Category Archives: Kiwiana
Since my Visa has been approved [WOOT WOOT! – and yes, they’re still discriminating against young, single Asian females], I’m now going into overdrive as to what to do.
Oh the amount of freelancing work I have to finish! Yes yes Hazel & Imm Ai *slog slog slog.
I am now trying to set up a… “mirror” blog if you will which will chronicle my preparation to TT, and possibly TT adventures! Though I have yet to use blogspot [ugh], I am very much sold on WordPress as it can keep track of stats and allows me to customise the blog with a twitter widget! Ya know, just in case I’m too zombified to type a coherent blog post, I think 140 characters x 2 tweets ought to describe my day just fine. For example : Tired. Sleepy. Wish I could ninja my way out of eagle like a hawk.
Or something equally corny, because I am such a corny writer with an even more lame sense of humour. Hah!
Ahem. Anyway. I thought I’d be able to RSS what I write on 2nd blog onto here [so you guys don’t have to click here and there, and also that would sorta muck up my stat counter], but it turns out you’re unable to.
Or maybe one is. I’m not quite sure. Thank you to Resident Geek for the lmgtfy link. *grind teeth.
I’m preeeeeeeeeeeeettty damn sure one’s able to do that though!
Next is a mobile plan. I seriously am not going to bring my Malaysian number there and get charged 4 arms and 9 legs for the roaming. No. I will get a mobile plan there.
What American carrier has great prepay / data plans? The only American cellphone carriers that I know of are AT&T and Verizon [again, much pop culture references here].And which of the 2 is less sucky?
I have a feeling someone’s gonna holler , “OH FOR GOD’S SAKE JUST GOOGLE IT” but you know, nothing beats human interaction!
p.s : I will be using a smartphone, and damnit, it still doesn’t have an app for blogging via wordpress. GRRRRRRRRRRRRR
So I FINALLY got supporting documentation from the studio.
EXCEPT that when they did a copy paste job, the person forgot to correct my name. So instead of the letter saying “Miss Ng”, it says “Miss Leow”, the other bender’s name.
Here’s hoping that the rectified letter is back by MONDAY for my interview on Tuesday! Yes folks, I shall be braving the traffic and weather and heading off to the US Embassy for the visa interview. The USA is the only place that I’ve been to that requires an interview. Holy! So I’ve managed to bug the great Tay master for tips as how to procede with the interview. He looks like such a badass, but he’s honestly one of the nicest guys I know! And yes, he’s single 😀
“Any tips, o wise one?”
“Yeah. Clean shaven. Make sure you have no facial hair”
“…I do NOT have facial hair. Wait, what are you trynna say?!”
“uhh. Yeah. Low cut top. Comb hair nice. Act sweet”
“I don’t have to act sweet, I AM sweet!” *beams via emoticon
“WHAT ARE YOU TRYNNA SAY HUH”
[intermittent pause for the next hour until he logs off]
Anyway, after feeling so angry and pissed off about the letter, here’s a song I looped to make me feel a little better. Yes, it’s a depressing song, yes, it’s about a love lost and best of all, it’s in Indonesian! Whopee!
Managed to find a copy of it floating on youtube WITH English karaoke subtitles. 😀
And my other favourite Indonesian song, Peter Pan’s “Mungkin Nanti” [Maybe Later]. I remember a band at the UMSA ball performing this song and me scream-singing my throat out to this song. It feels so surreal to be singing in your [other] mother tongue while in a foreign country. Makes one feel a tad patriotic, screw what the politicians have to say. Plus it was great fun educating the Kiwis as to why / how the average Malaysian speaks at least TWO languages fluently.
p.s : For my friends in the States, Bahasa Indonesia [Indonesian language] and Bahasa Malaysia [Malay language] is practically the same, barring some pronunciation / odd adjectives 🙂
Maladies. Or, since I am in a punny mood, let’s call it Meiladies. Not Mei’s ladies. Ahem.
Since I’ve finished the challenge, allow the narcissistic me to celebrate by regaling those of you with the story of my life, or precisely, how Bikram changed my life. I really am half-kidding about being narcissistic, as I look at myself in the mirror 90+minutes a day, EVERY day!
