Indifference

I find it difficult to do what other normal people do at this time of the day. Sleeping has become such a chore that I have taught my mind to resent it even though my body is clearly showing signs of withdrawal. For me, a mere 4 hours seems luxurious, if not decadent, because I have taught myself to stay awake even when I need the rest.

Getting up in the morning is never easy for me, especially since I start really early. By the time I'm out of the doorstep, I join the ranks of many other early risers that commute on the train towards the city to our desks where we pursue the ultimate new meaning of urban life: to sustain oneself for tomorrow by shedding blood and sweat for today.

And as my body withdraws itself from the work I am doing, I am constantly finding myself out of energy at the end of the day, fueled by constant late night beinges at Hungry Jacks and a low intake of water.

I think at the rate I am going, I am killing myself.

People all around me seem so happy, or at least, so in control of their happiness. As for me, happiness is a constant struggle to keep alive especially when you are stuck in the cycle of work-study-sleep-eat-washdishes-sleep-eat-work-study

My resolution for tomorrow? An early night sleep and no bulshit at the table.

Comments

When I wrote the post 'White Culture' I didn’t expect everybody to have such different interpretations on what I felt was a fairly simple (albeit long) post. Nor did I expect anyone to reiterate what I have said using their own interpretation of the matter. Interpretations are regrettably and unavoidably going to differ between individuals, and in this case it has brought up a few noteworthy comments.

u've made a lot of generalisations on yr post. not everyone thinks their country is a shithole.

Regarding generalisations: the post was aimed at the ‘us’ and ‘we’ in MY life, i.e. myself and the friends I grew up with, not you, some random stranger I’ve never met. I do not speak in behalf of another person; I only speak for myself and for my observations of the people around me.

I have never said that everybody thinks that their country is a shithole. I said ‘Asia is a shit place to live in terms of the quality of life, from long and strenuous working hours to low remuneration and an almost non-existent welfare system’, all of which is true. That makes Asia a difficult place to live in for many many people who are not privileged enough to have a monthly income (or parents) to support them.

...we never bought designer clothes from the west or owned a psp of any sort... western capitalism failed to capture us.

It does not mean that NOT owning these items leaves you out of the question. What about going to the movies, hanging out at shopping malls, watching the telly, surfing the Internet, eating spaghetti or hamburgers... all of which are creations of the West? If you do these things, does it not mean that you too, like me, embrace these items?

...if anything. we were quite content back then just to do things the malaysian way

I was quite happy to eat Roti Canai and play sepak takraw as a kid, but it did not prevent me from liking Crème brule or baseball. You said it ‘failed’ to capture you, yet you contradict yourself both in your comment and in the conversations I have with you on MSN; I do recall that you, Mr. K, are a Malaysian studying in Cambridge doing a degree there and refusing to come back upon its completion because you’ve ‘found’ yourself there. If there’s any better example to illustrate my point about the lure of the West to a Malaysian like myself, this is it.

In fact, it's not a post about the globalisation at all. It's a personal account of a cross-cultural encounter...

That's right; the post wasn’t about globalization. Nor was it about capitalism, or which country was better than another. The post is not venerating ‘White Culture’ and belittling my own. In fact, the post was talking about my initial understanding about what White Culture was (from the viewpoint of someone who grew up in an environment where White Culture was venerated), and then progression into the actual first hand experience I had in Melbourne.

@MarcelProust -- You say the article betrays 'apparent assumption that "the development of a truly modern globalised world" is a good thing', but that interpretation is difficult to sustain, given the rest of the sentence is: "it does not put them high up on a pedestal where everybody else can just look at from below for envy."

This is what Daniel wrote. I did not say that White people or their culture were to be worshipped, and Daniel illustrates this perfectly.

The capacity of Australia and other 'white' societies to protect the prosperity of ordinary people is in many ways financed by their privileged position on the rich side of the globalisation divide… Limited shopping hours are actually a result of social welfare legislation...

I am fully aware of the laws that cause limited shopping hours, and probably know more than you will ever imagine I’d know about the way the system works, and why it works the way it does. So thanks but explaining it to me is not going to boost my knowledge any further.

...but I don't agree with, for example, the importance he attaches to shopping

You are allowed to disagree with what I say. However you should also realise that the reason I even mention shopping was because it illustrates my frustration beautifully, not because I feel it is very ‘important’ to me. I did not come to Australia JUST because I wanted to shop. It may be an activity I engage myself in, essential in some respects, but it does not mean I hold it to such high regard.

