no windows and no lights on). I assumed this was the changing room or something, (I used to find these rooms really handy back in my jahiliah days when I’d pop a tudung on for the photo, then take it right back off once the shoot was done. Really nifty.) so I adjusted my tudung a bit in the mirror and waited.

The shop assistant told me to sit on the chair, smile and, before I’d actually comprehended what was going on, she then took a photo of me using a cheap, point-and-shoot camera.

In a dark room. With the flash on.

You can imagine the results.

Despite having powdered my face beforehand to avoid the dreaded Oil-lay Effect, I looked less like a Silky Girl and more like a human frying pan. Thanks to the naturally unflattering qualities of the flash, grease that had previously been naked to the human eye had emerged on my face in the photo in slathering quantities, practically demanding to be used to fry a fresh batch of goreng pisang.

On the bright side, thanks to my brilliant Paint skills (Haha!), when I got home I was able to edit the oil on my cheeks a bit, trim my tudung around the neck, and, err, censor a bit of aurah that was accidentally showing.

But the edits are only for the soft copy version, which had cost me an extra RM3. Unfortunately, the eight passport photos are pretty much a waste of money.

The edited version, courtesy of my mad Paint skillz

Hmmm, so that's it from me for now. Shall I update again soon? I honestly don't know. I guess it depends on whether people actually still read my blog! See you!

Missing Knickers = A Sign of True Love?

2010-01-30T22:22:00.001+08:00

“Kak Amnah, listen to this!” I choked, setting aside Friday’s newspaper, practically frothing at the mouth. Not a pleasant sight on normal people, but even worse when there’s an ugly wire stuck to your teeth.

“What?” my sister said as she lounged on the sofa.

I promptly launched into Newsreader!Anisah mode. “Shah Alam: Female students in higher-learning institutes here are being persuaded not to wear panties on Valentine’s Day as an expression of true love for their boyfriends.”

Warning: Soon-To-Be Endangered Species

We exchanged dumbfounded looks. Then we laughed.

What the hell? No, really. What the hell? Is it just me, or is the world out there getting stupider? Hark! I see the modern Jahiliyyah era looming upon us – don’t forget, you read about it here first.

Unless your boyfriend works at the lingerie section of a department store, what on earth has True Love got to do with the knickers (aka panties) you’re wearing? Or not wearing? Now I’m not going to claim I’m an expert on True Love here (Ha! Ha!), but I would say love has to do with something a lot more substantial than that piece of flimsy lace us women use to cover up our..ehh… privates.

For me, True Love is that feeling you get when you look at your Significant Other and see a wonderful future together. Love is warm, sweet, trusting, exciting, surprising, exhilarating, exasperating, funny, breathless and whatever other happy adjective you can come up with. (Crap I’m being all sappy now. See what love does to me?) Claiming that banishing your knickers for the day is an expression of true love just cheapens it. For God’s sake, Malay dramas have already given Love a bad reputation – don’t make it worse, newspapers.

Say it with me now: Love and lust are two separate things. Sacrificing your time and patience to help your partner out in a period of crisis = true love. Ditching your knickers so that your partner can rejoice in that dirty little secret all day (and possibly catch a glimpse of your bum crack when you bend over to help pick up his personal item that he accidentally-on-purpose dropped and for some inexplicable reason cannot pick up himself) = lust, lust, lust.

I can imagine that a lot of people will find this “no-panties promotion” a harmless, frivolous way to honour that Kafir celebration, Valentine’s Day. (Especially for those who think the invention of the knickers was as big a waste as electric toothbrushes. Or those who think love is the act of groping one another in abandoned parking lots while keeping an eye out for guards.) That the promotion’s not hurting anyone.

Well, stupidity hurts the world okay?

Epic Fail

2009-09-05T15:58:00.001+08:00

We ~~are~~?

I'm not.

Yesterday, the wait for the consistently inconsistent bus took longer than usual. Which is saying something. Usually, I spend about 40% of an outing simply waiting for buses, at stations that either have open drains with cockroaches scurrying about, or stations with nonexistent seats.

But now, it's worse. Why? Because of the stupid government and their stupid policies that just burden the lives of the people, especially penniless students like me. They thought that by raising the bus fare, we "rakyat" simply shell out extra dough for public transportation (it's only a 100% increase, right?) and the government can laugh maniacally as they swim in pools of our RM1 notes. End of story. Not.

Because bus drivers need to distribute tickets every time someone clambers onto a bus, it makes the bus's journey slow down to a handicapped snail's pace. The fact that the ancient ticketing machine take its own sweet time to even produce one measly ticket doesn't help, either. Because of the lengthier duration the bus takes to arrive at each stop, more and more people pile up like helpless sausages at each stop.

And you know what that means, right?

Yep, us unlucky sods who unwittingly wait for hours at the final few bus stops of UIA will get a glimpse of that one-of-a-kind, only-happens-in-T231-buses smile that bus drivers flash us every time their bus clunkers past us without stopping. This unique smile is a mix of I'm sorry, but what can I do? with a subtle dash of so long suckers! and an underlying I hate my job so much and this is one of the few joys I get in it.

You do not want to see that smile even once in your lifetime, nor feel the wind whistling past your ears as the bus rumbles past you, taking along with it your desperate hopes and desires of leaving the campus without the hour-long wait.

But after seeing that smile three times, there's nothing one can do but to resort to taxis.

Ah, taxis.

Last week, a 10 minute ride from campus to Terminal Putra by taxi cost RM5. Kira ok lagi ah. Bila dah split tu sorang 2.50. But now it costs a freaking RM7!!! My GOD! I could buy a buka puasa meal of nasi ayam percik with frothing fresh orange juice at Mokku for a cheaper price than that! (Try it there one day. It's worth starving all day just to get a taste of the food there.)

So you see, how can I be proud to be a Malaysian when just commuting around the city makes my life increasingly difficult?

Harry Potter and the Half-Assed Movie

2009-07-26T02:08:00.001+08:00

Wow! I thought, my mind racing as I watched the movie. I grabbed a mouthful of popcorn and settled comfortably in my seat. The cats in UIA have more charisma than Daniel Radcliffe.

Don’t believe me? Well, the tom cat that lingers outside the library has a vast vocal range, from low, sexy purr to a plaintiff meow. And don’t get me started on his 1001 facial expressions, including the classics Muka Manja and Muka Kesian. It’s enough to pull my tangled heartstrings every time I bump into him.

Daniel Radcliffe, with his monotonous voice, bad haircut, and exactly one facial expression, simply withers away like a dead leaf in comparison.

It’s moments like when the lead character sucks worse than a sparkling vampire with an eating disorder, that we movie-goers realize we’ve made a shaky investment. Without a proper hero to root for, we’re left to depend on the story and lesser characters to keep our interest levels from plummeting into the red.

Story? Did I say story? Because, despite its epic running time of two-and-a-half hours, nothing, like, actually happens, dude. Sure, there were sub-plots, but they were either hastily tied up with a messy bow in the end, or ended up being tossed back into the Ocean of Redundant Storylines.

Take, for example, the sub-plot of Hermione and Cormac the jock. There was a beginning, in which he was eying her with interest. There was a middle bit, when they both went to the party together. And then… he simply disappears after eating some dragon balls in the party (which are supposedly perilous to one’s breath… a point that was supposed to be funny, I think, but didn’t quite reach its mark, just like all the other jokes haphazardly thrown into the movie). And he never resurfaces again, either on screen or in conversations.

It made me wonder; did they throw in these pointless sub-plots to make us forget that the actual story is thinner than a starving model?

Ginny, by the way, is beyond annoying – on screen, she’s depicted even worse than in the books, which is an amazing feat I never dared to think could be achieved. Like, SUDDENLY Harry’s in love with this annoying twerp who’s been invisible for the past few movies, and we, as an audience, are supposed to unquestioningly accept that? It pissed me off in the book, and even more so in the movie. Because, as badly as it was handled in writing, at least JK Rowling showed the “romance” of Harry-Ginny (Hinny? Garry?) unfold. In the movie?

Harry hugs Ginny.

Harry thanks Ginny for making the Quidditch team shut up.

Harry sees Ginny making out with her boyfriend Dean.

Harry praises Ginny’s skin to her older brother.

Ginny ties Harry’s shoelaces.

Ginny feeds Harry biscuits.

Ginny orders Harry to shut his eyes, kisses him, and says it can be kept a secret.

Hermione says to Harry that Ron is okay with Harry and Ginny’s relationship.

Seriously! Barf all you like, but that is the step-by-step development of Garry! It’s like, one moment, Ginny the cheating slut is kissing Harry in a secret room and suggesting that they keep it a secret, and the next moment, Hermione exposits that Garry is now a fully-fledged relationship, complete with blessings from Ginny’s older brother! HUH? When did all this actually take place? The least they could have done was show Ron giving his blessings to Harry personally!

I don’t think Dean was the only one who felt cheated.

My brain turned into sludge as I watched the screenwriters’ miserable efforts at adapting the book to screen. Now, the book was definitely not my favourite in the series, but what the screenwriters did to the story was plain first degree murder. The script was awkward, stilted and short, which resulted in the actors looking like they actually wanted to say more in every scene, but could only resort to pained facial expressions because there was a character limit to the words coming out of their mouths. The end result? I felt like I was just watching a bunch of people simply going through the motions of acting. And badly, too.

Other pointless scenes and plot holes left me baffled.

They made such a big deal out of Malfoy fixing up the Vanishing Cabinet so that the Death Eaters could enter Hogwarts and wreck havoc. But if the Death Eaters’ idea of “wrecking havoc” is smashing some cutlery and burning Hagrid’s cabin (which, you have to admit, was actually doing him a favour), and then running back out, I fail to understand why everyone is so frightened of them. My one-year-old nephew could make worse damage if left alone in the kitchen. Even without a wand.

Why did the Death Eaters burn the Burrow? If there had been some follow-up scenes to it, fine, I’ll accept this divergent idea. But we’re just given a lingering shot of the Weasleys, before we move on to the story. And the burning of the house, which should be a big deal, is never mentioned again. Something tells me this time-wasting scene was for aesthetic purposes only.

Why were Lupin and Tonks even in the movie, if they only had two lines each? Are the actors that desperate for money, causing the director to take pity and conjure up a miniscule role for them in this movie?

What was the point of the Half-Blood Prince with the whole story?

Harry himself summed up the movie best in his final words before the credits rolled: “It was all for nothing. Everything was a waste.”

I whole-heartedly agree.

HELLO EVERYONE

2009-07-10T14:01:00.001+08:00

Haven’t updated in a month, and obviously my status of “the bookaholic is studying for her finals” is a downright LIE as I have actually been on holiday these past two weeks. Not that I intended to lie. I was just… lazy, you know? Lazy to edit the status. Lazy to update. Lazy to go online.

I’m lazy. So sue me.

Not that my two-weeks holidays have been just about laziness. Aside from making up for sleep I lost during revision period (which resulted in nothing – have I ever mentioned how I hate lecturers who expect you to answer based on their answer scheme, and if you don’t, they’ll just give you a crappy grade, even though you wrote your ass off really convincingly in the exam? Or how about lecturers who refuse to give their students A, and instead give them A- even though the students deserve the damn A. AAARGH. Okay, I’m rambling), I’ve been playing Sims 3 non-stop, to the point that, in the game, I am now married to a hot power broker named Daniel Idris, and have a pilot son named Yusof. HAHAH SAH AKU TAKDE KERJE.

I also went to KL UrbanScapes last week. We didn’t pay for the ticket to watch the concert because, well, I’m more broke than Humpty Dumpty, so we instead wandered around the colourful bazaars. Besides, because the concert area was open-air and enclosed by a flimsy metal fence, you could hear the bands warbling away from a mile off for free, so what’s the point of paying? And I would NEVER pay good money for such rubbish performances – rather, I’d pay them good money to shut up. It was noise pollution, for god’s sake. I know Yuna was supposed to be performing in the evening, but meh, her songs are so flipping boring, and I had to be at home before Maghrib anyway. And Sentul is like jauh giler from my house y’all.

But we really enjoyed the free performance. The KL stompers played amazing beats using glass bottles, black bins, ladders, metal chairs and whatever nonsense you can think of. There was also this Sabahan duo who played Blues music using just an acoustic guitar and percussions-or-whatever-you-call-’em. My favourite song by them was “Anak Babi” (which, come to think of it, was probably a foreshadowing of the swine flue scare that occurred there later in the day).

Unfortunately, the other free performances were just plain rubbish, especially one by a band named Furniture (I shall not kutuk the name, I shall not kutuk the name... *inhales and exhales deeply*), which is supposed to be famous for appearing on Kami, or something like that. (I'm not so well-versed in the local Indie scene. Sorry.) They were rubbish because the sound-checking (also known as masturbating by music buffs) took ages, and they even conducted an interview there and there which no one could even hear because the sound system was awful. I felt like stomping off -- it was boring like mad and I was freaking hot, plus I wasn't wearing any sunblock at all) but I stayed because they were supposed to be *popular* (or however popular Indie bands can actually be) and that must be for a reason, innit? But I was fooled. They sucked.

Finally met the parents on that same day as well, which was nerve-racking and awkward and nerve-rackingly, awkwardly silent for a while… Seriously. You could only hear the sound of everyone at the table chewing on their food. I mean, I’d prepared for an onslaught of questions about what I’m studying, where I live, what I want to work as… basically, a killer interview where I was to prove worthy of their trust. So finally, after several bites of my Carbonara Spaghettini and darting subtle glances at everyone else, I mustered this really awkward laugh and lamely said “kenapa semua orang diam…?” So that started the conversation ball rolling. Albeit haltingly.

I wasn’t sure how off I come as (especially as there was one part where I was making really stupid faces at him – the inflation and deflation of the nose -- to lighten up the mood, when his mum’s back was turned, only to figure out later that she’d actually caught it in the mirror that Delicious hangs around the whole walls of the restaurant. She even asked him about it later. How embarrassing! Jatuh air mukaku!). But apparently they approve of me. THANK GOD I passed the mother (and father) of all tests.

Well, that’s it for now! I’ll see some of you guys in Gombak next week! :)

Lecturers are like a box of chocolates; y'never know what yer gonna get

2009-05-28T12:49:00.001+08:00

I've had lecturers who taught me life lessons, and lecturers who brought lessons to life. Some lecturers make their classes so stimulating, it's like sipping on the most tantalizing mug of hot coffee while reading the latest issue of National Geographic. You know these type of lecturers. They're the ones whose names remain at the tip of your tongue even though they taught you two years ago, the ones who ignited passion for the subject within you, the ones who made studying an enjoyable and interesting experience. You use them as the benchmark for "The Perfect Lecturer", and inevitably compare all other lecturers to them, almost always unfavourably.

Unfortunately, there also exists a category lecturers who make their classes a hideous, pus-filled pimple on the flawless forehead of a brand new day. To attend their class is the equivalent of being forced to watch Twilight -- in other words, you'd rather just sit at the back and engage in conversation with the person sitting behind you, or derive satisfaction from the experience by bitching about it.

Here, I shall list down the worst crimes a lecturer can commit, based on my experiences:

a) Speaking monotonously
I'm sure each of us has, at least once, secretly wondered whether the person speaking at the front is actually a robot. A robot programmed to recite terms and definitions while the real lecturer is off smoking a ciggy somewhere in the staffroom. So astounding is their dictation that even a topic which you know should be exciting sounds like a grocery-shopping list for a family of 12. As your eyelids droop and your attention wavers, your goal for an A in this subject couldn't be more desperate and fleeting than if you were stranded in the middle of an ocean, praying to be rescued. Your lifeboat is your text book, and God forbid if it's as flimsy and full of holes as the Intro to Political Science text book.

b) Speaking off-topic
Nothing brings life back to a boring lesson about, say, social theory then when the lecturer suddenly sits on the desk, hands clasped together on top of his crossed legs, and starts narrating a really interesting story about how he got arrested during his back-packing trip to Iraq, or a hilarious anecdote involving his neurotic wife, his overweight baby and a bowl of cold porridge. But then, when he spends the rest of the one-and-a-half hour telling that story in intricate detail, no matter how interesting it all is, you start to wonder; does this have anything to do with what he's being paid to teach, and you're paying to learn? It's okay for lecturers to stray away from the course outline once in a while, especially if it's to liven up a class on a Friday evening, or to impart valuable life lessons. But it's not okay for them to turn a subject about the Psychology of Development into a subject on How To Deal When Your Wife Goes Shopping (And Other Life Stories of Me), fascinating as it may be.

c) Reading strictly from PowerPoint slides
These lecturers, upon entering class, immediately sink into their seats comfortably and start reading, or mumbling, PowerPoint slides out loud. All else is forgotten by the lecturer, including the definition of 'teaching'. What also slips his mind is that university students can read for themselves what is projected in gigantic fonts on the board in front of them, and that what they actually need is a lecturer who can explain or elaborate upon the points written up there. But maybe the expectations of us students are simply too high; after all, there's a reason the term "absent-minded professor" was coined.

d) The Syok Sendiri Syndrome
This is the lecturer who stands up at the front of the class and talks and talks and talks, while the students don't have a clue to what she's talking about. When you raise a hand to ask a question, she either says, 'wait! I'm not finished yet!!!' and starts steam-rolling on with facts that mean nothing to you until you give up and play a comforting game of Quadrapop on your phone, or she listens to your question and calmy answers, 'If you'd been paying attention to what I've been saying all along, you'd know the answer. Now shut up and listen to me teach'. When she hands back your horrible examination papers after marking them, she'll either say, 'I don't understand how so many of you could have failed. It's so easy!!!', or 'You idiots, have you learned nothing from me? Have you not paid attention in class?' If you show one sign of not understanding their complex explanations, instead of rephrasing, giving more examples, or elaborating further, they just get exasperated that you can't catch up to them -- never mind that they are Ph.D or Master graduates in this subject, and you're just a 20-year-old who's learning it for the first time. These, you see, are all symptoms of the Syok Sendiri Syndrome.

That's all I can come up with so far, based on my personal experiences and tales of woe from my friends. Feel free to share your opinions in the comments! :)

Angels VS Demons

2009-05-20T22:18:00.001+08:00

The part I enjoyed most was when we left the cinema hall and Yeng told us he thought the movie Angels & Demons would, literally, be about angels and demons fighting each other, as he had no idea what the book was about. A ludicrous image of horrendous winged monsters descending on earth for an epic battle that culminates into an apocalypse immediately popped into my mind, and it was so vastly different from what the movie was really about that me and and my sister, KakAmnah, promptly burst into laughter. You should have been there.

Or maybe not.

The movie was okay. On the ~~positive~~ angelic side, I was enjoying myself (unlike when I was watching Watchmen, which was the equivalent of, as one critic put it, a sledgehammer pounding on your brain for 3 hours). But on the demonic side, I just felt it could have been better. Now, I get that movies based on books can't be exactly like the book (I learned that the hard way, when I was 12 and watched the first Harry Potter movie and almost hyperventilated at the fact that Harry Potter's beautiful, bottle-green eyes were blue!) and I know that some deviations actually make the story better when transitioned from page to screen (The Lord of The Rings is a classic example, though there are still some parts I disagree with -- like how they gave Arwen too much screen time and turned her into a breathy, helpless sap), and of course directors tend to make the movies more action-packed than the book originally is for visual pleasure.

But in this movie's case, what was climatic in Angels & Demons The Book was watered down for Angels & Demons The Movie. Why?

The why's that echoed in my throughout the whole movie was like a demon constantly whispering in my ear.

Why did they make that murdered old guy Vittoria's partner instead of her dad? No, really. What was the point of that?

Why was the assasin just a hired man with no personal vendetta against the Catholic church, and why was he hot?

Why was Tom Hanks wearing speedos in the swimming pool scene? Speedos are just not flattering, man. And while we're at it, why Tom Hanks, when it's been emphasised in the book that Langdon is supposed to look ~~hot~~ like Harrison Ford?

Why did Olivetti look so darn familiar? (This one nagged me the most. I later found out from Kak Aisya that he acted in Prince Caspian). And why did he have such a weird accent that eventually turned into pure American accent? And why was he so hot? Book Olivetti was not hot, period.

