Hello...or perhaps not.

I'm not overly friendly with all of my classmates. I'm not a social butterfly.

I'm friendly with maybe five percent of them.

I can start a random conversation with about seventy five percent of them.

The remaining twenty percent I simply can't relate to.

I speak from experience. I was once thrown into a group discussion with a portion of that twenty percent. My naively enthusiastic 'So, what do you guys think?' was met with downcast eyes and mumbled responses. I was at a lost for the first five minutes of the discussion. Despite their individually buoyant personalities, they turn reticent when it comes to one-on-one interaction.

I was driven to wonder, 'Do these people think they're still in high school?'

When they were in high school, did they actually listen when their mothers tell them not to talk to strangers? They certainly don't look the type.

I had the misfortune of running into these recalcitrant barely-eighteen-year-olds in the bus on my way home from work today.

I saw one of them looking at me with a nervous glance when I boarded the bus. All the seats were taken and I was left with the one right across the aisle from the conversationally-handicapped-stubble-chinned. Much to my chagrin, the person seated next to this one was another member of that tight-lipped 20-percentile.

What an awkward situation. The moment passed for either one of us to civilly acknowledge the other's presence. No one said anything while I tried to imagine a way to break the silence. Finally I decided we were all party to this snobbishness; them even more so since they had the advantage of each other's company.

Even though I maintain a resolute gaze forward, our proximity in the bus enabled me to observe their behaviour without the intention to observe their behaviour. It was similar to watching synchronized diving, except there is no water and the participants were bundled up in winter wear instead of clad in skimpy briefs.

They simultaneously (perhaps even instinctively) brought out their respective iPods/iPhones/escapist gizmotechs and began to (perhaps arbitrarily) tinker with them. Next came the foot-tapping and nervous finger drumming on knees or handle bars, depending on where they're seated. They did a terrible job at masking the awkwardness of the situation by looking around the bus. There's not much to look at in the bus accept for ad campaigns to get children excited about homework or to stop them from being abused (perhaps by forcing them to do homework).

This situation is either too ridiculous or too awkward. Good thing the collar of my coat goes all the way up to my nose. It gets hard to repress a smile in the cold. I've learned that pursing your lips doesn't help. It just makes you look like your trying not to yawn. There's nothing wrong with repressing a yawn except you look twice as ridiculous compared to when you're trying to repress a smile.

Meanwhile the silent duo was studiously examining their gadgets again. They must have detected the threat of a friendly greeting.

Whatev, people. Whatev.

Another useless bit of information about myself

...that is useless even to me.

I've recently discovered my dislike for walking in the dark. Note that I do not say that I'm afraid of the dark. I'm not. I just don't like to move about in the dark.

Alongside my eye-sight-debilitating habit of reading in bed, I've gotten into the habit of turning on my reading light prior to turning off the ceiling light.

During the few occasions that I was so tired that I was rendered partially dysfunctional, I'd perform the switch-on-switch-off routine in reverse order. Hence the discovery.

It takes only five steps to get to my bed from the light switch. It takes only about half a second for me to realize that I've made a mistake in my light switching routine and that it's no big deal.

But in that short distance and brief period, while my eyes adjusted to the light and shapes start to become clearer in the darkness, I never fail to see a big, solid, looming figure standing in front of me. Just for a split second. The sensation is similar to that of blacking out. You know, when your eyes are wide open but all you see is black?

This occurrence is alarming enough that my mouth would open for a beginning of what might develop into a dramatic gasp but it was brief enough that by the first intake of air, I was already walking to my bed and reaching for the reading light switch.

There. This bit of information is so inane that I can't even think of a conclusion that would cleverly warrant this entry.

Hobi lama

...resepi baru :D

Let me in!!!

I was locked out of my house today. For about of 15 minutes.

My front door lock has always been cranky but it decided to test my limits by refusing to unlock altogether today. The icing on the cake came when I couldn't get my landlord on his cell phone.

I had just returned from attending an opening of a cafe galleria with a friend. The bright sunlight that saw my departure earlier today had waned and temperature was dropping below zero in anticipation of dusk.

When my key wouldn't turn, I felt the the usual mounting of irritation in my guts. When my fingers began to go numb and started pulsing, I began to panic. None of my housemates were home, it was getting cold and dark and I hadn't done my Asr prayer.

After trying for a whole ten minutes, I finally decided to call my landlords. It was Sunday evening and even though Paul and Anna have been indescribably nice to me, I can't help imagining how I would be ruining their Sunday evening with this single call.

I was spared the discomfort of inconveniencing my landlords when my call was picked up by their voice mail. Have you heard of how the final try is always the one that yields success? Well, the same applies to random acts of kindness.

Just as I was leaving a voice message, my neighbour across the street came and asked if I needed some help. He'd noticed that I was at the door when he came home and saw that I was still there ten minutes later. (this observation somewhat implies that he might have been watching me, which opens up a host of other possible scenarios but, what the heck. I need help with the door).

At this point I was near tears on account of the cold and, by consequences, my throbbing fingers, especially my right thumb. He kindly asked for my keys, inquiring as to whether or not I was trying the right one. He proceeded to try the lock. After several tries, voila!, the key turned. I was so grateful that all I was able to say was 'Thank you SOOO much', a phrase which I proceeded to repeat five or six times as he quickly descended the front porch and returned to his house (almost seemingly desperate to get away, now that I think of it. Nevermind).
Now I'm trying to decide what I should bake to send over to my kind neighbours as a token of thanks. Somehow the gravity of the situation seems to have abated. I should hurry up and decide before I completely forget how miserable I was when the old man came to my rescue.

I think some banana bread would be nice.

Rain

Getting soaked from the rain is fun until you step into a dry place.

The Coming of Spring

I never thought I'd ever be so happy to see snow dissipate into swirling pools of ice cold water.

Papercuts

I've come to realize that the number of paper cuts one receives is proportionate to one's age.

The older one gets, the more responsibilities one shoulders, the more paperwork one produces to manage those responsibilities, the more paper cuts one receives in sorting out those paperwork.

Oh, joy.