A Curious Boy and an Enchanted Blade

When I was little - yes I was little once, I watched with amazement whenever my dad shaves. He had this steel razor that he places on the dresser. That razor is a thing of not just majestic beauty but also of expedient practicality. A Gilette Mach 3 couldn't hold a candle to this bad boy.

My dad with a knife. Pablo Escobar wouldn't want to mess with him when he's holding a knife.

Like any kid with a favourite pastime activity of reading, reading and more reading , I secretly covet that razor. I wanted to wield its grazing power in my hand and glide the razor all over my face.

One day after school, my dad is not home from work yet and my mom is probably at the kitchen cooking for 6 ungrateful offspawns (Mamat was not in the picture yet at the time), I went into my parents room and climbed on a chair to reach the dresser. On top of the dresser is the prized razor, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.

That is me around the time of the purported incident. Standard 2?3?

Holding it in my hand, I can feel its mythical powers. King Arthur must have felt the same thing when the Lady of the Lake handed to him the mighty Excalibur. I felt a great responsibilty now burdened on my shoulders yet at the same time, a feeling of elation swept over me - like a swallow floating on an updraft.

I then flicked the razor over my left sideburn and noticed a tuft of hair on the razor. COOL! The excitement and ecstasy at that time is indescribable. I have managed to exert my will onto the razor and shave something, a childhood dream coming true. Feeling cheeky and rather proud of myself, like a chimp figuring out it can either throw a rock or poo at humans staring into the enclosement at the zoo for maximum gratification, I got rid of the evidence and ran away from the scene of the crime.

When you're a kid, your concept of symmetry is still not fully developed yet. So for me at the time, a lopsided sideburns is nothing major. No one will ever notice it if I don't.

Making mistakes is a good way to learn. And learn I did. My mom noticed the freshly grazed sideburns and told my dad when he came home. I can't remember what I got, must be at least a tarik telinga. We went to Kedai Pak Lah Gunting Rambut to get it repaired, meeting a few of his friends a long the way and he cannot resist showing them what I did. Using the chimp analogy again, I grinned mischievously.

Now, every time when I woke up in the morning, lather my face with shaving foam, glide my razor mere millimetres away from vital carotid arteries around my neck I often gave out a chuckle. Because now, I look like this.

If you look close enough under all that growth, you might be lucky enough to spot the Lost Tribe of the Amazon.

Irony tastes like something with iron in it.

This Is Why You're Fat

Whenever I'm feeling particularly peckish, I often go to this website.

This is why you're fat

A couple of reasons why.

A deep fried cheese-stuffed portobello mushroom between two cheeseburgers.

Sloppy joe on a Krispy Kreme

Now tell me with a straight face that your mouth did not water at the sight of that and that you can stave off temptation to stuff your self silly with glorious, preferably deep fried and oily, food.

At first you might be feeling a bit turned off, "How could somebody eat something like that?". But then, you will start to cast off all inhibitions and have to fight the urge to lick at the monitor.

This is food porn at its best.

Now if you will excuse me. I need to find a towel or maybe a mop to wipe my dripping saliva.

Lost Keys: A Heartfelt Plea For A New Jacket

Been awake for more than 48+ hours. A nerve-wracking presentation on Wednesday. An horrendous stat physics assignment on Friday.

We tried to mount a united assault on the assignment Thursday night until we all could take no more.

Had a senile moment, could not remember where my bike was parked. Took me about half an hour to look for it in every possible parking spot. It was parked at the Union House. Have no recollection how it managed to be there in the first place. Most probably the combination of very little sleep and lack of brainpower, sapped dry by the villainous assignment.

Bitterly cold on the ride home. But when I reached home, could not find my keys anywhere. I patted myself up and down, here and there. Digression: If the Divinyls - I Touch Myself was playing at the moment, my actions can be described as something teetering on the borders of lewd behaviour. End Digression.

Then I noticed that there is a large hole in my jacket pocket. Lucky, I was seriously considering performing a full body cavity search...

Hopped on my bike again and cycled again all the way back to uni, retracing my steps. Found it lying in the middle of Royal Parade, literally.

Lack of a decent meal for almost 3 days, not enough sleep, bloodshot eyes, fatigue. Combine all that and the chances of me finding that jumble of keys is probably as ridiculous as the Perak political stand off. But find it I did.

Finally able to enter the house, didn't even bother to change. Sleeping in your jeans will leave you with suspicious markings all over your body.

The main point of this long-winded and at times incoherent post: my jacket has a large hole in it. Anybody care to get me a new one. Size M. Any colour except pink.

If you can read all this without feeling any sense of guilt or pity, you are a cold hearted Mr. Scrooge. New jacket please.

Yes, I am that desperate.

Sepet

When a Chinese girl says this to you;
"You also sepet what."

Then you know for sure that you are sepet as well. Took me 23 years to realise the fact. All my life I have been teasing friends with slit eyes.

Worst joke: "Your eyes are so small you can probably see interference pattern." (Another example of a terrible attempt at physics humour.)

Humble pie.

Ada cermin tak nak tengok. Meh.

You Know It's Time

You know it's time to shave when a guy with 2 kids that you just met for the first time calls you 'abang Zahidi'

Come on! That is below the belt.