Why did Vittoria rip that page out from the book? WHY?! I literally gasped out loud. It's an ancient book! There's only ONE COPY in the whole world!!!! At least just take the whole book with you!!!! There's no need to deface it like that!

Why didn't Mr. Hot Assasin try to kill Langdon? It would have made the movie more action-packed, and the audience would have totally lapped up a violent fistfight between the two!

Why did the Camerlengo have to shout "He's the one! He's holding the gun!"? Because, really.

Why did they make The Revelation so... meh? You know which part I'm talking about. The part that made your eyes pop out and your heart speed up and your mouth to fall open as you read it in the book. I'm talking about the moment the camerlengo gets a vision about where the anti-matter is located and starts running madly underground. In the book, it was Epic. In the movie, it was...nothing.

Why didn't Langdon hop on that damn helicopter?

Why was there no chemistry between Langdon and Vittoria, to the point that the movie gave up on any hint of romance between them? True, it was pointless in the book and kinda predictable (the hero gets the hot babe, shocker!!), but a movie like this needs a good romantic story to give it some ooomph, baby!

Why "Luke"?

You're taking what?

2009-05-18T12:33:00.001+08:00

Whenever I tell people the course I'm taking, I usually get blank stares, surprised looks or skeptical gazes. Replies range from:

"Apa tuh?"

"Ingat awak budak political science! Awak ada muka poli la."

"Eh, bukan ko nak ambik mass comm?"

*pause* "Why that?"

And, of course, not forgetting the evergreen "what are you gonna work as with a degree in that?"

I will never forget the day I registered for my major, last semester. I marched into the sociology department, form and transcript in hand, and told the motherly-looking lady behind the counter that I'd like to be a soca student.

'Hmmm,' she said, adjusting her glasses and running an eye over my transcript. 'La, ni, Intro to Political Science dah dapat A. Kenapa nak ambik soca pulak?'

I couldn't believe it. The assistant to the Head of the Sociology Department herself was trying to nudge me away from Sociology with the subtlety of a stampeding hippopotamus. On steroids. She might as well have dropkicked me all the way to the Political Science department.

'Sebab...saya lebih suka Sociology?' Damn, why did I have to raise the end of the sentence like that? Of course I preferred Sociology over Political Science! The only reason I got A for the latter was because I'd gotten the best lecturer ever to teach me, plus some extra coaching from my brother-in-law over a topic that miraculously came out as an essay question during the final exams. Sure, I can still rattle off the differences between parlimentary and presidencial democracy at the drop of a hat, but my interest in Political Science is wholly theoretical, and it depends on the lecturers I get. There was no way I could survive majoring in it.

The assistant looked at me skeptically, then proceeded to approve the forms. Being a busybody, I took a sneak peak at the pile of forms that had just been approved by the assistant. The one on the top was a transcript of a student who had gotten C+ for her Sociology intro. My eyes widened. Were their standards that low?

'Eh, that's private!' the assistant gently rebuked me when she noticed my wandering eye.

I blushed and apologised before leaving the office with the approval form in my hand and second doubts in my head. I didn't care that sociology was one of the most overlooked departments in Human Sciences (second only to History), but if the staff of the department itself looked down on it, was I really making the right decision?

That question haunted me the whole of that semester, especially as I was taking two of the dullest sociology subjects in existence. I learned nothing about race and ethnicity, or social problems, or stratification -- nothing, in fact, that would make my ears perk up and my eyes go round and shiny with pure, geeky enthusiasm. Instead, I was memorising theories of decrepit thinkers and tongue-twising terms used in research methods. Boh-ring! My passion towards Sociology petered out into whisps of nothingness. It didn't help that a lot of people were incredulous when they found out what I was majoring in. Even I was incredulous at times.

And then short semester started, and I registered for Social Stratification. Which is basically awesome and everything that I asked for in Sociology.

*goes into geek mode*

One thing about studying sociology is that it truly opens your eyes to the world that you're living in. It's not like political science, where you only get to sneer at the politicians and their petty scramble for power, or psychology, where you get to analyse your friend's behaviour, and give yourself a pat on the back when they act according to your predictions. Both of those are, of course, beyond cool. But sociology is about learning the collective behaviour of society as a whole. It encompasses politics, history, the media, and, of course, individuals. Plus more. You study things that you would otherwise take for granted because it's how things have always been. For example; why do people always avoid each other's gazes when they're in an elevator? Is hard work really the only ingredient to success? Why has society always been hierarchal, and why do we accept it? How do racists justify themselves? What is the likelihood of an offspring of criminal parents becoming a criminal as well?

Hee hee! :D

The weather's getting hotter, and people are getting fatter

2009-05-11T12:30:00.001+08:00

You know, at this rate, we human beings just might have to abandon this overcooked planet and spend the rest of our lives stuffing our faces as we whizz through a bloated spaceship in our automated wheelchairs, leaving poor robots to fix our dirty work.

It's crazy; by 8am, the sun's rays are already scorching, and the intensity of the beams don't stop until 7pm. You can taste the very heat in the air even if you're under the shade of an umbrella. I've been showering more than 3 times a day lately -- this coming from a girl who used to be able to survive 3 days without showering. (When not required to leave the house, that is.)

Meanwhile, people still insist on driving their vehicles around the campus, even though every building is within walking distance. Idiots. Don't they realise that their selfish polluting is making the heat even worse? Why don't you get the hell out of your car and start walking like the rest of us? God gave you legs to walk, not to push pedals. Worse are those who constantly indulge in weight-whining, and then instead of using the journey between class and hostel as an opportunity to burn their wobbly fat and do everyone a favour, they burn fuel instead. Pure genius.

I'm hot, and I'm pissed off. Obviously.

Guide to Green: A Newbie's Perspective

2009-02-24T11:58:00.000+08:00

If I were to rate myself on the Green-O-Meter (with the high-end being Captain Planet Status and the low-end being Active Toxic Waster), I think I’d land squarely in the middle. Not exactly Planateer material but, hey, at least I’m trying. Right?

….Uh oh, time for an interrogation with my Inner Green Voice.

1. Do I avoid using polystyrene, the Epitome of Environmental Eeeevilnessss?

Urm, no. But that’s only because I need my daily roti canai fix, and the Mamak Stall at HS café doesn’t have, like, those cute eco-friendly packs. So it’s not my fault, okay!

FAIL :(

2. Do I recycle?

Yes! But only when I hear the melodic cry of ‘Paper Lama!’ passing by my house. So that means I only recycle paper.

FAIL :(

Okay, almost FAIL :/

3. Do I use Public Transportation?

Yes! YES, DEFINITELY! Even though I probably wouldn’t if I had my own car… or even a license, for that matter…

PASS :D

Looking back on my conversation with my Inner Green Voice, I’m more Active-Toxic-Waster-inclined than Captain-Planet-inspired. And I’m not alone. There are billions of part-time (or God, forbid, full-time) environmental criminals who are blissfully unaware of how the world is affected by their dastardly deeds.

Can we honestly not see the effects of being an active environmental criminal? Our beloved campus has never been this scorching hot before – I bet you could easily prepare USA Fried Rice on the pavement of Central Square. Ice caps in the Arctic are melting, depleted oil fields lay abandoned, forests are being cut down, animals are driven out of their homes… and what do we do?

It’s about time we walk the talk and strut our stuff, people! There are so many little ways we can contribute to a healthier, greener environment. Come on, wouldn’t you want to change your status from criminal to activist as well?

For starters, simple, energy-conserving activities such as walking to class make a huge difference in the long run. Not just to your body weight, if that’s what you’re thinking, but also to the environment. So ditch that brand new sports car and totally inappropriate, 6-inch stilettos and instead invest in proper walking shoes to brave the trek around campus! Weather too oppressively hot to stand? Just bask in the cool knowledge that at least you’re not contributing to the heat!

Another way to be more environmentally aware is to think twice before taking that extra piece of tissue. Every time we waste paper, more trees are being cut down to meet demands, which means we’re banishing countless of innocent furry animals from their habitats, thus contributing to their extinction. Animals going homeless just because we refuse to use both sides of the paper? Talk about unfair. We can also recycle our rubbish by heading over to KAED, or even while shopping for groceries at Jusco Wangsa Maju!

The examples above are just the beginning. You may think these simple changes in your lifestyle won’t warrant any difference to the environment, but, in the words of Captain Planet, the power is yours!

The Gossiping Dilemma

2009-01-24T16:37:00.000+08:00

As you rush through the corridor to class, you catch snatches of enthusiastic chatter from the peers standing idly around you. None of it penetrates your brain -- until you hear your name being mentioned. And not in a favourable manner, either. Your heels scuff the floor as you come to a screeching halt. You glance backwards. Studiously innocent faces meet your suspicious gaze. But your ears were not playing tricks on you -- you just became the victim of a gossip session.

Aaah, Gossiping. A topic so close to home for many of us. I'll admit, nothing beats a round of gossip so juicy and fresh, you can actually savour the pulp as you gleefully devour it. Whether it takes place over a steaming styrofoam cup of teh tarik freshly brewed from A Malik Mamak Stall, or an overpriced meal at Evoke i Cafe, or an unexpected quickie when you bump into a friend on your way to next class, gossip never fails to delight, amuse and even horrify. Deep in your heart, you know it's haram to discuss the latest escapades of other people with an eagerness usually exhibited by vultures coming upon a rotten corpse, but you revel in it anyway. Call it a guilty pleasure, just like that extra box of Godiva chocolates you stow away in your underwear drawer.

But life becomes a little less rosy when you become the rotten corpse.

According to Wikipedia, "Gossip is idle talk or rumor, especially about the personal or private affairs of others". Your conscience assures you that gossip is harmless, but think again. Gossip is synonymous with backbiting, which the Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary defines as an "unkind and unpleasant talk about somebody who is not present". Hmmm... doesn't sound so nice and innocent anymore, does it?

When it comes to gossiping, there are always two sides to it; the perpetrators who find it cathartic and soothing for the soul, and the victims, who either bask in the 15 minutes of fame, or take a sabbatical until the next wave of gossip puts someone else in an unfortunate light. And God forbid if you or I become the victim.

It becomes such a dilemma for some people. To gossip or not to gossip? If you choose the former, you might as well book a fireplace in hell, no matter that you perform solat 5 times a day, cover your aurah, and can quote certain verses of the Qur'an at the most convenient of times. If you choose the latter... gee, how boring would that be? Plus, does that mean every time your besties open up a fresh discussion regarding that sleaze-bag from Mass Comm class, you've got to leave the table? Might as well become a hermit and meditate on top of Mount Kinabalu, at that rate. After all, some people gossip on a daily basis -- in fact, it may be all they talk about, because to talk about their own lives would be too boring to even contemplate. And heck, gossip can even be useful. Gossip works as conversation-fillers, or a bridge connecting you to a new acquaintance. Most of all, it never fails to catch people's interest.

What do you think?

On a personal level, though, I can comfortably inform you that, yes, I have had my share of backbiters and become the victim of many gossip sessions. My roommate informed me two days ago that a friend of hers had heard from a friend who heard from a friend who heard from a friend (etc, you get my drift) that I am a boyfriend-stealer. Scandalous! Not only that, but I am a friend-backstabber, since the stolen property had my (now former) close friend's name written all over him. So! Scandalous!

One year (and a half) ago, I would have probably sobbed like a baby and started a blubbering tirade of "why me?" and "that is so not true!" and "how cruel!"

But my one year (and a half) in IIUM has hardened me. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. (Though I've learned that getting the silent treatment from your best friends can hurt like a knife running through you).

Instead, it was funny-funny and funny-weird, hearing my roommate recount to me what other people I never even knew existed were saying about me. Flattering, even, as I consider myself easily the most boring person to walk this beautiful campus. I think discussing the Kuala Terengganu by-elections would be way more interesting than discussing my life of supposed love-thievery. Especially as said love-thievery occurred months ago.

With my one year and a half experience, my advice to gossip victims out there is to shrug and laugh it off. Sure, it might mean a tarnished reputation, but you can't stop people from talking about you. Or talking, period. But if the gossip about you is really bad, the least you can do is make sure those you care about know the real story straight from you, instead of a twelfth-hand version overheard in the toilet. Don't worry: true friends will always stick by you :)

And just to clarify things: No, I haven't stolen anyone's boyfriend.

"Islam considers backbiting the equivalent of eating the flesh of one's dead brother. According to Muslims, backbiting harms its victims without offering them any chance of defence, just as dead people cannot defend against their flesh being eaten" -- dear old Wiki.

Twilight, starring the most boring couple on earth.

2008-12-03T21:06:00.002+08:00

(This post is extremely long – as in, 4,000 words long – so I advise you to sit back, relax, and maybe munch on some crisps. And, to fully appreciate this post, you should watch Twilight: The Movie, first. Plus, since this is the longest post I have ever written on this blog, and it took me two days to write, it’s only fair that there will be a short break before I update again, don’t you think?)

He is a devastatingly inhumanly beautiful vampire who doesn’t drink human blood!

His unearthly, wise, deeply soulful eyes change colour according to ~~his mood~~ the weather!

He can read people’s minds!

He is a sensitive, aged soul whose bedroom is littered with books (OMFG he READS!!! And they’re not even COMICS!!) and he plays the ~~organ~~ PIANO!

When he is exposed to the sun, he doesn’t weaken or spontaneously combust into fire and ashes (Ew!).

He – wait for it – sparkles.

Like a DIAMOND.

(“You’re beautiful,” breathes Bella, unconditionally and irrevocably in love, while the rest of the cinema, which is, naturally, full of giggly tweens, swoons along with her.)

BUT YOU GUYS THAT’S, LIKE, NOT JUST ALL. SERIOUSLY I’M NOT KIDDING YOU.

THE BESTEST BEST PART OF IT IS:

He doesn’t fall in love with another heavenly beautiful vampire and make vamplings together for the next century while we all grow stale, old and smelly. Instead, he falls in love with a human girl who is awkward, shy, lonely, uncharismatic, ordinary, boring and only slightly pretty, just like all of us!!!

OK, TIME OUT.

OH EDWARD CULLEN, WHY DO YOU SOUND LIKE YOU WERE WRITTEN AND CREATED BY A TWEEN FANFIC WRITER WHO SELF-INSERTS AND IS IN LOVE WITH HER OWN CHARACTER???

*ducks as fangirls and the many self-professed wives of Edward Cullen throw rotten tomatoes, sachets of fake blood and white makeup powder this way*

I’ll admit, I’ve never read the books. Maybe if I did, I would probably have been swept along with the “I love Edward Cullen" disease that has infected almost every girl and woman who have read it, regardless of age. I heard about the book when I was seventeen, but was never interested in reading it. Maybe because it sounded like Just Another Teen Novel. Instead, I got hooked on Gossip Girl, which, during that time, was a completely original idea, but has now spawned more copycats than Jack The Ripper.

Then BOOM! In 2008, suddenly Twilight was everywhere.

And that made me want to read it even less. Because if there’s one thing I hate doing, it’s jumping on bandwagons. I loathe bandwagons. If I could, I’d torch a bandwagon by moonlight, and then stand back, look cool in my black trench coat and Pasar Malam sunglasses that reflect the bonfire I created, and laugh maniacally while tentatively sipping apple juice.

But I digress.

One day, while walking towards the Teen Readers section of One Utama’s MPH (I’m both proud and ashamed that I’ve been haunting that area for 7 years), Twilight was, again, shoved into my face via the bookstand in the centre. Twilight was practically spilling off the shelves, thanks to the release of the last book in the series.

Oh bite me, curiosity. I picked up the book for the twentieth time in my life. But what was different this time was that I didn’t just read the super-cheesy back cover. I opened the book and read it, while trying to ignore the blisters my wedges were giving me.

I wish I could say that, just by reading the first few lines, it was like a hole had opened in the roof of MPH and sunlight shone upon me.

I wish I could say I felt like committing corporal mortification on myself for ignorantly depriving myself of this literary gem all these years.

I wish I could have cried out loud there in MPH, with my arms widespread and face directed towards the heavens, ‘AT LAST! Another novel that can beat Potter in its genre!’

I wish I could say I ran straight to the cashier like a thousand vampires all named James were obsessively hunting me down , plonked the cash on the counter like a gangsta, and then ran all the way home so fast, it was as if I was riding on Edward Cullen’s back.

Instead, I got bonked in the head. Again, again, and – oh wait! – again by the clichés that were flying towards me from the pages. You gotta give the clichés credit; they were fast, furious and came with a vengeance.

Cliché #1: Bella Swann, main character. Quiet, loner type who doesn’t have much friends. Clumsy. Beautiful, but doesn’t realize it (hahahahaha! How many times have we heard that before??). Spunky(?) Attracts the attention of all the guys and girls in her new school (see: Cliché #2) by just existing (I smell a Mary Sue). Falls in love with the one guy who dares to not fall at her feet.

Cliché #2: The book starts with Bella moving to a New City and a New School. It’s so original I wanted to cry in ecstasy.

Cliché #3: Mother and daughter are complete opposites, but super-close. Daughter is not close with Dad, even though they actually have a lot in common. You don’t say!!

Cliché #4: The mandatory Cafeteria Scene (no teen novel can be published without one, it seems) where the social hierarchy is drawn and the inhumanly beautiful Cullens are introduced. Bella’s attention, of course, is immediately diverted towards the lonely group, and she asks about them.

Cliché #5: Edward Cullen. Have you not read the beginning of my post?

Mind you, I spotted these clichés after reading only a few pages while leaning on the bookshelf and switching the pressure on each foot to make the blisters hurt less. (I know, I could have just sat down on the floor and spared myself the pain. But the book was many points shy of being Sitting-Down-On-The-Floor-Of-MPH-Worthy, so I just put it back on the shelf). Who knows? Maybe if I actually bought the book and finished it, the list of clichés would probably exceed my impressive height of 147cm.

The thing is, right, I usually don’t mind clichés. Heck, there are so many books in the world that it’s entirely impossible to avoid using ‘em. And besides, clichés are clichés for a reason; the audience laps it up. Clichés certainly wouldn’t stop me from reading a book.

BUT A BOOK THAT IS BORING SURE AS HELL STOPS ME FROM READING IT.

I’m sorry, but there was nothing witty or remotely funny in the first few pages! And call me shallow, or dumb, or an inexperienced reader, but I need a book that can make me *happy* and smile. I need a book that is written delightfully and charmingly and with the author’s distinct flavor. A book with a clichéd storyline or plot is inevitable – the beauty of it is that it is supposed to be unique because of the way the author writes is.

Yes, I’m talking about writing style here. And I was so bored with the way Stephanie Meyers constructed her sentences. She didn’t play with the words. She didn’t use any irony. She didn’t write amusing metaphors. Heck, she wasn’t even entertaining because she was NOT FUNNY.

I was scared I was the only one who thought that, considering how so many people loved the books. But (Thank God!) a search on the web made me realize I wasn’t alone. I remember one person saying that they read the books not for the writing, but for the story.

But enough complaining about a book I didn’t even finish reading! (Since there is always the chance that, one day, I might actually end up reading the book and completely loving it. Because, you know, the majority can’t be wrong, right?) Let’s talk about the movie.

It sucked. Big time. There is absolutely no redeeming quality to it.

It started off okay, though I got distracted by the weird camera movements and overall lack of colour (this is, of course, before Edward S*P*A*R*K*L*E*S. Like A DIAMOND! Then the whole screen lights up. Heck, the whole cinema hall lights up from all the widespread grins and sparkly teeth showing from the breathlessly-in-love audience).

We meet Bella, who just moved in with her divorced dad in a completely different town. Bella, we soon learn, is boring, mumbles a lot, and bumps and crashes into things, in a glaringly not-funny way. Bella goes to school and is famous and popular for no apparent reason other than being the new kid. Despite not even being remotely interesting or receptive to the welcome she gets, everybody wants to impress The Mighty Bella and kiss her shiny metal ass. When Bella deigns to talk to someone, regardless of whether they’re a guy or a girl, that person pees in their happy pants, dies, and gets fed to the vampires.

