Blast from the Past
Responding to Anne’s game of tag, here are my childhood photos which I peeled off my old album. Good thing no photos were torn.
Tangkap mood kejap. Or maybe meneran. I think I look like Ooyah here. This one taken when I was nearly 2 years old. My mom made a lot of baju kurung from material with cartoon motifs. How…creative. Somehow I remember wearing baju kurung almost all the time… maybe that has a part to play in making me the true blue anak Melayu I am today, you think?
I’m the one in red, 6 years of age, with my mod hairdo. That’s my sis Fizah who was 5 months old at that time and smiling at the camera. This picture doesn’t show it clearly, but Ooyah looks a lot like Fizah when she was a baby. So much so that sometimes I fumble and call Ooyah Fizah. (My mom is convinced that Ooyah takes after he aunty because when I was expecting, I was always picking fights with Fizah, tormenting her with my nagging. I always say, ‘Pembawaan’….)
Ramli insists that Ooyah looks like me in this pic. I don’t see it.
It was actually my elder sis’ birthday, and these were the gifts she bagged. I look at the gifts now and I still feel excited looking at the toys. Isn’t it amazing? The kids of today will prolly scoff at the gifts of heyday, but to us, it would be like winning a million dollars! Who’d have thought of giving a box of crayons or a pencil box for a birthday girl? Such were the simple pleasures of life then…sigh…
I was disillusioned and thought they were all mine, the birthday party AND the gifts. That’s why I looked so happy.
Looking at the old pics certainly brought fond memories of the past. My mom always tells me that I was a crybaby, gembeng. I was also the one who’s headstrong and temperamental.
Oh well. Same old, same old…
Nothing much has changed I guess… 
Malay Power
Perhaps I’m the last one to know of this video,
but I still insist on posting it up because it’s just too funny!
For those who are as suaku as I am, DO ENJOY!
And since the video mentioned CT Nurhaliza, I thought it was appropriate to include this:
I cannot fathom what she was trying to say. Really. I get the ‘chocker’ part, but that was it. Just like how in an interview, she pronounced ‘Winnie the Pooh’ as ‘Winnie the PO-OH.’
Po. Oh.
MUAKAKAKAKKAKA!
*I’m NT-CT. Gettit? Sorry CT fans out there… can’t help it. 
The Apple (Seed) of My Eye
(This entry is a damn long one, full of vulgarities and vivid descriptions of a surgical procedure. You have been warned.)
As many of you have noticed, and seen in person, I’ve had styes on my eye. For many months, my right eyelid has had one stye after another growing. Two of these swellings have grown and subsided, only to swell again. Visits to the doc have been futile as the antibiotics and lotions/eyedrops etc. did not do much to alleviate the swelling.
I have had styes before this, but they break in a matter of days. This one, however, just refuses to. As such, I have been going around with a bump on my eyelid. At times it would be protruding out, as big as the pearl in my favourite blueberry bubble tea drink. And on better days, it would be the size of an apple seed. Doctors told me that since it refuses to rupture, the stye has to be cut so that the pus has to be drained out. The thought of that sends shivers down my spine, so that is out of the question. So be it, I thought. As long as it is harmless.
In the meantime, in the effort of making the swelling subside or rupture, I have been taking several herbal medicines which were recommended by friends and relatives. They do help in causing it to subside a bit, but that’s about it. A visit to another doctor confirmed that the pus has hardened and I would have to go to a hospital to get it cut and-get this- scraped (yeowchhhh!) as it has formed some kind of a shell inside (wtf…) Otherwise, Doc said, ‘it’s harmless’ but not ‘pretty’. Haha.
I was happy to leave it as it is. So what if it’s like a torpedo? So what if it’s unsightly and people are so ‘drawn’ to it (some end up just staring at the lump while talking to me.) Going under the knife was a no-no for me.
HOWEVER, this past week the lump has worsened. It looks like it has ripened, and I thought the pus would have softened again. It got too painful to bear, causing me headaches and sometimes I feel feverish. I was worried it might be infected and thought to myself- enough is enough. There is no way in hell in would rupture, and it was really irritating me, so I did the unthinkable.
I went to one of the clinics in JP and heard the same news again. CUT. When I asked him if I have to go to a hospital or specialist, he said, no need. He has the surgical instruments there.
Wondering if I would have to make the trip to Batam this Sunday with an eye patch and looking like Pirates of the South China Sea, it was top on my questions list: Doc replied that I can remove the patch in 6hrs. GO AHEAD. CUT ME.
Doc did say that the pus has hardened and he would have to scrape it off. Asked if there’s any chance that it will rupture without going under the knife, he said no. If I don’t remove it, it may even cause a serious infection.
