Bia Bia Bia.

When a trip gets finalised, I immediately surf the net to find out the necessities. Like how to say beer in Thai. In my quest for the right Thai word, I learnt how to say Beer in all the following languages:

Afrikaans: Bier
Amharic: Bira
Arabic: Biira
Armenian: Kara choor
Azerbaijani: Pivo
Bahasa Indonesian: Bir
Basque: Garagardo
Bengali: Mod
Bulgarian: Bira
Catalan: Cerveza
Chinese (Cantonese): Pear zao
Chinese (Mandarin): Pi jiu
Chinook Jargon: Skookumchuck
Corellian: Lum
Creole: Bear
Czech: Pivo
Dutch: Bier
English (modern): Beer
Esperanto: Biero
Estonian: Õlu
Faroese: Bjór
Farsi: Ab-e-jow
Filipino: Serbesa
Finnish: Olut
Flemish: Bier
French: Bière
Frisian: Bier
Gaelic: Leann
German: Bier
Greenlandic: Immaaraq
Greek: Mpura
Hebrew: Bi-ra
Hungarian: Sör
Icelandic: Bjor
Indian (Tamil): Madhubaanam
Irish (old): Beoir
Italian: Birra
Japanese: Biiru
Khmer: Dughck
Korean: Maek joo
Latin: Cerevisia
Latvian: Alu
Lithuanan: Alu
Malaysian: Bir
Mazahua: Serbesa
Maltese: Birra
Moldovan: Bere
Norse (ancient): Aul
Occitan: Cervesa
Pig Latin: Eer bay
Polish: Piwo
Portuguese: Cerveja
Romanian: Bere
Russian: Piva
Sardinian: Birra
Serbo-Croatian: Pivo
Slovenian: Pivo
Spanish: Cerveza
Somalian: Khamri
Swahili: Pombe
Swedish: Öl
Tagalog: Cebasa
Thai: Bia
Turkish: Bira
Ukrainian: Pivo
Vietnamese: Ruou bia
Zulu: Ubhiya (the 'y' is pronounced *CLICK*, Russell Peter's style)

I am 66 languages richer now(excluding english and tamil coz beer in those languages were my second and third word respectively as an infant). All thanks to beer. I better put down my linguistic abilities in my resume before I forget.

A guilt trip in 2006

I am clueless on the actual event that triggered this post. Its a year late as you can see from the title. But I am a Time traveller. I often return to the past to figure out where exactly I had left my specs. Anyway....

We all have our fair share of guilt trips (mine slightly lesser than the average human since I am on route to sainthood). And many a time we find ourselves reflecting on the situation and kicking ourselves for making the wrong decisions. Contrary to popular belief, I am actually a flawed human being. Aesop's fables did not manage to instill moral values and social etiquette in me. Though, it did placate my troubled soul with visions of mysterious worlds. Ok, I digress. Just a point to note, if you are expecting a serious story about my scarred guilty conscience and the bloody wars it fought, you can stop reading now. There is a reason why my blog is called jibberish-gibberish and I vow to adhere to that name till my last typed word.

2006 was eventful. Initially, there was ALOT OF SCHOOL WORK. I died many times during the semester yet got reincarnated because of my thirst for knowledge and my willingness to learn. I must congratulate myself here. I had planned well for the final semester. All As or all Cs would get me the same honours class. No difference. So I aimed for all Bs, just to flaunt my neutrality. Finally, there was my graduation, a 45 minute ceremony which encapsulated all 23 years of my academic life and reminded me to pay back my $24 000 education loan. Graduation also meant no more assignments with such titles, "Fundamentalists craft new methods of control, formulating new ideologies and adopting the latest political processes and organizational structures for advancing their beliefs in the public domain. Discuss." or "Through comparative readings of Sun Tzu and Clausewitz, what is the relative importance of metaphysical and material factors in winning a strategy?" No more 9am lessons. RBR became meaningless and webcast was cast away! Woo hoo.

Hopefully that buildup was good. Now you probably have a better picture of my life before graduation. I was striving to attain a quality tertiary education. Throw in the words "in Singapore" after the education and you get a paradox. But oh well.. you got to do what you got to do.

It was a dull Monday morning in 2006. And my timetable was as follows:

9am -12pm: Understanding How the Internet Works (Comp. Engineering Module!!!!)

I got deceived by the name. I thought they were going to teach me how to surf the net more effectively! But no. It was boring beyond boring's imagination. I discovered doodling to be my new artistic talent.

12pm-2pm: The Science of Music. Yet another cross faculty module. I thought I was going to learn how to play the violin. Cheated once again. There are somethings that can never BE together... you know... like Thosai and Rasam, Bush and sense, Liverpool fans and ManU fans and of course.. Science and music. If there is science in music, I really didn't want to know.

No lunch break!!

2pm-5pm : International Politics of Communication. The one module I like on Mondays. Doesn't put me to sleep as quickly as the others.

5pm-6pm: Meet tutor regarding essay topic.

6pm: Smell the free world.

If only I could employ 'selected viewership' in my modules, I would derive maximum benefit from what the NUS academic system truly has to offer. Also, there was no exploitation of sex and violence in any of the modules to titillate students like me! Sian.