Of course, Bella is immediately attracted to the group of people who don’t give a shit if she even burped their way. Because, like, you know, they are so pale and gorgeous and cool and untouchable and they don’t mix with the likes of (SPOILER ALERT!!!) HUMANS such as Bella Swann, That Blond Dude, The Girl With The Big Boobs, The Girl With The Glasses, and The Asian Dude. But Bella, predictably, wants what she can’t have. And what she wants is Edward Cullen Delight.

The devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful siblings. Meh. Mine are better-looking.

Bla bla bla, Biology class, Bella takes empty seat next to (GUESS WHO?!) Edward, Edward thinks Bella’s smelly, Belly is outraged that Edward doesn’t want to give her ass a peck. Come on, Edward, my pasty-faced darling! It’s shiny! And metal! (Can’t do anything about the rust though).

Edward disappears. For a few days. His absence is neither explained nor important.

Edward reappears. Edward apologises during Biology class. They banter. It is not humorous nor interesting nor expository. The weird camera zooms in several times to Edward’s eyes. Okay. We get it, Camera People. He has inhumanly beautiful black eyes that sear your soul, are wise beyond their years, and appear to have witnessed things too wondrous to even speak of. He is also wearing contact lenses so obvious, I could see the outlines of it.

Bella is either really dumb, or just too caught up with herself, because she doesn’t notice it when Edward Cullen changes his contact lenses. As they walk along the corridor, she notes his change of eye colour.

The camera zooms in several times, for good measure, so that the audience can see the contact lenses clearly, just in case they missed it earlier. Edward, unable to believe this chick is that stupid, and also unwilling to pass up the chance to totally mess with the new kid, ponders over whether to tell her his eyes change colour based on his mood, or on the weather. Not realizing the endless possibilities he has by espousing on the former, he chooses the latter. Idiot. They so suit each other. Bella is impressed, because she thought that cool, useless tricks like that existed only in the Anne Rice fanfics she writes (and gets flamed for).

Meanwhile, in another scene entirely, three Obviously EEEvil Vampires strut towards the camera, emanating cruelty and wickedness and bad acting. It’s like something from Smallville. The camera turns, and we face… a Human! NOOOOO!!! Don’t drink him! He has a wife! And a baby! Probably. These vampires are so EEEvil, and they want you to know that. Like, they jump around a lot, and snarl, and act badly, and worse; they like to play with their food. Thankfully, these EEEvil Vampires are not as stupid as Edward, who doesn’t know how to apply vampire makeup properly, and confuses hunger for love. (Or maybe he just loves Bella the way I love pasta). The Evil Trio commits murder. 90’s music is played in the background. So cool.

Bla bla bla, Edward accidentally reveals his super-powered secret to Bella by saving her from an out-of-control car. It’s almost awesome. It’s like, one minute he’s gazing longingly/glaringly menacingly/eyeing aloofly (it’s hard to tell, since Edward has exactly one facial expression underneath all that makeup) at Bella from across the parking lot, the next, he’s all over Bella, one hand feeling her up, the other making a dent in the car to stop it from crashing into Bella’s delicate, emo bones. Wow! If Edward hadn’t run so fast, even Vitagen wouldn’t have been able so save our poor heroine from such a bone-crushing, timely death…

'Oops! Too much action going on down there,' Edward realises.

Meanwhile, our big dumb vampire Edward realizes that he just saved Bella’s life instead of leaving her to die and doing us all a favour, regrets it, and promptly disappears into thin air, leaving Bella to be stampeded to death by an angry mob of students furious that she had survived the hit, after all. Yay!

Dammit, like all Mary Sues, Bella somehow reincarnates herself into the hospital. Handy. Then Edward’s foster dad walks into the set to finish where his son left off. Edward’s foster dad, Papa Cullen, clearly was in the middle of experimenting with wifey’s makeup when he was called to the hospital. I swear that’s Revlon ColourStay smeared clumsily on his lips, in the shade of Ruby Rouge. But methinks he confused the pancake batter for foundation. Like father, like son. Papa Cullen pronounces Bella as completely healthy and tells her to get lost so that he can go back home and rummage for the makeup remover. Thank God for the white doctor coat; it totally hid the fact that he was also wearing wifey’s prom dress back from the 1600’s. But first; lecture time!

Edward can barely listen to Papa Cullen’s lecture, he’s just too amazed over how something as inexpensive as pancake batter can look that good on a vampire’s skin. Gotta try it out, Edward muses, as Daddy demands to know why the hell Eddy risked spilling the family secret just to save a human as pathetic as Bella. Don’t we all wanna know.

Naturally, Bella is eavesdropping for vampiriffic makeup tips. She shakes her head. Pancake batter does no favours. At all. Unfortunately, shaking her head causes her tiny, lonely brain to bounce around in her skull so loudly, the Cullens spot her hiding not-so-discreetly behind the imaginary wall.

That night, Bella promptly has wet dreams about Edward La Saviour, clutching her pillows desperately and getting thoroughly turned on in her sleep. Edward, full-on Stalker Mode, is in her bedroom and watching her enjoy herself. I know -- sweet giler. I am so in love with Edward Cullen.

Not.

Filler. A LOT of filler.

Critical Thinking 101 with Jacob (guy with the long hair) by the beach. Native Americans are werewolves. White Anglo-Saxons are vampires. Therefore, Edward Cullen MUST be a vampire. Bella’s suspicions are confirmed.

Edward saves Bella AGAIN. This time, from almost being raped. He appears out of nowhere, gives the rapists the Evil Vampire Face (patented by Angel, and apparently too awful for us to see, because the camera won’t give us a peek) and whisks Belly, I mean Bella, away in his VampMobile; a silver Honda.

And his hair? Not a single strand out of place. The whole time. This movie is so unrealistic.

Edward is icy, figuratively and literally, it seems, when Bella cops a feel of his long, slender, perfect fingers using the tried-and-tested, both-reaching-for-the-radio ruse. The 90’s music becomes even more ominous, and this time, not just because it sounds 90’s.

It is The Moment Of Truth. Edward tells Bella that he’s attracted to her because (drumrolls, please) he can’t read her mind. He can read everyone’s mind except her. Like, WTF?! DUDE. That is NOT flattering! Tell her you like the way she laughs, or her button nose, or her fanfics she writes under the penname of ToxicAngel93 – just say ANYTHING that sounds like a compliment! But saying you like her because you can’t read her effin MIND?! Are you out of YOURS?!

But that’s not all. Edward has to add, ‘you’re like my personal brand of heroin.’

Bella thinks, great, he’s addicted to me, can’t get enough of me, and he’s dependant on me. Just like a drug that permanently addles your brain. We watch as the cogs in her mind start moving. Oh boy, she thinks, I hit the jackpot, baby!

Fast forward to Edward admitting the obvious; ‘I’m not a killer’. Dude, we can tell. But to prove his point, he glitters in the sun . Finally, finally, my brother Firdaus and I explode into laughter in the cinema. It’s hands down the best part of the movie. My little sister Aida informs me that she’s getting goosebumps from the sheer cheesiness.

The camera, by the way, is in the throes of a fully blown orgasm. It sweeps here, swoops there, and makes 360 degrees turns around our tragically-in-love couple.

Edward explains that he actually liked Bella’s smelly armpits during their first Biology class. Too much, in fact – he was actually struggling not to give Bella The Hickey of Death. ‘Sounds hot,’ Bella says, ‘and I trust you. Because you’re hot.’

Edward further explains he and the rest of his family don’t drink human blood. ‘We consider ourselves vegetarians,’ he says, and exposits that they just drink animal blood. Umm, ‘vegetarians’? Doesn’t he mean ‘humanitarians’?

‘Is this supposed to be sweet?!’ I hissed to Firdaus, who happened to be watching the movie for the second time, as Bella and Edward lie down on the grass and don’t say anything because even they know they’re too boring for words. The camera starts to get freakin high, y’all.

Bella comes over to Edward’s house for dinner. We learn that his siblings aren’t just vampires. They’re incestuous vampires. Understandable. I mean, when you become a vampire, such human taboos like cannibalism and incest become pretty irrelevant.

Edward serenades Bella on his piano for an unnaturally long time. Whispers of ‘OMG Edward’s perfect!’ reverberate throughout the audience. I yawn and get back to SMS-ing.

Then Edward and Bella jump out the window and die, due to some sick suicide pact.

I wish.

Instead, they just climb trees and stare at each other and mumble, while the audience dozes off. I am captivated, however, by their lack of chemistry.

OMG YOU GUYS, THE BASEBALL SCENE!! Vampire Baseball!!! It was the ultimate cheese indulgence! Alice’s legs, the lightning, the running around, Alice’s legs, the slo-mo, the jumping, the tree-climbing, Alice’s legs. Holy macaroni and cheese! I loved every bit of it, just because it was so bad, it was good!

Then, the EEEvil Vampires arrive to join the baseball game. No, I kid you not. Unfortunately, the Evil blond one – James – catches a whiff of cheap Tesco brand shampoo on Bella’s brunette locks and realises that she’s just nothing more than a pathetic Vampire Wannabe. Because vampires only use Clairol Herbal Essence! Like duh. How else can Edward’s hair have that electrocuted effect? The secret lies in the herbs, baby, the herbs. James is so enraged at how fake she is, he wants to hunt her down to the ends of the earth! POSERS AND FAKERS MUST DIE!!!

Immediately, the whole Cullen Clan take the Vampire Stance; backs arched menacingly, hands ready to scratch, legs wide apart for that extra spring, spitting, snarling, and sniveling. Their body language is clear; No one takes our Poser away! Edward tries hard not to cry. Nah, I’m kidding. Edward’s perfect, remember? Edward only cries when watching Titanic. So Edward grabs Bella and they both ride off into the twilight while his whole family gets mauled.

It turns out that, even though the town of Forks is overpopulated with helpless humans who don’t even know they’re like sitting ducks to the vampires, James has taken a special liking to Bella. He’s gonna hunt her down till she’s dead, y’all. Let this be a lesson; kids – don’t buy cheap stuff, because your life is worth more than that. This revelation leads us to the running-away-scene, insulting-the-dad-scene, hunting scene, diversion scene, then there was me checking my watch for the umpteenth time. Bella, and two of Edward’s siblings who are protecting this useless piece of chicken, check into a hotel when they arrive in Phoenix (the town where Bella used to live with her Mum). That’s when Bella gets a phone call from James The Hunter. He has her mother with him!!! And if she wants her mother to stay alive, then she has to meet him! GASP! What an unexpected turn of events! Seriously! I did not expect this AT ALL! It is so original, to use a loved one as bait! All hail Stephanie Meyer.

Bella the Genius prefers to just die a “noble death” than tell her vampire protectors what happened. I felt like throwing both my sneakers at the cinema screen. No one can be that stupid and cavalier about death, can they? Are we supposed to admire Bella for her selflessness and supreme act of sacrifice? Puh-lease. If she had no other options, like Harry in the 7^th book, maybe I would have had tears coursing down my cheeks, and my hands clasped together in sympathy and pure awe. But Bella had other options, like summoning the seven vampires she has at her disposal to help her defeat one Surfer Blond Vampire.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Showdown at the Ballet Studio! Turns out, Bella’s mum isn’t there after all. James lied!! Bella is shocked over how mean James is. Then James lets his blond hair down and lectures her on how money spent on expensive shampoo is money well spent. Feel that smooth silkiness, baby. He whips out his Sony HandyCam to record the difference between his locks and Bella’s.

Bella can’t take it anymore. Not everyone has enough money to buy expensive shampoo! So she pepper-sprays him and makes a run for it. James doesn’t even bat an eyelash. He jumps on her and proceeds to slurp her blood. He notes for future references that adding pepper improves the taste considerably.

Her blood smells GOOD!

Oh, no, Bella’s gonna die! Not. Of course not. Of course Edward and co burst into the room just in time and burn James to death. Now, all that’s left of James is a single lock of golden hair that could put Galadriel to shame. The camera zooms in as Papa Cullen discreetly slips the hair into his pocket. Thank God for the white doctor coat; it has HUGE pockets.

Meanwhile, Bella is gurgling and going spastic on the floor of the studio. I hope Chris Martin is watching this – he can take a few dancing tips from her. According to Papa Cullen, only Edward can save Bella now; he has to chow down on her blood until all the poison is sucked out of her. Ooookaaaay. Edward smiles lustily. He is warm for her form.

Blood is delicious. Blood is warm. And best of all, blood is goooood. Especially when concentrated pepper is added. Edward is on the verge of gobbling Bella up; he can’t believe she tastes so irrevocably and intoxicatingly excellent. He doesn’t know about the pepper. Shhh, don’t tell him. We see black-and-white visions that Edward is experiencing. Bella is really living up to be Edward’s personal brand of heroin. Edward doesn’t seem to want to let go. Papa Cullen calmly tells Edward to find his inner will to resist temptation, instead of simply punching the lights out of him.

Scene fades into black.

Bella… she is ALIVE! Dang. Looks like Edward can resist temptation after all. He is certified perfection. I bet his blood would taste delicious even without pepper added. Bella blubbers over how she can’t live without Edward. She loves him, you see. She is 100% sure, at the age of 16 (or whatever her age is), that she has found her soulmate, and wants to spend the rest of her life with him. Her eternal life. ‘Make me a vampire,’ breathes Bella through heavy-lidded eyes, and tries to heave her non-existent cleavage.

Yup, Bella is willing to give up her friends, family, KFC, and life as she knows it, to be with Edward forever and ever. Because this isn’t puppy love! This isn’t the imbalanced hormones talking! This is True Love. She knows it. She can feel it.

See what loneliness can do to you?

Edward, being perfect, knows Bella’s being a first-class idiot. It comes with being a teenager, along with thoughts of suicide, angst, and over-productive oil glands. He tells her no. The movie ends with Bella narrating that she is determined to become a vampire. For a guy.

But, he’s not just any guy!!! He’s Edward Cullen, the most perfect man on earth!!! And don’t you forget it!

Binging on Sophie Kinsella

2008-11-30T19:48:00.001+08:00

I know a LOT of people look down on chick lit because of its brainless, pink-fluffiness quality, but hey, those qualities are what make it PURE GOLD.

And after spending four months reading and revising text-heavy materials while trying -- and failing -- to make it more fun via colourful mindmaps, reading chick lit is like... sinking your teeth into a chocolate brownie after eating cabbage soup all your life. (Forgive me for the uninspired simile; it's just that, 10 minutes ago, Kak Asma ate the last piece of brownie merely seconds before I went into the kitchen to claim it. I am now officially Brownie-~~Depraved~~ Deprived :(. )

What I love most about chick lits is that they work on a formula. You always know what you're getting yourself into when you march up to the MPH counter with that fat chick lit in one hand, your thin wallet in the other. It's like buying Fererro Rocher and knowing you'll be rewarded with yummy-licious chocolate with the crispy filling inside and the final, irresistible hazelnut in the centre. You'll also know that you'll want more of it, that you'll gain weight from it, and that it burns a hole in your pocket. Chick lit is predictable in that sense. You know that the protagonist is in her twenties, gets way over her head into trouble, falls in love with a male character (who may lack personality, but definitely not looks) and solves everything neatly by the final pages. You know that the book will be funny, exasperating, eventful and full of feel-good vibes. You also feel grateful because you know there will be no lengthy paragraphs regarding the scenery, or thought-provoking contemplations, or scenes with triple meanings that have to be reread several times for you to spot and understand the political/religious/economical/societal references/parodies/critiscm/insight. And once you become a hardened chick lit reader, you come to expect the same pattern to repeat itself in every book of its genre. And they always deliver.

Or maybe not. Maybe, one day, you buy a Ferrero Rocher, expecting your taste buds to be tantalised by the pure chocolatey-ness of it all, only to find that the chocolate *shudder* tastes more like palm oil. It happens.

I confess, even though my blog title was ~~unashamedly ripped-off from~~ inspired by one of Sophie Kinsella's books, I never DID like her Shopaholic series. In fact, I hated it. *Ducks as indignant fans throw popcorn, cotton candy and overpriced Gucci boots this way*

When it comes to Chick Lit Heroines, their personalities can be placed into either one of these three categories; Endearingly Stupid, Stupidly Endearing, or just Stupidly Stupid. Becky Bloomwood, credit card owner extraordinaire with a bank account more deprived of money than George W Bush is deprived of common sense, easily falls into the third category thanks to her binge-shopping for stuff she can't afford, and doesn't even use later onwards.

It's just so... dumb. Every choice she makes is Pure Dumb. You'd think the book was about a sixteen-year-old with a significant drop in IQ, not a 25-year-old financial journalist. She agonises and hems and haws over how her credit card has maxed out and she's in debt and the bank is sending her warning letters... and she deals with it by purchasing more things she doesn't need. Readers have to suffer pages and pages of her justifying her actions and lying to people and.... arsd!fds&kfj$wer. In the end, you just don't care.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, this book is a hit with the masses. Sure, there are funny sequences (though I can't remember any right now), but in this book, Sophie Kinsella seems to think that her character has to be funny to be dumb. Ever heard of witty humour? You won't find it here. Kak Aisya and I have speculated and wandered about the success of the series we can barely finish. Considering that, according to my Sociology textbook, more Americans go to shopping malls than church, and there is a dramatic increase in bankruptcy filings among people under the age of 25, we have come to the theory that people like this book because they can relate to it. And because I've never bought any article of clothing that costs more than RM70, Becky Bloomwod's binge behaviour boggles me beyond comprehension.

And by the way, for avid fans, have you lot seen the trailer of the movie based on this book? Even I, as a non-fan, was horrified at how much they bastardised the book. For one thing, Becky in the movie is American instead of British!!! How could they?! And she's in New York, instead of London! WTF?! So, will the second movie be called Shopaholic Takes London?! And I barely recognised half the scenes in the movie!

Thank God for Hugh Dancy and his wholesome cuteness. *smiles dreamily*

However, during these holidays, I was able to prove to myself and to my chick-lit-reading siblings (Kak Aisya and Kak Asma) that not all Sophie Kinsella's books are downright awful. With so much spare time on my hands and money newly arriving into my account (thanks to late pay cheques that had me saving and scrimping throughout the semester), I decided to buy a book. That book was Remember Me? by Sophie Kinsella, just released in paperback.

It's a miracle. Sophie Kinsella has created a character who is actually nice, funny, smart, sweet, Endearing, and only a little Stupid. Unlike Becky, the heroine Lexi Smart barely lies, does not ramble pointlessly across several pages about how she has to buy a pair of shoes, and is focused on a reasonable, sensible goal; to find out what happened to the past three years of her life.

The book starts off as the ultimate wish-fulfillment fantasy every person has dreamed of at least a thousand times in their lives; to wake up one morning and find out that your life is perfect. I won't spoil it for you, but the part that got me hooked was when she looked into the mirror and found out that her crooked teeth were all white and shiny. Considering I've been wearing braces since I was 17, and prior to that, I had a horrible overbite and my lower teeth resembled a fence trampled on by cows, oh boy could I sympathise with her.

The reason Lexi goes through such an amazing transformation is simple; she actually has amnesia and has no idea how she turned from a broke, no-bonus, strictly flats-wearing, snaggle-toothed, chubby girl dating a guy everyone calls Loser Dave to a successful, beautiful, wealthy, career-oriented woman who owns Louis Vuitton bags, lives in high heels, did a stint on a reality programme much like The Apprentice, does splits and is married to a man who resembles a Greek God, all in the span of three years.

Sure, the premise may sound cliched, especially to those who have watched 13 Going on 13 (who hasn't?), but this book delivers where that movie left gaping holes. Every question the reader may have is answered, to the point where you, as the reader, and Lexi, as the person who is going through this, can actually accept what has happened as not being too far-fetched. In fact, I was nodding in understanding as the mystery unfolded with regards to Lexi's identity change. Everything just falls into place with a satisfying click.

Read it, and watch out for the Mont Blanc ;-)

Let's talk about popularity

2008-09-29T13:12:00.000+08:00

Hello, everyone! I know, I know, it’s been aaaaaaaaaages since I last updated (read: over a week), and you can blame it on the lack of inspiration going on within me. That, and bad time management during the whole month of Ramadhan – I think I only broke my fast twice in my room. Not to mention the fact that very personal stuff have been going on in my life which I’d rather not share with the hundred or so strangers who visit my blog daily ;-) (I know, this coming from a girl who admitted on her blog she failed her Arabic during her first semester in CFS. Oh well, I guess I’m growing up now? Hooray for that! Because it’s about time, innit?)