I was born a rather underweight and sickly baby on the 26th of June, year of the wood ox. Instead of a happy, healthy childhood of running through the mud, getting scrapes and climbing up trees, I indulged in a childhood of breathlessness, multiple trips to the hospital and being fed disgusting foul medication all because of asthma. Folks, my childhood asthma was not your regular “Can’t play sports or she’ll turn blue” type, it was the “3am and my daughter can’t breathe and she’s turning blue” type. I remember my parents rushing me to the nearest hospital / clinic to get me on that disgusting turbohaler, and even in my state I’d be fighting and pummeling the doctors [once 2 nurses had to hold me down!] with my tiny fists simply because I HATED the smell of the medication.
Yes, ironic isn’t it, for someone with chronic sinus to hate the smell of something when she supposedly can’t smell it? Every morning since birth, and I mean EVERY single morning no matter where I am [England, Port Dickson, Auckland, Otago, Genting, Cameron’s …], I’d wake up to a stuffed nose that will last the whole day, much to the annoyance of other people [especially if I’m on holiday with friends]. So what’s a girl to do but to tiptoe around the house trying her best to clear her nose whilst praying that her snivveling won’t wake the whole house. Plus with the sinus, my sense of smell was severely affected. Where the smell of delicious home cooked meals / cakes bring delight to children, most days I’d sniff the air and go “Where got food?” [That’s Manglish for “Where’s the food”].
Childhood asthma disappeared when I lived in England for a bit and when I lived in New Zealand with no instances of asthma, I thought, “WHOPEE, my asthma was childhood and I’ve outgrown it!”.
But we will get back to the asthma story later.
Fast forward to when I was 14. One day, I felt sick, so I got mum to pick me up from school and send me to the doc. The diagnosis? “She has the beginnings of Anorexia”, the doctor declared triumphantly. What the fuck? Just because I was a skinny, gangly 14 year old who FORGOT to eat lunch [between school and extra curricular activities, we Malaysian children are a generally busy lot], does NOT an anorexic make me! I vehemently denied, but all she did was prescribe me some pills to take for a month. These funny little coloured oval cases of filth were what ultimately fucked up my metabolism.
Around this point of time I took to cutting myself, due to many family / personal / esteem problems that I had. Though I must say that I look back at this point of time in shame, nevertheless I am thankful that the physical scars have faded, though I now live with a distant memory of the emotional scars. I remember it got to a point where I’d be in class, and when I got stressed I’d take out my penknife and start cutting my hands. At home, I’d cut my inner thighs and ankles and would hide it under my baju kurung. I’m pretty sure my parents don’t know about this, because I’d come up with a host of excuses, “I slipped, I fell, papercut”, coupled with the fact that they were rarely home to even notice.
At the height of my rebellious youth (16), where I was smoking and taking illicit substances, I went off to New Zealand to live and study which will explain why at times, I lapse into a Kiwi accent. Ah, but my life in NZ was far from being free of the host of problems that plagued me. The first 5 months in NZ, I didn’t eat as healthily as I should have. Blame it on environmental stress or even having a housemate who had bullimia, but I had a rather… weird relationship with food. Instead of eating healthily, I’d plan and count my meals, to the extent of calorie counting. For example, I’d think “If I ate this cake I can’t have desert later / Today, I will ONLY have a sandwich, fruit, muesli bar and soup for lunch (or breaksies, as I call it!)”. In fact, it was only last year that I went “Screw it, if I want to eat Carbonara, I’ll have that with a frothy mug of Guinness because my body said so”. Note to self : This combo gave me indigestion, so no more!
It was also in NZ that I got into sports. Boy oh boy was I so happy that I got to represent our local student body in netball! Met SO MANY great and awe inspiring people, and I’m so humbled that they call me a friend. But anyways, onto my next malady. Now, netball, as folks may know, is a NON CONTACT SPORT. Correct? I mean, we girls don’t bump each other like in football [soccer to Americans], hit each other with sticks like in lacrosse or rain punches like in boxing. No. Netball is a non contact sport where we girls pass the ball to each other and a foul is declared if we so ever shoulder / knock into our opponents. Ahem.
SO WRONG! While practicing, this OAF pushes me out of the way to intercept. GRR! I landed SMACK onto the concrete court on my RIGHT WRIST, hit my shoulder and maybe even my head a tad. I remember being on the floor in a daze wondering “Oh wow, why’s everyone soooo tall? And oh, did we score?”. A week passed after my accident, and I was experiencing pain and tingling in my right arm, so I decided to see a doctor. And that was the beginning of a nightmare. Instead of a wrist fracture, after a month of visiting physiotherapists, sports doctors and what not, it turns out that the nerves in my wrist were injured / severed during the fall, resulting in carpal tunnel syndrome.