So there I was lying on the bed, humming a song inside my head, remembering what Husband recounted of his experince:
“Dr just made a quick small cut, short quick pain, and the pus comes oozing out. (The way he said it, like very shiok.)”
Casually I asked the Doc, “am I gonna feel all this cutting and scraping?”
And he too, casually said,”yes, that’s why I will give you a local anaesthetic.
Gulp. That means needle, poke near my eye. Ouch. I mean I’m not some wimp afraid of needles, okay, you can poke me with needles anywhere you want, but my eye? *shudder*
I panicking like hell for sure, but tried to act cool about it. He put a surgical tissue to cover my face, with a hole for the eye. It was like a scene out of a movie. Something like what Kassim Selamat* went through, I thought. He then put a few drops of anaesthetic eyedrops which he said would ‘numb the eye’. My ASS.
Then came the jab. God knows how I did one major longgggg kegel’s exercise down there. But it was okay actually as the needle pricked the corner of my eye. The skin lah, not my cornea of course! Siow ah?
I was glad after that jab, thinking I won’t feel a thing.
Little did I know…
What happened in the next ten minutes was traumatic. I feel like crying just thinking about it. I felt EVERY BLARDY THING. He kept on reminding me to look down at my feet (not that I can see it) and put some sort of (sick) clamp onto my eye which felt like he was tearing my eyelids off! Then I felt the cut, an incision made on the inside of my eyelid, bloody fucking PAINFUL, for sure, but I maintained my cool. No oozing of pus. Then the most fuckingly painful moments of my life came, that’s when he started SCRAPING the freaking thing! I swear I could have just SCREAMED my lungs out in there! I kept on asking ‘are you done?’ and he’d say, no, quite a lot more.
Five minutes of him doing that, and I couldn’t take it any longer. After whimpering like a puppy the whole time, and him saying ’sorry, sorry’ repeatedly, I was sobbing like a freaking baby. He suggested that he stopped awhile, and that was what, like 30 seconds? He said the pus has hardened, it’s not liquid, gel-like in fact and it has formed a shell which is why he has to scrape it out.
The word ’scrape’ now has a newer meaning to me.
I have quite a high threshold of pain. I say this because I gave birth to a 4.2kg baby without pethidine or epidural. You can imagine how literally torn I was (I always say, think bowling ball going through a rubber hose). On top of that, I was stitched up inside out BEFORE the anaesthetic could work as I was bleeding profusely. I went through all that without crying, and though I could feel every stitch, all I did was wince. No tears. The pain was okay.
So you can imagine how painful this was. I never thought I would ever end up sobbing in a doctor’s office.
He continued with it, again, the eye clamp thing killed me for a bit. Then the scraping. I think after about a minute, I was sobbing again, and he said he will stop. He removed the clamp, cleaned the bloody mess on my face, wiped my eye with a cotton ball of cool alcohol (that was soothing!) and put an eye patch on me. I was still sobbing as he explained that he cannot go on with it seeing how much pain I was in. There’s still half of it left and I asked in between sobs if I have to go through the whole damn thing again cos I SURE AS HELL WON’T! Doc said, “don’t worry, the other half I’ll teach you how to do a hot compress every night, hopefully it will soften and drain out through the incision”. I regret not letting him just finish it, and he said he would stop anyway for fear that I’ll go into shock.
I asked him, almost angry, “the L.A isn’t helping much, is it?” (read: you fuckin’ tricked me and shredded my eyelids into slivers and I COULD FEEL IT ALLLL!!!!!)
He said it was working, and looking at how much pain I was in, it must have been really painful. The pain superceded the anaesthesia. It bloody hell was. As I was talking to him, the pain was getting more intense and he said ‘ah, that’s the anaesthetic going off.’ I’m totally fucked.
I gathered myself and bravely walked out of the doc’s room, wiping the tears off. Awaiting patients cringed looking at me and my bloody (really) eyepatch (which had to be changed again). Some had that look on their faces, wondering if my eye had been removed.
The receptionist said my other eye was really red, not knowing that I had cried like a child in the doc’s room. Then she asked,”sakit eh?” That question made me feel like crying all over again.
As I walked past the shops on my way out of JP, I called Husband and bawled my lungs out. The pain was gettin WORSE and I didn’t care if people were watching. I looked like I was involved in some freak accident or did a Kassim Selamat. I got to the taxi stand, even though JP is very near my house. I couldn’t walk around unaided as I kept on bumping into things. And I sure as hell didn’t want to risk getting knocked down crossing 2 busy roads.
So I got into a cab and asked the cabbie if he was willing to take me around the corner and he said ok. I was sobbing still and the driver looked worried. I gave him $5 for the $2.60 ride, was in too much pain to take the change. He thanked me profusely and even got out of his cab accompanying me to the lift, getting ready to catch me if I fall i think, hehe, how sweet of him.