So if I can’t write about personal stuff on this blog today, what should I write about?

Popularity?

Lecturers?

Malay Dramas?

Relationships?

Interesting choices we have there… so let’s start with popularity.

What does being popular mean to you?

Does it mean that everyone on campus knows you?

Mr. Popular: Hi, I’m Ray!

Girl A: Oh, I know! Full name’s Raihan bin Mohammad Zaidi, right? And your dad works as an ambassador. It’s so cool you spent a year in Philippines before coming here! Would you mind taking a photo with me? All the pictures I have of you in my phone are, like, so blurry. Though the best one is that photo I took of you when you came into the hall 27 minutes late. My friends will be so jealous!

Does it mean having 59234 friends on Facebook who all Superpoke you and comment on your every status?

Bambi is going to One Utama today to shop, shop shop!

24 hours ago -- 112 comments

Lana at 9.27am, September 29: First! OMG you biatch! Don’t tell me I lost the invite in my inbox! *pouts*

Sam at 9.28am, September 29: Well, now I’ll definitely be heading that way today, *wink, wink*

Show 108 more comments.

Yaya at 12am, September 30: Hey everyone who’s reading this! Guess who did get the invite! Suck on that, losers!!! Bambi, I had so much fun today. Muah muah! Love you to death, and that new dress you bought would make Angelina Jolie go bulimic in envy. XOXO

Tallie at 12.01am, September 30: Yaya, you lucky bitch. I am like so freakin jealous right now. Update me ASAP.

Does it mean walking around everywhere with a large entourage, belittling anyone who dares to look or act different from you?

Miss Popular: OMFG look; fugly alert. What is she thinking, wearing a selendang like it’s a lion’s mane? And she’s not even a foreigner.

Miss Social Climber: Oh, you know what they say. Wanna-be foreigners. Tapi muka macam Typical Malay!

*Sniggers all around*

Why does everyone – or at least the mass media, judging from the endless books, TV shows and movies about teens and their usually embarrassing, degrading exploits to become “popular” – make such a big deal about being popular?

Isn’t it enough to have a small group of friends, whom you can trust in the whole wide world? Whom you can be yourself with, no holds barred? I’d sacrifice a whole clique for just that one best friend who could love me for who I am, flaws in personality and all.

One of the characteristics of being “popular” – according to the Media – is having a large group of (usually fickle, mean-spirited, social-climbing) friends. In reality, it’s human nature for people to want to belong to a like-minded group. Some people hang out in a group because they feel most comfortable with them, which is great. There are those who cling on to a clique because of the fear of being on the outside – alone and friendless. Then there are the popular cliques who feel superior over others, and consider anyone not a part of them as second-class citizens.

Now, being in a clique, or wanting to be well-liked (one of the more positive definitions of popularity) is natural, but one of the negative sides to it is the unwritten rule of having to conform. Ever found yourself biting back an opinion, just because you know your friends can’t accept it? Or done something you didn’t want to, just because you friends pulled the ‘loyalty’ card?

For example, one girl confided to me that she was pissed off that she had to register for classes held on Monday mornings, especially after she had neatly arranged her schedule to be free that day.

So I asked her, why was she registering for that class, then?

Her reply? Because the rest of her clique were taking that class, too.

I wanted to say, then stop complaining, you idiot, because no one’s forcing you to follow your friends.

See what I mean about having to conform?

Abraham Lincoln once said, “avoid popularity if you would have peace”. When being popular or part of a clique reaches to the extent of robbing you of your individuality and stops you from doing what you want, then you need to find the exit, fast. These people? They are only bringing you down in the long run.

The popularity that is portrayed in the Media is overrated. It’s shallow. It’s fickle. Most of all, it’s demeaning. Instead of being control of yourself and who you are, you are allowing others to judge you, to dictate what you should do so that they accept you.

You’re worth more than that. So instead, focus on finding that lifelong friend who will always be there for you, support you no matter what and accepts you for who you are, flaws and all.

PS: One thing I’ve always wondered is why people make such a fuss about eating in cafes or walking around campus alone. Personally, I enjoy walking alone to class because, instead of wasting energy trying to carry a conversation, or layan-ing someone’s boring story about their evil lecturer (which you’ve heard for the 27^th time, but are expected to still nod sympathetically and gasp on cues), I get to be with my own, private thoughts.

Love Thy Language

2008-09-01T21:55:00.000+08:00

This article was written a year ago, when I first entered UIA. Though it’s outdated, hope it proves useful to some people out there! :-)

Stepping foot into the IIUM Centre for Foundation Studies inevitably results in culture shock for some, especially to those who have never dared to speak a word in English without their Bahasa Inggeris teacher within ten feet of them.

Why? Because all lectures here are conducted in English. If you don’t understand a word of English, or are only able to understand English when it’s spoken v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y and. With. Pauses. Between. Each. Word, the lecturer might as well be speaking in Elvish. Within minutes through a lecture, you’ll probably be wishing you were back in your room, blissfully sleeping. Or, if you’re the type who thinks ahead, you’ll be worrying about how to cope once you start learning your core courses.

But have no fear! I am about to share with you some simple, everyday tips on improving your English outside of your classrooms.

Tip 1: Read
Everybody reads, whether it’s encyclopaedias, comics, or even the subtitles of some crappy Malay drama, but does everybody actually pause to take in the way a sentence is structured, or the way all those tenses are used? Forget about buying a textbook -- Grammar, Comprehension, Essay-Writing can all be picked up easily just by curling up on your sofa and reading some fluffy chick lit. Not only do you enjoy yourself while you read, but you’re learning how English is used at the same time. Talk about killing two bookworms with one shotgun! Keep a dictionary beside you so that you can find the meanings of all the new vocabs you come across. And, if you don’t know which novels to start with, please get in touch with me; I have a whole list I’d be more than happy to recommend to you.

Tip 2: Write
Try writing a short story or essay on anything that interests you. Refer to any novel you have to see how you should begin a paragraph, how dialogue is written, whether you should use past tense or present tense, etc. Let the creative juices flow and your imagination to get a hold of you. When you’ve got the hang of it, try developing a style of writing. In my opinion, you don’t have to use bombastic words to write a good essay; it’s the way you write that engages the reader. But of course, correct grammar and a wide vocabulary helps a lot, so practice! Have a friend or whoever that is good in English check your essay afterwards, so that you know where you went wrong or right!

Tip 3: Speak English!
You won’t go anywhere if the only time you speak English is in classrooms. Think about it; you’ve been learning English almost as long as you’ve learnt Bahasa Malaysia, so why have you mastered one so successfully, while the other makes you cringe in embarrassment? If people have been laughing at your mangled English all your life to the point that you want to give up speaking English altogether, I have one word for you: Don't. Never let people look down on you just because your spoken English isn't perfect -- there is rarely a person who does have perfect English, anyway. Too ashamed to speak English to others? No problemo; you can practise with things that definitely can’t make fun of you, like the mirror, your teddy bear, or even the cats that are strategically placed all around campus for your daily needs. (However, do be sure you're alone when doing this, otherwise you'll be labeled The Freak Who Talks To Inanimate Objects for the rest of your life on campus). Once you’ve plucked up enough courage, you can try having conversations in English with those closest to you, like your roommates or your siblings. I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to join in, whether to improve their own English or to help you out.

So, that’s all there is to it from me. I’d love to elaborate more, but I don’t want you to be late for class, or waste some of your precious nap time! Remember; never hesitate to ask for help when you need it. After all, what are friends and lecturers for?

5 Jingga: 8TV's brand new programme for teens

2008-08-12T21:10:00.000+08:00

So there's apparently a new show on 8TV called 5 Jingga, and it's DUMB. It's set in high school -- 5 Jingga is a reference to the class: FORM 5 Jingga, and not the name of a half-baked teenage girl singing group that enters Gang Starz, which was my first impression of it -- and just like every other 8TV-produced drama about high school, it paints an unrealistic portrait of what high school in Malaysia really is about.

One of the first thing that caught my attention about it was where have all the shapeless school uniforms gone? Instead of stuffing the actresses in the heavy, hideous baju kurung most of us had to endure, these girls are conveniently attending private school, where the school uniforms allow them to show off their waxed arms and legs, and don't make you look pregnant if you have boobs.

And then there's the next bone I have to pick with; if all the characters are going to speak in Malay, then what is the deal with their atrocious accent? Most of them sound like they've never spoken a word of Malay in their life, the way they roll their tongues around the letter 'R' and pronounce the letter 'T' the way you do in English. Marrri key-tuh perrgee berr-lah-teh! Designated Lady-In-Waiting whispers breathily (just imagine how Lana Lang speaks; it's exactly like that, only in badly pronounced Malay) to Her Royal Highness the Cheerleader Captain Herself. *Gags* The only explanation I can come up with is that this is a new type of Malay accent spoken only by High School Royalty.

The story-line is eye-rolling-inducing; the protagonist, named Nik, attends new school and unintentionally pisses off the first two student she meets by making "stereotypical" remarks about poor cheerleaders, unaware that one of the girls is Her Highness the Cheerleader Captain Herself. (The dialogue is actually in Malay, but I translated it for obvious reasons)

Her Highness The Cheerleader Captain: Have you joined cheerleading before this?

Our poor, innocent, trying-too-hard Nik: No. Do I look like a spoiled brat?

Her Highness and Appointed Lady-In-Waiting exchange scandalised glances.

Her Highness swiftly regains composure: What do you mean?

Nik: Just look at them. Bimbos, spoiled brats... They've only known the easy life.

Her Highness flounces off in a royal temper, but not before giving Lady-In-Waiting permission to speak and clarify.

Designated Lady-In-Waiting, naturally, obeys: Nice joke. You can take a tour of the school yourself.

Throughout the episode, which is supposedly four days, Nik tries to make up for the faux pass by apologising a thousand time to Her Highness. In my humble, commoner opinion, it was an honest mistake, but Her Highness won't have it! She is affronted! Her dignity has been challenged! Let the commoner be hanged!

Nik herself is an idiot. All she does is walk around school with her head bowed down, face hiding behind her hair. She might as well have a "Don't Just Kick Me -- Beat Me Up And Laugh Menacingly" sign stuck on her perma-creased forehead. Not only does she infuriate the Cheerleader Captain, but she also raises the ire of another member of the High School Royalty; the class monitor of 5 Jingga AKA Her Royal Majesty The Queen, played by an actress with the name Hunny Madu. Seriously? Hunny Madu? Yikes! Don't her parents know how to spell? Anyway, Queen Hunny Madu stands up to the unrealistically pretty Maths Teacher (aww, come on; Beauty Queens are never Maths teachers -- it's just one of Nature's paradox) and is backed up by her whole class except for Nik. Rigggghhht... so Nik is a teacher's pet and insults people to absolute strangers? I hate her already. Are we sure she's not the villain of the story?

But, no, she can't be! Because that girl there, the one who purposely comes to cheerleading practice late, the one with many mindless minions and spiesssss all over school (as opposed to Cheerleader Captain, who only has one Lady-In-Waiting), the one whose Aura Radiates With Evil and Darkness, the one with the "hot" boyfriend -- there is no mistake! All hail The Dark Lady, come to claim democracy and a reelection for the cheerleading squad!

The Dark Lady, she is Cunning (despite her stupid, pitifully-not-hot-but-supposed-to-be-so boyfriend. But we can safely assume he is the Lefou to her Gaston). With manipulation and sweet-talking that would have made Dark Lords Voldemort, Sauran, Scar and Chuck Bass smile proudly and dotingly at her (or, in Sauron's case; wink), she is able to dethrone Her Highness The Cheerleader Captain and take up the mantle herself. All hail The Dark Lady! With that, She Who Must Not Be Named banishes the ex-Highness ex-Cheerleader Captain (henceforth referred to as The Exiled One) and Lady-In-Waiting from The Land of Cheerleaders.

The Exiled One, by the way, is probably anorexic. How absolutely original and unexpected! And The Dark Lady's boyfriend (let's call him The Unhot Boyfriend, shall we?) is still in love with his ex-girlfriend, Lady-In-Waiting! Despite Lady-In-Waiting's annoying voice and accent, and complete dependence on The Exiled One!

Unsurprisingly, The Exiled One and her Lady-In-Waiting decide to create
The New Land of Cheerleaders with (who else?) The Exiled One as Captain again. The Dark Lady screams "rip-off!" when her sneeeeeeaky spiessssss inform her of this, for TWO Lands of Cheerleaders is unheard of! It is a catastrophe of epic proportions! This means WAR!!! Her minions immediately prepare to battle. Viewers await with bated breath for the inevitable battle between the Forces of Good and Evil.

And what happened to Nik? Nik who, you say? Oh, you can't mistake her. She's the main character -- the one who suddenly burst out singing and dancing in the classroom, corridor and canteen ala High School Musical, but a thousand times more embarassing, and whose flailing dance moves and thin voice make you want to shut your eyes and sing "Get'cha Head In The Game" at the top of your voice.

Well, our Nik's been very clever. She infuriated Queen Hunny Madu even more by getting friendly with The Queen's boyfriend, King Onnyun Bawang, who happens to have killer break-dancing moves and father issues. Nik has SCORED!!! Queen Hunny Madu then demands a royal breakup from King Onnyun Bawang -- I'm saying I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore! King Onnyun Bawang becomes unhappy. His unhappiness affects his dance moves, and he is unable to dance no more. But guess what happens when Nik jumps into the swimming pool, holds her breath for longer than 1 minute 45 seconds, climbs back out again and then dramatically informs Queen Hunny Madu that breaking up with King Onnyun Bawang would be a "big mistake"? Yep, the Royal Couple get back together again!!! King Onnyun Bawang is so happy that he does an impromptu dance move on the road in front of Nik, while viewers root for the two to realise they are meant for each other.

Seriously. Watch it and weep.

Interview With The Magic 8-Ball

2008-08-03T23:34:00.000+08:00

Aisya (my 21-year-old sister), Aida (my 11-year-old sister) and I were lounging around in the study room one day, bored and with nothing to do except hang out and insult each other.

That was when I noticed the brand new Magic 8 Ball Aida’s best friend, Syaza, had given her a few days ago. Without wasting any time, I took it and decided to pelt it with questions.

Of course, my first question had to confirm its validity.

‘Has Aisya showered yet?’ I asked, and turned it around.

Very doubtful, the Magic 8-Ball reported.

Okay, validity confirmed.

‘Is Aisya ugly?’ was my next question.

My sources say yes, replied the Magic 8-Ball.

Aisya grabbed the ball from me. ‘Are your sources reliable?’ she asked.

Without a doubt, the Magic 8-Ball relayed smugly.

Smirking, I snatched the ball back from her. ‘Is Aida ugly?’

It is decidedly so, was the prompt reply.

‘Is Firdaus ugly?’ I demanded, and turned the ball around to see the answer.

This time, all I saw was the murky darkness. The answer was undecipherable.

‘Well?’ Firdaus, my 16-year-old brother, yelled suddenly from his bedroom across the corridor. He poked his head from the side of his door. ‘What’s the answer, then?’

I shook the ball again. This time, the answer came up. ‘Outlook not so good!’ I shouted towards him. ‘Oooh, creepy.’

‘Your turn,’ Aisya said, taking the ball from me. ‘Is Anisah ugly?’

It is certain.

We all cracked up.

‘It probably has something against the whole family!’ cried Aisya.

‘Ask the ball “Is Syaza ugly”!’ Aida said suddenly, referring to her friend who had given the ball to her in the first place.

‘Is Syaza ugly?’ Aisya bellowed to the Magic 8-Ball.

My reply is no.

After we sobered up – which took quite some time – we decided to ask more serious, meaningful questions.

‘Am I going to marry a hot guy?’ I demanded.

My sources say no.

I groaned in frustration. ‘No way!’

Aisya took the ball from me again. ‘Is Anisah going to marry a rich guy?’

Yes, definitely.

‘Of course!’ Firdaus laughed, slapping my shoulder. ‘Kak Nisah cares a lot about money.’

‘I don’t need a rich guy!’ I protested. ‘I’m going to make my own money!’

Aisya proceeded to ask the Magic 8-Ball if it was true that I would make my own money. The reply was in the affirmative.

I wrestled the ball back from her. Payback time. ‘Are Aisya and her boyfriend Awi going to make beautiful babies together?’

Our heads collectively bent down to read the answer.

Don’t count on it.

I've Never Been Molested By A Stranger Before...

2008-07-30T20:09:00.000+08:00

... Yet I have had one shove his fingers into my mouth ...

And no, he wasn't my dentist, and he wasn't wearing surgical gloves.

There I was, innocently surveying the array of contact lens solutions on the shelf of Guardian and cunningly calculating, among all the 2 in 1's and special offers, which one would cost me the least.

Not an easy task for a Human Science student, I tell you.

Suddenly, I felt an arm grip my shoulder roughly. Really roughly.

In that split second, the thought that ran through my mind was Damn! I've been caught by the guard outside campus on a weekday, wearing jeans! Hello, RM 50 fine, goodbye contact lens solution!

In the next second, the man's other hand found its way into my mouth and gripped tightly on my jaw... so as to stabilise himself and keep him from crashing to the ground, I realised. I spluttered, tried to wrench myself free, then whirled around to face the man whose fingers were leaving an aftertaste in my mouth.

He had apparently tripped over something and grabbed hold of the most convenient thing nearby to keep him from falling ...

... my mouth and shoulder.

Totally grossed out, I ran out of Guardian, headed to the closest toilet, and cleaned out my mouth as best I could. Ew, ew, ew.

When I left the toilet again, who do you think was the first person I saw? Yep, it was The Man Who Had Violated My Mouth. The front part of his shirt was lifted up, and he was scratching his bare stomach with the same fingers that had, not more than ten minutes ago, been groping my tongue.

Oh my God.

... And another grabbed hold of my shoulders from behind, causing me to fall backwards and hit my head on the ice...

There I was in Sunway Pyramid, innocently ice-skating with Awi, Aisya and Aida while the agonised, high-pitched shrieks of the duo from t.A.T.u filled my ears and kept my adrenaline pumping.

I had, of course, fallen many times already, and even brought strangers whom I had accidentally crashed into down with me. But my most fatal injuries so far were legs that were sopping wet from all the melted ice, a blister on my ankle, and possibly bruised knees.

A complete stranger made the impromptu decision to give me another injury. A more painful one. As I was not-so-innocently skating away (I had just grabbed hold of a little girl to stabilise myself -- neither of us fell, but I doubt she enjoyed being grabbed and hugged from behind by someone she didn't know), two hands gripped my long-suffering shoulders and jerked me backwards.

The world flew before my eyes as I landed onto the hard, wet, freezing ice, butt first, elbows second, and lastly the back of my head, with a painful thud of finality. Completely dazed, I stuttered out an apology to the man who had grabbed hold of me.

See? My head injuries must have been really bad to have had rendered me temporarily insane and apologising to the man who had caused my most painful fall yet.

Tears of pain ran down my eyes as the man grunted, helped himself up, and skated off without a word or even offer to help me up. The back of my head throbbed hard, my elbows were badly bruised, and there was no way I would be able to get up on my own.

Luckily, almost out of nowhere, Aisya, Awi and Aida appeared in the crowd, skating towards me furiously to help me out. They had witnessed everything, and they helped me hobble out of the rink.

Twenty minutes later, I was back on the rink and skating happily.

... But the worst was when one drooled on my shoulder on the bus ride home.

Okay, I'm exaggerating. He didn't drool. But he wouldn't stop leaning on my traumatised shoulder throughout the one-hour-journey on the ironically named RapidKL bus.

There I was, innocently sitting at the window seat, Athlete crooning in my ears to help me survive the journey that, by car or taxi, would have probably taken 15 minutes, when an extremely obese young man entered the bus and took the empty seat beside me.

I was faintly annoyed, because that would mean difficulties once I had to get out of my seat. But, oh well, public transportation meant you had to tolerate the public.

Until the public starts falling asleep and leaning heavily on you, that is.