Onward ho to more physiotherapy sessions [I am not complaining, the physiotherapist AND sports doctor were equally HOT!!!], coupled with specialised physiotherapy. In addition to that, I was on an insane amount of painkillers and had a patch for high blood pressure to help treat the problem [ah, I quit smoking around this time too! For GOOD 2 years ago, YAY!]. As a precaution against re-injuring my hand / aggravating the problem, I was made to wear a splint 24-hours a day, minus the time I took it off for a shower. Life was very difficult and troublesome as my dominant hand was well, not so dominant. I could not carry my books, hold a mouse properly, or hold a pen as the damn splint would be in the way. In fact, I could not even wipe my arse after taking a rather glorious dump. Even tying my shoelaces some days would frustrate me to no end as I couldn’t get my fingers to get the bunny ears under the loop. As a result, the fiercely independant me had to resign to the fact that I was a cripple, and may be crippled for life. After spending 3 months in a splint and not using my right arm, I soon lost all muscle and strength in my right arm. I could NOT even hold a pen for more than 2 minutes, and the phrase “holding on for dear life” would’ve meant me letting go after 20 seconds.
It was around this time that I was on hormonal medication to help combat my twice-a-month periods [you think ONCE a month is bad? TWICE is TERRIBLE!]. Looking back, I guess it was a combination of circumstances and medication that I fell into depression. As I explained to a friend, it wasn’t the mopey “Oh why does it always raiiiin on meeee” type, it was the “I want to fucking kill myself today, God, where’s the OFF switch?”. Day in, day out, I don’t know HOW I functioned – going to classes, continuing with work and managing all my extra curricular activities, but I do remember feeling shit and wanting to just OD on diclofenac or stand in the middle of the railway tracks and be done with it.
It was horrible. Oh so horrible. It was a black pit so deep, I don’t know how I climbed out or snapped out of it. I have an inkling that it was because of the hormonal medication that I became even more depressed, and every time my period would swing by, I’d have all these nasty suicidal thoughts ambling in my head, “I WISH that car would just run me over and be done with it / I WISH that truck would just smash into my car and sever my spine”. I’m not quite sure if any other lady in this world has suicidal thoughts twice a month before their period hits!
I came back to Malaysia, land of haze / smog and general air pollution. Ah, lovely. 3 years ago, during Chinese New Year [when the air is dry, acrid and it’s haze galore], I ran out of breath climbing up 1 flight of stairs to my room. I thought to myself : Fuck, my stamina can’t be THAT bad! Ex lifeguard / lacrosse player / netballer, I can’t fucking DIE walking up the stairs, RIGHT? It turns out that my childhood asthma made a great and glorious return! Gasping for breath, I had to get my mum to drive me to the nearest clinic for antoher round of turbohaler treatment.
At the grand age of 22, I had it all : depression, carpal tunnel, esteem problems, eating problems, asthma, sinus. I used to joke that if I were born 50 years ago I’d probably be dead by the age of 18.
One day, a friend of The Boyfriend’s, who was working at the gym, suggested I sign up for Bikram Yoga.
“Pffth, it’s just normal yoga done in a hot room, right?”
“It’s DIFFERENT” Kym cajoled.
“But it’s the SAME as doing the regular Hot Yoga!”
“Try it” she sang.
Fine, so I got suckered into it.
And after one class, this sucker signed up for 10 classes. And a 1 month pass. And a 1 year pass. And another year pass. Sucker!
1 year 8 months later, I am better mentally and physically for it. I don’t feel like off-ing myself anymore [and OH! my periods are ONCE a month now! I am no longer the most fertile woman in the planet that causes her significant other(s) a mad scramble for the condom], my sinus is GONE [I can SMELL now. In fact, my sense of smell is so freaking acute I know when benders in the room are having their periods. Gross and useless superpower, I know!], my carpal tunnel is GONE [I can grip tight, I can hold a pen, I can PUNCH people again, HAHA!] and I don’t look sideways at cake as though it’s EVIL. I feel more confident about myself and as corny / cliched as this may sound, I’ve come to terms with myself.
