This is a picture of my late Tokbah. Can't quite figure out when was this, but this was definitely when he was very much healthier. When the flesh did not leave his bones. This is the Tokbah that I remember.

Always serene, hardly ever gets visibly upset. Always has his naughty naughty grandkids in mind.

If he was alive today, would he be proud of me? Or would he be disappointed with how I had turned out? Most probably the former. I remember he was pretty upset I didn't do well on my PMR exam. I wish he was still alive to witness my convocations (yup, both of them).

Doesn't matter anyway.

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There are no musings to write about lately. Is this what happens when the thrilling becomes the routine? Am I akin to a narcotics addict who need to have higher and higher dosage of illicit substances just to get the same level of err... excitement?

It seems that there aren't many new things to ramble about. Yes, I could bitch about politics but there are already so many blogs out there that are already doing that. And frankly, bitching is easy. Find solutions for the things they bitch about. That'll get them scratching their heads, eh?

Interestingly though, I have many things to write about in my other blog. But that's not surprising since all I ever talk about or research about lately are things related to health and fitness (my boss might be a bit ticked off at this - I've a feeling he'd rather have me research about all things work related).

Oh well, the time will come when I'll be inspired to write again. About something not fitness related.

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This weekend was spent in Melaka visiting my old friend Nani and also meeting Mr. Mambang for the first time. Twas his birthday and he had shamelessly asked me to buy him a birthday cake, which I did. And thus I was automatically invited to his low key birthday celebration at Nani's place.

Me on the left and Mr. Mambang also in red sitting at the opposite.

I definitely had fun although I must apologize to Mr. Mambang for disappearing half way. Only having 4 hours of sleep the night before (or more accurately, earlier that morning) takes a toll on the me. Perhaps next time if we meet again we'll have a proper 'painting the town red' session.

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I shared the lift with a long-haired guy who was sporting several bracelets which are akin to those worn by the typical rocker dude. He was smartly dressed and from the shirt he was wearing, I could tell that he works for a promininet MNC which has its offices at that building. As the lift went up, I was imagining that outside working hours he plays the drums and is in a band comprising of several childhood friends. During the weekends they'd have gigs at the neighbourhood pub.

My tendency to imagine what other people's life are like aside, I was thinking how lucky it is for the people who are living their dreams: rock gods, famous authors, star atheletes etc. They're living their passion and best of all, making money out of it. Most of us sold our soul to the devil right out of university, taking part in the rat race and living from paycheck to paycheck. Is it really okay to spend at least 9 hours of your life daily being shackled to the office and only being able to do what you really enjoy for a few hours after work and during the weekends? And even this is only possible if you're not too exhausted by the stress of working.

Is this what it's going to be? Will I only be freed from the life of a white-collar worker once I hit retirement or marry a millionaire? At the rate I'm going, the earlier has a much higher probability of happening. How did my parents survive this?

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Last night dad cooked his 'famous' nasi goreng (fried rice). It has been many many years since I last tasted his cooking and last night I finally had the chance to. Dad makes very good fried rice and dare I say that his omelette tastes better than the one cooked by my maktok?

Interestingly, dad's fried rice tasted just as good as it was years ago. At least he's consistent in his cooking if not with other things. Sampling his fried rice, I can't help but reminisce the times when I get excited when he announced that he'll be cooking his signature dish. For me it felt like stolen bits of time. Those few minutes in the kitchen helping him prepare the ingredients I felt were the only time we spend with each other.

Those days felt like aeons ago.

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I silently moan when my mom told me I had to go to Mersing to attend a cousin's wedding. What is it with Malay weddings that they have to hold it in the afternoon, when the sun is at its hottest? And most Malay weddings are not held in air-conditioned halls, but instead are held under huge tents with measly fans to rid the visitors of the midday heat.

If the weather isn't scorching hot, it would most probably rain cats and dogs thus leaving puddles of mud everywhere, making every movement unbelievably uncomfortable. And that was exactly what happened today. As if making the trip to Mersing wasn't bad enough, it rained heavily all of last night leaving the premise squishy with puddles everywhere.

Having learnt my lesson from a previous trip to a wedding in Segamat, I knew better than to wear one of my gorgeous pair of high heeled shoes to an event held in a kampung area. My mother and sister-in-law weren't so wise. And I laughed with glee as they squirmed looking for dry patches of grass to step on as they made their way to the buffet table.

I may not have worn a pair of heels but it doesn't make me detest going to crowded, puddly places while having to endure tone-deaf people entertaining themselves (and torturing others) with their horrendous singing, conquering the microphone and choosing ghastly songs at the little makeshift karaoke station that is oh so often found at these little kampung events.

This is my version of hell. And thus I knew I have evolved into a thoroughly evil and spoilt city chick.

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They have gone overboard, is what I think. For crying out loud, 'beer' and 'cigarettes' are not dirty words. Why censor them? For those who listen to the radio diligently (this applies to most KLites who are always stuck in traffic), you might know what I'm talking about.

I was singing along to If I were a Boy of which one line goes like this: 'Drink beer with the guys, and chase after girls'. Well, at least it was supposed to go like that. But instead, it went like this: 'Drink *bleep* with the guys and chase after girls'.

And there's this other song called Knock You Down where the lyrics goes like this: 'I used to be commander in chief on my pimp ship flying high'. Guess which word was bleeped out? If you guessed 'pimp' you're dead wrong. They censored out 'ship'. Now ain't that funny? Somebody in Malaysia's stupid censorship board must have overflowing earwax because I have this feeling that the idiot had mistaken 'ship' as 'shit'.

Sigh. Nincompoopism knows no boundaries. Ships, cigarettes and beer don't have any bad meaning behind it. They're just that: ships mean ships, cigarettes are cigarettes and beer is beer. It's not like when you listen to a song that mentions beer you start wanting a beer (unless of course, you're an alcoholic.

If say, the stupid censorship board would like to bleep out naughty songs, they should've banned the song 'Love Game' because it's about wanting to have sex. And while they did bleep out the word 'sex' in the song, they didn't bleep out 'disco stick' which is obviously a metaphor for a man's sexual organ. Read: penis.

And the song Candyshop was obviously about oral sex. That didn't get banned either.

It's a good thing the good people at the censorship board don't have half a brain. Or else, we would have to enjoy these naughty songs through YouTube. All hail the censorship board!!!!

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