I shifted in my seat and threw him an exasperated glance. His eyes were closed, and my loud 'ahems!' and fake coughs went by unnoticed, thanks to the earphones in his ears. He would lean on me, then sort of jerk back to his upright position, still sleeping. Then, about four seconds later, his vast body slumped and he would end up leaning on me again. The whole process would repeat over and over again no matter how hard I tried to shrink my body smaller, or press myself against the window.

I gritted my teeth. No amount of Athlete could keep my mind off this huge disturbance, so I switched my MP3 player off. Only then did I realise, over the roar of the bus engine, that a bunch of high school kids kept laughing their heads off each time the stranger leaned on me in his sleep.

How. Humiliating.

MUET and My Husband, The Dark Knight

2008-07-24T01:11:00.000+08:00

Uh oh. It's happening again. That time in my life when my brain is all dried up and as shriveled as a prune. When inspiration to blog is something as fleeting and rare as an engaging lecturer. When I open up Microsoft Word, write a few words, realise how boring I sound, then close the document without saving it.

It's happening again. I can't blog. Life is dull. Gombak campus is overrated. I actually miss Nilai. And I feel guilty, because I know there are loads of people who still come to this blog expecting for a new update, while my brain is shriveling up and forming into one gigantic prune due to the boringness that is Gombak.

So far, the most exciting thing has been... getting Band 6 for my Malaysian University English Test AKA MUET? How is that exciting? I don't know, but life has been so boring lately that that has been one of the highlights of my three weeks here in Gombak. Well, far from expecting I'd get the highest Band, I expected Band 4 or lower, since all my sisters who have sat for the MUET before me have gotten Band 5. And who am I to presume that I would get higher than they? *smirk*

Besides, my Speaking test went really, really badly. How bad was it? I was just sitting there rambling meaninglessly, realising how ridiculous I sounded as I repeated the same points over and over again. Time was ticking, I was screwing up my MUET, and the invigilators were staring at me so intimidatingly, that I just freaked out. In typical, Anisah Spazzes Out Mode, I stopped mid-sentence and said, out loud, 'God, what the hell am I saying?', grinned with embarrassment, recycled a few more crap, and then declared I was done, even though my allocated two minutes weren't up.

I fail.

Thus, the fact that I got Band 6 is really a miracle. Even more of a miracle is that I don't know anyone else in this world who got Band 6, besides my ex-roommate Ain, who also screwed up her Speaking test by not Speaking about her given topic.

Hmmm, is it just me, or do I see a pattern here?

Plus, I recently found out that because I got Band 6, I am entitled to RM1000! Woooh! This is brilliant, because I need money really badly just so that I could lavish my materialistic side, which makes up 99.9999% of me.

But I'll probably just end up spending all that money on my UIA fees since I have Failed of Epic Proportions to apply for PTPTN. GAH! >:-( And in case you're wondering, 'who in this world fails to apply for PTPTN, the student loan that absolutely anyone can apply for?' the answer is someone like me, who realises only two months later that she's supposed to open a bank account and buy a pin number if she wants to get her hands on all that money. Daaaamn, I'm such a bimbo. Or maybe just apathetic.

By The Way, The Dark Knight is The Best Superhero Movie of All Time. Either you watch it, or you haven't lived life. And I'm not saying this because I've been in love with the cartoon version of Batman since I was 13. In fact, I think Christian Bale is ugly and unfit to act as my beloved, sexy-voiced (courtesy of Kevin Conroy) hero. But the movie is Brilliant. In fact, to savour and appreciate its Majestic Brilliance even more, go watch the crapness and boringity that is Hellboy 2, so that you can Compare and Contrast.

Can you feel the sexiness? I can, because I'm quite sick.

I initially planned to watch it with Kak Aisya on Monday, since my classes were from 9 to 11, but she canceled on me last minute (EVIL!). After Hamizah turned down my invite to watch the movie at KLCC, and knowing that I HAD to watch that movie on that day jugak, dammit!, I knew that only a Friend of the Opposite Gender would agree to watch a movie with me on such short notice. My social life being pathetic as it is, that meant two prospectives. Sigh. And how even more pathetic am I, that one of the two prospectives was my ex? And that really was a non-option, leaving me with my friend erm, hmm, maybe it's best of me to protect people's private identities on my blog to avoid slanders and scandals... ;-)

One of the funny moments was when Dina suddenly sent me a text message after the movie was over.

Dina: Babe, how's the movie? As saucy as your date? :P

Me: The movie was great! Best superhero movie EVER. My date's going on quite fine, thank you ;-) Very wholesome and innocent! Hehe!

Dina: What did you watch? Oooh... innocent and wholesome... saucy! Haha!

I love my friends. They're as crazy as I am.

Atikah wasn't far behind, either.

Atikah: OMG you're like on a date right now?! ******?? You work fast, eh?

Me: Honey, didn't you know? I'm a man-eater ;-) Unless you want to stake your claim on him.

Atikah: OMG! Haha. No thanks, I'm more into footballers :P

No surprises there, since the reason Atikah was messaging me in the first place was to invite me to watch hot, international men play football at the campus stadium.

PS: Clarification: It wasn't a date. More like an outing between two friends. Plus he told me that one of the main reasons he agreed to go out with me was because it was the 21st of July, which meant he could buy the new edition of Kreko out on stands that day. Sigh.

Taaruf Week is UIA’s Idea Of Giving Us A Taste of What Hell Shall Be Like (So That We May Repent And Become Better Muslims)

2008-07-09T15:10:00.000+08:00

I’m back again, blogging from my room! Or, to be exact, I’m writing all this in my laptop from my room, and hoping to head to the Internet Café tomorrow so that I can use the Internet there and publish it!!! Because I love blogging and would never, ever forsake it!!!

Ahem. Yeah. Moving on.

Let’s get back on topic, shall we? The title of this blog post says it all, to be exact. Taaruf Week was aaaaaaawfuuuuul. To all you non-UIAns, Taaruf Week is basically Orientation Week for the new intakes. The direct translation would be Introduction Week. I think. (Can someone who’s better in Arabic help me out here???).

You know, the funny thing about Taaruf Week is that it’s supposed to introduce us to All That Is IIUM; The Garden of Knowledge and Virtue (aha! I can already hear your eyeballs rolling in your sockets!), but instead, all it succeeded in doing for me was to suck all the excitement out of this Knowledgeable and Virtuous Garden. It’s like, they took all the fruits and flowers and ponds away from me, and left me with all the nettles and mushrooms and cat poop. How bad was it, you ask? By the second day, I was missing my dorm in Nilai. So, yeah, it’s that bad.

There are a number of reasons why Taaruf Week was so aaaaaaawfuuuuul, which I shall list down and explain briefly. No, seriously, briefly. [pause] Okay. I’ll try to be brief.

1) We were treated like children by the wonderful, amazing kakak-kakak senior of the Taaruf Committee.

“Line up here! Otherwise, you won’t get any lunch!”

“Zip your mouths shut!!!”

“LINE UP!!”

“If you come ten minutes late again, you’ll have to do 10 sit ups!”

“Kenapa tak bawa beg taaruf? Sebab tak cantik eh?” (this directed sarcastically towards Atikah before stomping off without waiting for an explanation).

“You, brother, why aren’t you wearing your taaruf uniform? Here, explain through the microphone, to everyone in this hall, why you’re not wearing it.”

“If all [1600] of you don’t want to sing the IIUM Student Song, then you can stay in this hall until 4am!!”

“You guys are The Worst Batch EVER!!!”

Now, the irony of all this is that entering university is a mark of our adulthood. We newbies range from 17-year-olds to 40-year-olds. Yet why are we being bossed around and yelled and shepherded around as if we’re 12-year-olds, by people who are not much older than we are? Why can’t we be treated maturely, as the adults we obviously are?

And clearly, if all 1600 of us unanimously rebel and are labelled as The Worst Batch EVER, doesn’t that reflect how effective the committee are to have brought this type of reaction from us?

If you make an ugly face and look into the mirror, you’ll see an ugly face staring right back at you.

2) The Pointless Briefings.

“Sis, jangan baring. Kenapa, sakit ke?”

“Ya, sister committee. Sakit sampai dah nak nazak dah ni sebenarnya. Tau tak kami semua ni hampir mati kebosanan?”

Of course, I never said that. Instead, I would sit up from my sleeping position, wait for the Slumber-Pooping Kakak Committee to hunt down another unsuspecting, sleeping figure, then settle back comfortably on to the cold tiled floor of the mosque, with the Beg Taaruf Yang Sedar Pun Tak Cantik wedged conveniently under my head as a pillow.

Come on, did they really expect us to listen to the briefings if we were tired, sleepy, bored, and unable to see or hear the speaker from the fourth floor of the mosque? What a bleeding waste of time.

One of the stupidest decisions the Taaruf Committee 2008/09 could have made was to have all the briefings held in the Mosque. Erm, hello? Sure, the gigantic, impressive CAC hall was unavailable, but the right choice would have been to split us up and hold multiple briefings at different venues.

3) The time wasted unnecessarily

There was the whole going up four floors to the mosque, waiting there for hours, discovering there was nothing going on, then going back down again. Sungguh menyeronokkan.

Every time we were to move on to another activity, we’d spend ages being organised into a line. Macam budak kecik ada lah.

Most programmes would always start late, even if we arrived on time. Nak suruh committee ketuk ketampi 10 kali sebab lambat pun tak boleh pulak

4) The horrific Grammatical Errors

It really bothered me to hear the committee speak through the microphone in front of 1690 students with English that was absolutely cringe-inducing. My favourites include:

“Are you feel hot?”

“Do you have any allergics?”

“You can consult to us.”

“I am in charging of…”

And so much more that I ended up either forgiving, or developing an immune system towards it so that it no longer bothered me.

BUT THE ABSOLUTE WORSE WORSE WORSE was during the multimedia presentation. There, on the huge screen of the hall, in gigantic font for all to witness, was the word “unfortunately” spelt as:

UNFORTUNITELY

Unfortunitely. Unfortunitely. Wha- ?

A spelling mistake of such huge proportions is a crime, I tell you. What’s worse is that it’s something that was prepared beforehand, and (supposedly) edited. How could they have overlooked that? AAAARRGGGHH sakitnya hatiku melihat kesilapan yang terang-benderang itu.

****

You know, there’s actually more I could list down, but I know there’s a thin line between complaining that is entertaining, and complaining that is just… complaining. So I’ll stop there about Taaruf Week and spare you the horrors. For more info, there are plenty of other bloggers that have also shared their horrific experience! Just google ‘em, like how Hamizah did.

I am also pleased to announce to everyone that my new roommates are all cool and fun and nice. YAY! (and no, I’m not writing this just because I know most of them read my blog). Hanim, Nury, Syeera, Yasmin, Farah, Anis, Dayang, let’s make room 1.2 of Mahallah Safiyyah the gempakest ever! :-D

The Guide to Co-Curricular Activities in CFS Nilai

2008-06-20T02:23:00.000+08:00

Besides by being outrageously good-looking (*cough* Roy *cough* Zaim), or totally scandalicious (*cough* Redha *cough*) or just really friendly and social (*cough* Nadzeri *cough* Ilya), another sure-fire way to gain popularity and become a campushold name in Nilai is by being active in co-curricular activities.

By joining clubs and taking part in campus activities, not only do you get to gain experience, you get to expand your social network beyond your classmates, roommates and friends-from-high-school-who-also-ended-up-in-UIA. And be around people who have the same passion as you, whether it’s Theatre, English, the Environment, etcetera.

(Plus, if you’re searching for your soulmate – the way I thought I would be, and failed miserably – there’s no better, or more innocent way, to meet prospective soulmates of the opposite gender than by joining a club of which you both have vested interests in. Cuz you’re definitely not gonna meet them in your dorm... unless you’re into that sort of thing. And classes? Please. How are you going to bond with the Other Gender who are sitting right on the other side of the class, when you’re so busy dazzling your lecturer with What You’re Capable Of ?)

I always say that if you don’t join any clubs at all, or participate in any co-curricular activities, that’s your very huge loss. I’m not sure about Nilai, since we lack basic facilities such as a proper hall, but during my time in PJ, every single night there would be several events held around campus, organised by various clubs, open for everyone to attend. Yes, that’s how seriously we take co-curricular activities here.

Gone are the high school days where co-curricular activities usually meant you competed for the highest position just so that it would look good on your testimonial, and then never hold any meetings or organise any events again. In UIA, join only if you have a passion for that club, because, honey, it’s gonna be a load of hard work.

So once you’ve decided what club you want to join, how to nab the top position and leave a lasting impression on the world of co-curricular activities in UIA? (Okay, maybe not the top position, as of course that will be taken over by the more experienced second year. But I guarantee you that other high posts such as vice-president, (assistant) secretary/treasurer are up for grabs, as well as head of various bureaus.)

Again, the golden key to all this is that when you come for the first meeting, nobody knows your past. At that first meeting, you’ve got to sell yourself to get their votes. These people don’t know you, so make them want to know you better. Make them Believe in All That You Stand For.

When it’s time for everyone to introduce themselves, make the most out of that five seconds when the spotlight is on you. Leave a lasting impression in everyone’s mind by showing off some of your fantastic personality as you briefly introduce yourself. How boring is it if I just stood up, said “I’m Anisah Shurfa. I take Human Sciences. I’m from Taman Tun” in a monotonous tone, then sit back down? Like anyone is going to remember that info when the spotlight moves to the next person. You’ve got to stand out, but subtly so that it doesn’t get on other people’s nerves. Here’s examples of how:

a) Dressing differently. Everyone’s probably going to go to the meeting in oversized shirts and tracksuit pants, so why not wear a casual blouse with a skirt instead? Guys, however, stand out simply by being the minority, so need to resort to skirts. But if you really want to make an impression, then by all means... go ahead.

b) Say your name twice, then add a little bit of info so that it is embedded into their brains. Eg: “I’m Anisah Shurfa. Yeah, Anisah Shurfa. And my name either means ‘girl balcony’ or ‘girl noble’. Depends on how you want to look at it.” Then when it comes to your course, you could say something like “I’m taking BEN, but you dare stereotype me and I’ll kick your ass with a well-placed euphemism”. And then: “I live in Taman Tun, and am proud to say that not all teens from Taman Tun are posers. Except me, of course.”

c) But for God’s sake don’t make it sound as if you’ve rehearsed it a million times, or, even worse, read it out loud from your notebook! The groans from everyone else will drown out all your words and they'll forever remember you as 'budak poyo yang aku benci tu'.

d) If everyone else is reciting their achievements from high school, do it too. With a modest “it was nothing” air, of course, as you tell them you were the vice-president of the librarians, and the secretary of the Language and Culture Club, and on the school magazine editorial board. Of course, no one has to know that you got all those positions simply by smiling and looking pretty. What matters is that you’re Earnest, and to show them How Much You Want This.

When it’s time for people to nominate the mainboard, don’t nominate yourself!!! No one can pull that off without looking big-headed!! Instead, get your roommate or friend whom you dragged along with you to nominate you. If you made a lasting impression, InsyaAllah, you will be chosen.

But take note that for the course societies, it won’t be this simple. You’ll have to be nominated by the seniors, go through an interview (by seniors, so you can breathe a sigh of relief), and then if you pass, prepare a manifesto and present it in front of everyone who is taking the same course as you, in the hopes that they vote for you. Just control your nerves, reveal your sparkling personality and what you have to offer, and you’ll be fine.

As for the Foundation Students Coordination Council (FSCC), the student council of UIA, as a former secretary 2 who was on the verge of quitting during her first semester, I advise you to only join if you’re dead sure you can give 100% of your commitment to them. If you really think you want to be a member, then Suck Up to your lecturers so that one nominates you, and two others second the nomination. Then get ready for the process of being shortlisted, preparing and presenting a manifesto in front of the whole of CFS, and getting interviewed by the highest-ranking lecturers.

But keep in mind that entering and winning a position in a club or society is just the tip of the iceberg. Staying inside and keeping it running? Is another matter entirely. Welcome to the world of hard work that you won’t be graded on, back-stabbing by envious inferiors, confrontations regarding how much you've actually contributed, endless meetings that last until late into the night, and events that you have to ensure will be a roaring success.

InsyaAllah, the new friends you make, the experience you gain, the fun you have doing what you love, and the smiles and waves you get from other students you don’t even know will all be worth it.

All the best!

PS: Atikah has this absolutely hilarious guide for you newbies on how to get out of campus illegally. Read it here.

I am Bimbo 2 (Volume II of the Bimbo Chronicles)

2008-06-18T03:14:00.000+08:00

I am Bimbo 2 occured during semester 3, probably a month ago

Miss A and I stepped out from the car, along with Miss B, and her boyfriend Mr C, who had been driving us and wasn't from around.

Mr C had picked the three of us up from campus to take us out for dinner. After all, we were all kind of sick of the same old Mak Aya, Kawah Thai and Belanga fare that we would have every night.

Miss B had suggested we head over and eat at Nilai International College. I was down with that. Heck, I was down for anything! Especially as I wasn’t even hungry and didn’t plan to do anything except drink and accompany my friends. And check out Mr C, of course, since I’d heard so much about him.

Miss A and I entered Kopitiam first, with the other lovebirds approximately 3 feet behind us. As we entered, all eyes of the male diners there strayed towards us. And stayed there.

I rolled my eyes. Typical. Everywhere you go, there would be horny guys leering at you. You were never left in peace, whether it was to go have a drink with your girlfriends at a café, or just hanging out at the mall. What, did they think we were here to give them a free show or something? What was it that Habib had said in Miss B’s Critical Thinking class the other day? Guys think about sex every seven seconds.

Ew. Ok, maybe not exactly that. But I know it was seven something.

It was time to give them a piece of their own medicine.

‘Miss A,’ I said as loudly as I could, as the two of us walked in. ‘Look! They’re all staring at us because we’re so beautiful.’

Hah! All the guys immediately jumped and turned away. Take that! I thought triumphantly.

Miss A's big round eyes were even bigger and rounder than usual. ‘Shurfa!’ she mouthed, scandalised. She turned to Miss B and relayed what I had done.

Miss B’s eyes widened too. ‘You do know why they were staring at us, don’t you?’ she hissed as we all sat down on a table.

I threw a scornful glance towards the guys table and raised my voice again. ‘Duh. Because they’re perverted, that’s why.’ Good. They heard me.

Miss B rolled her eyes. ‘No. It’s because we’re dressed so strangely.’

I looked down at what I was wearing.

Oh. Yeah. Tudung. Baju kurung. In Miss A and Miss B's case: Jubah. In a college campus where everyone – especially non-Muslims – dressed freely in shorts. And tank tops.

Ooops.

Part B of the Third and Final Part Of The Unofficial Comprehensive Guide To Surviving UIA Nilai

2008-06-15T03:28:00.000+08:00

Sorry if the title’s a bit confusing. Part A covered topics regarding your dorm and roommates, and turned out to be too long, so now I’ll talk about curricular activities.

Lecturers

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that it pays to suck up to your lecturers. Especially if you’re a devil like me.

By making your lecturer love you, you get special bonuses no one else does. You can:

a) Obtain information on what’s coming out in exams that no one else knows. If you’re really close to your lecturers, they may even yield interesting gossip about other students, or what the staff thinks about you.

b) Skip class without having to produce a Medical Certificate. Instead, just SMS them, saying you’re not feeling well, and they’ll totally fall for it. I got away with it like crazy during the first sem. Unfortunately, the same lecturers taught me again for my second sem, and I ended up getting a warning letter just for skipping an hour of class. Can you believe it?

c) Send your assignments in later than the other students. Of course, you have to provide a good excuse for doing this. Add in tears and a voice positively wobbling with regret for extra measure. This works even better if you’re a guy.

d) Do “special favours” for them that actually benefit you, such as organising events in which they think you’re perfect for handling, or joining your course’s Society because they insist that the society needs you (even though you were turned down for the official interview), etcetera. These are golden opportunities in which your lecturer’s recommendation is priceless.

e) Get a job/scholarship offer. I’m not kidding you. When my sister KakZimah graduated from Gombak, she was immediately offered a part-time job by a lecturer who still remembered teaching her in CFS. My sister KakAmnah got an even better offer from her lecturer: full scholarship to do Masters wherever in the world she wanted, and a Ph.D in Holland, then a job teaching in Gombak. Wow.

f) Break university rules in class. Well, I got away with wearing denim jackets to class, wearing sandals, not wearing my Matric Card, eating sandwiches, text messaging... And all while sitting at the front row, too.