Question: what's wrong with the author's analysis, and what's wrong with the original text, that you felt it necessary to replace both with your own words?

This is what Daniel said to marcelproust. I find this quite true, because I too feel that Marcelproust has read the article singling out words and ideas that fit his own description of what the issue at hand should be rather than what is said, later quoting me as though I share such beliefs. The mere fact he has singled out ‘globalisation’ as the key issue says a whole lot. Again, this post is NOT about globalisation. So do get over your itch and stop pushing this issue.

I don't know if we should be messing up his blog with mutual "Duh"s or the equivalent.

I’d like to add too, I don’t think you should be messing up my blog by putting words into my mouth, especially words that contradict whatever I feel or say.

Addiction

Look familiar to you? No? Well. Everybody's reading it. Everybody's immersing themselves in the bitchy cesspool that is her blog. Everybody, including the boyfriend is addicted to the Singlish infested, pink cutie blog that is Xiaxue's.

First it was the Girls Out Loud movies that I recommended to people after a tip off from a stranger in the UK. I found it hilarious because it not only touched on a lot of things close to home (and four folded my homesickness... sob!), but also because it was fucking BITCHY.

And then I stumbled upon her blog and foolishly promoted her address to a FEW people I knew (including the boyfriend and voila. Worse than heroin addiction nia. Everybody kua kua reading it now.

The other day I caught him reading post after post, trawling through cyberspace to get a larger slice of this ah lian girl, neglecting ME and DINNER and the CAT for that bitch.

So I asked him to STOP READING IT... but no, no, today, he sent me a photo from her blog asking me what it was:



The 'goddess' had taken the photo while on a visit to KL. I was kind enough to inform my angmoh that this was one of the many street dildos that are littered across KL city, where you could get your anal fix when you needed it most.

Like, HELLO... who the **** takes pictures of FIRE HYDRANTS??? Ok so maybe I take pictures of bloody flowers and shit, but hey that's still better than taking a picture of a FH.

Fine lah. I mean, I don't mind if everybody is addicted to kennysia because his blog is quite well done and there's not so much pink in it, but HER?????

And in one post, she says that US Marine Lance Corporal Daniel Smith, who was convicted in the Phillippines for RAPE, was HOT. Apparently, its not rape if the person who rapes you is hot. Anybody with a gun license, tell me. I need you to SHOOT her to stop the infestation.

Famous quote from the 'goddess':

I am xiaxue. I didn't choose fame. It chose me.

ARRRGH. I don't care if people don't read my blog. That's fine. I'm not a celebrity blogger. My blog entries are shit, long, boring and I do not have many cute pictures of bunnies on my website either. I write for my own pleasure and she writes for yours. I don't have enough credentials to allow me to mingle with other famous celebrities, or get free nose jobs, or a pink PSP from Malaysia (FOC too, damnit!).

My blog is black and not pink, I don't post stuff even remotely close to her level of bitchy-ness, and I don't appear on Mediacorp 5 for your entertainment and leisure.

So what if you don't read my blog. I don't care. But I care if you read hers.

It's INSANE.

I know what you are thinking. And I know you bloody Googled for her. I can smell the stench of ah lian-ness slowly spreading across the world. Fine. Go away then. Go get addicted to her blog. Don't need to visit mine anymore!

Click here to get INSTANTLY addicted.

Go on. I know you want it. Everybody else is doing it.

Bah.

White Culture

As a kid growing up, we were constantly exposed to images of a foreign world, mostly which included countries like America (of which Malaysia seems to be a staunch supporter), the UK, Australia and France. Images that manifested itself in places such as the telly down to what we wore and what we saw sitting on shelves in local departmental stores. It was interwoven with the stories we heard at bedtime and the gossip we heard at tea.

The issue was not that we had nothing of our own to be proud of - sure we had our regular fix of nasi lemak and char kuey teow (as with every other Malaysian who loves his food), or the occasional Yasmin Ahmad films that invaded our cinemas. There were national icons to be reckoned with such as our Communist style Putrajaya with its long wide boulevards and huge but otherwise empty buildings that were built around man-made lakes and hills to impress, or our KLCC and Malaysia Boleh chants that got us through the Commonwealth Games and beyond, Nicole David (whom we hear so little of now), and the Orang Utan that whiteys pronounce as o-raeing-ge-taen. But there were always these images from a foreign western culture that were to be reckoned with, more powerful than the Red White Yellow and Blue on our national flag. We could sing the verses of Star Spangled Banner backwards when prompted, but not so with our own Negaraku.