It is with these reasons that I want to inspire people to change their life, and this step begins with attending Fall 09 Bikram Yoga Teacher Training. I’m NOT wanting to become a teacher just because, oh la, I’ve got an awesome backbend [*cough, self praise, cough*], can do a full camel / contort myself into freaky postures. A few benders at the studio said “Oh yes, you should become a teacher, you’re soooo flexible!”. The point of being a teacher is NOT to show off how flexible / strong one is [though some teachers with kick ass practice really can inspire students], but rather, to help change lives, one spine / mind at a time.
What I have just wrote [typed?] about is a rather personal journey for me, and not many, if any, know ALL the sordid details of my life. In fact, a little part of me feels almost embarrassed to be selling my story out to the public, but hey, if it’s gonna help even ONE person overcome what I had, well, I’d say my job as a teacher has only just begun.
Before I begin, I shall tell you what a glorious and delicious dinner I had. On tonight’s menu was leftover lasagna from Sunday topped with Parmesan cheese that expired in January 2008. Hmm. No wonder the cheese tasted a little bit funky.
Today’s class with Jakob was one of the more hilarious. While lying down in savasana, he told the 2 newbies : “OK, that concludes our warm-up. And now, the REAL yoga begins…”. A shocked “HAH?!” filled the silent, humid air, after which Mel and I started giggling half the time during savasana. Jakob explained that yes, the standing series was to warm your body up, and that the real benefits are reaped during the floor series.
Here’s a very interesting analogy I learnt today [it pays to listen and not daydream, Tip # 9081 to Self Realisation] :
Kill yourself in class. [By killing yourself, I am not talking about being suicidal, for my friends who are non-Bikram yogis 😀 ]. By killing yourself, you effectively “die” and strip away all negative preconceived notions about yourself. You kill your Ego [there’s a philosopher who wrote about The Ego and The Self, and I forgot who he is. Can someone help my melting brain out?]. To be Reborn and have a new Life, new Body with the door to your Self open, you need to kill yourself first. It is only then from the ashes that you rise.
And that is all for today. My brain has melted into a pile of mush and I don’t think iasd fsdfn..spi djfs ..
I’ve always found Wendy Petrie to be a little stiff and boring. Guess I’ll have to eat my words after watching this video :
Like I said in my post, it is quite apparent that my studio lacks some excitement in terms of eye candy for the females [and the gays, if you will].
1 : Hey Mei, what happened to the friend you brought a few times?
M* : Which friend? *acts innocent
1 : You know, the guy who looked Malay …
M* : OH! You mean the tall, dark handsome model-looking one?
1 : YES!
M* : Oh. Er. He’s busy I think ….
1 : Oh. *crestfallen
Junaidi Ramadhan Aminuddin. You’re wanted back in the hot room, stat! 😛
Day 4, class 5. 6:15pm
I begged to be corrected for tulandandasana (balancing stick pose) today.
Still need to build strength on the LEFT side of my body, whereas the right side’s strong, but not as flexible. Either or, I’m waiting for the day in the challenge where I stiffen up and have to rely on strength and not flexibility.
I’ve noticed lately when doing backbends, my monkey mind keeps on muttering “No no no no no I’m not gonna do this. Let’s just skip this part now, shall we? Oh come on, we shall take it easy peasy, kill yourself the second set!”. But how hard is it to tune it out and listen whilst the instructor is screaming “Stretch up, chest up, go back way back fall back try to fall down backwards push push push fall back way back more back go back one day you are going to touch the floor” ?
Turns out, it’s quite difficult. I’d have to tell my monkey mind, “Shut the HELL up. I’m doing the posture, and if I die or get crippled in class, he’ll have to cart my twisted body out”. And whaddaya know, I’m halfway backwards looking at the floor. And I’ve also noticed, the good classes that I’ve had were when I bent backwards. Unless it’s a week leading up to Monthly Bleed, then hell hath no fury like my ovaries thrashing and releasing hormones that don’t allow for flexibility.
Sigh. It’s good to be a guy.
Today the instructor came over to squueeeeeeeeze and clench my hands tighter in ardha-kurmasana (half tortoise pose). And WOW did I feel the change in my shoulders. A-ha, I thought. This must the SUPER SECRET SQUIRREL technique! Well, not really SSS, but just another way of going deeper into a pose.
