Therapy?

Free post. Sasha just tagged me, so I don’t need to crack my head open thinking of some emo stuff to write. So I can put away my black eyeliner, toenail polish, face paint, studded belt, Rancid (wait, that’s Mat Metal)… I mean, Death Cab For Cutie T-shirt, razorblades and take My Chemical Romance out of the stereo. Ooh, I’m so unemo-ed today. Nothing but Engelbert Humperdinck for me today. The world doesn’t suck, seems like such a brighter place and I don’t wanna die or cut myself. Yay.

6 Weird Things About Me

Shortlisted from about an initial list of about 12 or so, so more eccentricities are left unsaid. You wanna get weirded out more, don’t trust what I write! Experience me in person! Fulala!

1. I have a severe obsessive compulsive disorder around geometry and symmetry. I absolutely cannot take it if something is not at the right angle. If a picture is not hung straight, if the carpet edge is not running parallel with the floor tiling, if my computer cables have kinks, if my tendon hammer does not point straight up, yada yada. I don’t mind a mess, so long as every object is at a right angle relative to each other. But if you have like a hair on your shirt so help me God I will look at it until you remove it or I do it for you. When I was still in school my favourite task was arranging the tables. Sometimes when I go dating I take a mirror to check for facial symmetry. Ok that one’s a fib but as long as I’m talking about standards… The reasonable conclusion is I HATE plastic bags. They have no shape, no form, and SPIT AT the face of geometry and symmetry. And the buggers fly around everywhere. That’s why they’re always the first thing to go into the bin. Think about that.

2. When I’m bored, and that happens so very often, and fun things are out of reach, I finger fight. Namely pit one hand against the other in a duel to the death. I’ve been doing it ever since I started watching wrestling, about 5 years old. These days I’m so skilled at it I can perform most wrestling moves with two hands. You name it. The Rock Bottom, the Stone Cold Stunner, the Pedigree, the Chokeslam… I can do it all. I invent new moves as well! Sarjit eloquently calls it "one hand trying to kill the other". I just wanna keep myself amused. Bonus points if I’m at a place with many little objects, they can join in the fun as well! Erasers (bricks), pencils (broomsticks), mugs (trashcans), watches (championship belts), pendrives (stun-guns)… damn fun wei. My left hand has been killing my right for nearly 20 years.

3. I cannot kneel on my left knee. If I even attempt to bear weight on my left knee, a sharp pain will shoot up and I wince. So when you tell me to kneel in prayer I can do a really convincing "Oh dear God I really need Your help" desperation look. I could tell you fantastic stories of how I got the injury, maybe from an old football injury, trying to break up a gang fight, or running away from the Japanese. But I got it back in school when I collided with a charging blind man. Not literally, he just wasn’t looking and <crash> all my weight fell onto the left knee while he fell flat on his face. True story. So if you want to get something out of me, like physically, just get me to kneel on the left. It’s torture enough. Well, damn near anything is better than *that* Daniel Craig torture.

4. Sometimes, I hear voices just before falling asleep. These are unknown voices, casual conversations among normal people leading normal lives. They don’t call my name, nor do they respond to my thoughts. They’re just… there. Imagine hearing what you hear in a restaurant but you’re alone in the bedroom. Less commonly, I hear them for a few seconds right after waking up. And even less frequently, and thank goodness for that, sometimes the voices wake me up, and I have to hear them for a full minute while I break into cold sweat, all my muscles tingle, refuse to cooperate and I cannot move at all. Even when I’m conscious, aware, thinking "this has happened before, all I need to do is move" it takes tremendous effort to dispel the voices and move again. The Chinese call it "kena squash by ghost". Luckily, in 4th year of medical school, I finally found out that they’re called hypnagogic and hypnopompic hallucinations, and they are totally normal. The voices have not disappeared, but at least I know I’m not going crazy. Yet.

5. I hate raisins. So much I would declare war on them. So much that when I pray, I tell God to please take the raisins away. They are the plague, they are Black Death, they are Apocalypse. Lord knows why people like to eat raisins. Lord knows why anyone would prefer a shrivelled-up version of its former self, they must have personality defects. From a former mighty grape, to a tiny, misshapen, ANOMALY. I HATE raisins. Just yesterday I found this cereal that I really liked but they came with raisins so I picked out each and every raisin from the pack. And declared war on them. And begged the Lord to forgive their sins, for they do not know their way, and to take them away. They go where angels fear to tread. They are what your mom warned you about. They party where the sun don’t shine. They are… raisins. And I hate them.

6. Back in Ipoh, when I’m driving and getting into this really interesting conversation with you, or someone else, and not really paying any attention to the road, subconsciously, and invariably, I will end up in front of Sam Tet, my alma mater. You have no idea how many times it’s happened. Total subconscious control. Its not instinct, I mean I can’t hunt for food there, its more like programming: when in doubt, go Sam Tet. Just ask my sister. Mid-conversation she’ll point out "Are you really going to Jusco" and I have to cover up "I prefer this way, less jam". So, at least I know, when the end of the world comes, and I have to come home to the mothership, that’s where I’ll be going.

That was refreshing. Tag time!

Khai Tzer, Vijay, Yean Koon, Ah Pek, Jessica and Emily. You’re supposed to, like, tell 6 weird things (not too weird we’re not ready to hear what you do to booger) about you and tag 6 people. Failing which you gotta listen to My Chemical Romance while wearing a razorblade around your neck.

Celebrate the weirdness.

"You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by."

I wouldn’t say I left my heart in Seremban… oh maybe I will. To make the past month totally insignificant I’ll just summarise it in a sentence. Passed my finals, went back for a really relaxing Chinese New Year, rocked out at the Muse concert, moved out of Seremban for good, and moved into Batu Pahat, loose wiring and all. Started the surgical posting not on the wrong foot but neither does it seem right at first… and in the meantime blogs get ignored.

In that time I’ve found the time to watch, of all movies, Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby. And while the concept of "shake and bake" escapes me, what it essentially means is that two best friends knock fists to reaffirm that yes, they are best friends. BFF.

Through the years I’ve forgotten who my BFF is. And though the image of Will Farrell and John C. Reilly knocking fists is far and away from what best friends should be symbolised by, I think you get what I mean.

Yeah I do have memberships in several gangs (some renewed yearly), my groupmates and batchmates who I work with, people who I share lunch and dinnertime with, friends who I bitch to when I need some ranting done, or a handful (ok two hands full) of really close friends who I tell the gamut to.

My old friend has this friend classification system whereby the closeness of a friend is directly proportionate to the amount of money he is willing to lend and the time allowed to repay the debt. If only I could classify things just as easily. He/she’d have to do all the things above I’ve mentioned, lend money, not expect a return, and still be able to run a marathon with me. Or for me, if I’m lazy.

So in the meantime, while I adjust to the funny weather and insane drivers from Batu Pahat, there is an opening for a BFF right now. To my past BFFs, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, we’ve had our days in the sun and fooh, some of them were really good. But the moment I bitch to 12 different people I realise that I don’t have a specific current BFF to lock in all my frustrations. And I don’t have a "1st person to call" for whenever I, say, kena lottery or kena saman.

So, yes, opening for BFF. Available. I’ll share my entire DVD and CD collection. You can watch and listen till your eyes and ears bleed. I’ll make you fruit juice smoothies and force you to diet with me. I want you to tell me I’m a slob and not pull any punches, in fact, punch me in the gut if I behave like a parasite. Shake and bake, baby.

So you wanna be my BFF?