Thing is, I grew up alongside Siti Nurhaliza and the Spice Girls. There was always that duality, the 'local' and the 'foreign' in our lives, one that we could never do away with. The latter, particularly, seemed to attract quite a lot of attention. Perhaps because of waning nationalism and the 'white-is-good' mentality, kids my age grew up in surroundings where the 'West' was always regarded as something unique and beyond our reach, something grand almost, but definitely powerful.

People would do anything to own a piece of this elusive culture. Be it a handbag from Gucci (even though it is RM45 from Petaling St and made in China) or the latest David Beckham hairstyle, everyone was involved in White-Worship, as we kids called it back then. And for good reason. Asia is a shit place to live in terms of the quality of life, from long and strenuous working hours to low remuneration and an almost non-existent welfare system. Even the cars we drove were Milo tins that got smashed in the lowest impact.

To me, it seemed as though we viewed our own backyard as 'something to be dealt with because it was there', and the Western World as 'something to be desired and to be accumulated because we had so little of it'. It felt as though you were missing out on a huge slice of the High Life lived by these people abroad whom you've never met in person but have heard about all your life.

And that's the way capitalism crept into our lives as kids; we grew up yearning for all that we did not have, be it Playstations or Flat screen TV's or access to cheap LV hotpants. The West was a force to be reckoned with, especially since it took 400 years of colonisation by Westerners who came over to pillage the land and cheat the dumb locals before we could become what we are today; an independent and prospering nation well ahead of many other countries in the region. I do not deny that without the British we would not be half as advanced as we are today, and even though in our history books we outline a lot of the atrocities and injustice that the British (and other colonisers such as the Dutch and Japanese) did to the locals, it did not erase the fact that they brought along capitalism which drives our economy today and the economy of other countries worldwide.

So naturally a kid like me filled with his own insecurities about the world and about his own body image would find comfort in the glitzy cities like New York and the art infested capitals like London Paris and Melbourne. I grew up thinking that Teh Tarik and Roti Telur was not culture but English Tea on the lawn with toast and jam was.

I was young.

But then I started growing up and these feelings did not dissipate. In fact they only strengthened further. Being a minority in a country where you are denied many benefits based on the colour of your skin or your religion, you automatically seek justice in the Free World where images of equality and multiculturalism make you feel as though you were missing out.

I hated the colour of my hair because it was not blond. I wanted to get eye implants so that my irises would look as blue as the sky, and get rid of all the hair on my body so that I would be smooth. I wanted to have height so badly that I did regular stretches in the morning (but my genes took care of that for me naturally; I now stand at 5'11"), and read books about faraway lands and the fantasy lives these people lived. So what about the crisis in South Africa (during post-apartheid) and Yugoslavia. I was more interested in Prada and The Louvre.

Plastic surgery. I remember calculating the cost to get my nose job, double eyelids, jaw realignment, etc. I read maps of the cities I wanted to visit so that one day when I had the chance I'd know all the roads and the major attractions I would see when say, I visited Fifth Avenue or take a cruise down the Seine.

And so I worked hard to get the scholarship that took me abroad, and I remember telling myself, 'Up-Yours' to all the people who told me I couldn’t do it as I stepped into the Boeing 777 on that very special day, the 7th of February.

I remember feeling as though I've achieved greatness and I was destined to also live this high life that I so firmly believed in.

And the MAS food on the plane didn't help either. I was glad to get out of Malaysia.

~

Digressing a little from the topic, I realised how arriving here posed a whole new set of problems to me. How will I make people accept me for who I am? What if my accent was different? My taste for food different? The way in which I think and view the world different? What about the clothes that I wore, or the things I believed in, or the values I cherish; what if they were different from the majority of the people who were Australian?

Many people do not seem to adapt well to the sun and the dry air of Australia. Also, the people of Melbourne are very suspicious of newcomers into their social groups such that they keep a safe distance from you until they are absolutely sure you are fit to be in their social circle of friends. Well at least that was my experience anyway.

Which is why many people give up the moment they step out of the plane. Some I know set rules in stone to seek out people who are from the same countries as they are, mix around in a little ghetto eating food that they are most familiar with and hanging out at venues where only other people they could relate to would hang out. Develop a whole sub-community here because of their inability to adapt and to embrace all that is new and different.