Towards the end of class, I had this strange craving for a nice, tall glass of cold milk. The full fat creamy kind, not the watered-down lo-fat high-calcium no-taste milk. After class, was talking to a few members and they planted ideas of having ais kacang or cendol after class! Oh man I could really do with cendol right now, even after my glass of milk and tin of soy milk. Gaaah!
OK now that the nice yogini is out, it’s time for the NICER Mei to make an appearance.
Went back to my old office to pass the cancer sticks cigarettes to some colleagues who decided to buy 1 carton at RM70. The deal is this : my friend sells it to me at RM70. I sell it to FRIENDS or PEOPLE I LIKE for the same price. No point in being too greedy, right? Anyway, I’m indulging their addiction during this recession. Again, I’d like to reiterate for those who didn’t get it right the first time round : I DO NOT MAKE ANY MONEY OUT OF YOUR PURCHASE. Not a single cent. Although it would be nice to have some extra money since I am UNEMPLOYED until further notice. And by further notice I mean : TILL DECEMBER 2009 IF ALL GOES WELL.
“Working” for the family does not mean I get paid. Even if I do, it’s in food and “Let me help you out with car payments”. That sort of thing. So my Shakti dreams will have to wait, unless you know of someone who wants to buy a kidney.
And what do some people say when they discover that it’s Duty Free cigarettes?
“Oh, duty free. Sure taste like shiet”.
The audacity in saying that. The goodness of my heart in wasting RM10 [or more] in petrol to go to Mid Valley under the blistering sun, paying RM1 for parking, walking up from P4 in Gardens all the way up to Northpoint. AT NO EXTRA CHARGE. And yet you can come and say “Oh sure taste like shiet”.
Can I get a “THANK YOU”? I should have charged RM75 for that. At least it’ll cover my petrol and parking.
The upside of travelling all the way there was meeting Za, Tiffany, Tay and Jessie for lunch. Huge props to them for my lunch! It’s ok guys, I think I can fend for myself till December. In which case, is anyone keen on buying a kidney?
p.s : Anyone who wants to buy from me now, it’s RM75. Hey, I gotta cover the cost of parking and petrol. Unless you’d like to waste YOUR PETROL to come to my house in Subang Jaya. It’s still RM75 in that case because I need to go out and see my contact.
pps : May be waived to RM70 if I like you.
*Apparently Duty Free cigarettes “taste like shiet” because of its [lower?] nicotine content. I wouldn’t know. I crushed my last cigarette under my stilettos a year or more ago and never had the luxury of shit tasting cigarettes.
Yesterday, I dragged Jun ‘Handsome Scientist / Detailer Extraordinare / Badass Biker’ to go for a Bikram Yoga class with me. Try it, I said. You’ll feel great and better, plus you get to lose some weight, I cajoled. After much evangelising wheedling talking about the benefits of Bikram Yoga, he finally agreed to go to a class.
I just forgot to mention that we ladies wear tank tops and short shorts [or bikini bottoms] and the men Speedos to class. 😛
BUT! I DID mention that we’d be practising Bikram’s 26-posture sequence on a room heated to around 40º Celcius.
So on that fateful Monday evening, I dragged Jun to the Hot Torture Chamber. His first class of his life would possibly be one of my many hundreds, and also my 2nd class of the day and 4th class in 2 days.
As usual, we started off with the Pranayama Deep Breathing. Then the Half Moon. Then the Awkward.
By Awkward Posture [a real thigh killer, but it helps you get the nice toned legs you oh so envy of me], Jun was wobbling and breathing with his mouth open a big no-no in Yoga. It’s been scientifically proven that breathing through your mouth raises your adrenaline level, causing you to feel dizzy and nauseas.
It was by Eagle that Jun sat down and seemed to melt on the floor. And I peeked into the mirror to look at him. Poor boy looked positively confused and sweaty [but not as drenched in sweat as I was]. It was then I thought :
Oh shit. I killed my friend. Hmm. I wonder if he’ll drop me off before speeding away, never to be my friend again.
I miss Kiwi newscasters, not only because I miss the accent [I reckon I picked up some of my accent from hearing the news] but also cause I think Simon Dallow is kinda cute.
Last ditch bid became last bitch did. LOL
Here’s another one. Excuse the slow-mo action the poster was aiming for.
Global credit crunch became global credit cunt 😛
And there’s your LOL of the day 🙂