I got home and my parents-in-law shook their heads sympathetically as I bawled my lungs out. I think they were a bit shaken by my reaction. Told them I’d rather give birth ten times over compared to THIS. My father-in-law, Bak, winced as he listened to me. Baby was surprisingly still and silent (she’d normally be wriggling like a jumping jellybean when he carries her). Bak kindly said that Baby seems to know that I’m in pain, that’s why she was silent. And he said babies do feel for their mummies. He said to Baby, “Look at mama. So pitiful. Kesian mama ooyah, Mama sakit, sayang.”I’m now awaiting the moment to remove my eye patch and see the damage that has been done. After which I have to apply some eyedrops, and I so dread that. The doctor wants to see me again for a review. I made sure that he was not going to do the terrible thing he did to me again tomorrow before agreeing to come again. Hehe. Just to be safe.
For now, I totally regret being so daring and letting my eye be cut. If I have another freaking stye, I would much rather live with the pain of leaving it there than go through this sick procedure! Talking about it makes me want to curse a lot!
Thinking back, I still feel total regret that I didn’t bear with the pain a bit more. For all the pain that I went through, half of it is still left, and he said the lump will still be there. It’s so not freaking worth it! It’s like going through…I dunno…a 24 hour labour, then baby got stuck in below, had episiotomy and stitching below, and then have to go for a freaking caesarean (this didn’t happen to me but somebody else). Lots of pain and NO GAIN!
I can’t wait to see my Kassim Selamat eye.
And I hope I can still go to Batam without people gawking at my eyelid.
If I haven’t passed out yet, I will (sadly) give an update (and perhaps gory/gross pictures? My FAVOURITE!!!) later. Till then, don’t go poking your eyes.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
*Kassim Selamat is a fictional character in a black and white 1950s Malay movie, “Ibu Mertuaku” starring the great (and late) P.Ramlee. Kassim Selamat poked both his eyes out with forks as a refusal to accept his surgeon’s ‘payback’; the eye surgeon had married Kassim Selamat’s divorcee and later remarked that by giving him a chance to see again, he has actually made up for his wrongdoing of taking Kassim Selamat’s wife.
Results are OUT!
The dreaded results were out on Wednesday, the 6th, when we were told it’d be out last Friday, on the 8th. I was caught unawares and it totally messed my day up as I was not mentally/emotionally/physically prepared for it.
Of course, me being very deficient in the LUCK department, had to go through a few episodes of cardiac arrests before I could get my hands on my results; of all days, the wireless connection in our home had to go bust. It totally went dead and required dismantling, restarting, banging, and lots of expletives hurled at one singnet customer service officer. Sowwie Singnet Customer Service Officer. It wasn’t your lucky day.
And thank god husband was at home. One more person to blame like “WHY AREN’T YOU WORKING TODAY??? OF ALL DAYS TODAYYY??? IF YOU’RE AT WORK YOU COULD HAVE CHECKED FOR ME!!!! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME??!!!!”
Anyway thanks ah husband for being there for me. I lup you many many. (Eeeeeeeee….minahhhhhh!!!!)
And thank god I was not OUTSIDE (my friend was shopping at IKEA and FORGOT her password. I think she went mad for a bit).
After what seems like eternity, husband finally resuscitated our MIO (so much for the hype!) and I got my results.
Alhamdulillah, I did ok, PHEWWWW!!!!! So glad that up till now, NO C’s yet, PHEWWW AGAIN (that was our lecturer’s advice to us; ‘try not to have and Cs and Insyaallah, the Honours is yours). But was a bit disappointed that it was not as good as last semester’s. I’m still in the running for the Honours, though I fell short of a few points to attain the first class (if I had maintained last sem’s 1st class GPA I would be happier!)*bangs head on wall*
Anyway, I have no one to blame but myself. I must admit, I did gallivant more this sem, going for too much jalan2, binges, coffee-sipping at the library’s cafe (did i tell you about their amazing soup set?), e-bay group surfs (we do that in class!), gossip, THE WORKS. I should be thankful for my results actually, because at the rate I was going (read:DEADWEIGHT SLOW) I could have gotten worse grades.
After a long discussion with my pal, and ahem, self-reflection (this is the magic wand that poofs away all negativity in the teaching world) we also attribute our not-1st-class performance to:
1) LACK OF LUCK or in Malay, nasib macam kentang siakkkk: our group was always the LAST ONE presenting for ALL our modules. Our hands which picked the ballots have to be soaked in 2kgs of flower petals to rid them of the suwey (bad luck).
2) Assignment deadlines that were pushed up to the VERY WEEK OF EXAMS causing us all to dilly dally suwa suwei kemoning: leaving us with NO TIME for revision. Okay that’s also our fault lah. Teehee.