Which puzzles me. Some whom I know personally still hold on tightly to that preconceived White Power and look down at their own cultures, yet they fail to venture out into White Culture and embrace it. They instead find it safer to keep a distance and mingle with familiarity. Others develop an anti-white policy, where all that is white is dirty. At the extreme end, others denounce their identity and leap right into western culture, embracing it wholeheartedly. It is interesting to see these three differences in opinions develop from a basic initial preconception that white-is-good.

~

Coming to Australia, I started to question my preconceptions about western ideals. Initially I shrugged it off as an inability to adapt and to blend in, but soon after I could see that all that my view of White Culture was highly distorted. All that I thought was gold did not glitter.

Many shops closed at 5pm. People walked slowly and did things slowly. VERY slowly. Asian food, even supposedly authentic, is a pile of shit. Shopping was an expensive and unfulfilling affair because bargains are few and far in between and choices are limited. Corruption? Yup. They have it here too. Housing is expensive, bills are expensive, red tape and procedures held you back 99% of the time when you wanted to get something done fast. My funny accent was interpreted as 'American' by my Maccas boss when I was working there (and God these people, they really HATE the Americans).

Their approach to life was different. That energy, spontaneity and ferocity was not there. Everything was at a level that was neither challenging nor worth anticipating. I found that some people were outright lazy and dependent, much like back home, but also the culture of extravagance and Credit spending did not match up with my belief in Term Deposits and payments-in-cash (which is very Chinese I must admit).

Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of things I love about Melbourne. Like public acceptance of noxious weeds like Agapanthus and Lantana. Good coffee, cheap apricots and blue berries. Openly gay culture where I can be myself without being worried of getting arrested by the Secret Police. Safeway and Coles that shuts at midnight. I could rant all night.

But after 1+ years of living here, I realise how much I miss my Sarawak laksa and 3am Nasi Ayam Goreng. How I miss the dirty unkempt streets of KL and the heavy rain that knew no end till it fucking flooded the drains.

I realise that after all this while, it’s not fair to say that the whites are better than us Asians. We were told as children to want all things that were western and we believed in it strongly because we didn’t know what else to believe in. But now I’m all grown up and I can make my own judgements; I can see that we are just different. They just do things differently, see things differently. They believe in different moral and ethical issues. They champion different causes and things that I may find close to heart may not be important to them at all.

Though they may be pioneers in certain aspects, and can take pride in their achievements in spurring the development of a truly modern globalised world, it does not put them high up on a pedestal where everybody else can just look up from below in envy.

I mean after all, many white men I've met have expressed their love for the food which I am all too familiar with. Like Bak Kut Teh and Mi Goreng. We Malaysians, undoubtedly, have a remarkably different food culture to them, where expensive is not necessarily good, all because we love our food much much more and are more passionate about being stingy and economical. They envy our affordable and massively diverse range of flavours which are not available here.

It is not about who wins or loses in this, or who is more superior to another, rather, the realisation that racism is only for those who try to defend their differences and seek justification for a perceived superiority.

Melbourne

So, I told myself, I'm too lazy to go to coffee with the boys, instead I decided to go into the CBD for a walk and possibly some mouth watering snack that I come across unexpectedly and just couldn't resist the temptation to buy it.

The train arrived just as I hopped onto the platform, a FIRST for Connex. Empty besides having two dodgy looking guys with enough of piercing on their faces to help China overcome its insatiable appetite for metal in the commodities boom. And they stank too. Could smell their stinky hair from where I was sitting (I'd like to imagine it was their hair and not any other body part)

Melbourne Central Station seems to be active in promoting country music, because every time I arrive there the speakers are blaring songs about Mary and her Radiata Pine or Bill and his Bunny Farm. You get the drift. Fucking country people, infiltrating the subways. They should go back to the dry and dusty paddocks where they belong, away from us city people who wear Armani and Prada just because we can.

Anyway, there was a fat lady standing right in front of me, a bloody Chinese one, on the escalator. In one hand she had a Safeway green-bag loaded with goodness-cares-what, and in the other she had this enormous handbag the size of a toolbox complete with buckles from hell and colours inspired by the Pet Shop Boys. Like, nylon green. Her fat butt framed by the flowers on her lacey dress would not budge, let alone allow another person to walk past her. She just stood there in the middle of the way, wiggling her fat butt and green Safeway bag as though she fuckin owned the escalator. Behind me, a line of people had already started piling up, all swearing under their breaths for this gargantuan beast to move. And she did, but not to let us through, just to scratch her elephant legs, bending over precariously to make herself look like a beached whale. Sigh.