Long draining day. My thin frame had withered considerably and the mode of transportation home was of no help. It was a MAD rush hour. I should have flagged a cab. Everyone was moving at twice my speed, even the old ladies who collect used drink cans. My shoulders were aching from carrying the heavy course packs. I don't usually bring ANY of my course packs to school. I do it secondary school style, tear out the necessary chapters. But on that particular Monday my friend had to clear her locker (the humble abode for my tattered course packs). The school had issued her a warning letter saying what exactly I am not sure. "Don't clear, cannot graduate " is a possibility, since its a threat that would work satisfactorily. And so SHE heartlessly dumped all my course packs in MY bag! Not once offering to bring them back home for me. Lousy friend.

So there I am, a little indian girl with a heavy bag, waiting obediently behind the yellow line at Clementi Mrt Station, for a choo-choo to bring her home safely. All the while, I was silently praying for a seat since I have 21 stations of infinite distance to cover. I miraculously get a seat in Dover.

It was time to do what I do best. Pretend to sleep.

Then Life decides to throw a curveball.

Enter an Indian mom and her son who was probably around 5. Like most Indian kids, he had big, dark eyes and looong eye lashes that could touch his eyebrows, do a somersault and touch his cheeks. To top it off, his mummy had applied eye liner for him. He had nice curly hair and a cheeky cheeky grin. He was a cute kid. What was more adorable was how he struggled to stand in a crowded train. He will lunge at his mom's legs whenever he loses balance and then grin proudly if he manages to keep his balance. I looked around the carriage and got perturbed. "Bastards! No one wants to give up their seat for that poor little kid" I thought angrily as I reclined back in mine. Singaporeans are selfish I tell you.

Cursing the Singapore society, I went back to my pretending game. A minute or so passed. I felt someone staring hard at me. A real strong vibe. Not wanting to give up my act, I refused to open my eyes. But the intensity of the vibe accelerated faster than the MRT and I succumbed.

It was the Indian kid. He was looking directly at me. I stared back. 2 can play this game, I told myself. He refused to shift his gaze. I panicked for a minute. Was my shirt unbuttoned or something? Was that what this little perv was staring at? I did an immediate check. All was in tact except for my conscience. I had suspected a 5 yr old kid of being a pervert. I consoled myself soon after that. You never know what kids think these days.

"Stop looking at me, " my inner self told him. But he shamelessly continued. Soon enough, he lost his balance. But even when he stumbled, he kept his eyes on me. I thought I heard a "Why... why.. why" softening in the distant tunnels of Tiong Bharu... "Why are you making me stand when you know its hard for me? Why are you sitting when its easier for you to stand? Why is it no one bothers?" It was THAT look. The same look every child gives when he wants something from the adult. The look of innocence and sadness garnished with a touch of self-pity and angelic cuteness.

Today is not your day kid. I am exhausted. Not that I would generally give up my seat on any other day. But ya... I am usually kinder to pregnant ladies, well behaved children and animals. Any other day than a Monday, I would have graciously given up my seat. Sorry kid, you get to stand and I get to SIT and watch. Haha.

He continued on with his tragic hero role. I was trying not to look at him. But I couldn't help it. Guilt was crawling on my legs and I wanted to stop it before it gets up and sprints to my heart. Is this what they call a conscience prick? I speculated. I decided to put myself on trial.

Justification on my part on why I deserve the seat more: Long tiring Monday with no break. Weighty bag. Exhausted legs and fried brains. Being small and skinny means I need to sit.

Justification on the kid's part on why he deserves the seat more: Young, innocent and adorable. And I would reluctantly add in helpless.

I am more justified. His are superficial reasons centering mainly on visual appeal. But why is my conscience pricking again. " You are guilty beyond all reasonable doubt", a voice echoed in my head. "Are you nothing more than a glorified animal?" insinuated another unknown voice. Too many voices but all inevitably saying the same thing, "Give up the seat you prick." I relented. I got up and told the mom "Here, have my seat." Like it was some holy offering from Lord Shiva. She looks at me curiously ( probably wondering why I am giving it up 20 minutes after their arrival) and says, "Oh its ok. I am alighting in 2 more stops". Ahhhhhhh.. Tooooingggg.... (the sound the heart makes when it is disappointed) And before I could return to my seat, a worthy ah-lian beats me to it. So I end up standing beside the kid who gives me a smirk that says, "HA HA." I smile at him and he returns it. We both understand how sucky it is to stand in a sardine packed train. Oh well....

The boy waves a goodbye as he leaves me standing alone in the train. I thought about what had happened and felt a little ashamed. I should have given up the seat earlier. Man is made human because he has the propensity to appeal to others through his compassion. I try my luck. I attempt an innocent and sad facial expression similar to the kid's to attain sympathy points from the ah-lian. But she was too tough to budge. I was not going to give up either. I would at least want her to have a guilty trip back home.

I am not sure she did. She was too busy smsing to even acknowledge my existence. It didn't feel good to be ignored. But I guess that's how the world works.

"All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, and then success is sure"- Mark Twain

Mmmm... maybe he had a similar incident in one of the trains/subways.

The idea of space?

PM Lays out Govt's views on homosexuals:

"Traditional values rule but with space for gays."

- Straits Times, Wednesday October 24 2007

Tomorrow I will move to the center of the train to make space for the gays.

Tomorrow I will make sure my Boss allocates a bigger parking space for the gays.

