The Reunion (Albeit a Little Way Past Eid Day)

The day before Eid Day my family and I, all six of us, packed our bags into the car boot and went on a five hour drive to Kuala Lumpur, where we were supposed to celebrate this year’s Eid Day with my father’s side of the family. How do I describe my father’s side of the family? Hmm. If you know me well, I would tell you to picture me on my highest sugar-level state. Then picture a whole house filled with people exactly like me in my highest sugar level state. If you don’t know me, I would then tell you to picture 20 Chris Rock in the same room.

My grandfather just came back from a trip to Europe with my Aunt. My Grandad is in his late 70s (or early 80s), smokes about probably 10 cigarettes a day and tends to repeat the same stories for about 20 times. My cousins told me about an interesting incident that occurred when they were in Spain. In an effort to make sure that my Grandad will be fine in case they lose him while travelling the city, my cousins taught him some basic words in Spanish – one of them being the word ‘Thank you (Gracias, in Spanish)’.
Attempt 1
Cousin: Atok (Grandfather), how do you say thank you in Spanish?
Atok: Err…. Wasiat!
(Wrong. Indeed, ‘wasiat’ is a Malay word which means ‘death will’.)
Attempt 2
Cousin: Atok, how do you say thank you in Spanish?
Atok: Err… Graciat!
(Wrong again. ‘Graciat’ is neither a valid Malay word nor a Spanish word)
Attempt 3
Cousin: Atok, how do you say thank you in Spanish?
Atok: Err…. Gracias!
(Everyone sighs in relief)
Anyway, what our family would do when we get together on Eid Day is have a giant brunch, consisting of all the heavy spicy Malaysian cuisine. After we’re stuffed we would get into our cars and make a road trip convoy to visit all our relatives, some which we only see this once a year, all around Kuala Lumpur, and the state of Selangor and Negeri Sembilan.
Total cars in convoy: 5
Total days of road trip: 3
Number of participants: 7 parents
11 young adults (>20 years old)
4 teenagers
1 child
Number of houses visited: more than 12
Number of cute guys seen: 1
All in all, this could probably be one of the best Eid Days I have ever celebrated in my life! Life does not get any better than good food, good family and friends and good jokes.

Fancy a Bus Trip Home?

Right now I am sitting in a huge bus station in Ipoh, waiting for the bus to get here. It’s Ramadhan and my absence at home during the fasting month for the past three years has taken its toll. My parents insist that I come home every week this month. And since this weekend my Dad couldn’t come and get me, I have to take the bus instead. And thus our story begins.

I always envy people who are born to be travelers. You know, the sort who can sit anywhere on earth and look perfectly like they belong there. Apparently I am the total opposite. If I am lost, I look like a five year-old who just lost her mother at the grocery store. Right now I am at this unfamiliar bus station, with people walking around like herds of sheep. They all seem to know where they are going. Meanwhile, here I am sitting right in front of a guy who has a weird tick going on. Every two minutes he’ll start nodding his head like crazy for like ten seconds. At first I thought he was nodding at me, and being the dimwit that I am, I grinned back at him and said, ‘I beg your pardon?’ But when I realized that was just a tick he had when he started nodding at me enthusiastically every two minutes I felt stupid and ignored him.

On my right is a guy who’s definitely an immigrant, one of the labor powers brought from other parts of Asia. He’s wearing a funky orange collared shirt tucked in blue slacks (so you know how I knew he’s an immigrant. Yes, I am aware that it’s a mean statement, but hey, I’m just saying what’s on everyone else’s minds). He’s looking left and right, left and right, suspiciously at everyone around him. I have a theory about this guy. I think he’s an illegal immigrant, and judging by how he’s eyeing people around him I suspect that he thinks one of us could be the immigration spy. (oh sure, I’m an immigration spy. I’m wearing two inch heels and am looking completely lost) And because right now I am typing in a laptop he’s probably most suspicious with me. He might think that right now I’m typing, ‘Reporting from Seri Iskandar Bus Station. This is spy #009 reporting suspicious behavior of an illegal immigrant suspect. He’s wearing a seriously unflattering orange shirt paired with hideous blue slacks…’

Ohh the bus is here! Gotta go.

Yummy Yummy Yummy I’ve Got Love in My Tummy!

Screw dieting. It’s been a year in waiting, and – Ta Dah!! Here it is again. The great food exhibition, the mother source of all the hardcore Malaysian delicacy as you’ll ever know them. RAMADHAN FOOD BAZAAR!!! Put a shirt on fellas. Wear your best most comfortable shoes. Bring loads, if possible sacks, of loose change. Take a deep breath and step out of that door of your boring, food-less home and into the haven of smoke, food and big foreign butts rubbing against your own in the midst of the overpopulated crowds (note to self and to other women: always shield your God-given chest ‘cos some guy is always ‘accidentally’ elbowing them while crazily purchasing things).