The CBD was filled with people from all walks of life, from those who had a lot going for them to those who were just plain ugly. I mean, ugly people should be banned from the streets. Okay I didn't mean that. I'M JUST SAYING, sometimes it’s hard when the guy next to you looks like Marilyn Monroe and the girl in front of you has make-up like Gene Simmons from KISS.

Bloody lazy Big-W. Today, because it is Easter MONDAY, they conveniently decide to close at 5pm. Just because they are too lazy to work they use the excuse of a public holiday to shut down three hours earlier than usual. So while I was busy looking at the light bulbs in the electrical section, a hoarse Indian lady barks through the PA system that they are about to close in 5 minutes. 'Please make your final selections and proceed to the checkouts', she says. So I'm supposed to pool together all my intestinal juices to make a decision on whether to buy a light bulb that is energy efficient or not, that's white or blue, that's 40W or 60W or 100W or 120W, that's screw-on or a slot-pins-into-hole, that's a bulb or a coil, that's fluorescent or incandescent. All the choices and possibilities for the SAME FRIGGING PRICE. How am I, the Mr-I-decide-on-a-purchase-based-on-the-cost-quality-and-benefits-I-get-for-every
-extra-dollar-I-pay, supposed to come up with a decision in 5 frigging minutes?

Fumbling with the boxes, I accidentally knock a box over and it hits the floor in a SMASH. $40 spotlight gone in a second. The angmoh next to me who was also having trouble making his choice laughed and told me to keep quiet. And so I did. We instantly became partners in crime, united by the Shopper's Rule of Thou-shall-not-force-us-to-pick-a-lightbulb-in-under-5-minutes-just-so-you-can
-friggin-shut-early.

I make my way to the checkout and the lady asks me, Cash or Credit. I bark back at her with no mercy, flinging my green Commonwealth Bank card at her face.

EFTPOS, I say.

~

Bloody kids in the front window of Borders, not sure what they are doing with their eyes and noses but it sure as hell looks disgusting. Twisting and contorting it in more ways than one, passersby do not seem amused. The boy drops a Jamie Oliver book onto his leg and screams for help. Good on ya.

You know that you're a plant nerd when the first thing you do when you enter a bookshop is look up the directory for the 'Gardening' section. And in the case of Borders, it is usually in the most dingy, deplorable and neglected corner of the vast glitzy bookshop, huddled together with the other dodgy fantasy books that nobody really bothers to read anymore after the invention of computer games.

So I head into the dodgy corner that is the Gardening section and pull out a book on ‘Contemporary Sculpture in Australian Gardens, 'Small Backyards' and 'Name That Tree'. Going through the colourful pages I instantly forget the urban stinkhole that is the CBD and am drawn away into the vast open plains of suburbia with quaint little cottage gardens and beautiful bridges across calm rivers and streams.

'Name That Tree' went on and on about the Fruit Flower Bark Leaf Stem of each of the trees that it featured, which isn't necessarily a bad thing but the pictures were quite crappy. And while I was looking up Fagus sylvatica this fat chick with a HUGE-ARSE Borders nametag hung across her neck like a cow, comes up to me and tells me that I cannot sit on the floor because it's a 'Safety Issue' and I am more than welcome to use the 'chairs' that they provide.

I mean, what's with this obsession about 'Occupational Health and Safety' bullshit? Is it the invention of some fucking idiotic bogan who wants to make everything difficult for everybody? Since when have I become an 'occupational hazard'? So, by sitting on the floor in the most NEGLECTED department of the bookstore, somebody might just TRIP over me and be killed by the impact. Occupational Health and Safety my firm tanned and toned Asian arse. I think it's all a bunch of bollocks, just like all the other billion and one pages of legislation that the Victorian Parliament has come up with to date, including how the pathways should be shaved so that people do not trip over or how books should be arranged so that some old woman does not die after a book falls onto her while she's browsing for cross stitch patterns.

If anyone in that bookshop was to be an occupational hazard, it would be that fugly lady who told me off for sitting on the floor, because her stinky bleached hair and cheap MissSixty shoes will send any fashion guru into a stroke.