Tomorrow I will start a MySpace account to provide more space for the gays.

*I hope the spacing of my words in this post is of no infringement to the gays.

What a load of crap....

Motto

Jughead's Double Digest Issue #134

Jughead's Motto: Don't hate yourself in the morning. Sleep till noon.

I like.

I follow.

Only on weekends, public holidays and days I take MC and urgent leave.

Follow your dreams.

This is part 2 of my "Follow Me" series. 'Follow your Heart' being Part 1 of course, just in case you were wondering...

"Follow your dreams. How practical is such advice to a young person today." This was one of the General Paper(GP) topics given to me during a class assignment. I read the first line and told myself...

SKIIIIIIIP. Next topic.

I ended up writing this, "We live in an unsafe world. Comment." I was an angry teenager and I needed a topic that would serve as an escape valve for my growing frustrations. I wrote it with such vehemence, I was sent for counselling the next week.

On hindsight, I wondered why didn't I choose that dreammmy question. My rebellious age aside, I genuinely wasn't capable of delivering a balanced essay on that topic. I didn't know how to craft a convincing or a counter arguement for that matter. I never truly believed in the "Follow your dreams' concept/advice. And so my essay would have simply churned out one impracticality after another, negating any pragmatism the advice could actually bring. It would be a biased essay. I promised to be biased in everything else but never in my academics. Writing that essay also means, a reminder of My dreams which till then (and maybe till now) have never materialised. GP itself could be miserable. The last thing I wanted was to write on a topic that could cause me more misery.

Many many years later, I revisit my "not so ambitious" dreams, on a blog, for everyone to see...

Dream 1: Be a dancer.

Dream 2: Be a book critic.

Dream 3: Be a food critic.

Dream 4: Be an alcohol critic.

Dream 5: Be a writer.

Dream 6: Be part of a Disney cartoon.

Dream 7: Be a couch potato, drink beer and watch soccer religiously.

Dream 8: Be a reader. (read books, newspapers and comics)

Dream 9: Meet Sushmita Sen and the Powerpuff Girls.

Dream 10: See the world! Not with the Atlas, not through Discovery Travel and Living or through photographs from friends or through the world wide web.

I REALLY wanted all those dreams fulfilled, no joke. But as many would have guessed from the tragic tone this post has taken, none of my dreams have come true. And like all other kids, I am holding my parents responsible. Parents tend to discourage children to pursue professional careers that would gain them recognition and status. Well at least mine successfully did.

Me: You think I should become a professional dancer?
Dad: For real?
Me: Ya for real. Pursue it as a career.
Dad: But you not good.
Me: Ok. Then should I take dance lessons and improve?
Dad: But you not good.
Me: Ok. But I really like dancing.
Dad: YOU will not like anything that doesn't pay. No one will.
Me: Wah lau.... (made me feel materialistic. Hurt my feelings)

With a discouraged heart, I abandoned DREAM NUMBER 1. And before I realised it, all the other dreams abandoned me. I was unable to become a professional critic in all those things I wanted to so I became critic of everything else. Clothes, people, shampoo, people, board games, people, lingerie, people, life.. you name it, I critic it. I have satisfied the critic part of my dream. Its my solitary compensation.

Dancer, writer or a couch potato? Dream vs Practicality. Passion vs Career. Not much money vs definitely more money. Well, honestly, I don't think I can feed my stomach if I became any of those, especially in Ching-cha-pore. I will probably be a background dancer at Taufik Batisah's National Day performance. I will probably fight the many aspiring bloggers cum writers, for the attention of a local publisher. (Damn all you bloggers with good linguistic talent) And a couch potato... well... according to my hairdresser, "pu ke neng" (not possible) . Also, given my high metabolic rate, I definitely need a pay cheque that can adequately feed my mouth and fill my stomach. If it could line my lungs with nicotine and wash it all down with alcohol, it would be a bonus.

Sighzzzz.....

But.. I can still see the world though. I can either save for trips or marry a rich entrepreneur who has offices worldwide. I will settle for the latter.

The moral of this post is: Follow your rationale. Do not confuse your goals with your dreams. They are not the same. If its a dream then its probably not coming true. There is a reason why they call it dream, you know. Don't believe me, fine. Believe www.dictionary.com at least;

dream (drēm) n :

A series of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occurring involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep.

A daydream; a reverie.

A state of abstraction; a trance.

A wild fancy or hope.

A condition or achievement that is longed for.

A deep aspiration; dreaming of a world at peace. (wahaha.. how apt an example)

One that is exceptionally gratifying, excellent, or beautiful.

Words in bold are intentional. I wanted to put my point across boldly. And IF you think I am subtly mocking all the Dreamers, you are probably right.

"Dream as if you will live forever. Live as if you will die today." - James Dean

James Dean, you got it right man. Can't live forever, only in your dreams can. Can't dream forever coz today you can die one.

Follow your heart.

A scorching Saturday. The fairly sophisticated heroine is reading a book in her room. The air condition has malfunctioned and the fan is having PMS. The heat is getting to her. She starts pacing, hoping that would cool her down. A dumb move on her part. It just gets her more agitated. She tries to tie her hair. Another dumb move on her part. It is too short to even warrant a clip. She moves quickly to the fan in an attempt to decode its soft purring, "What is you problem dammit? Why today of all days? Come on, work please," she grieves desperately. Al Gore deserves the Nobel Prize, she thought as she fiddled with the fan once again. At least someone is seriously fussing over global warming. Her mind begins to spin. "Its getting dark at 3pm," she mutters and closes her eyes.