So how do you make your lecturers love you? Remember that for your first class, the lecturer doesn’t know any one of you. So here’s your opportunity to make a lasting first impression and stand out from your classmates.

a) Sit at the front row of the class and paste a look of absolute interest on your face at all times. It’s always the front row kids the lecturers remember.

b) Engage in the class discussions, and be sure to ask questions at any opportunity possible and answer questions thrown at you intelligently. If the lecturer asks anyone in the class to answer a question, go ahead and do it. But not too many times as your classmates will start to hate you. Keep in mind that by sitting in the front row, it’s always easier to ask and answer questions because you don’t have to raise your voice to be heard by the lecturer. Even better, if you answer a question wrongly, chances are the rest of the class didn’t hear it.

c) Prepare on the topic before class so that the lecturer thinks you’re a smarty-pants, and so that you can ask and answer questions brilliantly.

d) Score high marks all the time and prepare amazing assignments and funny presentations. What lecturer doesn’t love a clever student? Having a clever student is testimony to a lecturer’s amazing teaching skills.

e) Show some of your dazzling personality. Because no one loves a robot.

Carry Marks

Unlike in high school, your final results are not merely based on your final exams results. Usual, that makes up just 40-50% of it.

So where do you get all the other marks from? This is what we call carry marks – the work you’re graded on throughout the semester. Even your attendance may be graded on, so don’t skip classes unless necessary!

Carry Marks are from presentations, assignments, quizzes, mid-semester exams and whatever else your lecturer concocts throughout the semester. So don’t think you can get away with not sending in your work, because your GPA will suffer for it.

If your presentation or assignment requires research, never leave it till the last minute. Seriously. DON’T, no matter how much you are tempted to procrastinate. You see, the library has a wealth of knowledge from which you can find information. But be serious. Do you think you can read those 6 books you found pertaining to your topic within one day, then summarise it? Chances are, by doing last minute work, you won’t be sending an assignment that reveals to your lecturer your real capabilities. Capabilities at completing a one-month assignment in one weekend, maybe. But it’s not like your lecturer’s going to give you marks for that.

If you have to do group-work assignments, make sure all group members pull their weight because you will be graded as a group, not individually. That means if you can choose your members, choose ones you can trust will do their work, and do it well. If that means you won’t be teaming up with your nice-but-totally-lazy friends, so be it. I made the mistake of doing my Research Proposal assignment with three other friends. We divided the topics between us, and did the work mostly on our own. When we got back our Research Proposal from the lecturer, guess who’s part of the assignment was perfectly correct, but still obtained low marks because the others parts done by her group members were pure crap? Yes, me, that’s who.

Exams

The night before my Arabic exams for last semester, Dina, Izzati and I stayed up in the study room feverishly cramming the grammar and endless vocabulary into our heads. By 5am in the morning, I stood up from the table, yelled out that I was sick of Arabic and was bound to fail, anyway, and almost had a mental breakdown.

You do not want this to happen to you.

On the flip side, the night before my Sociology exam in my first semester, I stayed up to send endless text messages to Alif about whether he’d ever made out with his girlfriend before, and other rubbishy things that had nothing to do with my exams. I didn’t open my text book or notes at all, and even the next morning, while waiting outside the exam venue, I was stupefied when I discovered my classmates had actually studied the night before.

I ended up getting an A.

So what’s the difference between how I prepared for my Arabic exam (which I discovered yesterday I got a B for) and how I prepared for my Sociology exam?

Easy. For Arabic, I neglected most of my studies throughout the semester, and ended up reading the final 3 chapters for the first ever time the very night before the exam.

For Sociology, on the other hand, I found the subject so interesting, that I would read the textbooks and notes during my free time, and was always up-to-date with what my lecturer, Madam Nursiah, taught during class. Last minute cramming wasn’t necessary for me, because I already knew all the information.

A great way to prepare for your exams is to form a study group and meet up at the library every day throughout Revision and Exam Week. For variety, make sure there are guys and girls in your study group, and that they are taught by different lecturers from you. That way, you can compare notes and fill each other in on what your lecturers may have taught you differently. Study together so that you can ask each other questions over topics you’re weak at, and when you’ve finished with all the reading, answer and discuss the past year paper.

Ah, yes, answering and discussing the past year paper is GOLD. You will either be absolutely the luckiest person on earth and discover that your exam paper is exactly the same as the past year paper you have discussed with your study group (eg: my Contemporary Issues in the Muslim World paper). Or you will be very lucky and find that your exam paper has a few questions that are exactly the same as in the past year paper (eg: my Psychology paper). Or you will be mildly lucky and discover that your exam paper is simply a thousand times easier than the past year paper you sweated over for hours with your study group (eg: my Basic Themes of Al-Quran paper).

And with that, I’d like to make a shout-out to all my study group members from the second semester who helped me a lot throughout Exam Week. Alyaa, Maya, Nadia, Faiz, Roy and Syed: thank you so much for the notes, the gossip, the pep-talks, the hilarity, the discussions and, of course, the unexpected friendship between a group of people who barely knew each other before the study group was formed. Love you guys! (And to the people who were also studying in the library at that time, sorry for being so noisy!)

Taken right after our final exam paper! The whole study group planned early on to wear black and white. But I wore all white, as the founder of the study group. Heehee!

The Third and FINAL part of the Comprehensive Guide to UIA NILAI!!!

2008-06-14T05:29:00.000+08:00

First:

CONGRATULATIONS FOR SURVIVING TAARUF WEEK!!!

You guys did it! I saw for myself how you had to wake up at 4am, be dressed and lined up in the courtyard by 5am, and attend briefings/lectures/tests the whole day. Not forgetting the 5pm ~~torture~~ practise sessions on the field under the hot sun, where you had to sing the CFS for the 50th time even though you’d rather just curl up in your dorm and sleep. Trust me, I’ve been there and experienced all of it.

(Maybe that’s why throughout the days I was there, I would wake up every day at 5am, look out from my window at you guys lining up below me, then go back to sleep till 1pm)

So now the weekend has kicked in and you get to sit back and catch up on all those hours of sleep you missed.

OR

You could start planning on how to make the most out of your stay here in Nilai, starting by reading the third, long-due, final part of my guide.

You’ve seen for yourself how tiny the campus is, and how there are a limited number of people in it. So does one of your ambitions include being one of the elite whose name everyone on campus knows and talks about? Or does your goal involve a string of A’s, a Dean’s List and a scholarship? Or are you planning to be the student with all the highest posts in all the coolest societies, and with contacts even among the staff?

Or… do you intend to achieve all of that, and more?

Okay, let’s look at each aspect of Nilai campus one by one. If it’s too long, I might have to break Part 3 into several posts. Hehehe!

Your Dorm and Your Roommates

I’m hoping that, by now, you’ve at least remembered everyone’s names, and maybe gotten to know some of them properly, especially the ones whom share your bed, or occupy the beds next to you.

After one measly, activity-filled week, cliques usually haven’t been formed yet. Or maybe they have, but according to the location of the beds, not the personalities of each roommate.

I am not encouraging you to form a tight group of 4 to 5 roommates, and then completely ignore the rest of the dorm. Bad, BAD idea. However, logically, you can’t be BFFS with all 19 other girls in your dorm. If you’re going to grab dinner, or stock up on groceries at Giant, there will always be a particular group you would prefer to be with. Here, I’m going to identify the types of girls (sorry, guys!) you will find in your dorm. And keep in mind that a girl can be a mixture of two or more of these personalities.

The Tudung Labuh

The TLs are usually BAR and IRK students, sometimes Laws, Econs and HS students, but never BEN. They are usually Islamic, modest, quiet, neat and don’t really stand out in a room. They communicate mostly in BM, and come from Islamic schools such as Ma’had, Tahfiz or Darul Quran. Often, these girls are a year older than you and would prefer that you call them ‘Kak Nad/Sara/Ma”. They will hold congregational prayers in the dorm, and will invite you to join them, but never force.

…On the flip side: The Holier-Than-Thou

The Holier-Than-Thou will switch on all the lights in the dorm by 5am in the morning. They might switch on some nasyid music too if they notice you haven’t stirred from your beds. They will give you Death Glares or/and shake their heads in disapproval if you walk around in a towel, or a tank top and shorts. They may even forcibly request you join their congregational prayers, and then forcibly request you to listen to their lecture afterwards on the evils of not praying/not observing the aurah/mingling freely with the opposite sex. They will switch off the lights really, really early regardless whether you’re ready to sleep or not.

The Socialites

The Socialites tend to be loud, fun-loving girls who were either forced to enter UIA by their parents, or weren’t accepted anywhere else. Lesbian jokes are a staple among them, as well as talk about sex, their bra size, Bitches who backstabbed them, and the hottest guys on campus. The Socialites are friendly and open, but rather dominating and vulgar. Hanging out with them is like being at a 24/7 party – hilariously fun, but exhausting. These girls usually come from all girls school, or Sekolah Kebangsaan.

…On the flip side: The Bitches
The Bitches shrieks and squeals of ‘Oh my Gawd!’ can be heard through out the whole dorm, even though its 2am in the morning and everyone else is already tucked in their beds. Every time the Bitches chill, they make sure their voices are carried through out the whole room, because of course everyone wants to know what scandalous gossip they’re discussing. They backbite about absolutely everyone, so don’t be surprised if you hear your name come up when they think you’re sleeping. Catfights and backstabbing will always occur among them, and they’ll force the whole room to take sides. Whatever dilemma a Bitch is going through, everyone in the whole room knows, because she never keeps something to herself.

The Overachievers

These Ex-MRSM students will hardly ever be in their dorms; when they’re not in class, they’re either at a meeting, making notes in the study room or conducting study group sessions in the library. They are serious about their studies; obtaining Dean’s List and winning a scholarship is their ultimate dream. But at the same time, they want to snag that top position in all the best clubs, be the head committee of any major event, and gain “priceless experience” along they way. They are smart, charismatic, popular, and will definitely lend you a hand in your studies.

… On the flip side: The bigheads
The bigheads will never stop letting you know just how busy they are, how stressed out they are by their class assignments plus club workload, and how lucky everyone else is for having so much free time compared to them. The bigheads are so used to being the leaders in their class and in their clubs, that they expect to be leaders in their clique too. They will be dominating every single group conversation, and will probably re-tell the same “amusing” anecdote for the 58th time to everyone in their loud, domineering voice, and demand that everyone laugh at their jokes. They usually have many enemies, and friends who secretly hate them.

The Invisibles

The Invisibles keep to themselves so much, and are so quiet, that soon enough you’ll either forget their names altogether, not be able to differentiate between them when they’re in the dorm, and not be able to recognise them outside the dorm. In fact, you could go through a whole semester without saying a word to them. It’s not that they think they’re too good for you; usually it’s because they’re extremely shy. They won’t be causing any conflict in the room – in fact, even if they didn’t exist, there wouldn’t be a real difference in the room.

…On the flip side: This could happen to you.

Other Personality Types: The Chameleons, The Jahiliah, The Jokesters, The Kampong Girls, The City Girls…the list goes on.

***

Keep in mind the cliques in your room may form due to bed locations, class mates, or similar personalities. It’s not usual, but it’s not unheard of, either, for a clique to be made up of all those types of personalities I mentioned, and more.

Despite the fact that you have a clique, be sure to hang out and have regular conversations with almost every occupant in your room. It’s good to have a sisterly feeling among all your roommates. That way, you won’t feel so lonely and unwanted if you’re not with your clique.

What Dina did to bring everyone together in my room was to bring food from home, set it in the middle of the room after Maghrib, and invite everyone to eat and introduce themselves at the same time. It feels more relaxed and natural that way.

You could also hold movie nights on your laptop to bring everyone together. For my room, for example, we’d always watch the latest Gossip Girl episode (downloaded by yours truly) on my laptop on a night when absolutely everyone is free.

However, there’s no other method of making your dorm feel homier than pooling all your money to buy linoleum to cover the whole floor. That way, everyone can hang out/study/sleep in the middle of the dorm – especially that wide empty space by the windows. Otherwise, you’ll feel like your dorm is divided into islands.

Other matters regarding your dorm(mates):
Elect a leader (or musyrifah) from your dorm early on, and she will be the representative for all 20 of you. My advice would be to choose the oldest among the Tudung Labuhs.

Have a timetable laid out early on regarding who cleans the room on which weekend. Since you newbies are staying in Block D and E, cleaning the toilets will be unnecessary.

Avoid any conflict in your room, please. You do not want all your roommates to hate you and segregate you. Nor would you want them to spill all your dirty secrets (you don’t like to shower in the mornings, you wear the same underwear for one whole week, or you scratch your crotch when you sleep at night) to everyone else on campus.

Wooh! So this turned out longer than I thought it would be. Stay tuned for the next, uh, part of Part 3, which will either involve curricular activities or extra-curricular activities. Can’t decide which yet.

I survived Nilai. Again.

2008-06-14T01:16:00.000+08:00

Aaaand I'm back from my 4-day-stint in Nilai!!!

Sorry, everyone, for my abrupt hiatus from my blog!! I would have warned that I'd be MIA from the world of the Internet, but I honestly thought I would be able to get online on campus. But turns out that Block A is the only hostel with slightly-less-crappy wireless. And I was staying in Block D.

So, sux to the new intakes, who are all being shoved into Block D and E, which have smaller toilets, more beds, and is soo far away from the library (with its super-fast connection) and the guys's hostel. Which means chances of you girls being all gatal with them is as thin as, erm, Hamizah (Sorry, darling -- couldn't think up a better anology right now, especially as I really need the loo, but am resisting it due to the lure of the Internet).

Don't mean to sound so... hostile to you newbies, but honestly. When me and Syed Kamil stood there on the field, clutching our microphones and demanding that you sing the CFS song and Asma ul Husna louder, did you think we were kidding or something?! Did you think I was having the time of my life at the front there, singing the song tunelessly over the mic to get you girls going? Sure, it was HOT out there on the field, and not all of you were smart enough to bring umbrellas. But let's face it. If you had sung louder, cooperated better, Syed and I would have let you head back to your hostels ASAP. Sheesh. I'm glad I helped him out only for one evening. I would have died if he asked me to co-MC your practise sessions every evenings.

Okay, rant over :-D

First day at Nilai during Taaruf Week was actually fun! I arrived on Registration Day (Tuesday) in my typical, too-dressed-up-for-UIA-wear, and received quite a few quizzical looks as, despite my lack of inches, I was obviously not a newbie first year since, instead of a generic baju kurung, I was wearing a black cardigan over a greenish-brown dress, with formal black pants and my Stomping Leather Boots (SLB didn't make even a single appearance last sem, so they got a bit of reaction from my International friends who'd never seen me wear them). But I obviously wasn't a committee, either, since I wasn't wearing the Taaruf uniform: a green batik top over a white skirt.

While waiting outside the IRKHS department for my lecturer, Madam Nordalela, to turn up with my MC script for Intro to CFS, I spotted good ol' Asyraf (or Daddy A, as Hawa and Olfa like to call him) working the brother's registeration booth. Of course, being the absolute unobservant idiot that I am, I didn't notice that there were absolutely no girls at that booth, and proceeded to join him at the booth so that I could harass him over his terrible Announcement Voice. That is, until a staff member who didn't recognise me asked me what the hell I was doing there. (Okay, maybe he phrased it a lot more politely). Being a girl and not even dressed according to the dresscode, never mind the Taaruf uniform, I had obviously no business to be there. I excused myself pronto.

Wednesday was spent rehearsing for my MC stint that night with my partner, Syuhada, who would be reading the Arabic translation. There was also this VERY scary moment when all the newbies filed into the marquee tent (where the event would be taking place that night) for a full rehearsal. I hadn't expected I had to rehearse in front of them. And I certainly hadn't expected Syed (or FBB, as Hawa and Olfa like to call him) to suddenly shove the microphone into my hands, asking me go up ALONE on the stage and explain to all the new students the protocol of a formal event. Me, speak publicly without any preparation beforehand in front of thousands of students? Alone, and without a rostrum to hide behind? I'd die.

Except I didn't. Something amazing came over me at that moment -- I didn't even feel nervous or anything when I took the mic from him, bounded up the steps to the stage and explained to everyone exactly when they should stand up, sit down, etcetera. (On hindsight, I think I should also have told them when to clap, which is when I announce the words "Welcome to the Introduction to the Centre For Foundation Studies, International Islamic University Malaysia!!!" because no one clapped that night. You could hear grasshoppers chirping in the silence before I awkwardly cleared my throat and continued.)

That night, the event went on smoothly. I remembered all the tips Madam Mumtazah gave me : speak slower, pause longer, look at the VIP when mentioning their names, enunciate my t's (eg: deputy, not depu'y), pronounce madam as "ma-dum" and not "ma-dahm", accompanied as "ah-come-panied" and not "ah-com-panied", and recitation as "ress-ee-tation", not "recite-tation" (I'm really bad at pronouncing words). There was this awkward moment that deviated from the script, causing Syu and I to panic (the speaker suddenly wanted to have a Q and A session, and left it to us MCs to manage it) but we were able to make it look like it was really a part of the whole event. And even though the newbies didn't applaude at the right moment (refer to paragraph above), they actually applauded when my partner and I finished. How sweet.

The next day, I planned to go home at 3pm with the satisfaction of a job well done. I very soon realised that that wouldn’t be happening, as I was requested to lend a hand to the committee. My first act of voluntary help was to translate a script into English. That script would be used for the gimmick for the Closing Ceremony, and supposed to be read by a narrator yet to be chosen. Next, Syed asked for my help to co-MC the evening-singing-practise-session for that day with him. I obliged, and got dutifully pissed off by the non-cooperation from the girls (refer to 4th paragraph of this post). Finally, as I was wandering around the marquee tent pointlessly, Azharul called me over to help out the guy who (very reluctantly) had to be MC for that night.

I also found out that the committee had held a meeting last night about the Intro to CFS event, and someone actually said I had dominated the microphone over my Arabic partner!!! WTF?! Insulted, I went up to Madam Nursiah (Head of IRKHS department) and Madam Rose (Head of Laws department) and asked them what they thought about my performance the night before. They assured me I had done excellently (weeee!!!!) and that the only problem was that the microphone for my partner hadn't been very clear. Which makes me wonder why people are blaming me for the fact that they couldn't hear my partner speak clearly. Idiots.

Friday, and I knew it was time to bid farewell to Nilai forever. I packed my things into my gigantic luggage bag, hugged my roommates Hawa and Olfa goodbye (*sob* will miss you guys!!) and left for Block C, where the lecturer’s 3pm bus would be waiting to depart for PJ. However, just as I was about to board the bus, I spotted two committee guys suddenly running over to me all the way from the field. Curious, I hung back to see what they wanted...

Guy: Anisah, dah nak balik ke??

Me: A’ah. *gestures towards huge luggage bag* Kenapa?

Guy: Nak mintak tolong ni. Boleh tak jadi tukang narrator untuk Closing Ceremony?

Me: *blinks in surprise* Oh! Erm. Untuk bila? Malam ni?

Guy: *exchanges looks with Other Guy* Actually, esok pagi.

Me: *glances at my humongous luggage bag, then at the bus, which is about to depart any second now* Umm…

Guy: Takpelah. Beg tu pun dah siap pack pun.

Me: Yeah… sorry

A pity, that.

“Is Nilai THAT bad?” she asked

2008-06-03T16:20:00.000+08:00

I could write a whole blog entry answering that question, with me basically whining about how crappy the facilities are over here, and about what exactly it is I miss in PJ.

1) I miss watching dramas by BEN Society or GETAR or ELC at good old Al Malik Faisal Hall. Here in Nilai, I have no idea where you can have dramas or plays or any major indoor event for the new intake, because WE HAVE NO HALL. We only have the MPN hall, which is a long, long trek away and a very dangerous journey to undertake at night. Why can’t the authorities provide us with our very own Aragorn to guide us on our journey? OMG, can you imagine going to the Student Activities Department and ordering your own custom-made Aragorn to escort you around campus at night? “Yes, I’d like him to be around 5’7 – not too tall for me, you see, that I won’t even be able to get a view of his face and appreciate the manly beauty – and wearing that deliciously weather-beaten costume from the first movie. But spare me the Body Odor, k? I don’t need it to be that realistic. Oh, and here's a playlist of songs I'd like him to sing for me”.