Chicken. Somehow that always seems to be the main menu. Grilled to perfection with creamy orange spicy percik sauce. Fried with all the herbs you can think off, with that heart-stopping (literally!) crispy skin. Or turned into your original, home-made satay with peanut sauce. A simple dish to your pleasant chicken rice. Or if you’re feeling like a vegan lately, how about some hot deep-fried oyster mushrooms? And do not, absolutely do not, forget about ye olde Malaysian fruit salad (mangoes, guava, cucumber, pineapple, etc) completely drenched in hot, thick, black peanut sauce.

If you’re in the Ramadhan Food Bazaar and you see no rice dishes, then go buy a lighter and burn the damn place down. It doesn’t deserve to be called a Ramadhan Bazaar. Tomato rice. Chicken rice. Briyani rice. Coconut rice. Kerabu rice. Fried rice. If you want your carbs in a different kind of way get one of those noodle soups with delicious beef or lamb soups. Off the stove, drenched-in-flavor fried noodles. Yum.

Oh yeah. While I’m writing this I’m thinking that tomorrow I’ll skip all the heavy stuff and eat at least 10 different types of Malaysia’s finest desserts and savory snacks. Puddings of all flavors. Curry puffs with spicy chicken and meat curry fillings. Rolled up dough with sardine fillings or sweet coconut mixture. Some that will give you type 3 diabetes. Some that will give you diarrhea for a week. And it’s all worth it, baby.

Not a very Happy Birthday After All

It is now officially the beginning of my 22nd year in life. I feel wiser already! (ha-bloody-ha. Not so much to be honest. I still have no idea what the word ‘recession’ actually means. And I only found out on May that my country now has had a different Prime Minister since February.) And the birthday was… well on one hand, it’s the first of birthday celebrations with my family since like what, five years ago? On the other hand, to think that last year I was on a birthday cruise in Darling Harbor, Sydney, while this year I celebrated beneath the rambutan trees at my grandmother’s who happened to have six cats but is absolutely clueless that it’s my birthday.


Regrettably I wish I am seventeen again. Oih, those days when you can eat a pile of fat and not gain a pound. And it was definitely a simpler time, when nobody expects you to figure out where your life is headed and race towards it. Everybody flirts and nobody is taking everything so seriously. I am sometimes jaded by the twenty-something-old community. We all seem to be standing at the career doorway. Any interest in the opposite sex seems to notion a very far-fetched future together, so flirting has now become too much of an effort. A night out of fun consists of movies, bowling or dinner. What a blah. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned finding the things that makes your adrenaline rush? Like road trips that lead to nowhere and takes days. Or going to watch culture shows. Or planning backpacking trips to the must-see places before you die. Picnics at the park. Fishing trips. Taking French classes together. You know, stuff that makes you feel like a person who lives a fulfilling life, instead of letting the waves of the world sweep you in doing things like a billion other people are doing in the same city. The feeling of being herded like sheep in the city world sometimes suffocates me in ways I can’t explain.


At the age of 22 I have now officially belong to the adult group. I am expected to grow up. Fortunately I am here to declare that I refuse to grow up. What does a ‘grown up’ mean anyway? A wise friend once told me that maturity is not about how you act or look. Rather, it’s about how you think and evaluate things that would lead to your own personal happiness. So this year, my resolutions are still the same as my new year’s. Only, I will stop pretending that I want everything that everyone else wants. I really don’t care about where I would go in the job hierarchy in the office, actually. I just want to work at maintaining to enjoy my work. I hope I get to write for a living one day. I want to travel and see everything with my own eyes. I would love to get married some day, of course, but I have decided to settle with the fact that I am not, nor will I ever be, the kind of girl who plans her life around marriage. Rather, I would like to plan marriage around my life.


Okay, deep breaths. I am not stepping in the door of being 22. One foot in, now the other. Tick-tock tick-tock.

Wedding Henna is Red and Birthday Parties = Sugar Overload

Just got back from another chaotic weekend in Kuala Lumpur. I am relieved that my ass has now landed on my most favorite place in the world again – the office chair in my parents’ study. On Saturday I went to Odd’s Birthday party with Hana. Odd is one of my oldest friends and I have known her for a decade now. Very calm, relaxing, family-themed party, and as usual I over-ate and ended up bloating with too much corner piece of the oreo cheesecake birthday cake. I don’t know about you but when I’m on sugar high I feel so goooood while pigging out on cupcakes and tiramisus but by the end of the evening as I lie down in my bed I feel my tummy and think, ‘Damn, so much of bitching about Kristy Alley’s lumpy butt!’.

(Odd's Birtday cake. Gotta say, kudos to her parents for being thoughtful enough and making her blog the top of the cake!)

On Sunday was my roommate in college for three years’ wedding reception. When the first wedding of your closest BFFs happens, somewhere in the background you hear a clock starts ticking. You might be a career woman in no hurry to get hitched, or you might be the kind of girl whose future plans are centered around marriage – it doesn’t matter, you can’t help but hear that annoying tick-tock of the imaginary clock, and think to yourself, ‘Am I in this phase of my life already? When everyone is starting to get married?’

Freaky.

(Some pictures from the wedding)