"Hey! You still there?" asks her heart concernedly. "Kinda... But I feel like am I melting.." replies her brain weakly. "Oh my.. Look just hang in there. It will be fine.." offered the heart encouragingly. "Easy for you to say... The head is absorbing alot of heat and its beginning to take a severe toll on me. I know we have had our disagreements but now I need your help. We are dependent on you. I can't believe I am saying this... But.. can you make the right decision, independently, for once in your life?" questions the brain. "I... I.. dunno. I mean I have to right? But what if I am wrong? I have never done anything properly. I am not like you... and I.. I can't take failure..." the heart murmurs in despair. "This is not the time for your melodrama. Its just a HOT day for god's sake! How hard is it to make a decision for that????!! You don't need esoteric knowledge to solve a, 'What to do on a hot day?' problem. Its basic sense, commom knowledge, human instinct... Come on think you moron..." retorts the brain irritatedly. "Ok, ok. No need to get rude.. Let's see.. got to think... mmmm.. what do we do on a hot day... mmmm... yes yes.. hydration.. need to get hydrated... Fluid. Yes Fluid... Hey girl, Hey you.. can you hear me, pump in some fluid, you will feel better..." cries out the heart enthusiatically.

Our almost passed out heroine miraculously revives. Strange, she wonders, Why was the heart pumping so vigorously? Was it a heart attack? No it can't be. Even stranger, she ponders, Why am I suddenly so thirsty? She feels her heart pulsating rhythmically. She then naturally tries to consult her brain. A pregnant pause. No response from the top. Weird, she thinks, for once I am following my heart. She walks out of the room to the kitchen. Its liquid time.

An icy gush of wind smothers her face and slowly encircles her body as she opens the fridge. She gives the fridge a quick scan and then.. she sees IT. Rich in beta carotene and vitamin C, in all its glory, there it is... Marigold Carrot Juice. It stands magnificently, outlined in orangey gold by the refrigerator's light, a colour fit for a saviour. Fray's "How to Save a Life" is playing on MTV as she reaches for the carton. A competent opponent to challenge the heat and save my life, she mused and took the carton out. She insticitvely gauges the amount left and smiles contently. Its enough for one, and that one is ME.

A room door slams open. Its too familiar a sound for her to ignore. She sees a dark shadow, small at first, then gaining in size as it approaches the kitchen. Oh no, It can't be. She starts to panic. She leaves the Carrot juice on the dinner table and rushes to get a glass. She snatches one off the rack and spins around almost immediately... But too late! There He is. Leaning against one of the pillars of the kitchen entrance. "What you upto sister?" He asks casually. "Nothing," she replies almost too casually. He stares at her intently then shifts his gaze to the carrot juice on the table. She knows that he knows that the carrot juice knows that it can only satisfy one person's thirst today. A dumb move, she curses and swears; I shouldn't have left the carrot juice on the table! The carton looks at her invitingly. She takes a step closer and so does her brother. As luck would have it, or just to make this post more interesting, the geographical position of the carrot juice is estimated to be equidistant from both brother and sister. They watch each other carefully, waiting to see who would make the first fatal move. Due to the sister's almost fried brain, she is having difficulties interpreting her brother's facial expressions. The heart seems to be of minimal help. It describes him to be stoic even though he is giving her a devilish grin. "Where is the brain when you need it?" she bemoans. Consternation creeps down her spine. Its time, she decides to herself. "Are you sure?" questions the heart doubtfully. "Yes, I have to call out my 4 other selfs for guidance. This situation is dire. Moral-philosophical-pyschological and rhetorical! I need you. Come out," she demands rather frantically.

And out they come....

Moral: Give him the juice. He is your younger brother. Its the right thing to do. Believe in sacrifice and God will believe in you.

Philosophical: What is sacrifice and What is God? When you do not know your true existence.

Psychological: Do you think you can take him down, in the event it comes to a fist fight? If you fail, how do you think this event would affect you in the future? You seem troubled. What happened to you in the past? Was it a difficult childhood? Were you and your brother always fighting? Is that why you do not want to give him the juice?

Rhetorical: Maybe I should bribe him. He is quite money minded after all. Or should I blackmail him? But what would I use against him?

Moral: That is so wrong! How can you blackmail your brother? You are going to sin.

Philosophical: Sin is subjective to the sinner and the environment. Is killing a pedophile a sin? Is buying 4D a sin?

Psychological: Your cognitive skills are fine and you don't seem to be having any mental breakdowns. Any blackouts or night terrors recently?

Rhetorical: I should just tackle him or maybe call my dad in to settle the dispute. Or better still, just tell him I want the drink. And that I got to it first.

The heroine concurs with the Rhetorical. Just tell him you want the juice. Its rational. He will understand, she reasons with herself. But before she realises it, the brother has inched much closer to the carton. No more equidistant advantage. A dumb move, she realises indignantly, calling out ALL her 4 other selfs for help(when she could have just called out for Rhetorical) gave the enemy sufficient time to plan his move. She casts her fear aside, collects herself and says most assertively, "I want the carrot juice. I need it badly because I am dehydrated. I think it would really help me." The words came out quick but.. they were powerful. She had delivered them with aplomb.