3) BACK-TO-BACK exam dates, that was SO UNFAIR! SO UNLUCKY! Which brings us back to point number 1.
Eh, come to think of it, it’s not actually my fault right?
Teehee. Okaylah, I played the biggest part of it lah. The biggest LAZY-ASS part.
So after we got our results, we were totally shaken up for a while that we fell from the 1st class honours pedestal (that NO ONE, I repeat, NO ONE in this programme has attained in the many years the Malay BA programme has been running!)(Or maybe it’s an urban-university legend…)
We have totally repented. ‘Bertaubat selagi pintu 1st class honours masih terbuka’.
We both promised to smack each other’s faces at the mere mention of the following bad words:
-ebay
-SALE
-discount
-‘kau nak dengar cita tak?’ (‘you want to hear gossip?’)
-high-tea
-movie
-youTube
…and many others but I do forget.
And, to prove my seriousness when I said ‘I have repented’, I actually woke up early today and went to NIE. Yes I did.
A few nights before, with fear and worry raging in our hearts, we printed out all the recommended reading lists and what-not, searched online for the call number of the available books, and BORROWED them all today. Between us 2, we have ALL the books needed. Muahahahaha. KNOWLEDGE IS POWERRRR!
We also wanted to (unashamedly) see (harass) the lecturers who didn’t have the reading lists ready yet to advice us on what is required. But lucky for them, they were all not around or else they would have seen our kiasu faces.
Anyway, tonight I shall chuck aside my FICTIONAL English reads (was reading Milan Kundera and Doris Lessing these past few nights, so, move over folks. Back to Bahasa Melayu, ye?)
Herein begins my RIGOUROUS REVISION for next semester.
———————————————————————
Okay, I’m back from my shopping spree and baby’s 9th-month birthday celebration. Now where did I stop?
Oh ya, as I was saying, when determination was pounding strong in our (weak) hearts, and the dizzying surge of enthusiasm blurred our consciousness, we did spew several ‘educational-cliches’ like the following:
- ‘Revision DOES NOT begin 2 weeks before exam. Revision begins NOW.’
- ‘We aim for the 1st class, if we fall short, we’ll land on the 2nd class upper’. Oh, and
- ‘I SWEARRRRRRRR I will disconnect my broadband and spend 3 hours every night going through what we have learnt’. And the classic one,
- ‘As soon as the assignment questions are out, we start doing it and not wait till the last minute’.
Omigod, Kak Kin, I cannot believe I said those ridiculous laughable things. The determination is not pounding as hard anymore as the U-Papa we tried at Plaza Sing. In fact, the books we borrowed are still in the NTUC plastic bag by the main door. I have no desire to move that bag any closer to me. I hear that little voice in my head going MAMMMMM-MAAAA!
Oh wait, that’s just Ooyah Shmelly Baby.
Alah, next semester then talk lahhhh.
Ibu Mertuaku (Tak Masak)
My elder sister LOVES aglio olio. The last aglio olio we had, or what would be more apt, mee kuning masak stokin, was at Makmur Restaurant. It was HORRIBLE and should be listed under the Hazardous Poisons list alongside cyanide and arsenic. Even then, I think those would taste better. PLEASE, if you treasure your life and do not want to be labelled as a ‘tekak ular’ or ‘mak tak tau masak’, DO NOT be seen at Makmur Restaurant.
Back to the aglio olio story. So far we’ve only managed to find edible and near-tasty ones at Simpang Bedok. Or maybe it’s near-tasty because the proprietor of the place is, near-gorgeous.
Anyway, before I start talking about the handsome western food restaurant owner, I’d better smack my face a bit.
Okay done.
So after seeing for so long how my sister laments at having one bad aglio olio after another, it was my duty as a loving sister to ‘catch the drift’ and thereby offer to cook her a wokful of her favourite aglio olio.
Now, my aglio olio is (and allow me to cite the people who have had the honour of tasting it) delicious. *APPLAUSE*
My mother, being from that generation of folks, normally would baulk at the thought of eating any italian food. But, my aglio olio, she says, is ‘SEDAPPPP’ (that means DELICIOUS).
Anyway, what I’m trying to do here is provide bibliographic evidence to prove the tastiness of my aglio olio, but since it is not possible to do that, I hereby invite the sceptics to have a taste of this dish, today, at my house.
No? So everyone believes me? Good. Moving on.
So today, at noon, I industriously marched into the kitchen (which is no longer my territory) and made it apparent to the other user (my MIL) that today, only ONE woman would be using the kitchen, and that would be yours truly. My MIL gladly took a back seat but kept glancing from the hall to ensure that she will be able to avert any disaster caused by me.
Luckily, I did not, even though I did come close.