2) I miss my peaceful room in Khadijah College, from where I can plop my giant ass on my desk, take out my good old binoculars and spy on all my guy friends playing on the gorgeous football field 9 floors below. I remember wincing every time someone took his shirt off, because I can testify that there are absolutely NO FIT GUYS in UIA. Even worse was when the guy who strips is a friend. Argh! Overexposure alert!!!

3) I miss that stupid elevator in Khadijah College that beeps annoyingly as soon as around 7 people enter it, and refusing to shut unless we made a square formation around the walls of the elevator so that our weight spread out, or someone good-naturedly stepped out and lessened the weight. There was one time I returned from class at 1 to find a huge crowd of girls waiting by the elevators, and only one elevator working. So instead of manoeuvring my way to the front (one of the huge pluses of being so short is that I can force my way through almost any crowd), I instead decided to climb the 9 flights of stairs all the way to my room. I almost dropped dead by the seventh floor.

4) I miss SMAWP 2017, LAC’s unofficial meeting room :-)

5) I miss the co-curricular facilities, the giant Student Activities Department (FSCC’s second home), the dryers, cheap chicken chop (only RM4.50! A steal! Here it costs twice that), Hot Science Guys (Scoping out Hot Arts Guys just doesn’t feel the same – and I might as well add that I could count the number of Hot Arts Guys with one hand. 2 fingers if you want to be all specific, and I have both their phone numbers, too. Aren't you so jealous?), and the clean toilets.

Ahh, yessss. Cleeean toiletsssss. I could write a thousand words about the terrible state of the toilets, but then I thought why not take some photos instead? After all, they say a photo is worth a thousand words. And my camera certainly cost that much (in ringgit, though, not words, doofus).

So I give you 6000 words.

Here's the bigger toilet of the two; it's filthy, blocked and some of my roommates are very... violent when they, err, do their business; as you can see, the seat of the loo has come right off.

Close-up shot of violated loo.

Disgusting, right? We don't even use this sink because it's blocked. Otherwise, we would have scrubbed the hell out of it a long time ago.

Shower stalls. There are 3, and this is actually the cleanest.

Because I knew you were curious

The mushrooms growing out of the doorway. Come on, how could I resist showing you guys that?

You'd actually think that the condition of my toilet is horrible. Well, it is, but it's still useable. The toilet in the room next to mine has clogged loos -- the girls confessed to peeing on the floor.

As you can see, the conditions of Nilai brings out the savages within ourselves, ala Lord of The Flies. I'm expecting an inter-dorm war to break out any time soon.

Anisah Shurfa.... celebrity?

2008-06-01T20:12:00.000+08:00

Mimin, Gee, Maira and I settle comfortable on the straw mat next to our beds and begin to help ourselves to the delivery that had just arrived. Usually, it takes about an hour for McDonald’s delivery to arrive after we place the order, even though the closest McDonald's is less than five minutes away by car. But this time, it had taken less than half an hour after Mimin had placed the order through my phone (I was the only one who had more than RM5 worth of credit, and I had asked Mimin to call because talking on the phone always makes me nervous). Not only that, we had also gotten a free banana pie.

A miracle indeed.

As I bite into my Spicy Chicken Mc Deluxe, Mimin suddenly turns to me and says, ‘it should have been you who went down to pick up the delivery, not me and Maira.’

‘Huh?’ I say, bewildered, mouth full of mayonnaise, chicken, lettuce and bun. ‘But it was you guys who offered to go down.’

‘Yeah, but the delivery guy must have been so disappointed to not see you. He was looking at Maira and I so expectantly, that we both started laughing.’

Maira nods.

‘Huh…?’ Okay, I’m really lost now.

‘Just now, when I called the delivery, using your phone and name, the person on the other end was so excited. I could hear him telling his colleagues in the background, “it’s Anisah Shurfa!” and they all started talking at once. They kept mentioning your name and made so much noise – like they were in the market!’

‘You’re kidding!’ I am truly taken aback now, my food forgotten.

‘I swear it’s true,’ Mimin insists, grinning.

‘But how – ?’

We immediately start throwing out theories.

‘Maybe they’ve seen your subtitles and the name Anisah Shurfa on TV!’

‘Maybe they read my blog!’

‘Or maybe they just liked the name so much!’

I give Gee a withering glare. ‘No. That can’t be the only reason.’ I like the thought of being a celebrity among, of all people, the employees of Nilai’s McDonald’s branch too much to even consider that their excited reaction is just because they find my name peculiar.

‘I know!’ says Mimin eagerly. ‘Remember how, last semester, PS went all the way to McD’s to surprise you with food one night? He’s so outgoing, he must have told the employees there all about the girl he’s buying the food for. And they must have written your name down and waited for the day Anisah Shurfa orders a delivery.’

We all burst into laughter at the most ridiculous theory yet.

‘And when the delivery guy saw you two, he must be wondering, how come the girl PS likes is so much taller than him?’ I giggle.

‘I still believe in my theory!’ says Gee confidently, shaking her head at our absurdity.

Maira stares at the free banana pie in her hand. ‘No wonder they gave us this for free!’

That brings another round of laughter.

‘Wait!’ I say, another theory forming in my mind. ‘You know, early this semester, I ordered from McD’s too. And the delivery guy was really young and cute. Maybe,’ I smile slyly, ‘maybe he formed a huge crush on me and told all his colleagues about me!’

The other girls snort disbelievingly. ‘That’s the most unbelievable one yet!’

‘Either that, or I’m a celebrity,’ I say airily, trying to stop myself from giggling. ‘It’s a pity I didn’t go downstairs myself to pick up the delivery. But you know how we celebrities are.’ I glance slyly at Maira and Mimin. ‘We’re so busy, we have to get other, less important, people to represent us and do our more lowly work.’

‘Belah la Anisah!!’ they shriek in unison.

A Comprehensive Guide on Surviving UIA Nilai: Part 2

2008-05-30T23:34:00.000+08:00

Surviving Taaruf Week

For Part 1 click here or just look at the post below this one.

Before I start, I just want to tell you newbies that I received a text message today, asking me if I wanted to be the MC for Taaruf Week. I agreed, but I have to be interviewed by a lecturer, first. This Monday at 9 am, to be exact. So, if during Taaruf Week you notice that your MC is abnormally short, rather chubby and speaks with a strange accent, that’s me! :-D

I can’t tell you much about what Taaruf Week will be like, as I didn’t sign up to be the committee, and mine was held in PJ, not in Nilai. Obviously, there will be a lot of differences. So this is just advice from me based on my own experiences.

What I know for sure is that Taaruf Week will be gruelling. You’ll have barely a minute to spare to rest; most of your (very little) free time will be spent taking your ablutions, or changing out of your filthy clothes, or stuffing your face with food. Sleep at night may be limited to 4 hours max – Going to bed past 1, and waking up at 5 in the morning for congregational Subuh prayers. Taaruf Week won’t be painful – just very, very exhausting, for you newbies and the poor committee bossing you around. So allow me to divide this part of the guide based on the highlights of Taaruf Week:

a) Your First Day
b) The Tests You Will Sit Through During Taaruf Week
c) How boring these activities are!

(A) Your First Day

Make sure you get your ass in Nilai as early as possible. Fill in the forms early on so that the registration process will go on smoothly without any delays. Remember; you’re in a race. Your position in this race will determine whether your stay in Nilai will be a pleasant one. Who are your competitors? Your roommates-to-be. And the finish line is your dorm, where, as the winner, you have the privilege to choose the best bed. Get there too late, and you might find that all the best beds have been taken, and you’re left with the top bunk of the bed directly opposite the toilet.

If your hostel is in Block A:

Block A is behind the guy’s dorm, and is across the field from Block C, where all the classrooms are located. Block A is closer to where all the shops are, the mosque and, of course, the guys.

The toilet will be situated inside your dorm, right at the other end. There will be only one window in the dorm, and that is right at the end, too. That window will directly look out to the window of the guys’ dorm. My conclusion? You do not want the bed at the far end of the dorm, directly in front of the smelly toilet, with the guys able to see you from their windows.

If you are the type who doesn’t want to really mix around with the others, you can take the corner bed, the one by the wall near the door. However, right now, you may think you want your privacy, but you might feel a tinge of regret later on if you keep to yourself and you never got a chance to bond with your roommates.

So where is the best bed located, in my opinion? The ones right in the middle of the room, which is also where the only electrical outlets are located. Also, pick the bottom bunk instead of the top bunk. Just trust me on this. There are so many reasons why the bottom bunk is better than the top, but you have to be there yourself to understand. However, if you’ve had experience sleeping on the top bunk in a hostel and enjoyed it, then go ahead and choose that one.

If your hostel is located in Block B1 or B2:

You are a guy. So there’s nothing I can say about the dorms there, I’m afraid.

If your hostel is located in Block D and E:

Block D and E are located across the field from Block A, B1 and B2. They directly face each other and have a sort of courtyard in between. They’re right next to Block C, where the classrooms are located, so there’s no long trek between class and room.

The dorms in Block D and E have huge windows at the end that overlook the courtyard. You also have a bigger space at the end. The toilets are located outside the dorms. What are you waiting for? Go bag the bottom bunk of one of the beds at the end, preferable the one next to the electrical outlet.

A note: I’m not going to bother telling you which hostels are the best; each have their pros and cons, and it’s not like you get to choose, anyway. (But if you do, choose Block E).

By the time you’re in your dorm, you’ve got some time to spare before the first activity of Taaruf Week starts. Besides the obvious (unpacking and whatnots) be sure to introduce yourself to all your roommates as soon as possible. You won’t remember all their names, but that doesn’t matter. These 15+ other girls/boys will be your sisters/brothers for the rest of your stay there, so you do not want to set yourself apart from them. Stick with them for the rest of Taaruf Week so you won’t feel lonely during the long hours spent waiting at the field for activities to begin. Be especially friendly to the roommates taking the same course as you.

One dorm will always have certain personalities that will gravitate towards each other. Throughout the first week, they’ll just be faces with names to you, all new and clique-less. In the 3rd part of this guide, I’ll teach you how to identify the different sets of personalities so you can establish your clique. But for now, just mix around with everyone.

(B) The Tests You Will Sit Through During Taaruf Week

EPT – English Placement Test

Many people have made the mistake of thinking EPT is just a little test to check how proficient their English is. I’ve heard horror stories of people sleeping through their EPT because they were so exhausted, or some who barely bothered to flex their writing talents or read the passages properly because they didn’t think it was worth it. One girl I knew in high school, whom I always competed marks with for English exams, wrote only one paragraph for her essay.

Listen up and listen Good. Your EPT will determine how long you will be staying in Nilai, how many hours of class you will be taking per week, and whether you get to study your Core Courses during your first semester.

Based on your EPT, you will either be put in English Level 3, 4, 5, 6, or be Exempted from learning English altogether. If, say, you get Level 3, you have to take only English subjects (Reading, Writing, Grammar, Listening and Speaking) during your first semester, no matter what course you take. The next semester, you will take English Level 4, on so and on so forth. This means that if you get Level 3, you will have to take a maximum of 4 semesters, even if you don’t fail any of your subjects. 2 whole years in Nilai? Pure torture.

If you are taking Bachelor of English, you will only be able to take your core courses if you get Level 6. For Human Sciences and Law, Level 5. Economics, Level 4. Not so sure about Bachelor of Arabic or Islamic Revealed Knowledge, I’m afraid.

The difference between getting Exempted from English and taking Level 6 is actually quite slim. You will still be taking only 2 semesters in Nilai (unless you have to repeat a paper, or you’re taking Syariah Law). However, being exempted means you needn’t take the 9 hours of English classes required for Level 6. In other words, more free time and less exams on your plate.

So this is how EPT works. You will have to sit for 3 papers; Reading, Grammar, and Writing. Reading is basically comprehension; you read a lot of long and boring passages and answer the questions. Grammar is grammar (duh). Writing requires one argumentative essay. You either back up the topic they give you, or you don’t.

Later on throughout the week, you will find out what Level you got. If you aced it, you get to move on to the second part of EPT, which is Listening and Speaking. If you didn’t ace it, you get either Level 3 to 6. If you sit for Listening and Speaking and pass both of them, you will be Exempted.

Don’t feel embarrassed if you don’t get qualified for Listening and Speaking. During my batch, out of the thousands of students (arts and science), only 60 sat for Listening and Speaking. And out of that 60, 59 passed. And I was the only Human Sciences student who went for Listening and Speaking. Even for Bachelor of English, only 2 students were qualified (Atikah and Hamizah).

Listening requires you to be crammed in a hall with the other students and you have to listen to the CD, then scribble the answers in your paper. It is a LOT harder than MUET’s Listening, because the questions and passages are played only once, and there are open-ended questions too. My advice? Pergi korek telinga tu.

Speaking is basically a one-on-one interview with the lecturer. You get a topic, and have to talk about it. It is a LOT easier than MUET’s Speaking, because the lecturer will prompt you and ask questions, instead of staring at you coldly, mouth tightly shut. When it was my turn, I got a really nice lecturer who let me switch topics from television to (what else?) books.

APT – Arabic Placement Test

Unless you’re taking BAR (Bachelor of Arabic) or IRK (Islamic Revealed Knowledge) or Law, there will only be 2 outcomes from sitting for APT: Exempted or Not Exempted.

If you’ve never learned Arabic in all your life, just fill in your particulars on the front page of the exam paper, wait five to ten minutes (to save face), then leave the room.

If you have learned Arabic before, then do your best because, if you pass, you’ll be spared from 8 hours of Arabic classes a week.

Fardhu Ain Placement Test

The point of the Fardhu Ain test is to place you in either Fardhu Ain classes (which means you failed the test) or Study Circle (which means you passed the test).

If you get Fardhu Ain classes, you’ll have to go to the classes, learn, study and sit for exams just like any other subject.

If you get Study Circle, you are placed in a group of around 10 peers, lead by a Study Circle Facilitator. Each week, you meet up for an hour, discuss about the topic for the week, then leave. You automatically get marks for attending. And that’s all there is to it.

The test is based on what you learnt in high school for Pendidikan Islam. So brush up on your knowledge if you want to pass. (I passed, but I swear it must have been a fluke).

(C) How boring these Activities are!

Taaruf Week will be filled with activities. Every night, you will have to meet in the field to sing the Asma’ul Husna, the CFS song, practise the Bai’ah session and other boring stuff I can’t remember, which will last till the wee hours of the morning. And if I pass the interview on this Monday, then I’ll be the one barking orders at all of you to sing the CFS song for the millionth time because you sound like whiny school kids.

As I mentioned at the beginning, you will have to wake up at around 5am to attend congregational prayers. Why so early? Because there are only 3 shower stalls per dorm, and 2 loos. If you don’t want to be late, or queue up to shower, or be forced to skip your morning shower altogether, it’s best you wake up before everyone else does and the mad rush for the toilet begins.

Besides the congregational prayers, nightly torture at the fields (with I, insyaAllah, being your main torturer) and the tests, there will be activities like Opening Ceremony, Group Dynamics, Cultural Night, Talks and other loads of stuff I can’t remember because it was a whole year ago. For activities that require you to listen to something that is boring beyond comprehension, it’s best if you discreetly wear your earphones under your tudung and listen to your MP3 player, or start a conversation with your equally bored neighbour. Don’t bother bringing a book with you at night – it will be too dark and you’ll only strain your eyes.

Remember; you’ll only go through Taaruf Week once, so even though there are times when you feel like breaking down, or quitting UIA, or hiding in your dorm, do make the most out of the 7 backbreaking days. The Taaruf committee are your seniors, not your prison guards, so if you need help, refer to them immediately.

PS: I cannot guarantee you that all that I explained will take place. For example, they may change the format of the tests, cut down or add to the activities, etcetera. This is all based solely on my Taaruf Week experience.

A Comprehensive Guide on Surviving UIA Nilai: Part 1: Preparing for UIA Nilai

2008-05-29T11:41:00.000+08:00

So you received the offer letter. Whether you got it immediately after the UPU results came out, or you had to appeal (like I did), or you got in based on your stellar SPM results, or you simply called up a relative to pull some strings (like I did), none of that matters. You’ll be enrolling in UIA in July 2008. Congratulations!

But now you’re wondering what to expect from UIA. Well, for those who are coming to Nilai, you needn’t worry for I have specially written this guide for you! Wait. Scratch that. You should be worried, because Nilai is unfit for human habitation. But this guide will prepare you for what exactly you’ll be up against.

Okay, I’m dividing this guide into 3 parts:

a) Preparing for UIA Nilai,
b) Surviving Taaruf Week,
c) Making the best out of your semester

Read carefully, take note, and buckle up, cuz staying in Nilai is gonna be one helluva ride!

(God, I love clichés)

Preparing for UIA Nilai

1) Make sure you’ve come up with a careful list of things that you want to bring with you. You might wanna check out Jem’s blog, as she has quite a comprehensive list. I would also advise you to add to her list:

a) a long mirror that you can hang on your locker. There will be only one mirror provided in the dorm, so you can imagine the hoard of girls (or guys) hogging it before they go to class. Spare the bruises from having to shove your way to the front by purchasing one for yourself.

b) A small mirror, to put above the sink in the toilet. Especially if you wear contact lenses.

c) A pole to hang clothes [Ed: I remember what it's called now: Clothes Rack. I'm such a bimbo]. Don’t even bother to hang your laundry in the drying area. In three days, they still won’t be dry. Instead, buy that pole thingy and you can put it in your study room, directly under the ceiling fans, to dry your laundry overnight. Even if you don’t plan to wash your clothes in Nilai, you should still buy it, as other alternative places for hanging your entire wardrobe would be the side of your bed, and in your (too small) locker.

d) Extension plug. You MUST bring an extension plug with you because the dorm has only 2 electrical outlets.

e) A straw mat, at least big enough to cover the area between your bed and the next. So far, no dorm has yet to be equipped with linoleum to cover the filthy concrete floor. It has been promised by the authorities, but I wouldn’t really trust them.

f) Convenient breakfast food, such as instant mushroom soup and Nesvita. Some classes might begin from 8am, and you won’t have time to leisurely eat nasi lemak or roti canai at the cafes. If your class is from 8am to 1pm, without break, don’t even dream of going to class on an empty stomach. I tried it once, and the only thought entering my mind during those 5 hours was aku lapar.

g) A laptop. Because if you have a laptop, it will be your best friend in Nilai.

2) You know that bunch of forms you’ve got to fill in? Fill it in now. And I mean now. Get off the Internet, get your black pen out and complete the damn things. I, idiot that I was, left it til the morning we were departing for registration day. I would not want even my worst enemies to go through that experience. Oh, and you know that form where it asks you to tick whatever clubs you want to join? It doesn’t matter what club you tick, because once the semester starts you can still join whichever club you want.

3) Sign up for a Muamalat account and pay the registration fees at a Muamalat Bank nearest to you. I know, I know, it says you can do that at campus on registration day. But don’t. There will be hundreds of people queuing up to open their account and pay the fees on that day. Waste of time, energy, and the opportunity to book yourself a good bed.

4) Be extra nice to your siblings/friends. You’re going to need them to go with you on registration day and carry all your luggage up to your dorm. The last thing you want is to have them boycott you and leave you struggling alone with your 100kg worth of belongings.

5) Brush up on your English skills, Arabic skills (at least, practice writing faster) because you will be tested on this, and memorise the Asma'ul Husna to avoid embarassment.

6) What else? Go shopping! Again, do not leave this till the last minute as you might suddenly realise you’ve forgotten an important item on your list…

If you’ve fulfilled all that I’ve listed above, you can now relax. You’ve done all you can to prepare beforehand for your new semester. Stay tuned for Part 2 of The Guide: How To Survive Taaruf Week. Meanwhile, you can check out pictures of the campus here at Ramizah's blog. And of course, if you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to flood the comment box.