"Ok... but No," sneered the brother in response. She is taken aback momentarily. She did not expect the No. He expulsed her powerful reasoning with three words and four syllables. What happened next should never ever happen in any other household....

The brother stretches his arm and grabs the carton from the table. He opens the cap, flings it just beside the sister and gulps down the juice, straight from the carton. This unexpected reaction renders her immobile. She sees his adam's apple bob up and down as his taste buds relish every single drop of it. He smacks his lips in satisfaction. It is a clinical finish. His audacity infuriates her. She wants to scream but decides not to. I am not going to let him get away with this, she assures herself and is about to speak when he interrupts her inner conflict with a calm, "What is the problem?" He moves closer to her as he says those sinister words. His sheer size and presence threatens her fragile disposition. "Do not break down, not infront of him," pleads the heart silently. "Oh nothing," she answers like a coward and even manages a tiny smile making her more of a loser than Courage, The Cowardly Dog. "Good," the brother says and leaves the kitchen, gratified. She slumps down on a chair defeated. Well what could she do? Fighting her brother is like Olive fighting Popeye after he has consumed the Spinach. That carrot juice was just not meant for her. She is back to square one. What is she gonna do if the heat continues to ravish her?

"Oh no. I am not destined for greatness. The brother had to come and spoil everything. The juice would have helped her greatly. She needs to hydrate! What now?" And so the heart initiates a new train of thought. Time is running out. The heart has to conjure something brilliant soon. With an emerging consciousness that the sustenance of the heroine's life is in its veins, the heart made THE DECISION.

The heroine clutches her heart and runs to her mom. Her actions seem unreal to her. She does not know why she is doing, what she is doing. She was just following her heart, because in a perfect world, this should be all the excuse one needs.

"Mom!" pants the heroine while standing at the doorway of her mom's room. Her mom looks up at her in exapseration that translates to a, "What is it now?" The heroine carefully arranges her thoughts (to make it sound more natural) and tactfully asks that important question,"When will you be buying carrot juice again?" Her anticipation heightens when her mom looks at her weirdly. "Well, I will be going to the shop in about 2 hours time. I will get it then," answers the mom, still looking at the daughter weirdly. "Oh thank you so much!" gasps the heroine in relief. I am saved she utters to herself. She goes back to her room, glances at the clock, and restores her misplaced confidence. I will be fine in a while. Just 2 more hours. I can do this. She looks down and beams at her heart. Thank you she says her eyes brimming with gratitude. The heart beams back haughtily. And the brain... well let's just not go there shall we?

Black Eyed Peas, Don't Phunk with My Heart, plays loudly in the background.

Identity

Jackie Chan did it with style. He shouted from the top of a mountain: "Who am I????" I wanted to do it just as stylishly but was pathetically limited to the landscape of an office toilet cubicle. And shouting rhetorically from a toilet cubicle will surely not look good on my resume. So I was thinking... I never had an identity crisis but that is primarily coz I am so in love with myself, I never lost touch with me, me' and me''.

Biologically, we all have different genetic blueprints. We also have different beliefs, preferences and take on different approaches to the same problem. We are unique,vibrant and blah blah blah.. But most importantly we know who we are and our identity stems from this strong knowing. We play many roles daily; daughter, sister, neighbour, role model to younger kids in the neighbourhood, smoker, passenger, customer and slave to the employer. Identity is like a chameleon. We assume a new yet old identity everyday, with respect to the situation or the environment we are in. You just have to call out that innate identity you want at that particular point in time, like "Hey smoker get your butt out" And out will come the smoker looking all pleased and excited and at times withdrawn and cranky without the sufficient nicotine intake. Stagnation of any particular identity is impossible. Not to mention detrimental to one's survival and development in evolutionary terms at least. Can you imagine being a lover 24/7? (Don Juan DeMarco and Casanova excluded) Ya its dreamy and romantic but it will cause severe retardation in a week. So assume as many identities as you want but just don't go all Split personality on the world unless you are Edward Norton. These many identities fundamentally make You, the person everybody loves or loathes. Decide which queue you wanna be in, the LOOOVE queue or the LOOOATHE queue.

When I was young, I always believed I was The Count from Sesame Street, for valid reasons of course. See... I could perfectly imitate his laughter. But soon the Real me discovered the REAL ME when my strong aversion for Mathematics started kicking in. And I totally snapped out of my delusion when we started counting with alphabets, a+b= I don't know coz The Count only counted using numbers. Then there was that time I thought I was Superman.. yes SuperMan and not Superwoman.. I wasn't gender biased at 4.. and was totally convinced of my flying powers. A part of my 4 year old brain did tell me that my powers were imaginary and I surely could not fly. But my mom had told me to ignore the voices in my head so I took my leap of faith from a dining table. It was a short but painful fall. But I was Superman! Nothing could stop me ever except for that cast I had to wear on my arm for a month. No big deal.. I was the one- armed Superman now and I liked it. I was the cool, young punk in the neighbourhood, attempting stunts on my own, getting injured, wearing a cast, doing drugs etc... I deservedly gained bragging rights and I exercised them well. The kids my age revered me. They made me repeat the Superman story many times. And at the end of my story telling, there is always some kid who raises his hand to ask the cliched question, "So did you cry?" And I mustering all the courage of a 4 yr old, took a deep breath and said loud and clear, "No I did not. Not a tear." Which is a big obese lie. I bawled for the whole block to hear but these kids don't live in the same block so I get to lie through my baby teeth. A few ooohs- and ahhhs from my young ardent fans accompanied my courageously deceitful words. I stood there grinning, with my front tooth missing, like a hero, a true neighbourhood hero. "This vicinity is mine!" proclaimed my 4 yr old mind.. well it didn't exactly use the word vicinity coz it was just 4.. I think it used the word "pwwace". What can I say, I was verbally handicapped due to the lack of a better tooth.