Having bought the ingredients from Liberty a few days ago, I laid them out; I call this sea-creature spaghetti because I threw in almost every edible sea-creature I could find at Liberty into this dish, namely prawns, squid, scallops, mussels, fish….the works lah. I did pretend that there was a camera crew recording my ‘cooking programme’. My only audience was director Aurelia Sarah, who watched me intently as I explained to her the ingredients needed and the method. (I do all this in proper Malay, imitating Asmah Laili. The director nodded in approval of the language used as it not as tunggang-langgang as Chef Wan’s. Thank you Miss Director.
I shall not list down the ingredients used and the method as there are many ingredients and I do not think people are interested to find out what they are.
After spending a little over an hour in the kitchen, it was all done. The menu for the day:
Entree:
Cream of Mushroom Soup ala Campbell,
served with Garlic Bread
(forgot to take picture lah)
Appetiser:
Honey Chicken Drumlets with Savoury Thai Sauce
Battered Calamari
Main course:
Spaghetti Sea-Creature and Mushroom Aglio Olio
Dessert:
Oooopssss I totally forgot this part, but we did have a plateful of pears. So I guess that’s our dessert.
All prepared just in time for my guests-of-honour, i.e The Ibu, The Long, and The Fizah to sample the food.
Needless to say, the effort was worth it. I was extremely gratified because even my dad-in-law who would never eat anything other than Malay dishes cooked by my mom-in-law and me, was tempted to try it. AND had seconds!!! *shed a tear*
This has given me the motivation to cook again.
Sehingga kita bertemu lagi di episod kedua ‘Ibu Mertuaku (Tak Masak)’, salam sayang daripada saya, Chef Kadangkala.*Anndddddd….CUTTTT!!!!* (Director Aurelia Sarah).
Sushi with Some Links. (???)
Mondays. How else can one make up for that draggy post-weekend feeling other than a nice dinner with new friends?
Met up with Pinky, Mobs and Trin for our much-anticipated sushi binge tonight. After the initial ‘hi’s and ‘hello’s (there was no need to introduce who’s who as the many pictures in the blogosphere has clearly established our identities), the jokes and juicy gossip-exchanges flowed smoothly, as did the drinks and steady stacks of coloured plates that quickly filled our table.
I must say the food at Suki Sushi was good, better and fresher than Sakae Sushi at least. Or maybe it seemed tastier because there’s good company to share it with. Usually it’s just Husband (you’re good company too dear, don’t worry) and myself just picking your normal everyday sea animals from the kaiten (conveyor belt) but today we went for more interesting creatures like shishamo and scallops because the serving size is just about right for five people. If it’s just the two of us we’ll be stuffed by the time we got to our 7th-8th plate of sushi so there’s not much room left for tastier and creepier looking animals. That’s the joy of eating kaiten sushi; the more friends you have at the table, the more animals you get to eat!
I was told that my online persona is not much different from my real-life persona. I’d like to think of that as a compliment (right?) I was pondering about that for a bit, and yeah, it’s true. I’m ’vocal’ in my blogs, right? That’s me, in real life too. And oh, I can be quite bitchy too in my blogs and gee, hehehe. I’m really quite bitchy too in real life! Guilty as charged!
As the night progressed, I learned many, many amazing new information from the blogging gurus. Well at least they’re more experienced with the blogosphere than Husband and I are. I’m a novice in this line, really. I was surprised at how small the blogging world actually is. Everybody is connected somehow to somebody. And in the end, we’re all connected (by links and blogrolls!) . It’s quite scary if you think about it. If in real life, there’s six degrees of separation between us all, I believe in the blogosphere, it’s even less. Scary when you think about it.
It was generally agreed, be careful who you bitch about. You never know who has linked who. I’m inclined to spew out cliched sayings like “Birds of a feather bla bla bla” and many, many more of the likes, but I’ll save it, my friends.
Moral of the story, know thy links well. One of the gurus present has a vivid photographic memory of who has linked who. Amazing, oh wise Blog Guru. Do impart your Blog Survival Skills to me in future meetings. (Really.)
Who you link very much gives a clue on the type of person you are. Are you a Minah? A Makcik? An intellectual? A Budak Taik? A Mummy? One wrong move, my friend, and you may be associated with the ‘wrong’ types. *quickly glances at blogroll for affirmation*
Phew. I think I’m a Mummy Blogger. Maybe sometimes I swerve over to the Makcik blogger camp. Okay also what.
Anyway, I do digress. Way off track.
Back to the dinner. It was a pity there wasn’t time for dessert and coffee; so much juicy information and so little time. Sigh.