A friend took this with a camera phone. One of the few times when I looked a bit austere. Pretty sure I was reading about the IRA on wiki at that time. You don't read about the IRA with a grin on your face.

Don't be so formal, just call me darling. I mean, Zahidi.

Interview with the Vampire

This post has nothing to do with the 1994 film of the same title.

Got a telephone call from a multinational semiconductor company asking me to go for a job interview (hint: the company name rhymes with hotel *wink*)

From my understanding, only 3 people are called up for the interview. I have no idea that I'm being headhunted for a job. As far as my work ethics are concerned, I wouldn't even consider to employ myself.

There is something else bothering me though, something that I thought never existed; my moral conscience. Would it be okay to just turn my back to my sponsors and work at another company?

My brain, in all its logical and reasoning wisdom are telling me to go ahead. While my guts are telling me otherwise.

I don't know.

Kusut, kusut.
Rambutku serabut

Uncertain/Indeterminate/I Don't Really Know

"The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next" Ursula K. LeGuin.

It all looks uncertain.

Honours year and a place to stay for the next semester.

I was accepted into RMIT's honours year program to start in the second semester. Have already gone to great lengths to meet with potential supervisors and pick a research project. Initially, I was quite hesitant to get into RMIT; they were doing a lot of experimental work whereas I prefer theoretical. But you can't always be too picky.

But then an unexpected blow came out of nowhere. RMIT will not be accepting anymore honours student for the mid year intake because of some DS restructuring plan.

Bummer.

Have to begin searching for a research project and a supervisor all over again. Hoping to get into Monash University. Research projects looked interesting.

Just to not put my eggs in one basket, also applied for ANU Canberra, U of Sydney, U of New South Wales, and Adelaide Uni. To be on the safe side. "Better safe than sorry. Now eat that cake.", my mom always say.

Don't really fancy the thought of having to move out of Victoria though.

Melbourne Uni and her fancy Melbourne Model BS is causing me all this trouble.

Oh well, just have to wait and see what fate will deal me this time around. Even if I do have to move, maybe it's for the best.

Kusut, kusut.

A Pervert and His Bicycle

Riding my bicycle is a pleasure. Better than a large Habib's pizza eaten all by yourself when you're hungry.

Bad habit 1: When riding, my ears would be plugged with my amazing in-ear earphones, which blocks out all forms of noise. Quite dangerous when riding, I know. I feel bad already. I'll stop tomorrow.

Bad habit 2: When listening to music while riding a bike, I usually whistle. Not very proud of it, I know. I feel bad already. I'll stop tomorrow.

As I was riding along my usual route back home, earphones on, I came to a red traffic light. The song that was playing on my mp3 player at that time was Billy Paul - Me and Mrs Jones. If you know this song, you'll have to agree with me that it is very whistleable. (I don't care if it's not an actual word, trying to make a point here)

At that time, a lady was crossing the street in front of me. She was wearing a skirt. See, it was terribly windy that day. The wind blew up her skirt. Although tempted, I won't go into details here.

I was whistling away at that moment waiting for the lights to change. Me, whistling. That lady, the wind blew up her skirt.

It was then natural enough for her to assume that I'm actually wolf whistling her while in fact I was listening to Billy Paul and his extra marital affairs.

The lady then gave me a sharp look and yelled:

BLOODY PERVERT!

It was a busy intersection so there were many people around to witness this monumental event.There is not one good comeback that I could think of at the moment to counter her. I just stood there feeling like an idiot with many a judgmental gaze being shot at me, cursing at the traffic light to change as soon as possible.

I then rode away into the sunset feeling like a million dollars.

Nasi Dagang?

Being one of the chosen few to have blocked nose all year round, my sense of smell is not that great. My Achilles' Heel.

If I were to be blindfolded, a gun pointed at my head. A stick of cinnamon shoved under my nose, told to recognise what spice is it. I couldn't for the life of me figure out that it is actually cinnamon. I might answer something like fennel seeds or a carrot. *Insert the onomatopoeic sound of a gun coming off and splattering brain matter here*

The point being is that my olfactory function is pretty messed up. Hence the title, Kehidupan Hidung Tersumbat.

But today as I rode back home from uni, I smelled something very familiar. Something that made my eyes watery, my mouth salivate and my stomach grumble.

The air smelt of Nasi Dagang.

Possible explanations:
- The rubbish bin is cultivating some sort of bacteria that excretes an odour that smells a lot like
Nasi Dagang;
- An Australian family living in Brunswick had gotten hold of a recipe for the majestic dish that is
Nasi Dagang and is holding a dinner party;
- It's actually my B.O. because I've just finished training;
- My brain and nose decides to play a prank on me just to make me feel miserable.
- I've stumbled upon an irregularity in the spacetime continuum with a wormhole forming a
direct portal linking my current location with Kedai Hajjah Mek Wok in Kemasik, Terengganu.

Since the explanations above are somewhat absurd and unsatisfying, I decided to leave it at that. I then wiped off the saliva dripping from my chin and continued on my bike. I know what I'll be dreaming of tonight.

---------------

Growing up, I remembered the advice given by the elderly; "Kalau jalan malam-malam dan terbau benda pelik-pelik, jangan tegur. Diam sahaja."

I wondered whether the savoury scent of Nasi Dagang is also considered bau pelik-pelik.