meet my multi personalities

Gulo and I just got back from Malaysia truly Asia today... And I have to say, my experience was as fantastic as I am. (No snide remarks, bitches.)

Before I go on to the blow-by-relatively funny but ultimately fabulous blow, I would really just like to say that Malaysia, specifically Bukit Bintang where we stayed, felt like home.

Cue Sam Mendes brilliant cinematographic device...


I could go on and on how the same and different it was as compared to Manila, but the people, and the atmosphere? They had so much charm, personality and spirit that it felt really good to be there. Not to mention a great transport system that gave me good reason to want to go and wander and experience the real city and not just a hotel room and a tour bus. And strange in a bad way incidents (like working my way up 272 steps to smell monkey piss or like that Nigerian dude who tried to picked me up) are made up for by even more strange, but in a good way moments (like that taxi driver, who we affectionately call Zendel, screaming "cheats!" about some of his fellow cab drivers or like that random Malaysian guy walking up to us to art direct our photos). Great city, I say. I know I'm going back... eventually.

Cue Wong Kar Wai inspired longing glance -


( And now on to the show! Bigotilyas Invade Bukit Bintang! )

I'm already 24 years old and still don't know what EXACTLY I want to be. I know I want to be a designer, an entrepreneur and as extremely fabulous as I am today... Aside from that, eh.

What I do know is that I don't want to be seen as and to actually be unreliable and irresponsible. I hope everyone who are lucky enough to cross paths with me feel the same way because given that everything else is equal, people whom you can depend on and trust are just so much better, without a doubt.

You can never be too old, too educated or too weird to learn certain virtues. I suggest you learn these. Friendship is not an excuse to be careless.

As I am that little cat that curiosity will kill one day, I just had to see what it was that was making a thubthumping noise upstairs last night. Good god. It was my dad... street dancing to Chumbawumba. Lawdy! My eyes! They burn!

I covered my eyes with one hand, to prevent tears from streaming down. I clutched my tummy with the other, hurting from the pain of stifled laughter. I fell weak on the doorway that lead to my dad's study area.

He's hilarious in the it-wasn't-meant-to-be-funny-so-don't-laugh-at-me-dear-daughter way and when my father, the prime male authority figure in my life, is caught off guard in a moment of ridicule, he was always game for some payback. So he grows quiet, heads on to the CD player, stops the infernal racket of mid-90's music, looks at me, then plays it again, dancing with more gusto than ever. I hit the floor laughing. It took every ounce of courage not to end up ROFLMAO-ing (yes, it's a verb now.), but as always, when I get knocked down, I get up again. When it comes to laughing, you'll never gonna keep me down.

i know that i have no reason to be paranoid, but still, from this day forward i'm locking this journal only for friends to see.

if for some bizarre reason, you still want to know what happens to me, you know how to get to me...