One breath.

Everyone here embraces a healthy lifestyle. And yes, I’m saying it like it’s a bad thing. I mean, really really healthy lifestyle. They shun red meat and alcohol, sake not included. Smoking is out, obviously. They ride their bikes to work in the name of cardiovascular health and taut muscles. Cookies actually go untouched! I, on the other hand, eat what I like and have the weight to prove it. I smoke like a chimney (as they would say) both the legal and illegal substance as often as I could and naturally these “lifestyle” habits wouldn’t sit too well with the family here if they were to find out. I’ve resorted to smoking on the beach by the area where the same three men cook their fish over a suspicious looking bonfire four times a day because no one else goes there and these men seem detached enough not to report to my home. Also because the pungent smell of the burning fish not only keep people away, it is acrid enough to mask any smell from the cigarettes. Only problem is, I come home smelling like I’ve been at the fish market while it was going up in flames.
So I came up with another hair-brained idea, a much simpler one. I know, the first one was a little too obtuse, even for my standards. I smoked in the toilet- and set off the fire-alarm.
This led to me confessing to my mom that I have yet to quit my disgusting habit and in turn that led to her inspecting the contents of my bag to find an assortment of pills which definitely looked suspect at first glance, then finding out that they are painkillers and anti-depressants which she had me put on 4 months ago. She rifled through my name cards and looked up at me to say “You’re too old to still like all this tattooing nonsense. No more, please. You’re a hippie.” Oh ma, if you only knew what a hippie really was and what they did stood for.
My skin has been peeling due to the cold and the wind. Most visible on my face, and ma decided to introduce me to this wonder they call “moisturizer”. I dabbed a little on and DAMN IT does it hurt like a bitch. Long story short, she paid me rm50 to rub it all over my face. I literally cried, it was painful on the skin and smelt like moldy peas. I would have made a small fortune if I kept it up but I could only last 6 hours. I refused to put any more of that poisonous gunk on my face and therefore as I’m typing this, my sister is taunting me with “Baboon backside-face” while dancing around me. Yup, wind-burnt. My face is all red!
At a so-called potluck with my prissy and equally health-conscious cousins, I sat and solemnly ate the skin off several pieces of fried chicken, carefully striping off the meat with a knife and fork and daintily drinking Mountain Dew. No one was too pleased, but I’ll bet at least some of them at the table would secretly trade their revolting puffer fish thingy and puny grapes for my oil-ridden chicken. The only reason why I've gone to such lenghts to annoy the people around me is that I am upset. I want to go home. PJ is my home.

I’ve been irritable. This ordeal is bringing out the worst in me; thinking of it puts me in the mood for some needless violence. Thank goodness Ray and Mel has been pining for me to come home everyday :P muahahaha. I feel much better knowing that I'm missed. Those two can't do without me. Tsktsk.

Oh and about Zoukout, it was fun. Err albeit certain moments I could do without, still fun. Would probably blog about it when I'm in the mood.

Few pictures I don't remember taking at Mambo week before last, I was pretty smashed:

Whose thumb is that??

O my, thank goodness I don't remember this one. I would have died cringing. What the hell!! One is counting the minutes till I'm home, the other one is begging for me to come home. Boy do I feel loved, I should be away more often.