Grunting in the rudest way possible I pick my ass up and walk around the store in search of a 'chair' only to find the few chairs that are available all taken up by other people. Surprise surprise. I wonder what is it with this city. While many cities try to provide more seating for the weary traveler (especially the old people... gotta think of the grey-haired wrens too) but this city in particular seems to want to reduce the number of benches/ seats available for use. Take for example Flinders Street station, which is like, the centre of all railway activity in Victoria if not Melbourne. The number of benches on each platform does not exceed the number of fingers I have on my hand. During rush hour most if not all are forced to stand and wait for the bloody trains that take 10 hours to arrive, if ever.

Even along the streets, chairs are few and far between. Even if you DO come across one, some bloody PRC will be occupying 1/3 of the space with their trishaw legs and the other 2/3 by an obese Australian. So to ask a person to 'go find a seat' is like asking someone to dig a tonne of gold out from Ballarat.

So I resort to standing at the Travel Guide section, albeit humiliatingly, and I go through the 'Name That Tree' book very fast. In front of me, travel guides to Britain. I pick one up and flip through very fast too, such that I tear the corner of one of the pages out of sheer anger (though I'd like to think of it as merely accidental). To worsen the insult, I chuck the books back onto the shelf in the most unkempt manner possible to man, and storm out of the store with my nose up in the air as high as the Eiffel Tower.

I barge through the barriers at the train station only to find that the trains are arriving in 30 minutes.

BLARDY IDIOTS.

Project

I've begun a new project with plants; this time I'm trying to cultivate moss in little jars. I stole the moss from the Melbourne International Flower Show a few weeks ago (yeah so screw me) and have transfered them into nice little jars.

From left to right, Thuidiopsis sparsa, Bartramia mossmaniana, and Ptychomnion aciculare.



I have another jar with Sphagnum moss too but the pictures I took of them look ugly so for the sake of keeping up the 'good' standard of pics on my blog I shall not post them here. Too bad hey. Tough.

A close up view of the jars.




I'm quite happy about how they are doing, considering that they were dry as crisp when I first had them. Even the green chlorophyll was not visible; the stalks were dry and had shrivelled up. I popped them into some tap water much later and voila! Lazarus effect at its best.

I made the mistake of putting them in tap water because the chlorine content started to make the plants sick, but now that I'm using distilled water everything looks good and green.

Lets hope they'll grow. I'm so excited!

Say What

Anyone can talk also what! I say what you say what, we all together sama-sama say loh. Sometime also I don't understand you la, always say me until so like that. What I do to deserve this hah?

Just because you so rich then come and action at me lah. I know la, I bo lui, whereas you can come here study in Melbourne just as excuse to run away from your mama. You also so rude geh say me like those miskin type. So fine la, you wear those Gucci and shake your pi gu in front of everybody, doesn't mean you can say me like this; I also got dignity can.

This is my blog I like so I do what I want loh. You cannot tell me what I can do because that is my business loh. Don't come and campur tangan in my business. I know you are those very kepoh type but seriously loh, I cannot tahan already. If you don't like plants then you can go fly kite loh. I never critisise your interest in Anime right? Then for what you simply comment on my one?

Those thing you say about me on your blog, fine loh, say as you like, but you know also that is not true. You just simply say me because you want to get back at me, because that day I call you slut. When did I buy expensive thing for myself? I not so action like you. I also cannot afford those chapalang brand. As I told you, I bo lui, so NEH, IN YOUR FACE!!!!

Then that part you say me, I so like queen like that, actually is not true loh. I also never wear those kind of things that you accuse me, simply say one. If you can find those type of clothes in my wardrobe then only you say me, otherwise go die. I know you think you are very sexy but seriously you dress like uncle. And I not the only one who say loh. Your jie jie all also say one.

You feel so insecure until like that is it? That just because I said that you don't appreciate what you have, then you angry for nothing. So sensitive like girl only. But its true loh, you spend your mama money here in Melbourne and never give a damn about how she feel. I think you are problem kid in her eyes loh, since she never scold you I suspect she also give up liao.

Don't say I jialat when you yourself even worse loh. If you want to fight online also can, we start to post like crazy loh, you post one I post one, then we all become one happy family loh. You scolded me, I scolded you, very nice the feeling ya. We all sama sama bitchy together.

And no, I don't have any Hello Kitty in my room can. Its not cute at all, why I should waste money on those thing? Anyhow say me for what.

Oh and, I notice that day loh, see you walking in Uni, your skin so dark already. Must be going to Solarium again ah. Now look like cincau liao.

Maybe suits you loh, since your boyfriend's tummy like tau huay. So funny can!

V Festival

Groove Armada in V Festival, Sidney Myer Music Bowl Melbourne.