Next change, let’s do dessert as well, ok guys? And oh, must make the kids meet too. This means, conveyor belt sushi is OUT of the question because I can picture Ooyah, Ayeed, Nuha and Ajab screaming wildly trying to ‘catch’ the plates. I can also foresee Ooyah ending up on the conveyor belt flinging colourful plates at Nuha and hollering at Ayeed. *shudder*
Okay maybe MacDonald’s good. The ones with the playground, alright? And for Ayeed and Ooyah (since they can’t utilise the playground yet unlike Abang Ajab and Kakak Nuha), we need a place with LOTS of railings. Or sofas (for them to hang on to and shuffle their tiny feet.)(So cute!)
On second thought, maybe we should bring their Neneks too huh? I mean, we want to enjoy ourselves too, correct or not? What if they ALL decide to throw tantrums AT THE SAME TIME? Tsk. There goes our insightful conversations. So, if we organize an outing for the Neneks, we can kills all birds with one stone! They can have their Nenek hang-out at a nearby Hajjah Maimunah or something, the ‘Neneks-of-Bambinos’ gathering, keep an eye on the kids, the kids can pull out one another’s hair/slobber on each other’s arm or something, while we ‘youngsters’ can indulge in our coffees and cakes. What a perfect gathering.
Hmmm. Tempting idea, isn’t it?
Minah Blogs
These days since I’ve got too much time on my hands, I’ve been bloghopping from link to link and I find myself glued to the laptop till the wee hours of the morning.
I’m amazed at the number of Minah blogs around. I’m inclined to spew out links but we don’t want to be attacked by people now, do we? Anyway I’m quite confident that the owners of these minah blogs do not read mine as the topics that I write about are of no interest to them: (studying- bimbos HATE and shudder at this topic/ motherhood- what? and ruin that slim figure they’ve painstakingly starved all these years??/ family outings- JB? Ewww, no LV boutique leh/ food- GROSS!!!)
So what maketh a minah blog? And do YOU have what it takes to be called, a Minah Blogger? Let us see.
Self-worship (as evidenced by Self-Snapped Pictures)
First of all, they are VERY PROUD of their made-up faces. Every entry will have one or many self-taken photo of the blogger, usually taken from the precise same angle (Mariah Carey syndrome) and that the SAME plastic smile is plastered (because they think that that particular smile works for them). Funny how there’s no one around to help them take the pictures.
“I Look so Ugly/ Fat, Right?”
After plastering multiple shots of The Minah herself donning layers of make-up, there’ll be whole entries on “I look SO UGLY/ FAT in this picture right?” hoping that ardent ‘fans’ flood the comments box trying to convince the writer that she is, in short, BEAUTIFUL. Praises come in all shapes and sizes. Some even express their envy of the said writer’s ‘beauty’ and how they wish they were half as ‘beautiful’. Perfect fodder for the narcissist.
The ‘Fairest of Them’ all lands ‘Prince Charming’. NOTTTTT!!!!
And then there are repeat entries about how the said minah’s husband/fiancee/lover/ toy boy is ‘the most wonderful man ever created’, or to that effect. There would be documented evidence, of course, of the man’s chivalry/romantic excesses/sexual prowess/generosity/ (imagined) wealth. The last trait is the one most minahs like to flaunt, as ‘proven’ by the pictures of fancy branded rings/ watches/ perfume and most common, bags. It seems to me like the minahs I’ve come across try very very hard to convince readers how in love they are with their men. And how their men are madly in love with their drop-dead gorgeous faces and how they are so NOTTTT cheating on them, okay, even though rumours of that are rampant. These love-professing entries will be accompanied with pictures of The Minah with The Perfect Minah’s Man snogging (obviously with tongue involved) or in indiscriminate poses (like The Minah lying on the Perfect Man’s towel clad loins, for example). This is an example of a line that can be found on a minah blog:
Thank you so much my darling most-handsome-husband -in-the world for the beautiful surprise! The US$3000 arm-candy (state brand here and model number of bag) is simply what I’ve wanted to complete my spring 2007 collection, and because you always strive to make your queen happy, you just know my desires! Even though you are busy negotiating multi-million dollar deals (read: scam/ pyramid selling) overseas, you still find the time to surprise me!You are the best husband in the world! Muacckkkksssss! I love you until the end of time (errrr…isn’t that soon?) and I cannot wait to feel your sexy power-to-the-max body on mine (don’t be jealous, girls! This hunk is mine!)(Disclaimer: the above-mentioned line is taken from multiple minah blogs, and some phrases are actually mine. These astoundingly-minah phrases ‘came to me’ after I tried very hard to invoke the minah buried deep within the crevices of my soul. Thank you.)
