Archive for February, 2014



I told a dear friend not to create a currency not all of us are willing to or can pay. Even if it is for good.


Aren’t all patriarchal bargains precisely that? A currency created that not all will be willing or able to pay, based on principles. So singling out beauty/sex/feminine wiles is a bias? Or inability to remember this is but an example is a sign of bias? Limitations?

I know that factors abound, but it bugs me so much that I had all the pieces and know of the ideas but still did not make the connection (earlier?). Still could not recognise its face.


Parks & Recreation

I thought no tv show would fill the space left behind by 30 Rock. People told me Parks & Recreation would. They lied.

But it’s not bad.

I hope there’ll be a Tina Fey cameo.

31 ÷ 2 + 7 = 22.5

Two minutes after asking my boss if she had sent me a real poster (because of the amount of misinformation in it), I remember this might have come from her friend’s company.


When I first moved in here, there was a dappled cat with a red leather collar who wandered near my place. It was a very loving and talkative cat, and I quickly grew fond of it.

One night my neighbour, a middle-aged Melayu man, was catching a cigarette break near where we parked our cars. He told me about the cat, whose name was previously Salem, although I can’t remember what they renamed Salem after. Salem had lived in my apartment block since 1997 (!!! This was in late 2012, btw), until his owners had moved to a new location…sans family cat. Salem used to be an all-black cat, but age had given him a rusty coat.

By the time my neighbour explained this, I had already started to notice the red leather collar was frayed and Salem was overly skinny. The neighbour said they fed Salem everyday, but because he had kidney problems he was skinny. Kidney problems also left him incontinent, so Salem was fed indoors, but stayed outdoors.

Sometimes I would open my front door and see little patches of pee (which always made my cat angry), so I knew Salem seeked refuge at my door sometimes.

My ex once told me I should abandon a cat where it’s habitat was, because cats are stressed by change of territory and would be more comfortable where they are. I had been feeding a stray called Manja then, and just the thought that I may have abandoned her to a similar fate as Salem, instead of rehoming her, still distresses me til this day; 4–5 years later.

I would also feed Salem occasionally. I just felt bad for him, he didn’t only look starved for food all the time, he was hungry for attention. He also had a bit of a limp in his hind legs from a road accident, which made him look harmless and pitiful. I would him the sample pet food I got when I bought Grey’s food. I worried they would be too rich for Salem to adjust to in his age, although I didn’t know what exactly was in his diet.

As I headed out one day, Salem came running to greet me. I sayanged him, put some kitchen towels on the floor and put kibbles out for him (I was more prepared in those days for impromptu cat feeding). Got into my car, drove away. It was days later before I realised I hadn’t seen Salem since. I had heard old cats can stubbornly leave if they’re about to pass away, but I didn’t know if this was the case. Logic says yes — Salem is dead.

Salem might be the oldest cat I’ve ever met. He was one of the friendliest, and definitely the skinniest. He was the first cat I knew of whose fur coat changed colours from age. He made me fear abandonment. I had thought he was a female cat because I don’t know cats very well, being a dog person, and his shameless friendliness reminded me of two female cats I knew. He didn’t have big nuts, like the ginger tomcat terrorising my area (later rehomed to a DJ I knew). He liked to golek when being petted, and tried to sit on my feet too. He accepted all forms of love and food, and never strayed far from his home. Maybe he would have been happier if his family had taken him to a new home.


Jac: Be ready by about 6?

Lainie: Okay, I go heat up my porridge now.

It sounded more socially acceptable in my head. Then it came out like a mess of awkward.

Selecting data to migrate from my old iPhone to a shiny too-expensive new iPhone. The prices are quite nearly heart-stopping. So are the memories. This phone went to many places with me, has pictures of the person who broke my heart, the one who couldn’t, and the one who could have but never did, the music I loved and archives of so many conversations.

Mostly though, it is pictures of my cat. Good lord, so many cat pictures. I can’t be all there.

It’s the horse year now, and I feel like after giving up my old passport, and now my old phone, it’s time for a clean slate. So why am I backing up my old data into the new phone?

Memory: Katie Melua playing repeatedly in Melbourne. The radios loved her. I drank too much coffee everyday. I learnt to make soups and roast a chicken. I walked everywhere, even when there were trains. I met hipsters before they came to KL. I fought with my sister. I loved being in Geelong, Torquay and the Great Ocean Road. I listened to poetry performances every week. The worst camping trip ever, and being stranded in Ballarat. Flea markets and Sichuan food. I did not have a smart phone then, but she did. A new life there could have dropped into my hands, but I clenched my fists and came home. It was the right decision.


I was looking at Joe Flizzow’s username on Instagram (needed to tag him on a picture for work), and I had a “why is it his dad’s name” moment.

Alamak, nama bapak Joe bukan Flizzow ke?