I Am Bimbo (Volume I of The Bimbo Chronicles)

2008-05-28T18:15:00.000+08:00

Note: Volume I of The Bimbo Chronicles occurred in the middle of last semester

I glanced at my reflection one last time through the teeny mirror I had hung on my bed, before heading out of the dorm. As usual, I was late for class.

As I navigated my way through the narrow corridor, a girl walking my way beamed at me and said, ‘Hi Anisah!’

Bemused, but not trying to show it, I said ‘Hi!’ back, hoping she wouldn’t notice I hadn’t said her name in return. I was absolutely certain I had never seen this girl before. But then again, lately, it was becoming more and more common for girls whom I didn’t recognise to smile at me, or even call out my name. After thinking about it, I had come to the conclusion that these girls were probably my sister’s students, or among the committee of some of the events I had also handled.

To my horror, the girl went up to me, obviously about to approach me. Who was this girl? Praying that she wouldn’t realise I had no idea who she was, I smiled and braced myself for a conversation.

‘Anisah, I was wondering if you still have the MC script you used for the Dato’ Fadzilah Kamsah talk?’ the girl asked.

Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. So that’s how this girl knew me. She must be a member of the Guidance and Counselling Club, the club that had organised the talk. And of course she’d remember me, as I had been the one on stage, hosting it. I smiled, feeling proud of myself for figuring it out.

‘Yeah, I have a copy of it in my study room. Do you need it now?’ I asked, hoping against hope that she’d say no. I was running really late now.

‘No, that’s okay. Actually, I only need the names of the VIP from MPN,’ the girl reassured me. ‘How about tonight?’

‘Sure, no problem!’ I said brightly. ‘But I have a meeting tonight, so I’ll just leave it in my study room for you, okay? That’ll be room A-1-4.’

The girl gave me a strange look. ‘I know. We’re roommates, remember?’

Oops!

What Happened in Arabic Class Today

2008-05-27T23:12:00.000+08:00

(this conversation was conducted via text message, Me in class, Hamizah at home… I think)

Me: Hamizah!! What is jama' [plural] for sodiqoh [friend]?!?

Hamizah Dried Sweety: Sodoiq.

Ten minutes later…

Me: Hamizah I’m going to kill you!!!

Hamizah Dried Sweety:… HEY I HAVEN’T BEEN LEARNING ARAB FOR 2 MONTHS

Me: THE WHOLE CLASS BURST INTO LAUGHTER AND THE USTAZ ASKED ME IF I WAS SPEAKING IN BRUNEI *DIES IN HUMILIATION*

PS: Hamizah Dried Sweety: Her name’s just Hamizah, but that’s what I put in my phone after she kept remarking on how dry she was

PPS: The real answer is Asdiqo

What Has Gone Wrong With Our Generation?

2008-05-24T21:08:00.000+08:00

When I see people my age being… how should I say it? Not so Islamic? I just shake my head, shrug my shoulders and think never mind. Allah just hasn’t opened their hearts yet. I try not to judge people who wear revealing clothes, or forget their limits when socialising or casually remark that they don’t pray. As my friend Dina says, these Muslim-by-name-but-not-Muslim-by-nature people were usually brought up this way – born and bred in a world where short skirts and tank tops are acceptable clothing, drinking alcohol is as common as plain water, clubbing is just another way to relax, and snogging your significant other is merely a sign of affection. When everyone around you is doing it, when religion is regarded as an afterthought by those you live with, it’s hard to pull yourself out of that world unless you have the actual, real initiative to change.

But darlings, there are limits to acting this way. If you want to sin, then that’s between you and Allah. But don’t attack those who choose not to sin, don’t involve other people with your sinful act, and, do use your common sense as you commit your sin.

Case #1

There is one show I do subtitles for which I truly despise. It is called Sindarella, a local-made show. Why do I despise it? Because it is spreading the wrong messages to the masses about people who choose to cover their aurah.

The main character, Zoe, is a tomboy with cropped hair, black makeup and whose shorts are a staple of her wardrobe. She is rude, she is distasteful, but deep inside, she has a Heart of Gold. She is the epitome of a Don’t Judge A Book By It’s Cover scenario.

Ayu is another character, with the looks to match her name. She is sweet, demure, and, even though she doesn’t wear tudung, she is always seen in baju kurungs. However, she cheats on her boyfriend by getting engaged to another man. She is the epitome of a Hypocrite.

Don’t see where I’m going yet? How about this: Zoe has a conversation about the cheated boyfriend on girls who cover their aurah. It goes something like this:

The Cheated Boyfriend: I can’t believe Ayu would do something like that to me. Nama pun Ayu. Rupa pun Ayu jugak.

Zoe: It’s girls who look and act like Ayu who are more dangerous! These girls who wear tudung, who wear baju kurung – do they think they’re so good, that they’ll be guaranteed a place in heaven? And girls who dress like me are going straight to hell?

WHAT THE EFF???

Why are they – the scripwriters, the producer, the director, that idiotic bimbo Sharifah Amani, everyone else in that stupid gang -- attacking those who choose to cover their aurah? Why are they labelling those who wear tudung as deceitful, untrustworthy hypocrites? What, we are all automatically hypocrites and less honest because we choose to follow Allah’s rules regarding the aurah?

Look, if you want to sin, not cover your aurah and etcetera, that’s between you and Allah. But do not attack those who do follow Allah’s rules. You claim to be stereotyped as being Unislamic because you don’t cover your aurah. So now you want to stereotype those who do cover their aurah, as hypocrites?

Just like Tudung-Hater and that “melayu” who commented on my Ugly Men post.

Case #2

My 16-year-old brother, Firdaus, told me this story.

His friend girl – let’s call her P.E – was proudly showing all her classmates pictures of her and her boyfriend, taken from a photobooth. She showed some of the photos to Firdaus, but withholding one back from him. “Mesti Firdaus marah kalau dia nampak yang ni” she was saying.

Firdaus looked through the photos she allowed him to see, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Their were photos of her and her boyfriend cuddling each other, kissing each other on the cheek… Was she not aware of the fact that, in Islam, those of the opposite gender are not allowed to lay even one finger on each other? Yes, she must be, otherwise she would not choose to withhold that one picture from my brother.

Furious, Firdaus wrenched the final picture from her grasp, and the photo she had been “hiding” from him was revealed. There was P.E, straddling her boyfriend, her tongue down his throat. Disgusting. And this was the picture that she was proudly sharing with all her classmates, as if this was something to gloat about to her peers, and not a shameful, sinful act that should be kept to herself.

A classmate looked at the picture over Firdaus’s shoulder, and snorted derisively. ‘Hek eleh, setakat ni je pun nak bangga,’ the classmate jeered loudly.

I am so glad I no longer go to SMKTTDI.

Case #3

I have a guy friend whom I met in UIA. He’s cool – really laidback and friendly, and his girlfriend is a nice girl whom I’ve hung out with a couple of times.

One day, guy friend showed me a photo his friend had taken of he and his girlfriend in an … indecent act. The two were on a bed, their tongues down each other’s throat, clutching each other, the boyfriend topless, the girl (thank God) fully dressed, though her tudung had been discarded.

The first thing that came to my mind was what the hell are they doing??

The second thing was what the hell had possessed them to take such a photo??

Let’s touch upon the first thing that came to my mind. Sure, they were young. They were in love. But that does not mean you should give away your body to the first person who says ‘I love you’ to you.

Girls, your body is something to be regarded as sacred. That’s why you must cover you aurah; so you may protect what is yours from eyes who have no right to ravage it. Why let random strangers you pass by get a taste of you for free? What you have is something to be treasured – something you must store away for the one and only person who truly deserves it; your husband.

Then there’s the fact that they actually snapped this picture, roping a third person in their act of sin to be the photographer.

Why oh why did they take such an incriminating photo? Can you imagine if these two lovebirds break up sourly, and, as a revenge, that picture is spread throughout campus, or even the Internet? The boyfriend had already shown me the photo, even though he promised the girlfriend he wouldn’t show it to anyone. Can you imagine how many other people he must have shown that photo to, besides me? His roommates, definitely.

This reminds me of a story of a UIA girl sending her UIA boyfriend a picture of her through MMS, in nothing but her underwear. When the boyfriend was sleeping, his roommates got a hold of his phone and bluetoothed it to everyone they could.

O what fools these mortals be!

Girls can be such female dogs, guys can be so clueless

2008-03-14T04:22:00.000+08:00

Ironically, in the middle of exam week, three days before this semester ends, and at 4 am in the morning, I discover that there is free wifi on campus!!!

I repeat, there is free wifi on campus, from my room in block A. Happy happy happy!

So here I am, surfing the Internet when in fact I'll be sitting for an exam at 2.30 pm. But I don't care. Because now? I am feeling the love for Nilai. Nilai has free wifi. PJ doesn't. Nilai has loads of cafes. PJ doesn't. The library in Nilai lets guys and girls sit together. PJ's doesn't. In Nilai, you could wander off campus any day of the week and they wouldn't notice. In PJ? Dream on.

But so much has happened in my life lately, that I just have to insert it in my blog. If you don't wanna know, then please shut the tab ;-)

I just discovered that, while I don't give a crap if people I don't know, and who don't really know me, backbite about me, it doesn't matter. It's not personal.

But if the people who backbite about me, like really backbite, are people I actually consider as friends, it hurts like hell. Girl, please. Don't be all kisses and
'love yah!' to my face, then bitch about me the moment I'm not around. Even STUPIDER is what they bitch about. The fact that I speak up in class, for example. Or the way I wear my tudung (they call me "acupuncture" because I apparently wear lots of pins). Or even yesterday, as I left the exam room, I exclaimed to my study group about how easy Section A of the paper was, but the other sections were as hard as hell. Well, my "friend" overheard, went back to her room and spent the night bashing me because I said it was easy. Bodoh siot.

I felt like confronting her, but you know what? I just couldn't be bothered. I know these type of people, and I don't like them. In fact, only reason I made friends with them, was because they would sit in the front row of the classes with me.

But it's amazing how bitchy or immature some girls can be. I could tell you how much LAC camp sucked for me because one of the girls tried to show me how much I didn't belong there, but this post is too long.

Anyway, another recent discovery I made is that... some guys are clueless when it comes to winning over a girl. I'm not going to get into details, but if there's any Malay guy who's actually reading this, take note: subtlety is the key. Jgnlah terover-over bila suka perempuan tu. Kalau suka tu pun, bagi lah dia masa sikit utk berkawan dgn korang dulu. Kalau dlm 3 hari baru nak berkenalan, korang dah luahkan perasaan dan niat korang, perempuan tu akan turned-off giler2. Serius. Take it from me.

Ok, it's 5.02 am. Must go to sleep, then wake up at 9 again for breakfast and speed-studying. Night everyone!

‘Hi. Boleh saya berkenalan?’

2007-11-10T19:31:00.001+08:00

I get hives every time I see those words on my friendster comment box, or message inbox.

The word berkenalan (which can be translated to 'get to know') freezes my brain and just turns me off that guy (and it’s always a guy) forever.

Usually, that sentence is followed with a universiti mana? Ambik kos apa? (What university? What course do you take?)

My reply is short and precise. UIA. Human Sciences.

Then I hit the send button and hope he won’t reply, as I never asked him anything.

What is so terrible about the nak berkenalan line? Well, first of all, it screams of gatal pick-up line. And then there’s the fact that it’s the most cliched line EVER.

Guys, here’s a tip; when approaching a girl, don’t even contemplate using the berkenalan line, followed up by two or three questions. You come off sounding gatal and downright boring. I mean, come on, there are so many ways to get to know a girl without having to use that word.

I once received a message on Friendster from a guy which kind of impressed me. He never once mentioned the berkenalan line, but actually wrote engagingly, making joking comments about what I wrote on my profile, and stuff related to university (good ploy – pointing out what we had in common). What’s important was that his message had content. It didn’t comprise of literally 2 questions.

Today, I suddenly received a text message that said:

Hi! Boleh berkenalan?

Even though the rational part of me was screaming to not reply, I replied anyway. Call me curious.

Siapa ni?
Saya [censored] Awak siapa?

La… awak tak kenal saya? Kalau macam tu, macam mana awak dapat nombor ni? Kenapa nak berkenalan dengan saya? Entah2 saya ni datuk berumur 72 tahun dengan 4 isteri muda.
Takkan awak ni lelaki kot… awak tinggal kat mana..? Takkan awak tak sudi kawan dengan saya kot..?

Subtle. Really subtle.

Kan saya dah cakap, saya ni datuk dengan 4 isteri muda, 12 anak, dan 32 cucu? Budak2 zaman sekarang… macam mana awak dapat nombor ni?

Sampai hati awak, cakap macam tu kat saya! Awak ni baik ke jahat…? Kenapa awak tipu saya... Awak2, kalau saya panggil awak sayang awak marah tak..?

Sayang?!?! What the hell?

Saya jahat sebab saya tak kenal awak. Tapi saya baik sebab saya masih layan awak. Macam mana dapat nombor ni? Saya tahu sebenarnya mesti awak kenal saya, kan?

I mean, really. Obviously he did. Otherwise, why so insistent?

Alah, jgn la marah sayang.. awak tak bagitau saya awak duduk kat mana dengan awak tipukan saya tadikan? Umur awak berapa?

This is the part when I got fed up.

You expect me to answer that, when I have no idea who you are? You won’t tell me how you got my number. Fine. Goodbye.

I deleted the next message he sent, as, thanks to my crappy phone, I only got half of it. But basically he admitted he got it from a friend of mine. And he admired my English. Where did I study to learn such English? Instead of replying, I fell asleep.

While sleeping, he sent me 2 more messages.

Alah, sayang, takkan merajuk kot… awak sayang kat saya tak..? Saya tau awak ni, baik…

One hour later…

Hai, tgh buat apa tu..? Klu awak asyik marah saya je, mcm mana awak nak kenal saya…! Awak ddk kat mana..?

Making the first move is one thing. Being downright gatal and creepy? Is another.

A Guide for Guys: What to avoid when trying to win over the girl you like

2007-11-07T23:17:00.000+08:00

A friend of mine once sent a very random text message to me the night before my Understanding Islam exam.

He wrote:

What makes a woman tick? I want to know all their weak spots

Or something like that. I know it was longer and more eloquent. (If you’re reading this, as I told you to, you can correct me if you want.)

And so, I spent the rest of the night sending him text messages on anything I could think of pertaining women and what they want from men… and totally neglecting my revision.

That was last month. However, recent incidents have made me realise that some guys do not have a clue when it comes to winning girls over. They make the most serious mistakes, but have no idea they’re doing it.

And so, here I am, Anisah Shurfa, ready to give you some handy tips on what to avoid doing when trying to win over the girl you like (or love)! Keep in mind that this does not refer to those who are already in a relationship – that is another topic entirely as you’ve obviously won her over already.

*Disclaimer*Disclaimer*Disclaimer*

HOWEVER, this is strictly my opinion only. Some girls may have different sentiments entirely. (But I don’t think so.)

*End of Disclaimer*

Okay, enough of that. Let’s get to the meat, shall we?

1. AVOID obtaining her number from other people.
This is a big no-no for some girls, but others may not mind. A girl’s number is the key to interacting with her whenever and wherever you want. If you get her number without her consent, well, it’s basically stealing.

And anyway, girls prefer guys who make the first move. You ask her for her number, she’ll appreciate your courage, and be flattered at the same time (exception being if she already hates you or thinks you’re just being gatal).

Asking for her number is the initial step in forming a connection with her. Don’t mess it up.

2. AVOID telling her you love her that way before The Right Time.
Let your Friendship Grow First. This is important as Friendship is the foundation of a good relationship.

However, don’t think that once she officially calls you her friend, you can tell her that you love her. She’ll be flattered at first, then freaked out because what she probably wanted from you in the first place was Just Friendship.

So when is the right time to tell your friend that you love her as, well, more than a friend? Unfortunately, I don’t have the answer to that. You just have to keep your eyes and ears wide open for the signs that she wants more than a friendship. If you work hard enough, that time will hopefully come.

3. AVOID sending her text messages or calling her every single day.
Show some dignity, for God’s sake! No girl likes a guy who seems too eager, or is Trying Too Hard (TTH is one of the biggest turn-offs). There’s such a thing as over-exposure. You’re a friend, not her boyfriend (yet), and certainly you don't want to start coming off as a creepy stalker.

Call or send her messages from time to time to show that you care, or if you have something really interesting or important to say/ask, but don’t do it until she gets sick of seeing your name light up on the screen of her phone.

However, DO DO DO reply her whenever she messages you to show that you’re always there for her.

4. AVOID demanding for attention
NEVER EVER demand more attention from her. I mean it. There is, I think, no other sure-fire way to push her away than telling her she doesn’t give you enough attention. Why? Because she is not your girlfriend. She is not Exclusively Yours. If you do that, she will feel you are overstepping yourself.

This can be related to text messages. Stop agonising; there are only 3 reasons why she didn’t reply your message; She has no credit, She can’t be bothered to reply back, or She doesn’t think your message needs any reply. No matter what the reason, she can’t or won’t reply you. So, refrain from the urge to send another message, asking why she didn’t reply, or telling her you assumed she’d reply. For the former, I’ve already given you the answer. For the latter, it might sound like you’re trying to make her feel guilty (even if that isn’t your intention at all). That’s called manipulation. And I don’t need to tell you that girls do not appreciate it when they think they are being manipulated.

5. AVOID promoting yourself.
Please. I’m begging you. Don’t tell her you’re a fabulous, sensitive, caring, loving [INSERT SYNONYM HERE] guy. You’ll just come off as someone who’s perasan (full of himself) if you do. If you really, truly are all those mentioned above, there is no need to tell her; she’ll figure that out for herself. If you actually HAVE to tell her, than obviously you’re not as great as you think.

Keep in mind that you are not a product in the supermarket; you do not have to tell her how special you are compared to the other items, you should not tell her that she really ought to put you at the top of her shopping list, never dare her to find another product that can do what you (claim) you do.

So there you have it. The 5 Avoids. I really hope this helps you in your (lack of) love life!

So feel free to ask any questions, or express your own views ;-)

Sometimes, there's a reason it's cheap

2007-04-15T20:51:00.000+08:00

My siblings keep saying I look like Betty Suarez (or Betty Ugly, as we like to call her as a sort of homeage to the Colombian original).

I'm saying this not because I agree with them -- just because very recently I got sick of contact lenses and bought new specs (first one with a famous brand, too!), and wear braces (it's been 2 years and counting, and I am admittedly slightly chubby, it does not make me look like Betty Ugly -- but because I had a very Betty Ugly moment yesterday. And not the good kind, either.

Yesterday, it was getting dark as I stepped out from Sri Pentas, after a really tired day of doing subtitles for The Bachelorette. It wasn't dark because it was late; it was only 5 pm. No, it was dark because another thunderstorm was coming, courtesy of the monsoon season here in Malaysia.

Anyway, I was feeling a little smug with myself because, just the day before, I had purchased myself a brand new and very cheap umbrella (RM 13.90 -- that's like around 3 dollars) from Jusco (the big departmental store in One Utama) and would be able to put it to use!

I was delayed a bit thanks to the gatal (lecherous? Horny?) guards, so the rain already began to drizzle on me as I made my way to OU (I go through OU on my way home because it's a nice shortcut). Anyway, I pulled my umbrella out of my new bag with the broken zipper, and started to tug it open. Huff, puff -- it just wouldn't stay open! Finally, I made one huge, final tug ... and it broke into two.

Of course it would do something like that, on the day right after I bought it.

It was at that exact moment the rain chose to really pour all it had, and I felt like a right idiot as I ran to OU in my long black skirt and dangerously slippy sandals, with the unopened umbrella in my hand (the handle wouldn't retract because it was broken!).

People stared. Or maybe it was me being my usual paranoid self. But really, I must have looked a right idiot in my wet clothes and clutching an umbrella I hadn't used.

Stupid umbrella. Stupid Jusco. Next time, I'll just buy that really cute umbrella I spotted and fell in love with at Espirit. The only reason I didn't buy it was because I thought it was ridiculously expensive -- RM 55 or so. But considering how the cheap kind betrayed me so horrendously in my moment of need, cheap umbrellas can go to umbrella hell.