So from Superman and the Count I progressed to better identities like Geek and Pain in the Butt. My colleague labelled me a Geek 2 days ago for completely unfounded reasons! According to her I am a geek because ...

(1) My favourite online game is Scrabble

(2) I go late for lunch because I am reading Yahoo News online.

(3) While waiting for the Boss to edit my work, I play Sudoku.

(4) I read Hitler: The Study of a Revolutionary for leisure.

(5) I know the size of Canada and its annual GDP.

(6) My favourite channels are the History Channel and the Discovery Travel and Living Channel

(7) I prefer spectacles to contact lens

(8) I was the last to hear Rihanna's highly informative song Umbrella, ella ella...

(9) I draw paralles to Looney Tunes and the United Nations.

(10) I quote from Mark Twain

Sheesh... Come on... These reasons are not even mildly Geeky. I mean who doesn't know Canada's GDP or who doesn't go ten minutes late for lunch coz they are reading the news?? Geek sheek my ass. Anyway, did you know the word geek was first attested in 1876 with the meaning "fool," and it later also came to mean "a performer engaging in bizarre acts like biting the head off a live chicken." Hehehe *geekgle*. So colleague if you are reading this, remember only COOL people know this kinda stuff. Mmph.. (author scoffs and pushes her thick specs back to the exact nosebridge area it was previously seated on)

From Geek I advanced almost too quickly to my current Identity. Well its not a complete Identity transition, its what I would call an associative identity. I was watching Lonely Planet 6 Degrees yesterday night and I decided that the host Asha Gill and I do have something in common, a small yet crucial association. So I smsed a reliable friend asking, "What do I have in common with Asha Gill?", hoping she would have spotted our glaring affinity but you know she being the really reliable and cynical friend she is sent a curt sms reply, ".....She is way hotter." Like who doesn't know that??? And though my ego is said to be visible from the moon, I am a realist. I look nothing like Asha, not even close. She is mixed; Punjabi, English and French blood runs in that beautiful body of hers. I am mixed up; Nicotine, tar and ice lemon tea runs in the not so beautiful body of mine. For those of you who don't know Asha Gill and for those who have forgotten her pretty face (I dunno how that is humanly possible) let me help you out a little. Pictures say a thousand words and pretty pictures say more than that....

So she looks like this....

And I look something like this. But I must say the picture doesn't do me much justice.

Yup all wide eyed and eager. Thats me alright.

So Duh... she is hooooooot.. Its a cardinal sin to even think about comparing our looks. But as mentioned earlier there is an association. We have similar hairstyles. We both have short wavy hair!! Hooray. Its the only part of me that identifies with Asha Gill. People say we have the same acerbic wit. I wouldn't know, she seems too nice to say anything bitter to the strangers she meets during her Lonely Planet shows. On the other hand, I am too mean to say anything nice to my friends. So the association stops with the hair.

All these identities are dear to me: The Count, Superman, School Bully, Napolean(Not the short French general but the pig from Animal Farm), Shinigami, Asha Gill and a few others which will remain a secret in my dark dark heart. Some identities have more similarities with the REAL ME than the others. But no particular identity is a novelty. Its not original or unique. Its just a part of me which was previously too shy to come out and play. No matter what the identities are or how crazy they can get, I realised one thing for certain. Its fun being all of Me. Just like how its probably fun being all of you.

Masala!

While 'Tamilanism' by my definition eschews a categorization of the vast Indian culture, one characteristic of 'Tamilanism' that a number of us will agree upon is its deep-seated Masala (not the curry powder but the metaphor: A spicy mixture of drama, action and sentiment). Masala is a result of the expansion of culture throughout the social realm. We Tamilans are full of masala, in non-tamilan terms, lets say... we tamilans are pretty dramatic. We break the school rules and claim the Chinese discipline master to be a racist as he constantly picks on us. We deliver punch dialogues to our enemies before starting our fights. We drink excessively to drown our sorrow, especially when it concerns failed matters of the heart. Then once we sober down, we sing sad love songs the whole day to show the world how pathetic we can get. We see a group of people fighting and we MUST somehow do our best to get involved. We have sound effects for almost every other situation we are in. We must stand at each and every other road junction to discuss pertinent issues like where to have dinner. If anyone whistles at anyone, we immediately assume somene whistled at us. We think we can take on 3 bad guys and 3 cops at one go. We like to sing and dance for everything, be it birthdays or funerals and more specifically, we love to scream out the lyrics of songs and do gyrating dance movements much to the shock and awe of everyone around us. I am confident that the term "DRAMA MAMA" was coined to represent us, the Tamilan MAMAs, of the world.