And a minah blog definitely cannot do without multiple entries of how they are leading The Ultimate High Life which can only be imagined by other ‘unlucky’ girls. These minahs usually come from a certain profession, though I’d better not say in case ardent supporters of these types flood my comment box wielding baskets of malay vulgarities (which totally reveals their true minahness, I must say). There are a few who seem to really lead the high life I guess, good for them. But then there are MANY who are only imagining it. They claim they are not working because their ‘wealthy husband cannot bear the thought that other men are laying their eyes on their beautiful wives’, so they must stay at home, and given a hefty amount of money, mind you, enough to buy one ‘arm-candy’ every month, wokay.
Popularity Makes Life worth Living
What IS a minah if she isn’t popular? There must be EVIDENCE, right, that they are FOFULER? So, their next favourite entry will be about their outing to a posh cafe (actually some are quite skanky cafes lah), with their long-lost friend/ ex-colleague/ Best Friend Forever, who is ON PAR with them, if not just a biiiiiiit lower than them in the looks and wealth department. There’ll be rhetorical questions like “Isn’t my Best Friend Forever the most beautiful thing you’ve seen?” However, they are not REALLY rhetorical questions. There will be, I warn you, floods of comments by mysterious individuals who claim, “Yes, your friend X is beautiful, but I still think you are the most beautiful girl in the world”. Or something along that line. Strange right?
A Picture paints a (few) Thousand Dollars
Such entries are of course packed with pictures. Pictures speak louder than badly-formed English sentences, mind you. of their Highly Enjoyable Lavish Life (H.E.L.L for short), where they are seen sipping martinis/vodkas at some club, wearing revealing singlets (some forget the same consistency of make-up on their neck/cleavage as with their faces, so you can actually laugh at the progression from white to brown to grey and sometimes, pock marks near the cleavage. Ewwww.) The Minah and Minah’s Friends will put their branded bags a.k.a arm candies forward as they posing maut. I even found one with the caption “Us posing with our Prada and Gucci bags. Which one nicer?” Wahhhh. Takleh angkat siakkkkk. Oopps sorry. Now where did that minah voice come from?
Then there’s the reminiscing of their past glorious swinging single lives, their partying days, the hordes of sexy rich men who fall at their feet, and not to mention, travels to lands far and away that only exist on the Travel channel. Sigh. The high life.
At this point, I am itching like a rabid dog to show examples of minah blogs that I have come across. I cannot tahan the urge to namedrop. Someone please stop me. Anyway, if you go bloghopping, you WILL find these blogs in a matter of minutes.
My Only Flaws is Bad English
Be warned that you may have a hard time trying to understand what these minahs actually mean. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT point and wag your English Educated fingers at these near-perfect waifs whose grammar may be, erm, koyak rabak, to be precise. I cannot think of a better phrase to describe their many grammatical/spelling/vocabulary errors. This is NO place to see examples of the Queen’s English.
Hey, they are almost perfect okay! Who needs good English? Who cares about the little ’s’ that accidentally came after ‘like’ as in “We likes to….” and incomprehensible sentences like “My mother born a daughter and she didn’t throws it down the chute” ?Who cares if you don’t understand what I mean when I say “To that extend”? Who cares when you have a beautiful face, pencil drawn eyebrows, a very ‘rich and handsome’ husband, and and and AND many branded things???
Minah Rivalry
Funnily enough, there ARE a bit of politics going on amongst these Minah Blogs. Politics, yes, this is as close to intellect that these blogs can get. I came across many blogs that are ‘battling’ one another, ’blogging catfights’ of sorts. I found myself laughing my knickers off at the ‘duels’ going on, about who earns more money, who has more branded bags, whose husband is more handsome and rich, whose English is better (this I find really ironic), who’s more popular….my my my… as I clicked back and forth at ‘fighting’ blogs to ’seek the truth of the matter’ (there was none. They’re all crap.) It was like reading a riveting Barbara Cartland saga. Or tabloids.
I even got the Husband to read both enemies’ blogs and we’ve decided which one’s more skanky. I’m itching again to tell you, but no. I am not ready for Malay vulgarities and Minah Rage on my blog. If we meet in person and I am CERTAIN that you are in NO WAY acquaintances of these Minahs, I will tell you which Minah’s side I’m on.
Minah Self-Evaluation time
At the end of it all, some may scoff at me and mutter under their breaths, hmmmrppph. “YOU also Minah what. I quote entry dated bla bla bla”…..
But but BUTTTTTT I never say how much I love my husband, okay! (It’s a secret!)
And I never say I lead the high life okay! I is teacher only okay!
And my grammatical mistakes are mere typos, okay! Not purposely one okay!
And I never post pictures of myself taken by myself in front of mirror one okay!
Feeling a bit defensive, I shall now retreat into the room of my humble HDB flat with my Quite Handsome Husband and convince myself that teaching is a noble profession, even though the prospect of me having a Highly Enjoyable Lavish Life (H.E.L.L for short) looks quite bleak.
