Karma Collection


My collection of passport stamps
Originally uploaded by hjl

Naaaaah, this is not my passport though I do wish mine was as dramatic as this one. I use was because I am yet to collect my new one, which I will do in the morning before I fly off. I think I have budgeted enough time to do my errands in the morning and pop by the immigration in PKNS Shah Alam before hauling my behind to the airport. Maybe if I had stayed longer at Company Q I would rack up an impressive immigration chop collection but, setting aside the traveling and the friends that I made along the way, the job was (still is) not something that I want to live through all over again. Ita said I was perpetually moody and complain-y and I was an unpleasant company to be with. Really, she said all that, I am not making this up. So yes, I miss having to live from airport to airport (chocolates and make-ups are so cheap but mineral waster costs RM8 a bottle!), but I miss being a nice person even more.

Anyway, I’ve bought my concert ticket, renewed the passport (terrible passport pic, as always) and booked my flight. All that’s left is to get my room sorted out but hey this is Bangkok, worse comes to worst I will just stay at a whore house somewhere :-)

How apt that I am going to close the year with another Bangkok trip – it’s really coming to a full circle. Whew. What a year.

Speaking of what a year, there are a couple of things I want to change. One would be my job – ok, everyone has a complaint or two about their jobs, right? – but I actually have a good reason to complain and that would be that it doesn’t excite me. I am not saying the tasks that I do are not important or that my state of boredom decreases my desire to get things done. And by wanting to change my job I don’t mean literally to change employment. But I know that change is imminent. Either in the way I approach it, or adding to it (for instance, maybe I should take the opportunity to do my masters? Or use the free time to start running and use my sneakers for something else than just parading them around once a year during my nephew’s sports day which I never go to anyway? ), or something. There has to be a way. The fact that I am not excited about the day to day grind makes me ineffectual and less productive and, more scarily, lazy. So, if I want to stop the decline, I have to do something about it. I have to help myself, right? Right.

The next thing that I want to change is my record collection. I need to start listening to new music. I haven’t written anything for such a long time and it bothers me. So I am going to suck it up, add 4000 more songs into my ipod, put them on shuffle and RESIST the temptation to press next on the clickwheel (by the way, I need to find the ipod first. I have no idea where it is, I took it out of my bag coz I wanted to use the earphones and then promptly forgot where I put the ipod itself).

About THAT that shall not be named, well, I can’t do anything about it at this point except to do what I have publicly promised to do and that would be to keep my end of the bargain. Karma’s a b*tch, trust me. When it’s time to collect oh man she’s REALLY going to collect.

The point is (are):

  • I am not sad. Yes. Bold AND underlined. I was, but for an entirely different reason, mostly for the way I handled things the first time around. And how I handled it earlier in the year (first Bangkok trip, remember how much I laughed about it then?). And how I handled it in the middle of the year (ok, this is beginning to sound embarrassing). But I have been fine for quite a while now, just like how I (and you) keep telling myself: it will pass, and it did. Don’t be so surprised. Humans are amazing creatures. Memories are short-term and after a while, it gets hazy and blunt and you feel less and less connected to it and unless you really make an effort to keep it at the front of your mind, you gonna wake up one morning and it’s as if someone’s pressed the reset button. How do you think women keep on giving birth after swearing to high heavens never to have sex when they had the first one?
  • I am not sorry. I was sorry, and I have apologized for the things that I know I must take responsibility for. Trust me, despite my stubbornness, I know when I am wrong and I know when to admit it and say hey it’s my fault and I apologize. But I am not sorry for the rest of the stuff: like by being obtuse and refusing to discuss certain things outright. I have made my choice. It is not for everyone but it is what’s right for me and my circumstance. There are words and gaps (to use Amir’s charming description) in my life that I am not willing to share or discuss with anyone, and I can’t keep apologizing the entire time for that. I know what I know.
  • And the last point, and I promise this is going to be the last one, I know I have taken more than my share of grievance space. It’s not fair. Greedy greedy greedy. As always, I feel entitled to make sure that my life is running on high(er) octane than everyone else’s. So, even though I sensed the grace patience period of the people around me ended a long time ago, I still thought I am entitled to milk it further just to get some more drama juice out of it. It’s a disease, like Rob Thomas said.

So, in honour of the last point, I have removed certain posts from this blog. I’ve promised to do this a few blogposts ago and so it is done. You won’t be able to read or search for those posts again.

I’ve taken my pills and now I am sane again.

There are certain years of your life you can give a write-off. So this is mine.

A pre-good bye, with a bullet,  2008.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Go Grr..., Happy

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s