But in a terrible irony, what's a Tamilan without all these Masala? Well, he will be a boring concotion of half cooked Basmathi rice and curry that tastes like water. Masala is part of the burgeoning bourgeois mentality. It makes the average Tamilan seem less boring. And this is exactly why we love Masala films, now don't we? Its interestingly entertaining. Who cares about a good plot which inculcates good values? Who cares if you have nothing positive to take from a film? Who ACTUALLY wants to learn something new from celluloid? Why does it matter if the film made you think or not? Why bother with the realistic aspect of a movie? All we want is ENTERTAINMENT and no other genre other than the MASALA can deliver this with much perfection.

Masala Guide for Dummies: All you gotta know about MASALA

(1) The hero will always romance the hottest girl in the college.

(2) The hero will fight the baddies to save the hottest girl in the college so that he can romance her later. Mmmph.. Opportunist(author rolls eyes)

(3) The hero will use his finger to flick the villain. The impact will send the villain flying to the next district.

(4)Hero will do death defying stunts like sliding a motorbike under 3 lorries and then immediately flying over 2 buses before zooming past 4 police jeeps and whizzing through a heavy traffic jam. All these is done successfully with an unscathed pillion who will probably start suffering from psychological trauma.

(5) Hero will do stunts that disregard all gravitational laws. Example: Balancing himself on the HANDLE of a supermarket trolley, the hero does repeated scissors kicks to keep away the bad guys. Just a note, the movie was not a Indian remake of the Matrix.

(6) The natural elements work in favour of the hero. Example:(a) Hero's introduction is often accompanied by a strong wind which intensifies his slow slow slow manly strut/walk; symbolically showing that even time stops for the hero. (b)Hero professes his love to the hottest girl in the college and it rains, cue in love song in the rain. Chance of getting the flu and TB are medically not important. (c)Hero's tiny lighter will cause the terrible death of 50 baddies who were carrying parangs, guns and ropes.

(7) Villains will fear the eyes of the Heroes as these eyes reflect courage, dignity and morals, which the villains lack. The ugliest and most violent of villains will be scared of the smaller hero just because the hero has MORALISTIC BLAZING eyes. Don't play, play er...

(8) Hero will be a mummy's boy and if you insult his mummy, you have secured your demise. Even if the mummy initiated the fight, you will die a violent death in the hands of the filial son.

(9)Heroes are very efficient at times. They use anything and everything as weapons, be it watermelons, volleyballs, eggs, tomatoes, feathers etc etc. And somehow they never miss their targets even if they are a light year away.

(10) The heroine will have a total of 3 scenes in a 3 hour movie. The villain will usually repent in the last 15 minutes of the movie after trying sooo long and sooo hard to be a villain. The hero and the villain will be shouting at the top of their voices to get their salient points across: Its usually a masculine "Hey!!!" screech by the hero and an equally masculine "Hey!!!" screech by the villain. These HEYs will continue till the Hero scares or should I say screams the bad guy into submission. And in between important scenes, you have unnecessary song sequences which have voluptous Indian women dancing with ugly fat guys.

Yes yes this is the country that invented the zero, the decimal point and the pi. Ya ya it is the nation of great geniuses like Aryabhata, Abdul Kalam, Nirmal Verma and Tagore. Yup yup its the proud homeland of beatuiful ancient sculptures and paintings. And true it is the place of growing cultural diversity. The commodification of this cultural diversification is the Masala; ubiquitous now in Indian cinema. It is crucial to add alot of Masala to movies and who truly cares if it burns the throats of the audience?But.... Where are those poignant yet real moments? Where are those subtleties that make a scene surreal?Where? Where??? Where??????????

What is even funnier is the contradiction that Masala inevitably brings along with it. For example, after giving the baddies a good beating, a young hero decides to have a smoke. The baddies then verbally challenge the hero, albeit their immense pain. The hero accepts the verbal challenge. And in an effort to make this acceptance look oh- so- coool, the hero grabs a WORKING, ELECTRIC CABLE and lights his cigarette with it(the sparks generated by the cable apparently coz the stick to light up). At the bottom of the screen, a ticker tape warning runs: SMOKING IS INJUROUS TO HEALTH. Ya smoking is exactly what's gonna kill him.... Smoking and violence have never looked so appealing. Kids are you listening?

To make a scene racy and thrilling, they forgo minor things like logic. Gotta lose something to gain something right? Well no big loss I guess... especially if your aim is for the viewers to limit their opinion to one decisive adjective;"SUPERRRRR!" Almost all masala movies receive "SUPERRRRR!" viewer apparaisals. You can stand outside the cinemas and hear the Tamilans go "SUPERRRRR!" over and over again. So let us keep on paying 10/15 bucks to watch "SUPERRRR" stuff that...

(1) we can never do

(2) we can rarely relate to.

(3) we can try to do and die in the process

(4) we can never have a lasting impression on

(5) prove Newton, Eistein and all other reknown scientists to be idiots.

Coz movies are all about masala, masala and more masala. Woo hoo. Give me Masala or give me death!

I was unble to upload the vidoes here so do click on the links to view South India's best at work. Trust me, Masala never disappoints.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PoVVmfTSD2A

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MlyqDILyHJQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkT3PTkrtlE&mode=related&search=

Caution: Please do not view the video in close proximity given the nature of the hero's face.