Now excuse me while I powder my nose (with my MAC compact powder).
See? Got evidence. (I found a blog where the Minah Blogger took pictures of all her MAC make-up, so this is my very feeble attempt to be a Minah.
(Disclaimer 2: If you somehow suspect that YOU may be one of the Minah bloggers that I’m talking about, and you feel very angry with me for insinuating that you are a Minah blogger because your blog contains one of the aforementioned criteria, you may clarify with me via email, of whether I consider your blog as a Minah Blog. No need to blast me with Malay vulgarities, please. For all you know, yours ISN’T a minah blog. It MAY JUST BE one of the many intellectual blogs that I love to read that somehow had one accidental entry like the ones described earlier. I know my blog does. Tee hee.)
But come on. Dare you deny, deep down inside our Malay souls, there is a Minah siakking to come out?
I found mine. A tiny weeny one who likes to say siakkk ah kau a lot.
And I’m proud of it.
Magazine Mania
I don’t know what got into me last night. I’m never the sort to buy chick magazines like Her World, Cleo and the likes. I never liked them. But yesterday, I bought four magazines. Okay so ONE (Young Parents) is an exception, but Her World, Cleo and Elle? It is SO not me.
As I flipped through the magazines, I was reminded of why I detest such magazines so much. Every other page is some advertisement on a bag or cosmetics or skincare products or something. Actually, only 1 out every 4 pages is readable material. Even then, I don’t even bother to read the little snippets. Can’t help but think ‘I know that already!’ or ‘Is this information relevant to me?’ all the time.
And as I look at all the pictures of skin-and-bones models sporting haute-couture and the latest zany spring collection by Gucci or Cacherel or Kenzo, the question hits me smack in the face again: how is this relevant to me? Will they actually have it in my size if I march down to the boutique and ask for it?
Then the $5000 bags /5-digit plastic accessories/ cosmetic must-haves that are portrayed just ends up making me scoff at the imbecile writers who make a feeble attempt at making women feel like we need these things in order to gain respect from the people around us. If I had to own a purse that costs at least 1 grand to get into the company of certain friends, I don’t think these superficial people deserve to be called ‘friends’ in the first place. If the value of your friendship is gauged by the number of Coaches you have (the American brand or the vehicle- the latter means you must be quite well to do, right), or the sets of Tiffany necklaces/rings/ whatnots you’ve worked your ass off to acquire (running multiple debts in credit card bills because actually, you can’t really afford it), or the number of Jimmy Choo’s shoes you own, I’d think twice about rubbing shoulders with these ‘friends’.
I’m glad that the friends I have do not scrutinise me from head to toe, trying to assess my annual income from the watch that I wear and then snicker behind my back (“Omigod, I never want to be seen with her ever again! She’s wearing a *gasp* CASIO!!!!”). I don’t have to break the bank for a night out with my girlfriends simply because I want to earn their respect and admiration with the so-and-so bag.
I would be lying if I said I am anti branded things. If you give me an Hermes bag, I won’t exactly start a revolution and snub you! For example, once in a while, when the government decides to reward civil servants like myself with bonuses, or if I’ve got a little extra, I do look around for decent, good quality things (my favourite tagline to the husband will be “nak beli beg/kasut/jam untuk pegi majlis orang kawin”, but it would take me a looooong time and serious consideration before I make a big splurge. But to buy something expensive (it may not even look nice!!!) to impress others, now that’s just silly. I know of people who think that they simply cannot be caught dead carrying or wearing something that’s not of a reputable luxury brand. Their possessions must scream out “HEY I’M RICH! REALLY!!! RESPECT ME PLEASE”, or else they feel like they cannot step out into the world. I guess it must be the company of people they are around that makes them feel that way, I mean if you hang out with CEO’s of MNC’s or the owner of Club 21, I suppose admitting that you can only afford shoes from Charles and Keith is a definite no-no.
If you can very well afford it, without having to scrimp and save/ go hungry/ ration out baby’s milk formula (or make really dilute milk to cut costs), I say, good for you. But if you can’t, it’s really okay. It’s not the end of the world. If it is, then I suggest: you seriously need new friends (there are REALLY good finds if you look hard enough, Great Singapore Sale season or not!)
So, note to self: DON’T ever buy such magazines because IT’S REALLY NOT YOU.
I’d stick to my parenting magazines (and some are quite silly oso lah) and the only ‘passable’ magazine (to my standards and interests, at least) is Women’s Weekly. Or is it still around, anyway? WW, I think, has practical articles and more realistic ‘must-haves’ for the average HDB dwelling, civil servant woman like myself, thank you. Maybe if I do hit the high-life one of these days, Singapore Tatler will give me complimentary copies. :P