Disclaimer: Author loves Masala, not too much though, coz as mentioned, it can BURN.

Blame it on the stars.

In order to know more about myself, I decided to turn to the ever so reliable astrological gurus rampant on the world wide web. All I had to do was type, "Scorpio zodiac" and google it. It opened channels of opinions from 'experts' all over the world. I was able to attain much self knowledge, which was crucially missing in my life previously, after reading these discerning remarks. Our society is no longer based on unfounded superstitions or assumptions, we are no longer ignorant or naive. In fact, we base most our foundings on scientific knowledge and facts. My only lingering doubt is.. where these astrological gurus(internet only) derived their highly accurate empirical conclusions from. The results are astounding. Let me show you. Quotes in blue are by the authors with no clue.

One guru: "Scorpio is the worst sign in the zodiac. Highly loathsome people." Now how objective is that? What was it based on? The guru probably would have met many different people from the various zodiac signs and therefore rightly concluded that the Scorpios are the worst. I mean the author is speaking with so much of disdain, one has no choice but to wonder whether he/she got repeatedly cheated by a Scorpio.

Another guru: "Doomed if you date a Scorpio." So how the hell are We supposed to procreate and have a family then? No one will date a Scorpio and neither can a Scorpio date another Scorpio. Coz a Scorpio dating a fellow Scorpio is "Doomed Doomed if you date a Scorpio."

Another smart guru: "Watch out for the sting. Its a matter of time before you are stung." I believe this author previously hosted programmes on National Geographic and Animal Planet. Its a perfect quote for an entomologist. Its intriguing how Scorpios are being astutely compared to Scorpions. We might not have the physical attributes of a Scorpion but apparently we "carry poison within." So I believe, we would be eating our young right after childbirth coz thats what Mummy Scorpions do. An act of such savagery is so typical of a Scorpio since we carry poison in our hearts. Oohhh....

Check this one out:"Their low self-esteem can become mighty twisted. Instead of beating themselves up, they turn self-loathing outward, and end up manipulating others and feeling resentful. They may end up robbing banks or murdering close ones out of vindiction just for the release of immense pent up emotions." This guru probably worked with the FBI under the BAU(Behaviourial Analysis Unit) previously. Profiling unknown suspects was his/her forte. It is an ardous task... profiling, but if your main criteria for a suspect is a zodiac sign named Scorpio, then your possibilites are thankfully narrowed. It is much simpler to nab the criminal. I wonder why he/she became an astrological expert though, I mean the insights given are pretty amazing and such intelligent contributions to the FBI would have been largely useful.

Contradiction guru: "Reputed to be the most powerful sign of the zodiac, nevertheless having a multitude of chances to end up tragically." How are we the most powerful sign? I have no idea. I do not know what test this guru conducted. Maybe some Scorpion guy won a weight lifting competition. Oh well.. what's the point of being powerful when you end up tragically sia... I rather be powerless and alive than powerful and dead. "Scorpios know all the answers but sometimes they don't; they often have difficulty finding what they need to develop their own happiness."Huh.. What?? I am having difficulty finding out what the author means but then again its my nature since most of the time I can't find what I need... "Much to do with a Scorpio remains secret. Their eyes often blaze with feelings that words never express, and beware on the days or nights they hide their feelings behind dark glasses, there is likely to be a storm of some kind brewing." I never knew we were so predictable. All we had to do was wear dark glasses for people to immediately know something bad is coming their way. We are training people around us to be intuitive, to read the signs, to become psychics.. for free somemore... Anyway, don't you just love this guru's expressions? Its so poetic, "...eyes often blaze with feelings..." and soooo to the point.

My favourite for now: "The Scorpio's voice is husky and tone is strong even hypnotic, The walk is with a swing." Husky voice for a female would sound like a frog croaking from a really deep well. I like the hypnotism part though. I am going to try to hypnotise my BOSS over the phone since face to face "You are falling asleep..." has failed misreably.Walk with a swing? Like ah-bengs or ah-tyra banks? "Favored food for Scorpios would be figs, onions, asparagus, mustard, greens, cauliflower, coconut, radishes, black cherries, lean meat, fish and lobsters." Sorry, be back in a minute, I am still searching for my favourite food in that vastly tantalising food list.. Darn... "Fond of luxurious living. Bad habits can be avoided. Health seeking habits are predominant." Wahahahahahaha. You gotta be kidding. All those who know me, cue in now for belly aching laughter...

I am feeling miserable about myself. After reading all these, even I wouldn't want to be friends with me. I mean who would want a Scorpio friend who has a killing intent? Now I understand why I am a social moth, why no one likes me, why I lose my handphone, why my Boss stole my blue ball, why my tutor thought I was going to marry a Bangla, why my parents think I should be self sufficient, why my soulmate is a thing(Corona beer) and not a person. Its all making sense to me now. The time of my conception, which unfortunately was decided by my parents, twisted my future. I didn't decide when I should be conceived or when I should come to this world. If I had a chance, I would have chosen nicer and pleasant zodiacs like Aries or Sagittarius maybe. SO why am I being punished for something that was never under my control? I am feeling extremely powerless at the moment... And I am going to take the enlightened path out and blame it on my stars.

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."

And what lies within me is POISON(or so says one of the gurus). So proceed with caution or just don't proceed at all.